I've had a couple conversations recently that really got me thinking again about the issue of how we relate to each other within the body of Christ (i.e. the church). Long story short, I ended up expressing a lot of my thoughts about it in a poem, so I'll start with that:
Euphemistic Eucharist
Howya doin’? What’s up?
Pretty good, not too much,
life goes on, praise the Lord,
the usual and such--
By pretty good I mean
my family’s a mess--
we fight, except not here:
in this house we just bless.
I’m saying in not much
my schedule is insane:
it’s filled with noise and stress
it hardly can contain--
Life just keeps on going,
and so I don’t have time
to let you see beneath
charade and pantomime.
To praise the Lord I smile
and just sing happy songs;
pain stays behind the mask
where it, of course, belongs--
The usual just means
I’d tell you I’m depressed
were I allowed to break
facades so nicely dressed
And such and such and on--
a thousand pointless things
I’d rather say than tell
you anything that stings.
Safe. But are we happy?
We smile; are we alive?
The one place where it seems
reality should thrive,
instead we hide away;
we put our pride above
our pain--how can we throw
our masks aside and love?
Because we need help and we need
to be saved and all of us are
pretty much the same kinds
of messed up so why not just be real?
Can you see here what I’m driving toward?
Maybe then we could really praise the Lord.
So, I realize that my poem is a bit caustic. I'm just trying to honestly address a real issue, though, and the fact that it keeps on coming up among people I talk to lets me know I'm not the only one who feels it. The issue, as you can probably guess from the poem, is that church (not just mine, or anyone else's specifically, but church in general-- the conversations I mentioned at the beginning were with people from three different ones) has a tendency to become a place of fakeness where people don't feel like they can come with their real problems, instead of what it should be: the place where they could safely be honest and receive healing.
3 questions come to my mind: why does this happen, why is it so bad, and what can we do about it?
Let's break my OCD tendencies toward order and symmetry and start right in the middle with the second question. I don't want to belabor the point that the phenomenon I'm talking about is bad news, but I want to start with what I see as the basic reasons why it is so harmful.
The first is that everyone has problems, and problems don't just go away. Of course, drawing near to God is helpful in dealing with them. God can supernaturally solve them whenever he wants to. The problem comes when churches start teaching (or just believing, consciously or subconsciously), that this supernatural encounter with the healing Lord is only a one-on-one deal. Now, I know that God has healed me at times without any help from anyone else--he's just that good. However, the general model that he has laid out for us is something totally different.
"And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up. If he has sinned, he will be forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective." (James 5:15-16). This is God's model for healing. We get other believers involved, and they pray for us so that we will be healed. Catch that? James is letting us know that if we won't share our brokenness, both spiritual and physical, we won't access all the healing that we could because it comes through receiving prayer from each other! So that's one reason why it's a crisis that we don't feel like we can be real in church-- where else will we find the righteous men who can pray powerful and effective prayers for our healing?
Another reason is that everyone has problems, and everyone knows this is true. Even (or especially?) people who aren't Christians yet. We might feel like being real with the stuff of our lives will scare unbelievers away, but I propose that the fakeness we choose instead is infinitely more frightening. Everyone knows that people have problems. Everyone knows that they themselves have problems! So if you walk into a group of people where no one seems to have any, what do you think? You think, I'll never fit in with these people. So another reason this fear of dealing with real issues in church is a problem is because it is actually driving away the broken people who desperately need to receive healing by being prayed for (and who God wants to make into the powerful and effective prayers who will then help restore others!).
Finally, and potentially most seriously, being fake in church will hinder our worship. We might think we can sneak in and deal with our problems alone with God and have ourselves fixed by the time we have to talk to anyone. The problem there is that God is looking for worshipers who worship him in spirit and in truth (John 4:23). If we won't be real with God and with our family, we can't worship him in the way he desires. This is serious stuff, and if you don't think so just read in Exodus and Leviticus about people who tried to worship God in unauthorized ways. If we want his healing presence to be with us, we have to be willing to worship in the spiritual integrity God is seeking. Otherwise, our thanksgiving (Greek: Eucharist) will amount to little more than empty words we use to avoid saying what we really mean.
So, why does it happen that we feel like all we can be at church is just fine and peachy-keen, etc.?
I think it probably comes down to fear, mostly. Just because we all have problems and we know it doesn't mean we necessarily feel comfortable sharing them with people! If our fear of being judged for the things that are still messed up about us trumps our desire to be healed from those things, we won't share, plain and simple. If we have a history of being judged, that makes things worse of course, as does seeing other people be judged in places (like church) where they should be welcomed instead. Put all those things together, and fear wins out a lot of times.
Also, I think there's a misunderstanding in the church of what the Bible really teaches about joy. When it says to be joyful in all circumstances (1 Thessalonians 5:16), is that the same as being happy all the time? If the joy of the Lord is our strength (Nehemiah 8:10), and a fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22), are we weak Christians who don't have the Holy Spirit if we go through struggles and trials?
All of the answers are no, in case you're wondering. No one is "too blessed to be stressed" either (although some might be in too much denial not to smile). Joy is not the same thing as happiness, and godly joy is just as compatible with sorrow as with happiness. Jesus himself wept (John 11:35), but he was given the oil of joy more than all his companions (Psalm 45:7). He also got so stressed that he sweated blood (Luke 22:44). So godly joy must be something different than unceasing happiness. What if, instead, it's the ongoing security of knowing that eventually everything will work out for your good because it's all in the control of the all-powerful God who loves you? Then you can feel the pain of loss and brokenness without losing hope, and when you are happy you can be happy for the right reasons. That's the joy that will bring you strength.
One further note on why the problem of disingenuousness happens at church: it kind of gets to be a vicious cycle. No one wants to be the first person to do anything, so if no one is talking about any real stuff, it's that much harder for anyone to break the trend.
Which segues nicely into the last question: what can we do about this thing?
First, let me say that I'm no expert on this. I'm actually more of an expert on being fake, to be quite honest. All I know is that I deeply desire to be real, and I'm starting to learn what that means. So how can we be the ones to step out and start being real in the one place in all the world where the truth should win out? How can streetlights shine into darkness that has clouded the home of light?
The main thing I can see is that we have to start wanting more of God so desperately that we don't care about our own images. We have to care more about what he thinks of us than what anyone else does. This is what it means for him to be our Lord. His opinion is the final word, and what he says goes, no matter what it makes us look like. If we start believing that, maybe we can be the ones to step out and take the first risk. We can't make anyone else be real, but we can show them they won't die if they try it!
Also, we have to confess and repent of our judgmental spirits. This will allow us to bless other people who are real enough to be honest about their problems instead of comparing our own struggles to theirs to see how we stack up. All judgment is comparison, and all comparison is irrelevant because God's love is infinite. What if ours started looking more like his?
We also have to stop getting the truth backwards. It's not that God is so good that his followers shouldn't have any problems; He's so good because welcomes us in spite of them! He fixes them too, but for whatever reason he hasn't chosen to do it instantaneously in most cases. We have to let him be who he is in this instead of making him into a false image of what we want him to be.
I'm sure there is much more to be said on this topic-- does anyone else have any ideas to share on how we can help? I'll end with one I just thought of, which is actually the most important one: prayer. I want to start asking God to change the problems I see instead of just worrying about them. I want to talk less and pray more.
So-- God, change what you want to change. Make us more like you. Make your body whole. Let us walk in integrity, bravery, and community. Give us real relationships with real people, and let us worship you in Spirit and in truth. Amen.
Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts
Friday, February 24, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Confession and Repentance
So, I know in the past I've said in my introductory paragraph that a blog entry would be short... and it's turned into a total lie. However, this one really is a quick one (by my standards at least). I think its importance actually comes in part from the fact that it's so simple.
Basically, God showed me this past week that I haven't really been understanding the process of confession and repentance.
I tend to fall into what Timothy Keller (in his book The Prodigal God, which is an excellent book that also derives some of its effectiveness from being short) would call the "elder brother" category. Now, I'm an only child, but this refers to the story (Luke 15:11-32) of the lost son(s), in which the older brother is angry when the "prodigal" son is allowed to return. He had been slaving away sedulously (vocab word for the week) all those years, and the rebellious younger son was welcomed back despite being profligate and wicked.
I don't think I begrudge people their welcome back to God, but the point of the "elder brother" idea is that dedicated people often use (or attempt to use) their morality as leverage on God. I've been slaving away, so you have to do ____ for me, etc. Now, when these slavers (like me) actually do mess up, they try to earn their forgiveness the same way.
Ever spend a lot of time beating yourself up for your failures? I know I have. I thought that was just part of the deal, like a specific amount of self-flagellation would be necessary as proof of being properly sorry so God could forgive you. The "bigger" the sin, the more beating up of self needed, right? Interestingly, this is also the younger son in the story's plan, but the father cuts him off in midstream when he tries to execute it.
That's what happened to me too. I (gasp!) sinned this month, and I was starting to grovel about it when God challenged me to put my silly English major brain to work and remember what some words actually mean: confession, and repentance.
Confession essentially just means stating what you believe to be true. We confess Christ, for example, when we say we believe he is the Savior. It's just telling it like it is.
Repentance, in the literal sense, means turning away from something. It's not the same thing as being sorry at all... it's more like facing in a different direction.
Confessing sin, then, is just telling God what happened.
Repenting of sin is the part where you stop thinking about it.
Is that shocking? It is to me! Something in me doesn't even want to accept that it could be that easy, but the fact remains that Jesus already dealt with our sin on the cross, and God continues to be the good father who cuts us off in the middle of our beating ourselves up.
It's so practical and efficient that it has to be God's design. We get to just tell God, "I sinned, and this is how." He is already fully aware of how bad it was, so no editorializing or grovelling on our part is necessary. Then we're allowed to just leave it behind, trusting that confessing is all we need to do to be forgiven (1 John 1:9).
By the way, not thinking about sin is just like not thinking about a pink elephant (which you just did, of course). In order to do it, you have to think about something else, not focus on what you're trying not to think of. If we try merely to turn away from sin, we have to keep checking to make sure it's still behind us. If you just try not to think about sin, not only are you still thinking about it but you also are much more likely to do it again! We become what we look at, I think. That's why I recommend instead thinking about Jesus dying on the cross, or the fact that no matter what happens, I'm God's son. Don't turn away from sin, turn toward Him. Looking that way moves me to awe and worship instead of gloom and self-focus. I think that's the only way to do it.
"One thing I do: forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 3:13-14).
What a privilege!
Basically, God showed me this past week that I haven't really been understanding the process of confession and repentance.
I tend to fall into what Timothy Keller (in his book The Prodigal God, which is an excellent book that also derives some of its effectiveness from being short) would call the "elder brother" category. Now, I'm an only child, but this refers to the story (Luke 15:11-32) of the lost son(s), in which the older brother is angry when the "prodigal" son is allowed to return. He had been slaving away sedulously (vocab word for the week) all those years, and the rebellious younger son was welcomed back despite being profligate and wicked.
I don't think I begrudge people their welcome back to God, but the point of the "elder brother" idea is that dedicated people often use (or attempt to use) their morality as leverage on God. I've been slaving away, so you have to do ____ for me, etc. Now, when these slavers (like me) actually do mess up, they try to earn their forgiveness the same way.
Ever spend a lot of time beating yourself up for your failures? I know I have. I thought that was just part of the deal, like a specific amount of self-flagellation would be necessary as proof of being properly sorry so God could forgive you. The "bigger" the sin, the more beating up of self needed, right? Interestingly, this is also the younger son in the story's plan, but the father cuts him off in midstream when he tries to execute it.
That's what happened to me too. I (gasp!) sinned this month, and I was starting to grovel about it when God challenged me to put my silly English major brain to work and remember what some words actually mean: confession, and repentance.
Confession essentially just means stating what you believe to be true. We confess Christ, for example, when we say we believe he is the Savior. It's just telling it like it is.
Repentance, in the literal sense, means turning away from something. It's not the same thing as being sorry at all... it's more like facing in a different direction.
Confessing sin, then, is just telling God what happened.
Repenting of sin is the part where you stop thinking about it.
Is that shocking? It is to me! Something in me doesn't even want to accept that it could be that easy, but the fact remains that Jesus already dealt with our sin on the cross, and God continues to be the good father who cuts us off in the middle of our beating ourselves up.
It's so practical and efficient that it has to be God's design. We get to just tell God, "I sinned, and this is how." He is already fully aware of how bad it was, so no editorializing or grovelling on our part is necessary. Then we're allowed to just leave it behind, trusting that confessing is all we need to do to be forgiven (1 John 1:9).
By the way, not thinking about sin is just like not thinking about a pink elephant (which you just did, of course). In order to do it, you have to think about something else, not focus on what you're trying not to think of. If we try merely to turn away from sin, we have to keep checking to make sure it's still behind us. If you just try not to think about sin, not only are you still thinking about it but you also are much more likely to do it again! We become what we look at, I think. That's why I recommend instead thinking about Jesus dying on the cross, or the fact that no matter what happens, I'm God's son. Don't turn away from sin, turn toward Him. Looking that way moves me to awe and worship instead of gloom and self-focus. I think that's the only way to do it.
"One thing I do: forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 3:13-14).
What a privilege!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Returning
I think I've been living life in the wrong metaphor.
What I mean by that is, I think that my fundamental picture of how life works has been slightly off. It's always popular, even to the point of being slightly cliché, to think of life as a journey. Countless books, poems, songs, etc. have been written from this perspective, even though the ones written apart from God often fail to offer much hope as to the journey's destination. As Christians, though, we especially love this metaphor because the Bible promises the ultimate destination, heaven.
Now, I'm not trying to say there's anything wrong with the idea of a journey. It's hard to argue with the popular success and powerful impact of a book like Pilgrim's Progress, for example, and the story of Christian's journey to the Celestial City has actually been a big inspiration to me over the years. It's just that the allegory in that story, like all metaphors, is limited in scope. Obviously, no metaphor can ever fully become the exact thing it represents, or else it would be superfluous (which by the way, is one of my favorite words and one I've been dying to work into one of my blogs somehow). That's why it's important to recognize where comparisons fall short and see just how far they can stretch before they break.
Here's how the Pilgrim's Progress-style journey metaphor got my thinking a little off: basically, I started thinking about life as a voyage towards God, who waits for us at a fixed destination as we slowly and circuitously (another one of my favorites) make our way closer and closer to him. Catch the subtle twist introduced in that viewpoint? It makes God the destination instead of heaven. It's an easy jump to make, especially in light of the fact that heaven is where our fellowship with the Lord will be complete and full. The thing is, he's not just sitting around up there waiting for us. If God was a destination, he would of course be the best one to aim for. But he's not. He's everywhere. In fact, our only hope of making it to our destination of glory in heaven is that God is in us (Colossians 1:27).
Now, the hope of heaven is a huge deal, and it has helped me through a lot of struggles in this life to know that one day all those struggles will be permanently erased by joy. If we make the mistake of confining God to heaven, though, we can miss out on the fact that he travels with us.
We are not alone on our journey.
This is immensely important, not least of all because the idea of trying to get closer to a God we can't reach until heaven is a bit of a depressing prospect. It's also important because it gives us a much more accurate picture of what life is actually like.
I'm coming to think of life more and more as a constant returning. Instead of thinking of a one-way voyage toward heaven, I'm thinking more of a continuous coming back to God, wherever he is. That way, my actions are relieved of the pressure of moving me closer to or further from heaven. Really, if I've truly accepted Jesus, my salvation is secure and I'm moving toward heaven at the same rate as all other Christians: 60 seconds per minute. I have no control over that; when I reach the end of the time God has written in my book, I'll just be there! However, I don't have to wait to be with God until then. Eternal life begins now, because eternal life simply means to know God (John 17:3), and he is actually walking with me.
God is not distant. He is near me, and at times I walk right by his side. Other times, I get distracted and let things pull me away. Because this is a fallen world, there are a lot of opportunities for distraction. The question, though, is not so much of moving forward or backward, of climbing up or falling back down, of progress or regress, but of whether the things of life will draw me towards God or away from him as he walks with me.
Will I return to God if a situation draws me away from him? Will I re-turn my face toward his if something distracts my attention elsewhere? The command to return to the Lord is echoed over and over again throughout the Old Testament by all kinds of prophets in all different situations, from captivity to prosperity. In fact, every single thing that happens in life (like jobs, relationships, emotions, our own sins, or God's gifts to us, just to name a few) offers the choice to turn toward God or away from him, but he is always with us. He is in control of the destination and how we get there. The part he gives us a say in is how much like him we'll become along the way.
We become like whatever we look at. To become like God, we need to turn towards him. And because this life is so distracting and so many things draw our attention away, we need to re-turn towards him. Often. Always. We have to fix our gaze on him, and then when we look away, look back. Constant returning. God's grace to us is that no matter how many times we need to return, he will still be there.
I was worshipping God at c-hop recently, and we ended up singing that Jesus is our soul's refrain, the part of the song we keep coming back to. That's a whole different metaphor that I don't have time to address right now, but I think the journey works fine if we understand it correctly in the sense of always returning to a God who walks with us. To finish, though, here's part of another song (Psalm 73: 23-26) that pretty much sums up what I mean by all of this:
"Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory. Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever."
What I mean by that is, I think that my fundamental picture of how life works has been slightly off. It's always popular, even to the point of being slightly cliché, to think of life as a journey. Countless books, poems, songs, etc. have been written from this perspective, even though the ones written apart from God often fail to offer much hope as to the journey's destination. As Christians, though, we especially love this metaphor because the Bible promises the ultimate destination, heaven.
Now, I'm not trying to say there's anything wrong with the idea of a journey. It's hard to argue with the popular success and powerful impact of a book like Pilgrim's Progress, for example, and the story of Christian's journey to the Celestial City has actually been a big inspiration to me over the years. It's just that the allegory in that story, like all metaphors, is limited in scope. Obviously, no metaphor can ever fully become the exact thing it represents, or else it would be superfluous (which by the way, is one of my favorite words and one I've been dying to work into one of my blogs somehow). That's why it's important to recognize where comparisons fall short and see just how far they can stretch before they break.
Here's how the Pilgrim's Progress-style journey metaphor got my thinking a little off: basically, I started thinking about life as a voyage towards God, who waits for us at a fixed destination as we slowly and circuitously (another one of my favorites) make our way closer and closer to him. Catch the subtle twist introduced in that viewpoint? It makes God the destination instead of heaven. It's an easy jump to make, especially in light of the fact that heaven is where our fellowship with the Lord will be complete and full. The thing is, he's not just sitting around up there waiting for us. If God was a destination, he would of course be the best one to aim for. But he's not. He's everywhere. In fact, our only hope of making it to our destination of glory in heaven is that God is in us (Colossians 1:27).
Now, the hope of heaven is a huge deal, and it has helped me through a lot of struggles in this life to know that one day all those struggles will be permanently erased by joy. If we make the mistake of confining God to heaven, though, we can miss out on the fact that he travels with us.
We are not alone on our journey.
This is immensely important, not least of all because the idea of trying to get closer to a God we can't reach until heaven is a bit of a depressing prospect. It's also important because it gives us a much more accurate picture of what life is actually like.
I'm coming to think of life more and more as a constant returning. Instead of thinking of a one-way voyage toward heaven, I'm thinking more of a continuous coming back to God, wherever he is. That way, my actions are relieved of the pressure of moving me closer to or further from heaven. Really, if I've truly accepted Jesus, my salvation is secure and I'm moving toward heaven at the same rate as all other Christians: 60 seconds per minute. I have no control over that; when I reach the end of the time God has written in my book, I'll just be there! However, I don't have to wait to be with God until then. Eternal life begins now, because eternal life simply means to know God (John 17:3), and he is actually walking with me.
God is not distant. He is near me, and at times I walk right by his side. Other times, I get distracted and let things pull me away. Because this is a fallen world, there are a lot of opportunities for distraction. The question, though, is not so much of moving forward or backward, of climbing up or falling back down, of progress or regress, but of whether the things of life will draw me towards God or away from him as he walks with me.
Will I return to God if a situation draws me away from him? Will I re-turn my face toward his if something distracts my attention elsewhere? The command to return to the Lord is echoed over and over again throughout the Old Testament by all kinds of prophets in all different situations, from captivity to prosperity. In fact, every single thing that happens in life (like jobs, relationships, emotions, our own sins, or God's gifts to us, just to name a few) offers the choice to turn toward God or away from him, but he is always with us. He is in control of the destination and how we get there. The part he gives us a say in is how much like him we'll become along the way.
We become like whatever we look at. To become like God, we need to turn towards him. And because this life is so distracting and so many things draw our attention away, we need to re-turn towards him. Often. Always. We have to fix our gaze on him, and then when we look away, look back. Constant returning. God's grace to us is that no matter how many times we need to return, he will still be there.
I was worshipping God at c-hop recently, and we ended up singing that Jesus is our soul's refrain, the part of the song we keep coming back to. That's a whole different metaphor that I don't have time to address right now, but I think the journey works fine if we understand it correctly in the sense of always returning to a God who walks with us. To finish, though, here's part of another song (Psalm 73: 23-26) that pretty much sums up what I mean by all of this:
"Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory. Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever."
Thursday, March 4, 2010
A Heart for Cleveland
One of the biggest things God has been doing in my life recently is teaching me how to feel. If you know me well at all, you know that I'm a thinker. I love to analyze things, and I tend to turn them over in my brain repeatedly until I arrive at what I deem to be a "solution," whatever that means. I've always wanted to have a logical reason for things, and that pretty much leaves emotional considerations in the background.
I've come to realize, though, that my unflappable logic and analysis has often just been another layer of my biggest weakness: pride. My refusal to feel was really just arrogance, an attempt to control the world through understanding. If I remain unaffected, I stay in control.
When it comes down to it, I really have believed that I was in control in my life. Now, it obviously takes some pretty selective memory to believe something like that in the face of all the craziness of life, but I was getting the hang of it. Problem was, the One who really does have the control wasn't too thrilled. He's not really a fan of competition for his position.
Long story short, God started shattering my perceptions of control by using my emotions. Now, I don't know if you've ever tried to make yourself feel something (e.g. joy, love, etc.), but if you have, you know that it really doesn't work. If you haven't, give it a shot sometime. I don't think it's possible, at least not for long. Anyway, the conclusion of all my logic and analysis was that if I had all the answers, I should be happy. Needless to say, I wasn't.
To give an example, I'll share a poem I wrote somewhere in the midst of trying to analyze my way through life. During my Junior year of college, my mom had totalled her car (she was fine) and was borrowing mine, so I had to take the bus/train to school for a while. The experience had quite an effect on me, and I wrote this in a subconscious attempt to deal with what I was feeling but didn't want to admit.
Commute
Today I am riding through
the steel bowels of a single
manmade mountain. It isn’t
very impressive, but it is all
the subway we have here. I
haven’t eaten for hours,
but I don’t get off as I reach
the city center, a hard rock
that only turns to living flesh
at certain quite specific
times. Those times, you can
lose yourself in the hurrying
humanity and quietly pretend
you have the answer to the
endless iron question. Other times,
it’s better to pass quickly by
the dirty Modernist monuments
and hope you can catch
the next bus at your connection
further on.
Thursday, 4:34
by the market tower clock
and I am boarding the 4:25.
The conglomerate smell of the
market is all I will enjoy today, not
the shouting vendors as they
make their best deal or set up
the stuffed pig’s head at
just the right eye-level
to scare the children. I don’t
have time for the homemade
glazed doughnuts from the
baker in the far northwest corner
or the fresh produce that
is somewhat less fresh than
the sellers say, but still a bit
more fresh than it smells.
No,
today my goal is just to make
it home, taking the redline 66X
and the 20A through the shades
of culture, death and life
to my refuge from the smoldering
embers in the dying heart
of the fire, where I can set myself
apart and analyze as I prepare
for the inevitable onrush of
tomorrow and my next ride.
I knew even then that this withdrawn analysis was not going to be the answer, but writing this poem provided me with the first realization that that's what I was doing. I had always thought of myself as a city kid, in touch with the problems of the street. Really though, despite the fact that I lived within the city, I had left it, to protect my heart from the hardness and pain. I was taking sociology classes, learning how to analyze the problems of the city without really feeling them, trading emotions for statistics. As I hope you can tell from the poem, I love my city (well, most of it anyway), but I was turning my back on it.
Even more pressing on my thoughts was my own survival in finishing college and managing my life. I spent a lot of time in survival mode in those days. Living like that gets tiring though, and God had other things in store. First, he had to bring me face to face with my own emotions, which turned out to be darker and much less controlled than I had thought. I had to learn, as strange as it might sound, to feel what I was really feeling, even if it meant admitting that I had no idea what to do with it and very little (if any) control over it. It's a journey I'm still walking on, and probably will be for quite awhile.
As I feel my own emotions more and more, though, I'm finding that God has more for me than just that. He also wants me to feel His emotions! I think we can easily forget that God feels things just like we do. Actually, I guess a better way to put that would be that he feels things even more deeply and profoundly than we do. And the biggest thing he feels? Love.
In asking God what he feels, I have become much more conscious of his overpowering love. For me, for others, for his Son, his church, everyone. God feels sorrow mixed with love, anger mixed with love and joy because of love. In fact, one of the most amazing and praiseworthy things about God is the way that he loves us beyond explanation, despite ourselves.
So, back to my poem for a minute. The problems of Cleveland are pretty overwhelming, and you can see a lot of them if you take the rapid from University Circle to the W. 25th street bus. They seem too big to handle from the perspective of just me and my thoughts and feelings. When I look at my city, I can feel frustrated, afraid, or even depressed.
But what does God feel about Cleveland? In most cases, I'm guessing it's something like compassion. I'm sure there are things that make him happy, angry and sad as well, but I think the overriding current is compassion for people who have lost their way. Therein lies the difference between God's thoughts and mine. I see large-scale societal problems that I don't even know how to begin to change, and the result is the overwhelming emotions I've tried to get rid of. God sees the problems and could rectify them instantly, but his heart is for the people. Although he could change things on the grand scale, his method of choice is compassion.
That's why it's so important for us to be in touch with God's heart, not just to know but to feel what he feels. Compassion, it turns out, is not nearly as overwhelming as fixing all the deep-seeded problems that plague my city. Each person I see on my commute through Cleveland is someone God loves, and I can treat them like that. I don't need to analyze so much as I need to feel God's love, and if I have no idea where to start, I can just start where I am. If I can just do that, I can break out of my protective bubble and really start making a difference.
And if we all could do that... who knows what could happen here?
I've come to realize, though, that my unflappable logic and analysis has often just been another layer of my biggest weakness: pride. My refusal to feel was really just arrogance, an attempt to control the world through understanding. If I remain unaffected, I stay in control.
When it comes down to it, I really have believed that I was in control in my life. Now, it obviously takes some pretty selective memory to believe something like that in the face of all the craziness of life, but I was getting the hang of it. Problem was, the One who really does have the control wasn't too thrilled. He's not really a fan of competition for his position.
Long story short, God started shattering my perceptions of control by using my emotions. Now, I don't know if you've ever tried to make yourself feel something (e.g. joy, love, etc.), but if you have, you know that it really doesn't work. If you haven't, give it a shot sometime. I don't think it's possible, at least not for long. Anyway, the conclusion of all my logic and analysis was that if I had all the answers, I should be happy. Needless to say, I wasn't.
To give an example, I'll share a poem I wrote somewhere in the midst of trying to analyze my way through life. During my Junior year of college, my mom had totalled her car (she was fine) and was borrowing mine, so I had to take the bus/train to school for a while. The experience had quite an effect on me, and I wrote this in a subconscious attempt to deal with what I was feeling but didn't want to admit.
Commute
Today I am riding through
the steel bowels of a single
manmade mountain. It isn’t
very impressive, but it is all
the subway we have here. I
haven’t eaten for hours,
but I don’t get off as I reach
the city center, a hard rock
that only turns to living flesh
at certain quite specific
times. Those times, you can
lose yourself in the hurrying
humanity and quietly pretend
you have the answer to the
endless iron question. Other times,
it’s better to pass quickly by
the dirty Modernist monuments
and hope you can catch
the next bus at your connection
further on.
Thursday, 4:34
by the market tower clock
and I am boarding the 4:25.
The conglomerate smell of the
market is all I will enjoy today, not
the shouting vendors as they
make their best deal or set up
the stuffed pig’s head at
just the right eye-level
to scare the children. I don’t
have time for the homemade
glazed doughnuts from the
baker in the far northwest corner
or the fresh produce that
is somewhat less fresh than
the sellers say, but still a bit
more fresh than it smells.
No,
today my goal is just to make
it home, taking the redline 66X
and the 20A through the shades
of culture, death and life
to my refuge from the smoldering
embers in the dying heart
of the fire, where I can set myself
apart and analyze as I prepare
for the inevitable onrush of
tomorrow and my next ride.
I knew even then that this withdrawn analysis was not going to be the answer, but writing this poem provided me with the first realization that that's what I was doing. I had always thought of myself as a city kid, in touch with the problems of the street. Really though, despite the fact that I lived within the city, I had left it, to protect my heart from the hardness and pain. I was taking sociology classes, learning how to analyze the problems of the city without really feeling them, trading emotions for statistics. As I hope you can tell from the poem, I love my city (well, most of it anyway), but I was turning my back on it.
Even more pressing on my thoughts was my own survival in finishing college and managing my life. I spent a lot of time in survival mode in those days. Living like that gets tiring though, and God had other things in store. First, he had to bring me face to face with my own emotions, which turned out to be darker and much less controlled than I had thought. I had to learn, as strange as it might sound, to feel what I was really feeling, even if it meant admitting that I had no idea what to do with it and very little (if any) control over it. It's a journey I'm still walking on, and probably will be for quite awhile.
As I feel my own emotions more and more, though, I'm finding that God has more for me than just that. He also wants me to feel His emotions! I think we can easily forget that God feels things just like we do. Actually, I guess a better way to put that would be that he feels things even more deeply and profoundly than we do. And the biggest thing he feels? Love.
In asking God what he feels, I have become much more conscious of his overpowering love. For me, for others, for his Son, his church, everyone. God feels sorrow mixed with love, anger mixed with love and joy because of love. In fact, one of the most amazing and praiseworthy things about God is the way that he loves us beyond explanation, despite ourselves.
So, back to my poem for a minute. The problems of Cleveland are pretty overwhelming, and you can see a lot of them if you take the rapid from University Circle to the W. 25th street bus. They seem too big to handle from the perspective of just me and my thoughts and feelings. When I look at my city, I can feel frustrated, afraid, or even depressed.
But what does God feel about Cleveland? In most cases, I'm guessing it's something like compassion. I'm sure there are things that make him happy, angry and sad as well, but I think the overriding current is compassion for people who have lost their way. Therein lies the difference between God's thoughts and mine. I see large-scale societal problems that I don't even know how to begin to change, and the result is the overwhelming emotions I've tried to get rid of. God sees the problems and could rectify them instantly, but his heart is for the people. Although he could change things on the grand scale, his method of choice is compassion.
That's why it's so important for us to be in touch with God's heart, not just to know but to feel what he feels. Compassion, it turns out, is not nearly as overwhelming as fixing all the deep-seeded problems that plague my city. Each person I see on my commute through Cleveland is someone God loves, and I can treat them like that. I don't need to analyze so much as I need to feel God's love, and if I have no idea where to start, I can just start where I am. If I can just do that, I can break out of my protective bubble and really start making a difference.
And if we all could do that... who knows what could happen here?
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Godly sorrow
I think one of the driving forces of our culture in America is the desire for constant happiness. Because painful emotions are so, well, painful, we do our best to push them completely to the margins of our lives. For marketers, this is the perfect cultural climate, mostly because happiness is often so fleeting. They go ahead and prey on the idea that we should always be happy and that we should use such and such product to attain that goal, which works well for them because we quickly get tired of things and then have to get more to get back to that elusive happy place. The cruel trick of this system is that we end up feeling like there's something wrong with us, not the system, because we aren't happy all the time.
But what if pain really has a purpose? What if those unsettling feelings are important windows into who we actually are and who we are supposed to be becoming?
I'm reading this book right now called The Cry of the Soul by Dan Allender and Tremper Longman III (by the way, don't you wish you could put "the third" after your name? It makes it sound much more professional and important, don't you think?) that basically talks about using our painful and dark emotions as a bridge to greater relationship with God. It is a fantastic book and I highly recommend it. In light of our American culture, what it got me thinking about was the specific value of the sorrow we are trying so hard to avoid feeling (but honestly, can never truly escape). The Bible has a lot to say on this topic, but here's just one verse that has really captivated my attention:
"Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death" --2 Corinthians 7:10
No wonder the world is trying to avoid sorrow; perhaps they've picked up on the fact that their particular brand of it leads to death! It's perfectly natural, apart from God's intervention, to try to avoid pain at all costs. But do you catch what happens to the progression when God enters the mix? Godly sorrow --> repentance --> salvation. What an unexpected endpoint! Sorrow helps to save us?
Here's how I see that working: it's the difference between two words that are very similar and thus often confused, despair vs. desperation.
The great thing (or one of the many great things) about words, as English majors such as myself will be quick to tell you, is that they have such subtlety of meaning. Very rarely do two words mean exactly the same thing. Even synonyms usually have some subtle difference that separates them or some situation where one is more appropriate than the other; otherwise, why would we need two different words? Anyway, despair and desperation are two words like this. They are commonly used synonymously, but they are different and the distinction is an important one.
Despair means the loss of hope. A more accurate synonym for it would be hopelessness. It's easy to see where that leads: people who lose hope give up. This is sorrow leading to death, or worldly sorrow to use the terms of Paul in the verse above.
Desperation means the state of recognizing that one is in very serious and pressing need. A more accurate synonym for this one is brokenness. This leads people to do whatever is necessary to see that serious need be met. This sorrow, by God's grace, can often lead to repentance and life-- godly sorrow, as Paul would say.
See the difference? Despair looks at sorrow and sees no way out, so it refuses to deal with pain, opting to drown it out or die trying. Desperation looks right at the sorrow, enters in and cries out to be comforted. Despair sees no way out; desperation sees that there is only one way out and clings to its last chance for dear life.
On its own, of course, desperation isn't enough. But, when we realize that God is that way out, all of a sudden desperation leads right to salvation. We pursue God with single-minded fury and passion, turning from all the things that hinder us from getting to him (which is a pretty good definition of repentance, if I do say so myself), and holding onto the corner of his robe (see Mark 5:25-34) like our lives depend on it (which they do). End result: salvation, and no regrets.
Let me finish by going back to my definition of desperation, recognizing that we have a serious and pressing need. Is there ever a time when we don't have a serious need for God? No. Still, sometimes we feel like that need might not be too serious or pressing, that we can maybe handle things on our own for a little while. The trick for us is realizing that desperation is our constant state. There is only one way out of our problems, and it's Jesus. The only power that we have available to walk in comes from him, but he invites us to share it if we'll only admit we need it.
Maybe that's why God gives us sorrow and pain, to remind us that we need him and to give us access to his strength. God told Isaiah that he would give his people "the bread of adversity and the water of affliction" (Isaiah 30:20). Can it be true that these painful things are actually our food, the sustenance that we need to survive? It could be, if they drive us to God in godly sorrow. So, is it possible that by tuning out our pain and sorrow in all the various ways that we choose, we turn down God's great invitation to draw near and experience his power and salvation and life?
It's something to think about.
But what if pain really has a purpose? What if those unsettling feelings are important windows into who we actually are and who we are supposed to be becoming?
I'm reading this book right now called The Cry of the Soul by Dan Allender and Tremper Longman III (by the way, don't you wish you could put "the third" after your name? It makes it sound much more professional and important, don't you think?) that basically talks about using our painful and dark emotions as a bridge to greater relationship with God. It is a fantastic book and I highly recommend it. In light of our American culture, what it got me thinking about was the specific value of the sorrow we are trying so hard to avoid feeling (but honestly, can never truly escape). The Bible has a lot to say on this topic, but here's just one verse that has really captivated my attention:
"Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death" --2 Corinthians 7:10
No wonder the world is trying to avoid sorrow; perhaps they've picked up on the fact that their particular brand of it leads to death! It's perfectly natural, apart from God's intervention, to try to avoid pain at all costs. But do you catch what happens to the progression when God enters the mix? Godly sorrow --> repentance --> salvation. What an unexpected endpoint! Sorrow helps to save us?
Here's how I see that working: it's the difference between two words that are very similar and thus often confused, despair vs. desperation.
The great thing (or one of the many great things) about words, as English majors such as myself will be quick to tell you, is that they have such subtlety of meaning. Very rarely do two words mean exactly the same thing. Even synonyms usually have some subtle difference that separates them or some situation where one is more appropriate than the other; otherwise, why would we need two different words? Anyway, despair and desperation are two words like this. They are commonly used synonymously, but they are different and the distinction is an important one.
Despair means the loss of hope. A more accurate synonym for it would be hopelessness. It's easy to see where that leads: people who lose hope give up. This is sorrow leading to death, or worldly sorrow to use the terms of Paul in the verse above.
Desperation means the state of recognizing that one is in very serious and pressing need. A more accurate synonym for this one is brokenness. This leads people to do whatever is necessary to see that serious need be met. This sorrow, by God's grace, can often lead to repentance and life-- godly sorrow, as Paul would say.
See the difference? Despair looks at sorrow and sees no way out, so it refuses to deal with pain, opting to drown it out or die trying. Desperation looks right at the sorrow, enters in and cries out to be comforted. Despair sees no way out; desperation sees that there is only one way out and clings to its last chance for dear life.
On its own, of course, desperation isn't enough. But, when we realize that God is that way out, all of a sudden desperation leads right to salvation. We pursue God with single-minded fury and passion, turning from all the things that hinder us from getting to him (which is a pretty good definition of repentance, if I do say so myself), and holding onto the corner of his robe (see Mark 5:25-34) like our lives depend on it (which they do). End result: salvation, and no regrets.
Let me finish by going back to my definition of desperation, recognizing that we have a serious and pressing need. Is there ever a time when we don't have a serious need for God? No. Still, sometimes we feel like that need might not be too serious or pressing, that we can maybe handle things on our own for a little while. The trick for us is realizing that desperation is our constant state. There is only one way out of our problems, and it's Jesus. The only power that we have available to walk in comes from him, but he invites us to share it if we'll only admit we need it.
Maybe that's why God gives us sorrow and pain, to remind us that we need him and to give us access to his strength. God told Isaiah that he would give his people "the bread of adversity and the water of affliction" (Isaiah 30:20). Can it be true that these painful things are actually our food, the sustenance that we need to survive? It could be, if they drive us to God in godly sorrow. So, is it possible that by tuning out our pain and sorrow in all the various ways that we choose, we turn down God's great invitation to draw near and experience his power and salvation and life?
It's something to think about.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Inside Out
I'll start today's entry with a poem. It's the most recent one I've written, not old stuff like what I've posted so far. In fact, no one has ever read this poem before whichever one of you gets here first! It's the first one of its kind, a streetlights premiere. Here it is:
Inside Out
isolation underneath impressive
unknown against accomplishment
doing always more being less
hiding in the center of circles
victories full of sound alone
another world in control
politeness over perversion
impeccable outside filthy
confusion masquerading completion
pride intertwining pain
admiration in place
of love impossible
because artificial
because unknown
Don’t let me miss you.
So, this is a highly personal poem, but I share it because I think that it doesn't apply only to me. There are some lessons in it that I'd love to spare anyone else the pain of having to learn the way I did. I guess it's specifically about my ongoing journey of figuring out who I am and learning to actually be that person. I'll give a little bit of my own backstory as well as some insight into my strange poetic method in order to hopefully explain this little poem.
In terms of poetic style, this one is really kind of a personal anomaly. As most of you already know, I'm a big fan of complete sentences and good grammar, sometimes to the point of being a bit anal about it. So here we have this poem that completely resists both punctuation and normal syntax until its very last line. Guess which line of the poem I wrote first and which one is the most important to understanding the whole poem...
I made all those unusual (for me) stylistic choices for a reason though. The best way I can describe what I'm going for in this poem requires a visual aid. Unfortunately, this is the internet, so you'll have to make your own since I can't really show you. Don't worry though, it's very simple and I'll walk you through it. Ok, so to see what this poem is like, you need a sock. Any kind of sock, it doesn't matter, but it does need to be one you aren't currently wearing. I'll wait while you go get one.
...
Ready? Alright, hold the sock in front of you, so you can look straight down into the hole. That top circle of the sock is like the last line of my poem. So, grab the sock by that with one hand, and with the other push the rest of the sock up from underneath so it ends up inside out (get it?) and upside down. Notice, that hole is still in the same place, but now you can see a lot more of what used to be inside it. It's also much less pretty than the outside of the sock, and more disorderly. All that crazy fuzzy stuff you can now see, along with any accompanying dirt, sand, toenail fragments, etc., represents the rest of my poem. Wasn't that fun?
Anyway, the idea I'm going for is that in a good poem, each line that actually appears (e.g. Don't let me miss you) should have all kinds of stored up meaning underneath the surface. This poem takes that one particular cry of my heart and turns it inside out so you can see the mesh and mess that it actually consists of. I've written other poems sort of like this before, now that I think about it, with endings that encourage reinterpretation of the whole rest of the poem in their light. Maybe I can start a new genre! "Sock poems"...
On the more serious side, though, I think the underlying issue of this poem is one that everyone can identify with. All of us want so badly to be loved, and we will really do just about anything to make that happen. The problem is, who we are is not what we do. I've spent (read: wasted) so much time in my life trying to conform my image to what I thought people wanted me to be. I specifically remember in middle school looking at the "cool kids" who picked on me and my friends and analyzing what made them cool. "Oh, so cool kids wear this and act like this... I can do that!" And you know what the scary and really sad thing is? To a pretty great extent, I did.
Now, I had determined beforehand that I would use the coolness I would obtain to be nice to people those other kids would be mean to. I did end up being able to do that in some ways, but I also became in other ways just as judgmental as those people I hated. I knew all along that I was worth more than they were giving me credit for, but unfortunately I solved that problem by trying to attain what was valuable in their eyes, not by realizing their standard was twisted. So while I did eventually largely escape their judgment, I did so by buying into their bankrupt standards of coolness.
To make a long story very short, the result of my quest to remake my image was, on the surface, successful. People started to think I was cool, girls started to pay attention to me, and I was loving it. I used my sense of humor to make myself the center of attention and used my accomplishments and skills in an attempt to force people to respect me. Below the surface, though, something very different was going on. I was in the process of actively forgetting who I was.
I started getting more and more stressed out, and that led into deeper problems like depression. See, constantly managing what everyone is thinking about you is a heck of a lot of work, and it was burning me out while I was unaware. I was thinking about every single action and decision based on what it would do to the image I was portraying to everyone. In the process, I was losing touch with what I actually wanted. I became all the ugly things in my poem while looking like I was all their exact opposites. Worst of all, I wanted love, but all I got was admiration. But how could anyone have actually loved me? They didn't know who I really was! Many admired my fake front or thought it was cool and had things together, but who was underneath? I was largely unaware myself, so how could they know?
Thankfully, God still knew what was underneath. He let me get to the desperate end of my remaking of myself in my own image, and then he came at that front with a sledgehammer. He used people that knew me before my front and some that he just supernaturally told about my issues to challenge me about who I really was. I felt like huge chunks of me were falling off as what was inside was painfully brought out. He showed me through a series of very painful circumstances how broken I was (am) and gave me no other choice but to admit it.
Then the strangest things started to happen. I had thought that God (and everyone else) would reject me if they saw the brokenness I was hiding. But as I became more honest about who I was and began to take off my many masks, I felt God's love more and more. And, people started being able to actually care for me, and for some reason, they wanted to do so! There's really no other word for it but grace.
Here's the thing: if God created us, then it stands to reason that only he knows what we are really made for. Only the maker would. So I think the only way we can ever hope to love anyone else or be loved ourselves is to know God. If we know him, he can tell us who we actually are and give us strength to walk in it. This enables us to love others and be truly loved for who we are in return. It's change from the inside out.
For me, I tried to change my outside to find love, and all it brought was destruction inside. Don't waste your time with that! Jesus wants to move on the inside and let the change flow out in "streams of living water" (John 7:38). Recently a friend of mine reminded me of the prayer of St. Francis. This prayer talks about that kind of inside out change and reminds me a great deal of the streetlights' call, so I'll finish with it (slightly amended with a prayer of my own that should be quite obvious):
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace;
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.
God, O God, don't let me miss you.
Amen.
Inside Out
isolation underneath impressive
unknown against accomplishment
doing always more being less
hiding in the center of circles
victories full of sound alone
another world in control
politeness over perversion
impeccable outside filthy
confusion masquerading completion
pride intertwining pain
admiration in place
of love impossible
because artificial
because unknown
Don’t let me miss you.
So, this is a highly personal poem, but I share it because I think that it doesn't apply only to me. There are some lessons in it that I'd love to spare anyone else the pain of having to learn the way I did. I guess it's specifically about my ongoing journey of figuring out who I am and learning to actually be that person. I'll give a little bit of my own backstory as well as some insight into my strange poetic method in order to hopefully explain this little poem.
In terms of poetic style, this one is really kind of a personal anomaly. As most of you already know, I'm a big fan of complete sentences and good grammar, sometimes to the point of being a bit anal about it. So here we have this poem that completely resists both punctuation and normal syntax until its very last line. Guess which line of the poem I wrote first and which one is the most important to understanding the whole poem...
I made all those unusual (for me) stylistic choices for a reason though. The best way I can describe what I'm going for in this poem requires a visual aid. Unfortunately, this is the internet, so you'll have to make your own since I can't really show you. Don't worry though, it's very simple and I'll walk you through it. Ok, so to see what this poem is like, you need a sock. Any kind of sock, it doesn't matter, but it does need to be one you aren't currently wearing. I'll wait while you go get one.
...
Ready? Alright, hold the sock in front of you, so you can look straight down into the hole. That top circle of the sock is like the last line of my poem. So, grab the sock by that with one hand, and with the other push the rest of the sock up from underneath so it ends up inside out (get it?) and upside down. Notice, that hole is still in the same place, but now you can see a lot more of what used to be inside it. It's also much less pretty than the outside of the sock, and more disorderly. All that crazy fuzzy stuff you can now see, along with any accompanying dirt, sand, toenail fragments, etc., represents the rest of my poem. Wasn't that fun?
Anyway, the idea I'm going for is that in a good poem, each line that actually appears (e.g. Don't let me miss you) should have all kinds of stored up meaning underneath the surface. This poem takes that one particular cry of my heart and turns it inside out so you can see the mesh and mess that it actually consists of. I've written other poems sort of like this before, now that I think about it, with endings that encourage reinterpretation of the whole rest of the poem in their light. Maybe I can start a new genre! "Sock poems"...
On the more serious side, though, I think the underlying issue of this poem is one that everyone can identify with. All of us want so badly to be loved, and we will really do just about anything to make that happen. The problem is, who we are is not what we do. I've spent (read: wasted) so much time in my life trying to conform my image to what I thought people wanted me to be. I specifically remember in middle school looking at the "cool kids" who picked on me and my friends and analyzing what made them cool. "Oh, so cool kids wear this and act like this... I can do that!" And you know what the scary and really sad thing is? To a pretty great extent, I did.
Now, I had determined beforehand that I would use the coolness I would obtain to be nice to people those other kids would be mean to. I did end up being able to do that in some ways, but I also became in other ways just as judgmental as those people I hated. I knew all along that I was worth more than they were giving me credit for, but unfortunately I solved that problem by trying to attain what was valuable in their eyes, not by realizing their standard was twisted. So while I did eventually largely escape their judgment, I did so by buying into their bankrupt standards of coolness.
To make a long story very short, the result of my quest to remake my image was, on the surface, successful. People started to think I was cool, girls started to pay attention to me, and I was loving it. I used my sense of humor to make myself the center of attention and used my accomplishments and skills in an attempt to force people to respect me. Below the surface, though, something very different was going on. I was in the process of actively forgetting who I was.
I started getting more and more stressed out, and that led into deeper problems like depression. See, constantly managing what everyone is thinking about you is a heck of a lot of work, and it was burning me out while I was unaware. I was thinking about every single action and decision based on what it would do to the image I was portraying to everyone. In the process, I was losing touch with what I actually wanted. I became all the ugly things in my poem while looking like I was all their exact opposites. Worst of all, I wanted love, but all I got was admiration. But how could anyone have actually loved me? They didn't know who I really was! Many admired my fake front or thought it was cool and had things together, but who was underneath? I was largely unaware myself, so how could they know?
Thankfully, God still knew what was underneath. He let me get to the desperate end of my remaking of myself in my own image, and then he came at that front with a sledgehammer. He used people that knew me before my front and some that he just supernaturally told about my issues to challenge me about who I really was. I felt like huge chunks of me were falling off as what was inside was painfully brought out. He showed me through a series of very painful circumstances how broken I was (am) and gave me no other choice but to admit it.
Then the strangest things started to happen. I had thought that God (and everyone else) would reject me if they saw the brokenness I was hiding. But as I became more honest about who I was and began to take off my many masks, I felt God's love more and more. And, people started being able to actually care for me, and for some reason, they wanted to do so! There's really no other word for it but grace.
Here's the thing: if God created us, then it stands to reason that only he knows what we are really made for. Only the maker would. So I think the only way we can ever hope to love anyone else or be loved ourselves is to know God. If we know him, he can tell us who we actually are and give us strength to walk in it. This enables us to love others and be truly loved for who we are in return. It's change from the inside out.
For me, I tried to change my outside to find love, and all it brought was destruction inside. Don't waste your time with that! Jesus wants to move on the inside and let the change flow out in "streams of living water" (John 7:38). Recently a friend of mine reminded me of the prayer of St. Francis. This prayer talks about that kind of inside out change and reminds me a great deal of the streetlights' call, so I'll finish with it (slightly amended with a prayer of my own that should be quite obvious):
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace;
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.
God, O God, don't let me miss you.
Amen.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
A prayer for the orphans
As some of you may already know, one of my biggest interests in life is poetry, both reading and writing. My ongoing side project for the past couple of years has been working on an initial manuscript for a book of my poems, which I hope will someday be good enough to be published. Poetry is really one of the best ways that I'm able to express the deep things that get stirred around inside me from time to time, and just as with my more prosaic thoughts, I imagine that a lot of times people will be able to identify with them. So, every now and then when one of my poems seems appropriate to a subject that I want to talk about, I'll post it here.
By the way, I'm always open to comments and suggestions on my poetry (and my other postings too!). Just click on where it says comments below the post and tell me what you think. Fellow poets, feel free to use that forum to suggest possible edits as well, or to post your own poems if they relate to the subject. Just be nice :)
What follows is the first of my poem blogs (plogs?), which is a poem that I actually wrote a long time ago (a few of you may have already seen it) but seems more applicable than ever right now. Enjoy:
Redefinition
You are valuable in a way
that he never said
and your every smile stands
in cut glass defiance against
all the cries, not admissions
of anything or flags in the wind
but repairs that bring strength
in the gaps between
all you deserve diverging
from him to create
room for the incandescent
gift of heat instead
burning your new word
across the silent fields together
so you never are defined again
by what you never had.
Just so you know, that huge break means the poem is over. Anyway, recently at my church (check out http://www.vineyardcleveland.com/ for more info and to actually hear the sermons I'm just about to talk about) my pastor has been talking about something he calls the "orphan heart." People that have this heart live with feelings of abandonment and inadequacy because, in some area or another, they never received the love they needed to grow. Usually, it seems to me that this comes from being mistreated or neglected by a father, although I'm sure mothers and other influential figures can have the same effect. And because none of our parents are perfect, it really seems like all of us deal with this orphaned feeling in some way or another.
So, this poem is for the orphans. It's a fragile group of people, but one in which I have no choice but to include myself as well. And I guarantee you that Cleveland is full of them. The challenge for us, as streetlights, is to bring the Father's love to these people. A challenge, because a lot of them will run from us. A challenge, because our own brokenness wants to make us hide from them. And a challenge, more than anything else, because a lot of us are just too busy to notice how amazing God is and tap into his heart of love for us and for those we find ourselves in contact with.
That, though, is also the reason we have hope. If we pay attention, God's love is so big that it makes obstacles pale in comparison. He wants to redefine us, so that we can pass that gift along to others. We ARE his. We ARE loved. We ARE important. Who wouldn't want someone to tell them that?
So, I'm attempting to let God redefine me in this transitional season. That's the only way I'll have something to give to my city. But what I'll have... it'll be exactly what they need.
By the way, I'm always open to comments and suggestions on my poetry (and my other postings too!). Just click on where it says comments below the post and tell me what you think. Fellow poets, feel free to use that forum to suggest possible edits as well, or to post your own poems if they relate to the subject. Just be nice :)
What follows is the first of my poem blogs (plogs?), which is a poem that I actually wrote a long time ago (a few of you may have already seen it) but seems more applicable than ever right now. Enjoy:
Redefinition
You are valuable in a way
that he never said
and your every smile stands
in cut glass defiance against
all the cries, not admissions
of anything or flags in the wind
but repairs that bring strength
in the gaps between
all you deserve diverging
from him to create
room for the incandescent
gift of heat instead
burning your new word
across the silent fields together
so you never are defined again
by what you never had.
Just so you know, that huge break means the poem is over. Anyway, recently at my church (check out http://www.vineyardcleveland.com/ for more info and to actually hear the sermons I'm just about to talk about) my pastor has been talking about something he calls the "orphan heart." People that have this heart live with feelings of abandonment and inadequacy because, in some area or another, they never received the love they needed to grow. Usually, it seems to me that this comes from being mistreated or neglected by a father, although I'm sure mothers and other influential figures can have the same effect. And because none of our parents are perfect, it really seems like all of us deal with this orphaned feeling in some way or another.
So, this poem is for the orphans. It's a fragile group of people, but one in which I have no choice but to include myself as well. And I guarantee you that Cleveland is full of them. The challenge for us, as streetlights, is to bring the Father's love to these people. A challenge, because a lot of them will run from us. A challenge, because our own brokenness wants to make us hide from them. And a challenge, more than anything else, because a lot of us are just too busy to notice how amazing God is and tap into his heart of love for us and for those we find ourselves in contact with.
That, though, is also the reason we have hope. If we pay attention, God's love is so big that it makes obstacles pale in comparison. He wants to redefine us, so that we can pass that gift along to others. We ARE his. We ARE loved. We ARE important. Who wouldn't want someone to tell them that?
So, I'm attempting to let God redefine me in this transitional season. That's the only way I'll have something to give to my city. But what I'll have... it'll be exactly what they need.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
