Radical

I just finished reading a book by this title. It came highly recommended. But I was only partially impressed. For one thing, I really felt that most of it was overly simplistic and old news. Do you mean Christians really don't know this about Christianity? But sadly, that is probably the truth. Most people may not know that stuff. Secondly, the book was poorly written. It had about 3 chapters of a point and 7 of filler, just to sell the paper. State, restate, restate again.

But most of all I felt like I was in a different place. Like I would have raved about it 10 years ago when I was battling full tilt against the raging winds on the plateau of the tough-minded. But now I'm just tired. Sadder and wiser perhaps. I am finally beginning to understand what resting in God means. My faith is deepening. At that time, no one got what I was all about. Many of the same things in the book. But now it's a hot topic? Maybe I'm jaded. Maybe I've been lulled to sleep. But I am not so sure.

So if you want to know what's in the book, read it. I'm not going to do a book review. But my reaction is this. First, I'm not Baptist. I keep saying that. I am tempted to say that I am not Evangelical. But that must be qualified. I am not on anyone's partyline. So I'm not that kind of Evangelical, though I have no problems with the real meaning of the word. I just can't bring myself to feel urgency for "the lost". Call it what you will. I can't pretend. I've even tried to fake it till you make it. I do desire that people know God and I do believe that Jesus is the only full revelation of God and salvation. I pray for people. I am sickened by injustice. But I don't think it's up to me. They won't go to hell because I slip up, or give up, or fall prey to the sins I am wont. That's just too much pressure. I'll crack! By this logic, if I yawn in public, I might miss the one golden moment that I was supposed to say just the right thing to save that person. But you know what? I can't save anyone. I can't even save myself. God had to come find me, and I was busy digging deeper into my mire all the time. He had to pull me out fighting against him. Wouldn't he do it for everyone? The truth is Jesus has saved us, all of us. Some of us will never accept that. But I pray that this will change. I pray that every last person sees the truth and comes to God. I pray that I can be bolder about sharing what I believe. But we cannot work for our salvation or anyone else's. It isn't up to me, it isn't up to them. It's up to God. I must simply do what he tells me when he tells me.

Next, I do reject the American dream. I did a long time ago. Materialism is a sin and we will answer for it. God have mercy. But I can't help being born here. I spent years blaming myself, hating myself. Being so ascetic it hurt me physically and psychologically. It's ok for me to rest. I have given so much that it hurt. I have sacrificed financially until I was going to ruin because someone told me I should. But in the midst of that teaching to others, I learned to relax about it. That I was giving enough. That I was not the kind of materialistic idiot that most Americans are, and I never would be. It's ok for me to enjoy the blessings God had given me, maybe, just maybe, because I never allowed myself to in the first place.

Now whatever you do, don't sit there and say, "yeah...that's me too! Yeah, I'm ok!...I'm just enjoying the blessings God gives me!" This cop out will damn you. I have arrived at this statement through many tears and long sleepless nights. Through much introspection and circumspection. And I still question myself every day. I still beg for mercy for my callousness and blindness. I don't know where you are and I won't judge, but don't delude yourself either.

For years, I had this foreboding that this year would be important. In May, God told me that this would be the year of my death. I have no idea what that means. Maybe it was just my own imagination, but I don't think so. A long time ago some cracked sister whom I had just met looked at me strange and said, "Are you an Evangelist?" like I had a name tag that she had just read. Once someone slipped me a note that said, "you will reach many people." And last night, God told me that I am an evangelist. But I don't think this means what most would have it mean. I know that I will be asked to do something radical at some point. I fully expect to die before a ripe old age, and probably violently. I do not hide this from my friends and family, though they blow it off mostly I think. I have no idea what most of this means. But I'm tired of hiding it from everyone else.

Things are changing. I feel myself being positioned for something. I've felt it before. A sea change, so to speak. All of these things are running through my head. Are you a part of it? Have you been waiting for someone to say just this? What is it I'm supposed to do? What is it you need? You know who you are; your heart just pricked when you read this.

Systematic

I am a systems thinker. I was trained to assess things, to look at processes and flows, to break down an occurrence into its causes. But I was also trained to look from multiple angles, to think of all possibilities and to fit pieces together.

Recently, I fell into an age old theological debate, entirely on my own. Of course I'd heard the arguments, Calvinist/Armenian, predestination/freewill, etc. But they just seemed like debates. Then in reading Romans recently, I was stuck on chapter 9 and 10 where Paul discusses that God calls whom he will. He has mercy on whom he will, and that he hardens whom he will. This wouldn't rest in my mind. If that were true, how could anyone be saved? I wrestled with this. I asked God to clarify. I read commentaries and other versions. I compared other passages. I read various denominations' interpretations. It became clear to me that this was precisely the root of the old debate I mentioned above. And none of the explanations were satisfactory.

Without delving too much into the brier patch of this debate, the biggest issue for me is that the bible has many passages about salvation being for all, and that any who come will receive it. And there are many passages about God foreknowing and choosing. That no one comes unless he makes it happen. I even compared authors. Paul makes both kinds of statements. Jesus himself makes both kinds of statements. So I can't even rule it out as author's perspective.

Either God calls us or he allows us to choose. We can shade it various ways and try to trim the edges until they both fit. We can completely jump off into heresies of the ages that resolve it by changing other facts. Or we can ignore it altogether. None of these options work. Each require adding or abridging elements of the process or facts.

But I have come to some sort of a resolution for myself at last. That resolution is that I don't know. Ruling must be withheld because obviously all the necessary information is not available. This is a very different thing than saying, "It's a myyyyssterah of Gawd, and nawt for us to cuessstionnah." That would be the ignoring tack.

What I know to be true is that I in no way saved myself. I did nothing. I didn't even repent until I was forced to it. Like my teacher Jack, I was dragged in kicking and screaming. I had already willed my existence to death and the physical manifestation was quickly catching up. I didn't come to God. He came after me. Caught me in midair leap off the precipice of this life. So for some humbling and inexplicable reason he must have chosen me and I fear always that I am delusional, psychotic, or otherwise doomed for hell despite.

But at the same time, God is merciful. He says that he desires that none should perish. Jesus demonstrated compassion, not judgement.

And finally, God is in total control. Ultimately we can understand nothing that he doesn't choose to reveal. Even if he were a cold and rigid judgemental God that arbitrarily chose some and doomed others, we could do nothing about it. So as Calvinist as it may seem, I am not a Calvinist. Nor am I an Armenian. Nor am I an Evangelical cop out. Just like with evolution/creationism I withhold opinion and am comfortable understanding enough of the system to say so.

But then, that is where the whisper in my heart told me, "the system is the problem." God is not a system. He is a living being. He thinks and speaks and moves. He reaches to us. He pours his life and love out over us. And thinking in this way, the contradiction seems less important. In my relations I speak both kindly and angrily to the same person. I can be calculating and mushy. But I am not raving mad. There are other factors that lead to the tone and the attitude. In my own heart lies the real solution. If I am the image of God, then my being, as imperfect as it is, at least shadows what His is. The problem lies in taking discreet statements made in human conditions at various single points in time, and trying to build an authoritative system from them.

Grace

Bono said that grace is the central concept of Christianity. He said most other religions are about Karma. But if Karma is the standard people like him are sunk.

I couldn't agree more. By natural law, by Jewish law, by Muslim law, by Christian rule, by Buddhist code, by Hindu Karma, I'm screwed. Pick one; I've blown it too far already.

Muslim and Jewish law set up so many rules, I can't possibly comply. I've wounded too many people. I've complained too many gifts. I've profaned too many holies. Lied, belied, denied, hidden, lusted, coveted, taken advantage of, wounded. I've even committed deep spiritual offenses. I'm not interested in any arguments that start with the words, no, but, or at least. I know myself more than anyone else and even if you excuse all the codes and morals, there are natural laws that I have flouted. I won't list them here, but suffice to say, even an anti-religious atheist would find them wrong. If nothing else, I have condemned myself and no one can undo a sentence one has passed on oneself.

There is nothing left for me but grace. Favor granted in spite of offense. Mercy. Without this, I have no hope of redemption. But in the depths of this bloody hell, I have assurances that this grace is mine. Do I believe it? Barely. Do I doubt it? Yes. And that too is more fuel for the fire of my condemnation. Even as I type it, I can hear Aslan's roar of indignation that I would cast doubt on his word. And I tremble and fall on his grace again. While he may have removed my sins from me, I still see them clearly. I pray that my fleshly eyes will die to be replaced by his pure glass ones that see only as things are.

In the meantime, I cling to that grace. I try to believe it and I try to step one at a time. If there is good in me, if others see good in me, it is not of my doing. This is the extent of my faith.

Routine

In what can I trust?

In my senses? They can cheat. They can be tampered with. They are not reliable.

In my emotions? They are vacillating, blown by the slightest breeze of circumstance.

In my mind? It can also be tampered with. A hundred influences playing for control at any time. Whispers in the dark. It is not reliable.

In my strength? It can fail in an instant. Invisible assassins assail it from every side. I am not strong.

In my possessions? They are not me. They do not satisfy. They break and are stolen or damaged. They are chaff.

In my friends? They are dispersed. I rarely see them. They are busy. They are troubled enough on their own. Or they are distant, not interested or capable of deep relations.

In my church? What is that? What is trustworthy in a human attempt to be Godly? It is corrupted, shallow, self-serving, and too busy.

In my hobbies? These are pass-times. Business for the hands and mind. Torches in the dark to stave off the hellhounds.

In family? They are bothered, exasperated, incapable of understanding, and confronted with the urgencies of life. They don't have time or energy for failings.

In work? It is usury. Squeeze my skills and usefulness from me, discard the rind.

In study? My understanding is drivel.

In routine? Yes there is safety. There is movement. Like pacing the cell, but it is movement. It is sequence. First this, now do this. In routine I can move. In unchanging life-sucking dullness of routine I can progress from one sun to the next, one moon to the next. It marks time. There is nothing else. Do this, next to this. No change. Consistency. It keeps the body fed, cleaned, rested, the mouths happy. Zombie-like it marches on. It selects the appropriate behaviors, faces for the appropriate moments. The suits for the occasions. It does not ask how I feel. It just moves. Next this, then this. Eventually the pacing will wear away the very flesh from my bones, the edge from my mind, the fire from my will. But it will progress. It is movement.

Grown Up Punk

I am often called a hippy. Funny because there's nothing further from the truth. A lot of times it simply has to do with long hair. But that's stupid. One thing I do identify with about hippies is that for many, it was a real lifestyle choice. It was irrevocable. It became part of who they are and they have lived it out all their lives.

While I shun labels in general, I find that they can sometimes be useful in short-cutting a long conversation. For me, the word punk is one of those very useful terms. And for me, like the hippies, punk became a part of who I am. But what does that mean?

First you have to understand that punk is way more than fashion or music, or even rebellion. Sure these things are called punk, but that's just the orbitting junk. A the heart, punk is an ideology, or set of ideologies really. It's a view of the world that stems from growing up in the consumerist, middle-class, western world. It's a reaction to the untruths and half-truths and controls and injustices foisted on those who grew up in that world. Let me clarify that...not injustices foisted on the members themselves, who tend to have had it pretty good, but the acceptance of injustices done to others.

Punk says we want more than this lame, mind-dulling, corporate greed controlled, pick-a-box-and-crawl-in-like-a-good-little-cog type of world. It refuses to give up it's values and it's sense of right and good.

On a deeper level, it is a disillusioned movement. It sees through the facades and seeks to confront others with that reality. Everything else stems from this. The objectionable lyrics, the wild fashion, the DIY ethic, even the violence associated with some forms of punk is really an attempt to break people out of the illusion that the world is soft and safe.

And of course, all of these things are played out against the varying backdrops and beliefs of punks. Therefore there is not one solid punk identity. We are conservative and liberal, and neither, violent and peaceful, abusive and generous, as varied as the types of people, religions, and politics of the people who are punks. And this diversity, is a reflection of the value on trueness to one's own sense of right and good.

That said, what does it mean to be a grown up punk? It's not fashion, though you can see elements of punk in my clothes, in my choices. I refuse to wear designer labels or prominent labels of any kind. I prefer to make my own, or alter my own clothes to suit my needs. I wear them until they are no more use. My hair is not your typical punk style, but it is also a style that is true to my own sense of rightness. I wear long hair because it is natural and free. It suits my attitude and face. It is a nod to my heritage and an embrace of my true identity.

You can see my punkness in my work choices. It isn't about career. How could it be, this is an illusion. My work has to do good and I refuse to do otherwise or to violate my principles even at my own peril. I currently work for the government where I am faced with political issues, which leads to the next area.

You can see punkness in my politics. I will not join a party or even register to vote. I excercise my God-given and valid democratic right to abstain because the system is corrupt. I will not play nor be used as a pawn in someone's agenda. That blood won't be on my hands. This makes much trouble at work. People often don't get it. My paradigm is different. My policies reflect equity and do not bend to corrupt political will. And I cannot respect those who do. I don't just roll over and accept corruption. I change it, or expose it, or render it ineffective. And failing that, I stand boldly and publically on my conviction. If you disagree, fine, but don't try to coerce or cheat if I know about it.

You can see punkness in my home. I ride my bike where I can so as not to be enslaved to traffic and oil and roads. I make most of my furniture. I keep my yard in a way that is ethical for others and identifies with the ecological reality and the social reality of the world.

So, yes, I am a grown up punk. It is a valid way of life. It is a part of me that will never go away. Like my faith (truly they are intimately tied) it is not something you can stop being. If you used to be Christian, or Punk, then you never really were.

If more people understood this, they'd understand me much better. I'd appear less difficult than principled. Less stubborn or obnoxious than painfully honest.

Not Our World

I was recently struck by this idea. It started with a Head song and lingered in the humus of my mind for a long time, several weeks, until it finally sprouted. It is a simple idea, but one that changes perspective on so many things.

As usual, it has a lot to do with the death of the self. Our own pride, self-serving is the biggest problem we face as individuals and in groups, I think. The great I is always vying for control, and it gets it very easily. One of the surest ways to quiet a troubled mind is to get it occupied on someone else...serving someone else. There can be self-centeredness that comes off arrogant and snooty and there can also be self-centeredness that simply focuses on oneself too much. That is, even focusing on changing ourselves is still a form of self-centeredness.

Anyway, when I meditate on the phrase, "His world" it changes so much of my desire and perspective. His sky, His water, His land, His food, His air, His electrons, His life force. What if, just what if, everything was truly and literally God's. He didn't make it and give it to us, or walk away from it. It's all His. I know this sounds like a truism on the surface, but that's the case with most contemplative revelations. But let it sink and and mull it over so that you think it about everything you look at, everything you do. Every breath you take.

I realized, like really felt it become a reality for me, that I am not in the least in control of any moment of my life. My air could stop, my body can break down, illness can overtake me, rocks can fall from the sky, the air I suck in can poison me, my very cells can lose cohesion and my body disintegrate. I no more make the air I suck in replenish the oxygen in my body than I make the sun come up or go down. There is a universe of complex interactions going on around me all the time. I see this as an ecologist. And we humans have nothing to do with it. We take it for granted. There are places that do not even exist for us. Places in this physical world where humans cannot go... yet they exist. For who? Not for us, certainly. For other beings? Perhaps. ('They just do', is not an answer it's a cop out, so quit thinking it. And no good scientist will accept it either. Only the hacks are satisfied with answers like that. A good scientist would answer, "I don't know." There's a big difference.)

As someone who has experienced evidence of the living God, I can say with certainty that they exists ultimately for God. For His pleasure. Sure, He often has other purposes that we can come to know, but that doesn't negate the root reason, even if some secondary reason serves us.

We delude ourselves into thinking we control anything. We plan and when things go our way, we think we've managed risk well. Bull! We didn't control anything. We just pretended to like the kid who thinks that he has special powers when something he desires actually occurs. If things went well it was pure grace, nothing more.

This leads us into a very submissive frame of mind. I control nothing. I am essentially a toy. I feel sophisticated, but that is simply because I couldn't make me. I may very well be more the complexity of a clay figure than an AI robot. How would I know? Yet for all this, I am given special provision. I am touched by the living God. He talks to me. He feeds me. He cares for me better than wildlife, better than livestock, better than a pet. He treats me like a son, and He even sets me over things He's made. He even merged me into Himself, imparted some of His reality, His prime generating powerful self to me.

The Bible clearly confirms this in verses I have read over many times. For His pleasure we were created...fearfully and wonderfully made...we are God's workmanship...in Him we live and move and have our being...through Him all things were made that have been made...yet not even one (sparrow) falls to the ground apart from Him...

It is humbling and liberating. I am not responsible for my own survival, or the survival of others. My family's welfare does not hinge on me. The fate of society and even the world does not hinge on me. I couldn't destroy it if I wanted to. What I do I do not do out of necessity for survival or responsibility, but out of gratitude and service and fun, as the case may be.

Sapped

I haven't posted much lately because I've been busy and haven't felt that I really had much to say. Today though, through a certain turn of events at work, I realized how susceptible I am to very subtle forms of stress. This form of stress seems to come because I have this nasty habit of caring. Caring about what I do, caring about how my actions affect others. Caring about what I am charged to do in my work. If I didn't care, I wouldn't have this problem. But the thing I can't resolve is that if you give me a job to do, I am going to try my best to succeed at it. Good, right? Well, I thought so until recently. Now I'm more convinced that no one really wants me to do what they charged me with. They just want me to look like I'm doing what I was charged with doing, without really getting in anyone's business of preserving themselves and without rocking any boats.

I have experienced this before years ago at a job. Finally, my solution was to quit trying. I just made life easy on myself. Why bother putting in the energy when no one really wanted me to do it anyway. Now I'm responsible for much more and have a trust bestowed upon me in principle if not in fact, to serve the public interest. I turned out to be pretty good at what I do. For a long time that got me a long way. I had a relatively independent spot and people really liked what I could do with it. Now I'm more in the mix of things and I keep finding myself crammed up against other people who don't seem to care and those who care but don't know what to do about it. So what to do? Stop trying so hard? Do what I'm asked and no more? Put in my time and go home? That would certainly be easier on me. Or do I fight the fight? Keep pressing? Endure and struggle and scrape to get one inch of ground this way and that like moving a 2 ton block?

I can hear the voice of culture and training saying the latter definitely will be rewarded. Press and fight and wear myself away at the wheel. My reward will come. But the voice in my heart says this is false. That I should not place my identity even in these things. That I should not struggle or strive, but simply exist. That I should engage things as water engages the stone. It can't be grasped, it can't be held, just flowing around and over.

I've never been a career-minded person. That is a hollow goal. My job is expedient to my needs right now, but should not own or define me. It's just so hard to stay out of it when surrounded by a constant thrumming of other attitudes. Even if those attitudes prove themselves to be false in the actions of the speakers.

God give me the ability to see that in every situation and to only invest where you tell me to.
Give me the strength to block out the urge to fall for the rhetoric without becoming bitter or lazy.