Heat

I have a passion, a fire.  My temperament is this way.  I control it well and don't lose my temper often, but I am excitable and quickly heat up about things, good and bad.  I have a hard time letting an injustice go unaddressed.

I have in the past been quite angry...not in the uncontrolled anger management sense, but in the seething beneath the surface, fiery oratory sort of sense.  I have been called a match: quick to fire up at the least abrasion, but short lived and relatively harmless.  I would quickly pop off on people.  Tell them what I thought.  Call them out.  Politely, but directly.  In nicer times, I could frame it as a joke and lay some low with pointed humor that accomplished the same thing as the angry version, but with less direct confrontation.  It has served me well and I took it as a gift.

Of course any gift can be perverted, and so I took my tendency to pop off or become quickly agitated.  I even thought this heat inside was to be used to call crusade for good.  To call out injustice and wrongness.  I wouldn't stand for it and everyone needed to know that they couldn't get away with that junk around me because I'd call it right out in front of everyone.

But lately, I've begun to wonder if this is not such a gift.  I'm not sure.  Really.  I have just begun to see that maybe there is virtue in quietly handling the wrongs, perhaps even letting people go their own way.  Perhaps not always...there may well be a time to stand up and call it out.  But maybe there is a time for noticing without mentioning.

Previously I viewed this as tolerating what shouldn't be tolerated.  As a disservice to the one I refrained from speaking to.  After all, Truth must shine forth, and we have a duty and calling to hack away at the darkness.

Don't get me wrong, I've never attacked people like many legalists do.  My crusades are about grace and forgiveness.  But fuelled with a blazing angry passion.

The thing is, it's really hard to win.  I took this as confirmation that the world was corrupt.  As in the Mission, I was DeNiro's reformed conquistador, ready to shed blood, even my own in defense of what was right.  I'd rather stand up and take a blow to the face for speaking out than sit by and let a wrong go.  It was not my job to win...just to fight.

But now, I'm seeing a lovely grace, an almost asian-master sort of goodness, in letting things flow.  Perhaps speaking boldly out is not always the way to go.  Perhaps there is collateral damage that could be spared.  Perhaps there is something to a more pacific attitude.  Perhaps this is not over-tolerance, a moopy spine.  Certainly it could be, just as my passion could be perverted to plain anger and hate.  But maybe this is a time for me to learn how to be meek in the truest sense.

Jesus did speak boldly.  He did enrage and agitate and even physically overturn.  But he also nurtured and helped and loved in a soft and tender way.

Perhaps the Greystokian animalistic nobility, the chivalric gentle warrior, is not God's ideal.  Perhaps it is far less inspiring.  Far more suffering (in the old sense).  Far more humble (in the old sense of lowly).

Please teach me the answer, Jesus.  What am I to learn from you in this yoke?  Help me to be pliable and open to you.  I fear I will lose my strength, my identity, and I don't know how else to be.  But I must lose mine to gain yours and I will be what you make me.

Holiness

It's been a while since I've posted anything.  After my last upheaval, which is not yet resolved by the way, there has been a lull.  A peace.  Not that I've been perfectly content or that things have stopped forming in me, but that I have been resting somewhat.  My mind has been given a break.  And since this blog is really a way for me to process my own journey, there hasn't been much to tell.

But one thing that has marked this time has been a desire for holiness.  A set-apart-ness.  This folds in righteousness, goodness, and all other virtues.  But mostly it has been a soft glowing desire for true holiness.  Like an old fire embering and pushing out the best kind of heat and a soft pulsing glow.  And it is old in me, ready to consume new dross and to blaze in the world on good fuel.  But not right now. 

Now is a stoking I think.  Long-tolerated sins are becoming known to me.  Strong sinewy flaws deep in my being are exposed.  I am examining the flex and stretch of the fibers; how they move and where they connect.

I am returning to basic disciplines, which are so easily overstepped, remembering old lessons and heroes, mentors, models.  This is more than a little fuelled by the election of a new pope...a Jesuit who chose the name Francis...the first, no less.  The first from the New World...the far west.  A man of the people who is admirably humble.

While I am not Catholic for several reasons, I have great respect for them as the preservers of our Christian history.  The ones to whom it has been entrusted.  The root institution from which all our other reformed, protestant, revertist, evangelical, charismatic, and every other type are intimately tied.  While the branches and changes have often been necessary and the Catholic church has been guilty of gross errors and injustices, are we not all guilty and all forgiven?  I personally can't disrespect them simply because my teachers and mentors have many been of or close to this denomination and this denomination has preserved their teaching so that I can learn from them even though centuries stand between us.

In that, I have respected Jesuits for their practicality and justice.  For their mission to the world's end even in deadly and unknown times and places.  And for their prayer through action.  At one time I considered becoming as closely aligned with them as I could as a non Catholic.

Then there is Francis.  One of my teachers and a heart which I greatly identify with and aspire to.  He has inspired me so much so that many life decisions were the direct result of following his ways applied in my life.

And this pope embodies them both.  And to top it all, a thing I will never forget, him humbly bowing before the world and asking for prayer.  This cemented in my mind that this is who I want to be.  Let all else fall off if my life can exude this humilty.

God, may it mark a permanent change in me.  Away with the course, brash, dirty, mean parts of me.  Let the peace and gentleness you instill in my deepest heart radiate through my mind, body, mouth, and into my life.

Horse

"But a false sense of power, a sense which had no root and was merely vibrated into me from the strength of the horse, had, alas, rendered me too stupid to listen to anything he said."

The quote above is from Lilith, by George MacDonald.  In this scene, Mr. Vane has been defeated and tricked by Lilith, and Mr. Raven is taking him to his house from which he fled in the first place.  Mr. Raven summons his horse, which is dark and spectral yet powerful beyond knowing to ease the journey of the weary Vane to his house where he must sleep.  Vane and the horse instantly bond and once on his back, Mr. Vane decides to leave Mr. Raven against his advice.  Raven cautions it will be to ruin again.  And then this quote.

The book in general is already one of my favorites ever and I haven't even finished it yet.  It has been speaking to me in so many ways.  But this line struck me today.

In this blog, I have recorded mere months ago the sense of triumph and power that I had been feeling.  While I had known it was from God, and not of myself, I, like Vane, couldn't help feeling as if it was mine.  When in fact it was only borrowed...no, not even that much possession.   The power was no more mine than is the strength and stamina of a powerful horse on which a man happens to sit.

Even then, in my deep heart I knew it would not last.  But how my vanity has cost me.  What damage I may have wrought in myself, my family, and those I love.  Feeling emboldened like never before I took actions and harboured feelings of authority that were not mine.

To the casual reader, this will seem different than it is.  I don't mean that I did any overtly egregious thing.  In fact, like Mr. Vane, my intentions were all honorable and above board.  I would fix what was wrong where my influence fell and would use this power to do so.  I didn't even "fall from grace" in the sense that we use it for leaders who make a public mistake.  No, it is far subtler.  Far more difficult to see, and therefore all the more damaging.  Like the loose screw in the engine that is so easily overlooked and yet once failed, will bring down the entire machine.

And yet in this realization, I am not even crushed.  Repentant, yes, falling on the grace which saved me, and intent to be better and to learn, but resting in the knowledge that it is ok.  My failing has not one bit thwarted the will and plans of my God.  He will right all wrongs and preserve His children from undue harm.

Perhaps I am also McDonald's stupid philanthropist who would use the grace given me to spare those within my influence from the very thing most needful: that which would be the vehicle of their healing.

All traces of my vanity must die.

Shadows

I am in the shadows.  I walked out into the light recently and it was good for a time, but higher heights bring deeper depths.  I don't feel to have changed, nor that I did anything wrong, but circumstances have once again confirmed for me that my place is the shadows.  I must be terrifying.

I don't mean this in the horror sense.  But that I am probably too raw, too intense, too literal.  Most people aren't able to cope with it.  Is it a holiness reflected through me or my own depravity that shows?  Maybe it's both.  A sort of terrible holiness amidst a dead thing...a thing which knows full well the depths from which it existed.  A Frankenstein's monster of life and death rolled together in one.

I don't want to veil it.  I've lived that way too long.  But it hurts to constantly see the same reactions.  To have truth taken for lies.  Do I speak the same language as others?  Do I see too deeply into them?  I can't see this myself.  Am I that delusional that I could be so aversive and not see it?  Or am I hyper sensitive, finding deeper meaning in what is really nothing?

I don't know.  I can't tell.  So in these times, recount the facts.  I desire to do good.  I believe in a living relational God who is active in human life.  I take fairly literally the promises and exhortations in the Bible, taken with a sound logic and historical context...I'm not dancing with rattle snakes here.  I will and do act for good in practical ways.  I do not value my life, future, possessions too highly.  I am often misunderstood.  I don't have many friends and find it hard to keep them.  I am often lonely.  I want to belong.  I want a few people who understand me or at least do not reject me no matter what.  I want to see grace in human action, even for me.

But I don't honestly believe I'll find it.  I think my lot is that of David, Elijah, John the Baptist, Henry Suso.  To dwell apart, sometimes respected, sometimes valued, but never held too closely, always a little feared...always in the shadows.

Wow, this sounds whiny.  God forgive me.

Out

God, what are you doing right now?  I have tried to follow your leading, I have given myself to you as completely as I can manage.  And yet, an honest unknown, a true accident has torn my world.  I played a part in it, but if there was sin it was entirely unknown.  There was no malice or intent to harm, not even carelessness.  Circumstances beyond my control led to these events.

I blame myself still.  I should have had superhuman foresight, I should have done this or that better.  Now regardless of cause I want to move forward and can't.  It is not in my power to influence this situation more.  I want to begin the reconstruction, which truly won't turn out to be much if things would just move.  But at every stage you close the doors, the windows.  You leave me stifled with no way out of a room I did not wish to create and would destroy if given an ounce of power to do so.

How much longer?  My mental state is not good.  I know you will not push beyond what I can handle, but I feel like I am approaching the breaking point.  The strain is intense.  And I don't know what to do now.  To push harder or back away?  To act or refrain?

I am trying desperately not to close my heart, but I feel I will have no choice if I must preserve my sanity.  I took so long to get to this place.  I can't believe that something so good could turn so bad so quickly.  You would not lead me to this point only to abandon me like this.  But I am lost right now and my faith wavers.

Don't leave me like this.

Own the Pain

A friend and mentor used to say, "own the pain".  It's a phrase that struck home with me and has recently come to have an even deeper meaning.  I've expressed the idea to people before but most don't seem to get it.  Just a few minutes ago an explanation came to me that seems so much clearer.

It refers to a situation where we have been wronged or hurt.  We can react in many different ways, but most of us have a sense of justice that makes forgiveness and healing hard to do.  Even those of us who have been so beaten down as to turn inward when wounded will not be able to forgive, but will close down and bottle up.

But owning the pain is about deciding to bear the pain inflicted on you on behalf of the person who inflicted it.  It is an act of love.  It is a participation in the suffering Jesus endured for us.  Truly it is to do for another what Jesus did for us.  It is to be Jesus to the person who hurt you.

It is to stand before God and the world and say, these are MY wounds and MY pain.  To take them, as unjust as they may be, and let love overcome the hurt and damage.  It is to willingly accept the suffering without a word to the one who hurt you.  They don't need to be sorry.  They don't even need to acknowledge you are hurt.  It is to cry and ache and pray through it for them.  It is to bear on your heart and body the marks of Jesus.

It is to be Ashitaka taking San's dagger to your chest and enfolding her in your arms even as the blood runs down.  

It is to vanquish hate.

It is to stand before the Judgement Seat and say that you find no fault in that person.  To answer not that you forgive, but that there is nothing to forgive.  It is to participate in a real way in someone's salvation.

Un"traditional"

Christmas is always a very reflective time for me.  I despise the hokey cheer and even more the consumerism packaged as love and friendship.  To me this is not Christmas.  It might be for some people, but I wish they would just call it something else and leave my holy day to me and those who want to keep it.

This is why I don't get bent about people saying Merry Christmas or celebrating other holidays, even the made up ones.  Great.  If you don't believe what I believe then stop getting in the way.

I don't understand how...no I do understand.  I was going to say I don't get how things get passed off as part of Christmas that have nothing to do with it, but I get that and don't want to belabour it.

Instead I want to focus on what it means to me.  I don't pretend that this is some historically accurate date, or even that it wasn't placed on this date that coincided with other cultural holidays.  That doesn't change what I celebrate.

I think of a young tradesman, struggling with the stigma of a used wife, the scandal of someone else's baby.  The young woman thought to be unfaithful.  The oppressive politics of the day.  The long trip.  He couldn't leave her, legally because she was his wife and had to register too, ethically because she might have the baby any time, and morally because people were judging them.  I think of the frustration at finding no place in such need.

I think of the innkeeper who found what space he could for them.

I think of the birth, alone.  No midwife or doctor.  Did they know what to do?  Had someone prepped them before the trip, just in case?  Even knowing who the child was, doesn't wipe out human fears and concerns.  I've been in many cases where I knew God told me to be, but I had no idea how it was going to work out.

I think of the stable, how God would be born amongst livestock.  He a sheep for slaughter, himself.  I know the smells of livestock, and it can be a comforting smell of genuineness and peace...you don't understand until you've been around it for a while.  I can imagine the animals there yielding their worship to him.  Helping in their way.  Of course I don't think they did anything anthropomorphic, but I have watched creation bend and serve God.  How much more in this instance!

I think mostly of shepherds, living apart from the hustle of life and culture.  The abiding goodness that tends to grow in people like this, even as their roughness and uneducation makes them seem backward and undesirable to many.  It is a subculture of its own.  I think of their excitement.  I wonder who stayed behind with the sheep while the others ran to find the child.  I think how they are the most unlikely herald: the least likely to be believed by the educated, yet the least likely of all to lie about it or spin it.

I think of times when God has broken through my reality and blazed in front of me.  How much more in this setting!

I think of the gift that this was.  For the limitless God, the moving creating breath of God Himself to shed it all and be confined to the most helpless state of a helpless creature.  I think of what this means in the fabric of the universe.  I think of what this means to my life.

I have had real living experience of this person, this God.  And to know that this same person did these things for me is stilling, overwhelming, emotional.

It makes all the traditions of our culture meaningless at this time.  I don't care for trees or decorations or feasts or treats or gifts or family time or warm memories.  I want to slip off into the night and stare at the sky and let the moment of this event flood all over me.  I can't truly help it anyway.  It keeps flooding in even if I don't want it to.

So when you see me at this time of year you'll know why I'm quiet, why my eyes seem wetter than normal, why I keep slipping away to private places, staring out windows.  This is my Christmas.  And you're welcome to share it with me.

You can keep the rest of it.  I have no use for it.