July 4, 2009

Do you ever just get sick of the fluff?

Aren’t you sick of Christianese?

Don’t you cringe when people “talk the talk”?

Aren’t you fed up with church as usual?

What does it look like to really follow Christ? Really follow Him?

Did He really die so we could be comfortable?

Did He suffer so we could raise our kids in a nice, safe neighborhood?

Do we go to church to get our varied needs met, or do we go there to find Jesus?

Do we really believe that His church is the hope of the world? That He is freedom?

What does a “prayer of salvation” really accomplish?

Why is worship a list of songs?

What can I do to further the cause of Christ in my life, and in the community of believers with whom I live?

June 20, 2009

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
–A Dream Deferred by Langston Hughes

That night after I watched the horrible movie (and I raged at my husband as the representative of all Men), I laid in bed and sobbed until I couldn’t breathe through my nose. While he drifted off into oblivious sleep, I considered.

That bitter, unforgiving itchbay I see in the mirror is only part of the picture. What I really am is a ball of pain, wrapped in multiple layers of self-preservation, and finished with an outer shell of spikes, rusty nails and barbed wire. Sort of like a Ferrero Rocher chocolate, except a little bigger and slightly less delicious.

I sat up in bed, partly so I could breathe again, but mostly to talk with Jesus. I said something like, “This is what I am, but it’s not what I want to be. It’s so deeply entrenched and so much a part of my DNA that I don’t know how to change. What am I supposed to do with all this pain? What can you do with me?”

Then I remembered a dream I used to have: There was an abstinence ministry in my heart. I dreamt of helping, loving, encouraging girls and young women, talking to them about abstinence, helping them live it out. I was willing to let my pain be like manure: Stinky, yes. But fertilizer for something much better. Funk with a purpose.

Then the weeds came. “You’re not even good at talking to people.” “Why would a teenager listen to you?” “What if it hurts?” “Who has time?” “What if it fails?” I was afraid, so instead of a garden, the pain became a landfill. The dream got buried under a bunch of distractions and life and crapola. Eventually and so slowly that I didn’t notice, it disappeared from sight. But it still stunk, except it stunk for no good reason.

Okay, I’m scared! I think I’m more scared now than I was before. Those same weeds are there, but they look more like trees now.

There’s the first step. It’s a doozy! Not sure I want to climb yet. Just … gimme a sec to mentally prepare.

June 11, 2009

My life so far hasn’t prepared me for God’s loving nature, but there’s more–the other realization that came through counseling. This other truth has shaken my faith (though not in the way you might think). It’s caused me to avoid God altogether for the past two weeks.

About twice or three times a year I’ll have a “moment” where it feels as if God has led me up a high mountain and right up to the edge of a cliff. I’ll look down and all I’ll see is clouds far below me. I’m like, “Whoa God! [Nervous chuckle.] That’s … that’s really high! Okay well, it’s been fun, I’m gonna turn around and go home now!” And he’s like, “No no. I want you to jump.”

In my heart, I know if I jumped, I’d be okay. I might not be comfortable and I might not be entirely safe. But I’d be okay.

Then I start thinking of what might happen on the way down.

• What if no one catches me?
• Why do I have to jump? No one else is jumping!
• I’ll be the only one falling with no one to help me … again.
• How can I take care of myself, control my life, if I’m falling and can’t grip anything?
• Which of my beloved trinkets would fall out of my pockets?
• How much money and how many of my prized possessions would fall out of my purse?
• Who would I be without those things?
• I don’t know that strange woman who’s not tied to all her stuff; what if she’s nothing like me?
• I may not like who I am. But at least I’m predictable. Predictable is safe.

So I say, “Wait, what? That’s too high! That’s too dangerous! That’s too much.” And I back away from the edge and head home. As I walk, I feel him walking beside me, but I can’t look at him. I keep my eyes on my feet and hunch my shoulders, and I feel like crap. But I keep walking until I’m safely home.

Some of me chalks this “vision” up to my legalistic nature, and that tendency may play a part. But on the whole, I know what God’s asking of me is in line with the Bible. I mean, knowing what Jesus said, and what Paul and others later explained, how can I believe God isn’t more dangerous and terrifying than we’ve made him out to be? Everyone says he’s loving and tender and gentle–and he is. But he’s more than that. He’s more passionate than that, wilder than that. This has serious implications!

In summary:

• I don’t believe I’m acceptable “as is,” that I don’t have to work to earn his attention or approval. I don’t believe it’s possible to live the way I’m living (which is not bad by most standards) and still be pleasing to him.
• I do believe his expectations of me are higher than people say they are. I believe they’re higher than I’d like them to be. I believe his calling is far more dangerous and outlandish than I’d like it to be. I do believe he expects me to give up my life and all I hold dear before he will take me seriously. I do believe the purpose of my life will never be fulfilled if I don’t let it all go and never look back.

I know some of  what I believe is distorted, twisted out of context. But I also know that much of it isn’t.

This is my crisis of faith. It’s not the “Is God real?” kind, because I know he is. Instead, it’s the kind where I look in the mirror and realize (a) I don’t trust God to love me and not hurt me; and (b) I’ve been lying to myself about who he is and how a relationship with him works. These are hard truths for a professing Christian to face.

So now that the truth is on the table; now that I’ve acknowledged my unbelief; now that the lies are no longer an option … which path will I take?

June 8, 2009

After a serious outburst of anger last Christmas, I decided to see a counselor. Though I felt (and still feel) the anger itself was justifiable, the wild, edge-of-insane intensity of it scared me. 

In the beginning, I left each session feeling like I’d gone through a blender. There was a lot of picking scabs off forgotten wounds. They would hurt and bleed almost as much as they had when they’d first been inflicted. I’d walk out of the office and cry in my car. Eventually I just went ahead and cried in the office, where I had ready access to tissue. Either way, I’d spend a day or two afterwards, reliving and rehashing, and thinking none of this could be healthy. Uncovering the pain seemed to be making things worse, not better.

Soon I began to connect the dots between traumatic events. The recurring theme in my life was rejection; as the theme recycled itself in all my significant relationships, a pattern of thoughts and resulting behaviors emerged.

Eventually I began to see what was hidden behind all my feelings and all my actions. My counselor would ask what I thought or believed about a situation, and I’d answer honestly. But the honest answers coming out of my mouth were not the beliefs I publicly profess. They were secret beliefs I’d never acknowledged–not openly, and often not even consciously. It turns out those hidden beliefs rule me.

It’s strange how suddenly and unexpectedly so much became so clear. Among the realizations was that I’ve never had a healthy, loving relationship. I used to trust; not anymore. I’ve never experienced fidelity. I’ve never known acceptance without contingency. I’m surprisingly, vehemently angry about it. That anger has been smoldering beneath the surface so long that it was just part of me, like my limbs or my brown skin. Except that sometimes it would flare up and surprise me.

So how could my life so far have prepared me for the God who is supposed to be a loving father, husband and friend? One who accepts me as I am and loves me with no strings attached? One who won’t hurt me or use me, or ignore me until I go away?

I don’t believe it.

I love God so much! But I don’t entirely trust him. And how can he love me when I feel this way? I don’t know how to hope or anticipate or believe my life can be anything but what it’s always been.

June 7, 2009

Friday night I spent time with a group of Christian women and got to participate (though my input was minimal) in a phenomenal conversation about sex and marriage. I went to bed unaffected, but I woke up Saturday morning filled with sadness, regret. The sweet and precious joy my friend will have, that so many women in that room had, is something I threw away. My rash decision is impacting my life all these many years later.

To top things off, that night I watched a movie that awakened in me a sleeping giant of anger and bitterness. (Well … the giant had been taking a restless nap. It was sleeping with one eye open. It was pretending to be asleep.)

I have never had a relationship with a man who was faithful to me. Not my father: I haven’t seen or heard from him in more than 33 years. Not my step-father: I never felt acknowledged or accepted by him. And not the men with whom I’ve shared my most personal self. All these were the men to whom I had entrusted my heart and life and being.

Wasn’t I ever of value to any one of them? It is horrible to realize, to acknowledge, that the answer is no.

Last night I was finally able to just admit to myself that I am bitter. I am in so much daily emotional pain and so weighed down by bitterness that these feelings seem entirely normal. I don’t know how it feels to be without them. They’re an inseparable part of me. Like my limbs, or my brown skin.

Those men saw me as a means to an end: Just one female among many hundreds of females, serving no purpose but to satisfy an immediate need.

Yet as a woman–as a wife and mother, and now as a Christian–I have been entrusted with the responsibility to minister respect, honor, servanthood and submission to my husband. I am also to model these things to my sons and daughters. I’m failing miserably. How can I be that woman? I want to, but all I have is this armor of anger and bitterness. I don’t know how to put it down. I don’t think my muscles and joints know how to move in such a strange way.

Of course, there’s God. The Bible says he’s different than men. He’s faithful and loving; he’s my father and my husband and my friend. These are good things. I know God is good.

But I feel like he sees me the same way as every other significant man I’ve known.

If not for the covering of Jesus’ blood, I’d be one indistinguishable dead body in a mass grave. A ragged tangle of muddy arms and legs and faceless faces, like those horrible pictures from Nazi concentration camps. Instead I’m one person in a living, moving crowd of arms and legs and faceless faces in the World that God So Loves. As an individual, I have nothing to offer, no intrinsic value. When God’s eyes roam to and fro over the earth, they skip right over me.

This me, unembellished, is not enough. Add to all this ordinary shabbiness the fact that I’m bitter and angry, and I’m utterly useless.

I know what the Bible says, okay. I know that my heart is lying to me. But this is just … where I am right now.

Spousal Communication

Wife is fussing in the bathroom mirror. Husband is relaxing on the bed.

Husband “I don’t just want you for sex, you know.”

Wife [Doubtful] “Oh?”

Husband “No. I value you for who you are and stuff like that. I care what you think.”

Wife “That’s nice to know.”

Husband “Yeah. If all I wanted you for was sex, we’d be having it every day.”

Wife “You think so, huh?”

Husband “Yeah.”

Wife “I can still say no.”

Husband “Nah, I’d just take it.”

Wife [Rolls eyes]

Husband “Cuz I got it like that.”

Wife “Mm-hm. So what made you bring all that up?”

Husband “Huh? Oh, I was looking at you and thinking how I wanna have sex with you, but then I wanted you to know that’s not all I want you for.”

Where did they go?

I just watched Glee on Fox. It’s a show about a teacher who wants to bring the high school’s floundering glee club back from the depths of obscurity. At the end of the episode the kids performed the song “Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey.

As they performed, I felt the thrill of music and dancing and youth in my heart. I remembered being in high school show choir with my whole life ahead of me. I remembered being in high school dance club, leaping into the air and feeling like I didn’t belong on the ground. I remembered when it was still possible that singing, acting and dancing would be who I was and what I did. The feeling that bubbled up in my heart was like … the last day of school; like the smell of summer; like endless days of nothing to do but play; open skies and meadows made for running, meadows that went on forever. Freedom and joy and excitement.

I don’t watch shows like American Idol and So You Think You Can Dance because they came too late for me. It depresses me to watch them doing what I would have done had those opportunities been available 20 years ago. I’m jealous. (I also don’t watch American Idol because of the travesty of Elliot Yamin not making it to the final two and winning the whole thing. Those morons.)

I feel imprisoned by time gone by. Where did my dreams go? When did living override life? When did practicality override risk?

If you’re still in high school or college and you have dreams, let me just grab you by the lapels and get in your face. You need to know two things: One: Your future is impacted by the choices you make today–good and bad. Make good choices. Two. What’s your gift? Are you passionate about it? Then go for it!

Quick Movie Reviews

Here are some quick reviews on few movies that don’t warrant the full service:

Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian. It was silly and boring. The crisis was completely implausible. I know it’s a family movie, but that doesn’t mean you get to ignore good story development. Hank Azaria is always fun, but even he couldn’t salvage this one. Biggest irk: Where were the guards? This was the Smithsonian! How could the main characters wreak so much destruction and make so much noise with nary an alarm? There weren’t even any pedestrians or cars driving by? C’mon. The special effects were cool though. 2/5 Stars

Ghosts of Girlfriends Past.I’m not sure why I wanted to see this one. I should’ve known the chauvinistic attitude of the lead male would annoy me! Plus it was entirely predictable. (I know, I know. How could it not be?) I couldn’t stand the characters, and I didn’t find anything about Chauvanist Guy the least bit attractive or sexy. Ew. 1/5 Stars

Soloist. I know everyone loved this. And it’s not that I’m not concerned about social awareness and caring for the least of these. But I’m tired of all the dredging up of random true stories for the sake of reality movies. We don’t have to make a movie about everything! I was bored. I’m sorry, but I was! 2/5 Stars

Duplicity. The best part of the movie was the fight at the beginning between the two corporate stuffed shirts! Otherwise it was another one of those pointless movies. Seriously, all the (rather boring) events in the movie from start to finish led to nothing. Why? You can do that with a TV show, but not with a movie! 2/5 Stars

Paul Blart: Mall Cop. I love Kevin James. He’s hilarious, and he’s got that adorably nerdy handsome thing going! But they showed all the funny parts in the previews. The story was implausible–and just to clarify, I have nothing against implausibility if you make it entertaining. I’m sorry, but this wasn’t. The bad guys weren’t even scary, and all their acrobatics were out of place. 1/5 Stars

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Long and boring and selfish and sad. 2/5 Stars

Bedtime Stories.I keep trying to like Adam Sandler comedies, but they’re just not funny to me! (Except Happy Gilmore, that one was hilarious.) This one had so much potential! Sadly, it went nowhere. 2/5 Stars

The Day the Earth Stood Still. I saw it and I barely remember it. Something like, “Oh humans: Be good and kind, and/or save the Earth or we noble aliens will take it away.” Blah blah blah!” 2/5 Stars

Madagascar: Escape to Africa. I didn’t think the first one was all the great, and this one was slightly below the level of the first. 2/5 Stars

Blindness. Oh my gosh I couldn’t stand this movie. It was one of those artsy fartsy deals where they try to make some kind of statement about the condition of the world or some hazy crap like that. Or maybe it was just garbage with no purpose, and the artsy fartsy thing was an accident. It just dragged endlessly on … I didn’t even watch the end, I couldn’t take it anymore. Ugh. 1/5 Stars

Movie Review: Terminator Salvation

It’s the latest installment in the Terminator series, and it’s been worth the wait!

Unlike the others, this one’s set in the post-Judgment Day-future. The world as we know it is gone, replaced with a barren, destructed, monochromatic scape. Pockets of survivors are hidden among the rubble, led by John Connor (Christian Bale), whose wealth of knowledge and encouragement (through covert radio broadcasts) serve to strengthen and unify the survivors–the “Resistance.” 

Connor learns he’s second on Skynet’s hitlist, bested by a name unknown to anyone but Connor and his very pregnant wife Kate (Bryce Dallas Howard). That name is Kyle Reese (Anton Yelchin). Kyle is still a teenager; he’s never met Connor, and he’s surviving in Los Angeles. In the meantime, Skynet is working on a new way to infiltrate and destroy its human enemies: terminators that look like humans (the Arnold model). They’re capturing humans for experimentation, and the breakthrough is on the horizon.

In the meantime, Connor and Reese are about to be connected by a stranger named Marcus Wright (Sam Worthington). Marcus is strong and determined, and he seems like a good ally. But Marcus is also connected to Skynet in a way even he doesn’t realize.

This movie was absolutely stunning in every way. The special effects were gorgeous, but seamless and integral. They simply fit, and they helped to create a tragically believable post-nuclear 2019. The acting was top-notch for the most part (Common was … well, common), and it was impossible not to care for the characters. There was action from start to finish, but it didn’t outweigh the story. In fact, although we already had a general understanding of the back story thanks to previous movies, TS did an excellent job of filling in the details. Plus we were introduced to a number of cool new terminators! There were even a few bright spots of levity, when some of the catch-phrases we’ve come to know and love from earlier Terminator films were casually thrown in.

I especially enjoyed the way this movie respected and connected the historicity of the other movies. For example, Connor often listened to his mother’s cassette tapes for information about Skynet and the war; at one point he looked at the polaroid picture of Sarah captured in the first movie. And Connor still has an uncanny gift for manipulating technology, just like he did when he was a bratty kid in T-2. There’s even room for the story of T-2 to have been established through the story in TS.

Terminator Salvation is the best movie I’ve seen in 2009. I highly recommend it, and I can’t wait to see it again. But before I do, I need to watch the first three movies back-to-back!

5/5 Stars

Just Plain Greedy

What does it mean for the Holy Spirit to move in church?

In my last post I briefly mentioned the concept as far as spiritual maturity is concerned:

On the other hand, some believe the church is a place to be fed. The more spiritually mature you are, the greater your expectations of the church. Worship should be lengthy, the Holy Spirit should move tangibly, and the pastor should “go deep.” As long as I’m able to come and get all my needs met, I’m satisfied. But if the church doesn’t feed me “meat,” I’m out!

I’m not saying the Holy Spirit doesn’t have a place in the church. (That would be stupid.) But I do think some views on the subject are narrow.

• Has the Holy Spirit only moved when “worship” goes on for an hour or two? (By “worship,” I mean the musical portion of the service.)
• Has the Holy Spirit only moved when people feel goosebumps, or they cry or laugh, or the hair is raised on their necks?
• Has the Holy Spirit only moved when people are speaking in tongues and/or prophesying over each other?
• Has the Holy Spirit only moved when people pass out or fall to the floor?

If these things are true, then does it mean the Holy Spirit hasn’t moved if worship is only 20 minutes? If nobody “feels” him, has he moved? Chip Judd, a local pastor here in the Carolinas, said it’s great for people to pass out under the power of the Holy Spirit; but what happens when they get up?

I’m not saying the Holy Spirit doesn’t move through worship, or goosebumps, or tongues, or whatever. I’m saying those things don’t mark the spiritually mature church.

The Holy Spirit brings movement. He brings fresh perspective, and conviction, and empowerment. He brings change. He brings glory to the Father and the Son. He brings love (first), along with joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. These things mark a spiritually mature church where the Holy Spirit is moving.

As opposed to babbling, goosebump-laden saints crowding the altar, snatching up all the mannah and leaving none for those who’ve yet to taste his goodness.