This will not be finished before Christmas is officially over, but I can live with that.
Christmas 2008 was the first in many years, perhaps ever, that I can remember being scared of. How lame is that? Is there a surer sign of character bankruptcy than fear of a holiday when I have no losses of loved ones or other personal traumas to make facing it an actual hardship?
What was I so scared of? Not having plans for this year, and being alone. Being left out of that incomparable knitting together of people that only happens this time of year. Be it friends, family, or both, this season is unsurpassed at rekindling all manner of relationships. Even here in snarly, aloof, hypertensive New England, people at work and out in public acknowledge each other's innate human worth and dignity for at least these few precious weeks, and it becomes possible to believe that they really want to carry it on through the rest of the year. Hell, I know I do, and yet do I succeed any better than most? No.
I'm not alone. God has always been with me, and He has placed His Spirit in me, and He has promised never to leave or forsake me. That's what Christmas is all about, right, Charlie Brown? I have a treasure of a wife, and I will never be able to fathom her impact on me, or how worth living life is when I consider that she's part of mine. Most of my immediate family is far away, but the love's still there, getting better and stronger as time goes on and what really matters becomes more plain. That's more than can be said for many families I've seen, which makes me appreciate mine all the more. I have a loving church family, among whom are some of the most incalculably steadfast friends anyone could dare hope for - intimate allies, shield-siblings, the kind of friends the mere thought of whom inspires an aching, longing, pathetic sort of joy that can blow away the thickest drapes of depression with one memory of an embrace or a kind word. The kind of joy that hurts as much as it soothes, and all at once, a bizarre conundrum of wounding and healing, because as beautiful as it is to be ambushed and overpowered by it, it hurts to face the knowing that it can't last in this life, that the embrace will be broken and those beautiful words will fade in my ears no matter how hard I try to brand them into my soul. There will be other times, to be sure, but they aren't now, and the ache is. They are intermittent breaks in the constant throb of longing for deep connection, for proof that I can - and do - belong with good people. It is amazing how hard it is not to delete that last part as I type.
That was another fear - that I need them too much. I have always been afraid of wearing out people. I have always taken for granted that I would, eventually and inevitably, because I'm just exactly that kind of exasperating, unendurable creature. I no longer accept that belief as true, and any sober application of logic will cut it off at the knees, but huge tracts of my thinking are wired to believe it and nothing else. That is changing as I partner with God to renew my mind, but the change is slow and painful, and the progress I make often seems trivial and inconsequential.
I initially faced this Christmas with a great deal of hope. I pushed through a great deal of job stress and internal struggles to lay hold on a renewed determination to honour God in this holiday. I arrived at that point with my wife and my friends, and that made it all the better. Our church had an early Christmas service and potluck as some would be out of town for the holiday proper. It was beautiful. "Knitting together" is a perfect description. My lack of plans for the big day didn't trouble me at all.
The next weekend we had a major snowstorm that kept us at home for two days. That was when not having any place to go on Christmas struck a nerve. It was too late to plan anything elaborate for ourselves, we had very limited funds in any event, and everyone we knew had family in the area that they would be spending the day with. Our own families were either traveling or too distant.
Asking our friends to let us break into their family's holiday gathering felt a bit like asking to borrow their three-year-old for a radiation experiment. It shouldn't have, but it did. I felt slimy and intrusive. When I didn't hear anything the next day, those feelings intensified, until the fear of being alone, and worse, of wearing out yet another welcome, finally broke me down. I tried so hard to hold the tears back that I burst the capillaries around my eyes. They came anyway, and I felt a little better until I awoke the next morning and remembered.
I called one of the friends I had asked about spending Christmas with only when I had hit the wall. I had no other option but to face the terror of finding out whether or not I was right about overstepping my bounds and needing them too much. She reminded me of the truth I had allowed myself to lose my grip on, that these fears are based on lies and that the love I had been afraid of wearing out was as unassailable as ever. Again.
Her parents had been thinking to invite us all along, as they had heard that we had no plans of our own. So much for the radiation experiment. We had a splendid time at their house. We ate Middle Eastern food and watched the two youngest children go insane and try their level best to take their parents with them. We talked about movies and people we know and anything that would make each other laugh. We listened to them reminisce about our host's mother, who died earlier that morning, which was not only Christmas but her eightieth birthday, and watched them love and support each other in their grief which was tempered by the knowing that her suffering was finally over and she was waiting for us all on the other side. You can read about that sort of thing or watch it in a movie or even experience it yourself, but there is a unique beauty in being able to stand just outside it and watch people you cherish like your own family pull together and face their loss as one closed fist of love, and when they let you add your love and concern to the huddle, even if it is from the outside, you feel humbled and honoured all at once.
I would feel pretty damned stupid about the fear that was choking the life out of me not seventy-two hours ago, except that I'm too busy being grateful for this Christmas. I cannot believe how good I have it here. I am hugely grateful to God for redeeming His creation, from ransoming humanity on the cross all the way down to salvaging a holiday for one of His more misshapen children. He has exposed the fear and the certainty of my depravity for the sham that they are. His coming changes everything, and He shows up right on schedule every year to invade this fallen Earth and remind us of bigger things than ourselves. And that is liberating. The aforementioned throb of longing for intimacy and connection and belonging is constant, but it is not eternal. It has an end. His name is Jesus, and these people I love are the gloves He wears to touch my life.
Merry Christmas, clan. Thank you. I love you. I can't say it enough.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
the holiest idol of all
A couple of months ago I thumbed through a book by J. C. Ryle about the infallibility and inspiration of Scripture. He summed it up by calling believers to determine to love the Bible more, to cherish it as the very Word of God that it is. Good call. What else makes sense? Do we believe Him, or not? Do we or do we not want - need - objective truth, a standard by which to measure everything we do, say, think and feel? How the hell does anyone expect to live by faith without knowing what transcends experience and human frailty? If we've got everything so sussed that we don't need it, why aren't we running the universe instead of reacting to it?
Ryle made a very unambiguous point in his concluding exhortation. He claimed that man cannot make an idol out of the Bible. Dunno if I buy that one. I think I've seen it done; worst of all, I think I did it at least once. More to the point, and more to the end of evaluating experience via Scripture instead of vice versa, I think at least one verse in John's gospel seems to hint that it can happen.
The Bible is without a doubt God's word, but it isn't the only way He speaks to us, and it's not the same as Him any more than these writings are the same as me. You can't have a relationship with the Bible, only with the God Who wrote it through the humans who penned and compiled it. Make no mistake, if you live in a culture that has the Bible you will find it indispensable to any real relationship with Him, but He is not summed up or contained in it. He will never do or be anything contradictory to it, but that is not the same as saying that it's all we need. The Bible means nothing apart from relationship with Him. It has been used to justify the vilest of satanic atrocities. People have studied it enough to shame any Christian scholar only to mock and deride it and those who believe it. In John 5:39-40 Jesus chides the Jewish religious authorities - the only people on Earth at the time entrusted by God Himself with His written word - for searching the Scriptures trying to find eternal life in them, all the while using them to justify their rejection of God Himself in the person of Jesus. Sounds like an idol to me.
I don't know how else to explain the myriad of conflicting, often mutually exclusive, stances which those who call themselves followers of Christ embrace and propagate while claiming the authority of the same Scripture. Whatever God may be, I am certain He is not schizophrenic, bipolar, or afflicted with MPD. That seems to be the point of Deuteronomy 6:4. Except that differences and imbalances are bound to occur when divine revelation of any sort falls into the hands of fallen humanity. Oddly enough, God seems content to let many of these divisions lie, at least up to a point. I have found in my own life that if I am steeped in any such thing beyond a certain level, He will divert me out of it and bring me back to balance if I am willing to cooperate with Him.
That would seem to be a critical factor - a believer's willingness to listen to and obey God. Again, the Bible is indispensable to that in any life with access to it, but it does not stand alone. It helps us to discern the voice of God, but that is not the same as being His voice in its totality. I have stood firmly and rock-solid on all manner of errors in interpreting Scripture, and I am afraid God would have let me continue doing so had I chose to ignore His voice telling me where I (or whoever had been leading me) went wrong. To quote Johnny Cash, "I believe what I say, but that don't necessarily make me right."
I am in no way willing to compromise or dilute the authority or infallibility of God's written Word, but I am equally unwilling to tell Him that it's the only way He will get to me. He has spoken loudly and clearly through all manner of writings, music, relationships, and circumstances. I need to evaluate all such things in light of His Word, but only His Spirit can assure me that my evaluation is accurate, or correct me if it isn't.
Ryle made a very unambiguous point in his concluding exhortation. He claimed that man cannot make an idol out of the Bible. Dunno if I buy that one. I think I've seen it done; worst of all, I think I did it at least once. More to the point, and more to the end of evaluating experience via Scripture instead of vice versa, I think at least one verse in John's gospel seems to hint that it can happen.
The Bible is without a doubt God's word, but it isn't the only way He speaks to us, and it's not the same as Him any more than these writings are the same as me. You can't have a relationship with the Bible, only with the God Who wrote it through the humans who penned and compiled it. Make no mistake, if you live in a culture that has the Bible you will find it indispensable to any real relationship with Him, but He is not summed up or contained in it. He will never do or be anything contradictory to it, but that is not the same as saying that it's all we need. The Bible means nothing apart from relationship with Him. It has been used to justify the vilest of satanic atrocities. People have studied it enough to shame any Christian scholar only to mock and deride it and those who believe it. In John 5:39-40 Jesus chides the Jewish religious authorities - the only people on Earth at the time entrusted by God Himself with His written word - for searching the Scriptures trying to find eternal life in them, all the while using them to justify their rejection of God Himself in the person of Jesus. Sounds like an idol to me.
I don't know how else to explain the myriad of conflicting, often mutually exclusive, stances which those who call themselves followers of Christ embrace and propagate while claiming the authority of the same Scripture. Whatever God may be, I am certain He is not schizophrenic, bipolar, or afflicted with MPD. That seems to be the point of Deuteronomy 6:4. Except that differences and imbalances are bound to occur when divine revelation of any sort falls into the hands of fallen humanity. Oddly enough, God seems content to let many of these divisions lie, at least up to a point. I have found in my own life that if I am steeped in any such thing beyond a certain level, He will divert me out of it and bring me back to balance if I am willing to cooperate with Him.
That would seem to be a critical factor - a believer's willingness to listen to and obey God. Again, the Bible is indispensable to that in any life with access to it, but it does not stand alone. It helps us to discern the voice of God, but that is not the same as being His voice in its totality. I have stood firmly and rock-solid on all manner of errors in interpreting Scripture, and I am afraid God would have let me continue doing so had I chose to ignore His voice telling me where I (or whoever had been leading me) went wrong. To quote Johnny Cash, "I believe what I say, but that don't necessarily make me right."
I am in no way willing to compromise or dilute the authority or infallibility of God's written Word, but I am equally unwilling to tell Him that it's the only way He will get to me. He has spoken loudly and clearly through all manner of writings, music, relationships, and circumstances. I need to evaluate all such things in light of His Word, but only His Spirit can assure me that my evaluation is accurate, or correct me if it isn't.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
hangover
I am crashed and burning again. I used again. I freebased on pure hatred. It felt like it just happened, like I was pounding it down before I even knew what I was doing, but the choice was still mine.
It feels horrible in an awe-inspiring way, almost majestic in its perfect destructiveness. It has a focus, a purity and an unshakeability which the rest of me so utterly lacks. It makes me feel like something beyond worthless, like something that has reached the very center of a total void of worth, an anti-worth. When I am in its grip I am a showcase of multilayered, multifaceted defects and sound, solid reasons for nullification. The case against me is so seamlessly ironclad that it has to be admired. I am defendant, plaintiff, judge, jury, and executioner. I am a bad thing, so I hate that bad thing. I judge it worthy of contempt and vilification. I taste the outrage of the universe at the total wrongness of my existence and lash out. The rage makes me feel bigger than the skin I live in even as I bruise and abrade it. Every flash of pain, every burst of black across my vision in tempo with the blows to that woefully misinhabited skull, feels like more power than I have ever known. It feels so right, so justified. All the other targets that were beyond my capability to affect are forgotten in my orgy of self-punishment. I hear faint pleas for clemency and answer them with a cold stare and turn away without a word. Then I get back to the business at hand. It isn't logical. Its rationale will not bear up under the application of truth. It still happens. It just is what it is.
It doesn't last. The hangover is sure to follow. The feeling of power is replaced by weariness. The case against me is still as ironclad as ever; it just doesn't matter anymore. I am still a defect, a stain, a flaw, and nothing I have done has either mended that state of affairs or punished it. I am left with the memory of what I did and the fall I took from everything I ever believed that I called good.
It's not a chemical. My drug of choice is hate. I want to stay high enough on it to stand the pain of the doomed venture of becoming a human. But it can't happen. I am not allowed to destroy this thing, but the hectoring, insistent yearning to do just that will not go away.
I need to stop. I cannot be what is needed, ever, from any angle. I cannot do this. I need to stop. I need to see it possible to, and I need a reason to.
This is a very little thing. It is not important. I don't know. I want to forget it ever happened. I am sorry.
It feels horrible in an awe-inspiring way, almost majestic in its perfect destructiveness. It has a focus, a purity and an unshakeability which the rest of me so utterly lacks. It makes me feel like something beyond worthless, like something that has reached the very center of a total void of worth, an anti-worth. When I am in its grip I am a showcase of multilayered, multifaceted defects and sound, solid reasons for nullification. The case against me is so seamlessly ironclad that it has to be admired. I am defendant, plaintiff, judge, jury, and executioner. I am a bad thing, so I hate that bad thing. I judge it worthy of contempt and vilification. I taste the outrage of the universe at the total wrongness of my existence and lash out. The rage makes me feel bigger than the skin I live in even as I bruise and abrade it. Every flash of pain, every burst of black across my vision in tempo with the blows to that woefully misinhabited skull, feels like more power than I have ever known. It feels so right, so justified. All the other targets that were beyond my capability to affect are forgotten in my orgy of self-punishment. I hear faint pleas for clemency and answer them with a cold stare and turn away without a word. Then I get back to the business at hand. It isn't logical. Its rationale will not bear up under the application of truth. It still happens. It just is what it is.
It doesn't last. The hangover is sure to follow. The feeling of power is replaced by weariness. The case against me is still as ironclad as ever; it just doesn't matter anymore. I am still a defect, a stain, a flaw, and nothing I have done has either mended that state of affairs or punished it. I am left with the memory of what I did and the fall I took from everything I ever believed that I called good.
It's not a chemical. My drug of choice is hate. I want to stay high enough on it to stand the pain of the doomed venture of becoming a human. But it can't happen. I am not allowed to destroy this thing, but the hectoring, insistent yearning to do just that will not go away.
I need to stop. I cannot be what is needed, ever, from any angle. I cannot do this. I need to stop. I need to see it possible to, and I need a reason to.
This is a very little thing. It is not important. I don't know. I want to forget it ever happened. I am sorry.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
aftermath
So Barack Obama is the new President.
I would be lying if I denied that I ever looked at this turn of events with a certain amount of dread before it actually happened, but there are at least two things that make it easier to face now that it has.
One: THE ELECTION IS OVER. That can't be bad news for anyone. Especially those of us sick to f*cking death of endless e-mails, forwards and bulletins clamouring for undying allegiance to the sender's messiah of choice. Not voting for McCain? You're a fetus-chomping welfare chiseler with a pentagram tattooed on one asscheek and a hammer and sickle on the other. Not voting for Obama? You're a warmongering racist bastard who wants to turn the U.S. into a Christian Iran. Now that Obama has won, it's time for those who opposed him to spout all manner of dire predictions for our future and point fingers at everyone but themselves for letting this happen.
Puh-LEEZE. Do NOT insult my considerable intelligence with this drivel. I freely confess to being ignorant of much of the political landscape, due less to laziness than to paralysis induced by the bewildering glut of information, opinions, slants, spins and hype. That does not make me stupid. I've studied history a good bit for someone who barely graduated high school, and I learned quite early that firsthand study of my own species is conducive to survival. I've also learned that I will never be informed or educated enough to get through a single day without depending on God.
History, people-watching, and faith have all taught me that putting confidence in humanity is a recipe for disaster. Which brings me to the second thing: GOD IS STILL IN CHARGE. For f*ck's sake, did everyone catch some amnesial staph infection that scrubbed from their brains all the scriptures about praying for leaders and authorities, about God being the One Who puts them in their positions, Who can direct their hearts wherever He pleases, and Who has promised never to leave or forsake us, even if the new government were to turn out to be ten times as predatory and communist as predicted?
There has never been any shortage of people lining up to demand my total and unflinching loyalty to their cause or crusade. You'd think I'd be flattered by the attention. I'm not, because it evaporates when I ask questions. Or it curdles into vitriol and contempt because I'm viewed as choosing to be part of the problem, not the solution. Piss off, you tin-hatted rabble-rousing son of a bitch. I'll bet I could find at least a few people I've done some good turns for. But you'd likely piss on them, too, because they don't propel your agenda. Your loss.
I find that I'm most effective for true and lasting good when I realise that I don't know jack. Why? Because facing that reality while seeing what this evil world does to the people (and the nation) I love pushes me into a corner from which the only way out is to submit myself to the all knowing and omnipotent God. His work in me is the only thing I have to offer that's worth anything at all. And He can work the same way in anyone who will let Him. Even those who oppose Him find their plans thwarted and subverted to serve His.
Make no mistake: I worry. I wish I could trust Mr. Obama as much as I'd like. But I trust God. So in obedience to Him I'll submit to the duly elected President of my country. And I will pray for him, his family, and his appointees. And for the rest of this country. And I will pray for the grace not to join this flood of self-righteous doomsaying that leaves an all-sufficient God banging on the door grieving that His offers of help can't be heard over all the blame-casting. Call me naive, but the Scripture so many of these clowns claim to venerate seems to back me up pretty well.
And one more thing: I am STOKED that everyone who ever said a non-white could never be president has been proven wrong. This racial shit will be the death of us if we let it, but we don't have to.
I would be lying if I denied that I ever looked at this turn of events with a certain amount of dread before it actually happened, but there are at least two things that make it easier to face now that it has.
One: THE ELECTION IS OVER. That can't be bad news for anyone. Especially those of us sick to f*cking death of endless e-mails, forwards and bulletins clamouring for undying allegiance to the sender's messiah of choice. Not voting for McCain? You're a fetus-chomping welfare chiseler with a pentagram tattooed on one asscheek and a hammer and sickle on the other. Not voting for Obama? You're a warmongering racist bastard who wants to turn the U.S. into a Christian Iran. Now that Obama has won, it's time for those who opposed him to spout all manner of dire predictions for our future and point fingers at everyone but themselves for letting this happen.
Puh-LEEZE. Do NOT insult my considerable intelligence with this drivel. I freely confess to being ignorant of much of the political landscape, due less to laziness than to paralysis induced by the bewildering glut of information, opinions, slants, spins and hype. That does not make me stupid. I've studied history a good bit for someone who barely graduated high school, and I learned quite early that firsthand study of my own species is conducive to survival. I've also learned that I will never be informed or educated enough to get through a single day without depending on God.
History, people-watching, and faith have all taught me that putting confidence in humanity is a recipe for disaster. Which brings me to the second thing: GOD IS STILL IN CHARGE. For f*ck's sake, did everyone catch some amnesial staph infection that scrubbed from their brains all the scriptures about praying for leaders and authorities, about God being the One Who puts them in their positions, Who can direct their hearts wherever He pleases, and Who has promised never to leave or forsake us, even if the new government were to turn out to be ten times as predatory and communist as predicted?
There has never been any shortage of people lining up to demand my total and unflinching loyalty to their cause or crusade. You'd think I'd be flattered by the attention. I'm not, because it evaporates when I ask questions. Or it curdles into vitriol and contempt because I'm viewed as choosing to be part of the problem, not the solution. Piss off, you tin-hatted rabble-rousing son of a bitch. I'll bet I could find at least a few people I've done some good turns for. But you'd likely piss on them, too, because they don't propel your agenda. Your loss.
I find that I'm most effective for true and lasting good when I realise that I don't know jack. Why? Because facing that reality while seeing what this evil world does to the people (and the nation) I love pushes me into a corner from which the only way out is to submit myself to the all knowing and omnipotent God. His work in me is the only thing I have to offer that's worth anything at all. And He can work the same way in anyone who will let Him. Even those who oppose Him find their plans thwarted and subverted to serve His.
Make no mistake: I worry. I wish I could trust Mr. Obama as much as I'd like. But I trust God. So in obedience to Him I'll submit to the duly elected President of my country. And I will pray for him, his family, and his appointees. And for the rest of this country. And I will pray for the grace not to join this flood of self-righteous doomsaying that leaves an all-sufficient God banging on the door grieving that His offers of help can't be heard over all the blame-casting. Call me naive, but the Scripture so many of these clowns claim to venerate seems to back me up pretty well.
And one more thing: I am STOKED that everyone who ever said a non-white could never be president has been proven wrong. This racial shit will be the death of us if we let it, but we don't have to.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
this is the gaaay paaart...
So why do I get hit with all these questions about gay people seconds after someone finds out I'm a Christian? Who tagged me as an expert? Do people think that Jesus showed me His death list and pointed to gays at the top? He didn't.
I gots some 'splainin' to do. And unfortunately the efforts of a lot of my spiritual siblings have made this painfully necessary discourse a lot more necessary and a hell of a lot more painful that God would ever have intended it to be. So sit down and shut up. I challenge you to read the whole thing, point by point, from start to finish without exploding. And if you're quivering with anticipation of hate and judgment, shuffle your iPod to Judas Priest and let Rob Halford tell you You've Got Another Thing Comin'.
First of all, yes, gay behaviour equals sin. It's outside of God's design for human sexuality. It doesn't work. It's not meant to. If it were, He would not have forbidden it. Make no mistake, I have precisely zero personal grudge against it, though I also have precisely zero sexual interest in my own gender (hell, I don't know why women find men attractive). There's no reason for me to object to it at all, except for the fact that God does.
Secondly, and this is the point most Christians forget (if they even really believe it at all), it's NO WORSE THAN ANY OTHER SIN. God is not, repeat not, curling His lip in disgust at a gay person only to turn to me and pat me on the head and say, "Well, yeah, Doug, I know my Son told you in no uncertain terms that looking lustfully at a woman equals adultery, and I know that every list of disinherited sinners in Scripture that mentions gays also mentions adulterers and fornicators, but boys will be boys, y'know? Just don't hurt anyone with it [like that's even possible]. Hey, at least you're straight, right?"
There are a lot more points that could be made, but the above two are enough to blow large craters in the morass of wrong ideas that so many people have about this issue. If they're true, what does that mean?
First of all, it means that if He loves me, and I know He does like I know nothing else, than He loves gays as well. They're no more or less stained before Him than I am. The blood of His Son removes their stains just like mine.
Secondly, if the gay who wants to live in peace with his or her Maker gets there the same way I do - believing in His Son Jesus - then the path to overcoming their orientation is the same one I have to walk to overcome mine. Sure, I'm hetero, but I'm also a lustful little prick. I am not the least bit monogamous in my fallen human nature; in fact I know very few if any people of either gender who really are. Again, that's no better than being gay. I have to choose, every day, minute by minute, thought by thought, choice by choice, to live contrary to my nature. I love my wife, and am committed to her and to our marriage, but staying that course requires constant combat on my part against those parts of me that live only for mindless, animal desires.
The hard part is that a lot of those desires were born of genuine needs and real wounds that God understands and yearns to address. Just like I've been assured is the case with gays. God cares, damn it. He's not treating any of us like there's no pressure. All He wants from us is the will and sincere desire to overcome it. And we have to depend on Him even for that.
I ain't done with this yet, but that's a start on prying out some of the more stubborn stupidities on this issue. We as Christians need to jump on this, hard, right now. We need to make a priority of knowing what God knows about it. We need His heart, because He wants to use us to offer it to all who fall short of His glory. That's pretty much everyone.
I gots some 'splainin' to do. And unfortunately the efforts of a lot of my spiritual siblings have made this painfully necessary discourse a lot more necessary and a hell of a lot more painful that God would ever have intended it to be. So sit down and shut up. I challenge you to read the whole thing, point by point, from start to finish without exploding. And if you're quivering with anticipation of hate and judgment, shuffle your iPod to Judas Priest and let Rob Halford tell you You've Got Another Thing Comin'.
First of all, yes, gay behaviour equals sin. It's outside of God's design for human sexuality. It doesn't work. It's not meant to. If it were, He would not have forbidden it. Make no mistake, I have precisely zero personal grudge against it, though I also have precisely zero sexual interest in my own gender (hell, I don't know why women find men attractive). There's no reason for me to object to it at all, except for the fact that God does.
Secondly, and this is the point most Christians forget (if they even really believe it at all), it's NO WORSE THAN ANY OTHER SIN. God is not, repeat not, curling His lip in disgust at a gay person only to turn to me and pat me on the head and say, "Well, yeah, Doug, I know my Son told you in no uncertain terms that looking lustfully at a woman equals adultery, and I know that every list of disinherited sinners in Scripture that mentions gays also mentions adulterers and fornicators, but boys will be boys, y'know? Just don't hurt anyone with it [like that's even possible]. Hey, at least you're straight, right?"
There are a lot more points that could be made, but the above two are enough to blow large craters in the morass of wrong ideas that so many people have about this issue. If they're true, what does that mean?
First of all, it means that if He loves me, and I know He does like I know nothing else, than He loves gays as well. They're no more or less stained before Him than I am. The blood of His Son removes their stains just like mine.
Secondly, if the gay who wants to live in peace with his or her Maker gets there the same way I do - believing in His Son Jesus - then the path to overcoming their orientation is the same one I have to walk to overcome mine. Sure, I'm hetero, but I'm also a lustful little prick. I am not the least bit monogamous in my fallen human nature; in fact I know very few if any people of either gender who really are. Again, that's no better than being gay. I have to choose, every day, minute by minute, thought by thought, choice by choice, to live contrary to my nature. I love my wife, and am committed to her and to our marriage, but staying that course requires constant combat on my part against those parts of me that live only for mindless, animal desires.
The hard part is that a lot of those desires were born of genuine needs and real wounds that God understands and yearns to address. Just like I've been assured is the case with gays. God cares, damn it. He's not treating any of us like there's no pressure. All He wants from us is the will and sincere desire to overcome it. And we have to depend on Him even for that.
I ain't done with this yet, but that's a start on prying out some of the more stubborn stupidities on this issue. We as Christians need to jump on this, hard, right now. We need to make a priority of knowing what God knows about it. We need His heart, because He wants to use us to offer it to all who fall short of His glory. That's pretty much everyone.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
wish I could change the subject...
...but I can't. When I think about what inspires me, and what embarrasses me, about arts - be it visuals, music, film, etc. - I can't help but notice the "rose-coloured" tint so much "Christian" art casts on the world and life in general.
I think a lot of it comes less from being sheltered and more from a desire to be holy. I'm not saying that holiness casts a rose-coloured tint on reality. It's just that most Christians know, on at least some level, what scripture says about language, conversational subject matter, and mindset, and one's understanding of that will naturally affect one's expressions.
However, I can't escape the feeling that perhaps the way it filters down in much of our art is a little too clean. My question is, how does an artist "hit the mark" without either abandoning Godly conduct or hypersanitising the end result?
I have seen precious few who strike that rare and beautiful balance. Flatfoot 56 is a splendid example of a band who unabashedly stand up for their faith while making music that garners them considerable secular respect. They are a great oi band. They've toured with Flogging Molly and played the OiFest in PA. They are shining the light of Christ into darker places than many of us would ever be found. Cornerstone magazine, when it existed, was comprised of fearless, masterful journalists who tackled all manner of controversial and relevant issues from a strong, balanced biblical perspective.
I want to do something about the creativity vacuum in the Church. I have no idea where to start. I will say that I find it unfortunate that I get more inspired to action by watching old Sex Pistols clips on YouTube than by most Christian music or books. No, I don't want to puke on a church altar or write songs calling satan a "f*cking rotter", but any band I were to form along the lines of what affects me most deeply would sound a lot more like them than Skillet. I honestly see a parallel between the reactions provoked by Jesus and those provoked by the early punks. There are huge differences between them, to be sure, but can't I keep the energy, power, and "just try and ignore this-ism" and still make the love and holiness of God come through?
How do we do that? The Bible pulls it off - a true-to-form film adaptation would probably be rated NC-17. There has to be a way to bust out of the rose-coloured bubble without losing the nature of God. We can't be trying to compete with the world, we need to rise so far above it that there's no comparison.
Another point to ponder - could it be that we judge "cheesy" Christian art by a worldly standard without knowing it or intending to? The message of the cross is foolishness to unbelievers, right? And yet does it really have to look, sound and feel "gaytarded", to quote Brian Posehn?
Lots of questions, few solutions. I feel that there are so few Christians anywhere, least of all here in the Northeast, who are anywhere close to speaking, or even understanding, my peculiar cultural language. I can't do this alone. Hell, I don't even know specifically what "this" is.
There are forces both inside and outside the Church that work very hard to defuse the things God primes to explode in every one of us. A. W. Tozer said that if today's "gospel" were a poison, it wouldn't kill anyone, and it wouldn't heal anyone if it were a medicine. The gospel isn't just preached on Sunday mornings and passed around in little leaflets. It is - or should be - in films; in every manner and style of music; in conversations at work, at the mall, in pubs; anywhere and in any form ideas are exchanged. It's not an insider's club - it's the one and only priceless cure for a fatal disease that's eating the human race alive. I want to find - no, be - a means of conveying it that doesn't compromise it. And it's compromised just as badly when people come away from it thinking of God as an aloof, intolerant prude as it is when they think He's some amorphous, feel-good "life-force" sugar-daddy with nothing to say about what every single one of us is turning into with every choice we make in thought, word or deed.
I think a lot of it comes less from being sheltered and more from a desire to be holy. I'm not saying that holiness casts a rose-coloured tint on reality. It's just that most Christians know, on at least some level, what scripture says about language, conversational subject matter, and mindset, and one's understanding of that will naturally affect one's expressions.
However, I can't escape the feeling that perhaps the way it filters down in much of our art is a little too clean. My question is, how does an artist "hit the mark" without either abandoning Godly conduct or hypersanitising the end result?
I have seen precious few who strike that rare and beautiful balance. Flatfoot 56 is a splendid example of a band who unabashedly stand up for their faith while making music that garners them considerable secular respect. They are a great oi band. They've toured with Flogging Molly and played the OiFest in PA. They are shining the light of Christ into darker places than many of us would ever be found. Cornerstone magazine, when it existed, was comprised of fearless, masterful journalists who tackled all manner of controversial and relevant issues from a strong, balanced biblical perspective.
I want to do something about the creativity vacuum in the Church. I have no idea where to start. I will say that I find it unfortunate that I get more inspired to action by watching old Sex Pistols clips on YouTube than by most Christian music or books. No, I don't want to puke on a church altar or write songs calling satan a "f*cking rotter", but any band I were to form along the lines of what affects me most deeply would sound a lot more like them than Skillet. I honestly see a parallel between the reactions provoked by Jesus and those provoked by the early punks. There are huge differences between them, to be sure, but can't I keep the energy, power, and "just try and ignore this-ism" and still make the love and holiness of God come through?
How do we do that? The Bible pulls it off - a true-to-form film adaptation would probably be rated NC-17. There has to be a way to bust out of the rose-coloured bubble without losing the nature of God. We can't be trying to compete with the world, we need to rise so far above it that there's no comparison.
Another point to ponder - could it be that we judge "cheesy" Christian art by a worldly standard without knowing it or intending to? The message of the cross is foolishness to unbelievers, right? And yet does it really have to look, sound and feel "gaytarded", to quote Brian Posehn?
Lots of questions, few solutions. I feel that there are so few Christians anywhere, least of all here in the Northeast, who are anywhere close to speaking, or even understanding, my peculiar cultural language. I can't do this alone. Hell, I don't even know specifically what "this" is.
There are forces both inside and outside the Church that work very hard to defuse the things God primes to explode in every one of us. A. W. Tozer said that if today's "gospel" were a poison, it wouldn't kill anyone, and it wouldn't heal anyone if it were a medicine. The gospel isn't just preached on Sunday mornings and passed around in little leaflets. It is - or should be - in films; in every manner and style of music; in conversations at work, at the mall, in pubs; anywhere and in any form ideas are exchanged. It's not an insider's club - it's the one and only priceless cure for a fatal disease that's eating the human race alive. I want to find - no, be - a means of conveying it that doesn't compromise it. And it's compromised just as badly when people come away from it thinking of God as an aloof, intolerant prude as it is when they think He's some amorphous, feel-good "life-force" sugar-daddy with nothing to say about what every single one of us is turning into with every choice we make in thought, word or deed.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
speaking of Henry Rollins...
...I recently watched one of his standup clips on YouTube that a friend had sent me. He was ranting on the currently bloodless, mass-produced, neutered state of most modern music, and he asked, "Where's the balls?! Are these people born without testosterone?...Aren't there people around who just want to put on a record and just wreck everything in sight?!" He still wants to, even into his forties.
And so do I.
About the only difference between us is that I want to do it for, and with, God. Most scene veterans dismiss the idea as incompatible with the nature of the music. Many Christians blow gaskets and pillory the very thought as an affront to the nature of God.
Well, what's compatible and non-affronting? I'll focus on compatibility with the will and nature of God, because I don't mind cashing in some scene points to gain eternity and help others do the same.
Is it the - let's face it - bloodless, mass-produced, neutered "praise & worship" that has infected the vast majority of Evangelicalism? Dear God, I hope not. One more limpwristed, breathy-voiced, keyboard-caressing troubadour panting out some flatlining paean to a caricature of Jesus that sounds like it's evenly divided between shrink and sex partner may well push me RIGHT OVER THE GODDAMN EDGE. Or I could really kick up my heels and start the very thing that this world needs most of all - yet another pop-punk band who take a standard Mk. 1, Mod. 0, Blink-182 ripoff tune, clean out the naughty words and sing about our church's way-cool youth pastor so everyone knows we're down with the big J.C. and we can call ourselves a ministry.
Gag me with a jackhammer (thank you Siobhan).
Hey, ya know what? If that's well and truly your gift, if it's honestly what God put on your heart to offer the Body so we can reconcile people to Him, then run with it. If I could bring myself to believe that more of what I just described was coming from peoples' hearts, I wouldn't be so acerbic about it. What grates on me has damn little to do with style. It's about jumping on an assembly line and cranking out only what is expected and accepted because no one wants to be seen doing anything different. How the hell does that reflect Christ's image? Remember, the One whose fearless exposure of the rulers' hypocrisy and callousness got Him stapled to a tree?
I wish that I could claim to be fearless. I ain't. But I'm angry. If the reasons for that are the right ones, fear won't last long. I don't want to jump ahead of God. But I think that the people and things that inspire me, as well as those that piss me off, do so for a reason. And I believe He will lead me into that. I don't know what form that will take, only that if it's really from Him, it will be good, though it may not be safe.
I've heard brutal music that bores the teats off me, and I've heard tranquil, uber-melodic worship that puts me on the floor. Like I said, it ain't about style. We sure as hell don't need more artists clamouring to shoehorn themselves into prefabricated genre moulds. I want to be real. Enough to let God use what He's got in me to entice others to do the same.
And so do I.
About the only difference between us is that I want to do it for, and with, God. Most scene veterans dismiss the idea as incompatible with the nature of the music. Many Christians blow gaskets and pillory the very thought as an affront to the nature of God.
Well, what's compatible and non-affronting? I'll focus on compatibility with the will and nature of God, because I don't mind cashing in some scene points to gain eternity and help others do the same.
Is it the - let's face it - bloodless, mass-produced, neutered "praise & worship" that has infected the vast majority of Evangelicalism? Dear God, I hope not. One more limpwristed, breathy-voiced, keyboard-caressing troubadour panting out some flatlining paean to a caricature of Jesus that sounds like it's evenly divided between shrink and sex partner may well push me RIGHT OVER THE GODDAMN EDGE. Or I could really kick up my heels and start the very thing that this world needs most of all - yet another pop-punk band who take a standard Mk. 1, Mod. 0, Blink-182 ripoff tune, clean out the naughty words and sing about our church's way-cool youth pastor so everyone knows we're down with the big J.C. and we can call ourselves a ministry.
Gag me with a jackhammer (thank you Siobhan).
Hey, ya know what? If that's well and truly your gift, if it's honestly what God put on your heart to offer the Body so we can reconcile people to Him, then run with it. If I could bring myself to believe that more of what I just described was coming from peoples' hearts, I wouldn't be so acerbic about it. What grates on me has damn little to do with style. It's about jumping on an assembly line and cranking out only what is expected and accepted because no one wants to be seen doing anything different. How the hell does that reflect Christ's image? Remember, the One whose fearless exposure of the rulers' hypocrisy and callousness got Him stapled to a tree?
I wish that I could claim to be fearless. I ain't. But I'm angry. If the reasons for that are the right ones, fear won't last long. I don't want to jump ahead of God. But I think that the people and things that inspire me, as well as those that piss me off, do so for a reason. And I believe He will lead me into that. I don't know what form that will take, only that if it's really from Him, it will be good, though it may not be safe.
I've heard brutal music that bores the teats off me, and I've heard tranquil, uber-melodic worship that puts me on the floor. Like I said, it ain't about style. We sure as hell don't need more artists clamouring to shoehorn themselves into prefabricated genre moulds. I want to be real. Enough to let God use what He's got in me to entice others to do the same.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
who the hell let us in?
The more I think about it, the more church horror stories I hear from Christians everywhere, the more puzzled I am at how fortunate God's allowed me to call myself. I go to a tiny church that meets in the basement of an appliance repair shop in a little seaside tourist-trap town in southeastern Connecticut. We are some of the oddest, loudest, most unchurchified people this side of Jackass. On any given Sunday you can hear the ways and doings of God explored and the nuances of Scripture unpacked - by a bewildering array of movie quotes, comic-book references, paramilitary metaphors, snatches of lyrics by everyone from Keith Green to the Dropkick Murphys, toddler-parent war stories, and accounts of high school politics. All delivered at breakneck speed coursing down an ever-widening web of rabbit trails by predominately Scots-Irish and Sicilian New England Gen-Xers who talk over, around and through each other. Naughty words have been known to slip out. No topic is off limits if a case can be made that someone there absolutely needs to discuss it. We have heard each other's stories time and again, and it still hasn't gotten old, because every one's story is being written by God.
We would scandalise many churchgoers. Maybe that's as it should be, but if God is displeased with what happens when we come together, why does He show up every week? Why do the goings-on carry over throughout the following days, lifting spirits, fomenting heartfelt worship even at one's job, reminding us of Who's running our lives and renewing our trust in Him?
Even I find the loose structure a bit unsettling at times, but I'll take it if the voice and touch of God comes with it. And it does. I'm ruined for what so many western Christians call church as usual. Show up for your weekly dose, sit down and shut up. One-way traffic. No outlet for what God's gifted you with if it can't fit in a predigested slot. And for God's sake, don't get real. God doesn't want humans in His image reflecting His glory from new and pure hearts, He wants Scripture parrots who put more stock in their own depravity than His ability to transform it. Bullshit.
Part of me wants to carve a wide swath through churches like that. If God turned me loose on them, I would probably look like Henry Rollins method-acting John the Baptist. But I don't think He will. I wasn't bullied out of my flirtations with Churchianity. I was loved out of them by Christ working in and through real, honest, flawed people who let Him love me through them. When someone in bondage sees someone living free, the contrast kills the illusion on which the bondage depends.
Get used to us, because God's nowhere near finished with us, and we're only getting louder, weirder, and bolder. If you can't square with that, your first thousand years in heaven are going to suck like a porn star in a Hoover factory. If you get there at all. Remember, the only reason any of us get there is because He's a good leader, not because we're such good followers. He - not we - will perfect that which concerns us. That doesn't negate the pursuit of holiness, but it sure-to-God keeps it from being futile.
We would scandalise many churchgoers. Maybe that's as it should be, but if God is displeased with what happens when we come together, why does He show up every week? Why do the goings-on carry over throughout the following days, lifting spirits, fomenting heartfelt worship even at one's job, reminding us of Who's running our lives and renewing our trust in Him?
Even I find the loose structure a bit unsettling at times, but I'll take it if the voice and touch of God comes with it. And it does. I'm ruined for what so many western Christians call church as usual. Show up for your weekly dose, sit down and shut up. One-way traffic. No outlet for what God's gifted you with if it can't fit in a predigested slot. And for God's sake, don't get real. God doesn't want humans in His image reflecting His glory from new and pure hearts, He wants Scripture parrots who put more stock in their own depravity than His ability to transform it. Bullshit.
Part of me wants to carve a wide swath through churches like that. If God turned me loose on them, I would probably look like Henry Rollins method-acting John the Baptist. But I don't think He will. I wasn't bullied out of my flirtations with Churchianity. I was loved out of them by Christ working in and through real, honest, flawed people who let Him love me through them. When someone in bondage sees someone living free, the contrast kills the illusion on which the bondage depends.
Get used to us, because God's nowhere near finished with us, and we're only getting louder, weirder, and bolder. If you can't square with that, your first thousand years in heaven are going to suck like a porn star in a Hoover factory. If you get there at all. Remember, the only reason any of us get there is because He's a good leader, not because we're such good followers. He - not we - will perfect that which concerns us. That doesn't negate the pursuit of holiness, but it sure-to-God keeps it from being futile.
Friday, September 19, 2008
semper verto sursum
Donasgillin gu Brath is Scots Gaelic for "Bad Penny Forever." A good friend told me some years ago, when I was convinced that I was at damned near my worst, that she and my other friends were like a bad penny - they would keep turning up. They have. God has. My wife has. I want to. I intend to. I will. That's what I was made for.
I want to keep turning up on the side of truth and love, even if it hurts, even if it costs. I want to resist the impulse to save what can't be saved, so that I can gain what can't be lost or stolen. Not just to be secure for myself, but because I'm no damn good for anyone else without it. None of us are, and if you doubt me, I fear for you.
I'm not a Christian because I got dunked or checked off a box on a card or repeated a prayer after someone or faceplanted on the floor of a church, though I've done all of those. I'm not a Christian because someone argued, bullied, brainwashed, manipulated, coerced, or scared me into it. That's all been tried, and all of it fell off and rotted when God stepped in. I'm sure as hell not here because I'm perfect in holiness and virtue, nor because I'm so stupid and bereft of value that there's nothing else left for me. I love Christ because He first loved me. That's all. That's why I want to keep turning up. That's my only hope of being able to.
As a movie portrayal of Doc Holliday said, "I'm not an easy man to be friends with, but I'll be there when you need me." Apart from Christ I can do nothing, but I'm not apart from Him any more. He's always proven Himself to me, and He'll do the same for anyone willing to risk believing in Him. And it is a risk, because if you don't believe in Him as the God He claimed outright to be, you don't believe in Him, but a caricature of Him. It's scary to trade autonomy for dependence on a Being you can't even see. It takes every cell of brains you have, and the rest of you as well. You first believe, then you get to see.
Sounds narrow-minded, and it is. Truth is like that. It smarts and chafes, perhaps, but don't judge it from the outside. Try it on.
I want to keep turning up on the side of truth and love, even if it hurts, even if it costs. I want to resist the impulse to save what can't be saved, so that I can gain what can't be lost or stolen. Not just to be secure for myself, but because I'm no damn good for anyone else without it. None of us are, and if you doubt me, I fear for you.
I'm not a Christian because I got dunked or checked off a box on a card or repeated a prayer after someone or faceplanted on the floor of a church, though I've done all of those. I'm not a Christian because someone argued, bullied, brainwashed, manipulated, coerced, or scared me into it. That's all been tried, and all of it fell off and rotted when God stepped in. I'm sure as hell not here because I'm perfect in holiness and virtue, nor because I'm so stupid and bereft of value that there's nothing else left for me. I love Christ because He first loved me. That's all. That's why I want to keep turning up. That's my only hope of being able to.
As a movie portrayal of Doc Holliday said, "I'm not an easy man to be friends with, but I'll be there when you need me." Apart from Christ I can do nothing, but I'm not apart from Him any more. He's always proven Himself to me, and He'll do the same for anyone willing to risk believing in Him. And it is a risk, because if you don't believe in Him as the God He claimed outright to be, you don't believe in Him, but a caricature of Him. It's scary to trade autonomy for dependence on a Being you can't even see. It takes every cell of brains you have, and the rest of you as well. You first believe, then you get to see.
Sounds narrow-minded, and it is. Truth is like that. It smarts and chafes, perhaps, but don't judge it from the outside. Try it on.
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