#saymyname
(I was recently asked to write a guest blog post for a dear and incredibly talented friend of mine, Jacob Howard. I very much enjoy his blog and it was an honor to be asked to participate ! For more on his blog – that everyone should read – go to hashtagfairytales.com)
When did December become a giant migraine? As a kid, I always remember being so excited for December: school was coming to an imminent end and I was about to catch my parents sneak in presents from the mall (as I kept my fingers crossed in hopes they’d walk in with a KB Toy Store bag. Are they still even around? #recession) and pretend not to see them. And now what does December look like? A headache attempting to navigate presents that I still feel ethically okay with buying (which becomes more and more difficult every year), final papers, busier work schedule, etc… As with every end to every year, I’ve found myself doing a solid amount of reflecting over what a hectic year this has been, and asking the overarching, life-altering questions about the year. What has it looked like? Where has G-d shown up? Is it time to get my car’s oil changed? All very pressing questions.
One of the more prominent things I noticed as I climbed up the proverbial ladder of higher academia, this year was my realization as to how much I was not only loving the scholarly theological work I was doing, but I was becoming inextricably intertwined within it. Soon enough, a B- on a paper was not just a (hopefully) objective criticism of a research paper; it became a litmus test to my intelligence, preparedness, and ultimately my very person. I worked away happily for months researching, reading, and learning (okay, sometimes crying) in order to present my best work possible to the awaiting professor. It was difficult, but it was a joy. So how did I wind up crying for hours after receiving a “B-“ on my Augustine paper this summer? How did my soul become so weighed because of a letter grade? I could barely process the encouraging comments left by my professor because all I saw was a “B-.” The “A” was not there. I had expected it and I had failed.
Failure is a funny thing. I have never been good at it and I never know what to do with myself when confronted with it (you know, other than the aforementioned crying and reaching for the covers to hide underneath for just about an hour past #forever). Though I didn’t realize it at the time, what had occurred was that I was so wrapped up in finding validation through my school work that I had completely forgotten who I was besides that.
As a matter of fact, I am not a theologian. I am not an academic. I am not a student. I am not my job. I am not what pays my rent. I am a part of these things sure, but that is neither where I begin nor where I end. What I actually am is a human person that is loved by G-d and by the people I have been blessed to be called to. It is within this identity, knowing that I am a whole member of the Kingdom of G-d; within this identity that I live. We are invested in the real, true, and good work of exposing the already present (and arriving) Kingdom in our neighborhood. #nowandnotyet
It is these people that get to remind me of who I am when I forget—the people of the Kingdom. And I forget all the time. I forget that I am loved unconditionally, that I can fail and it’ll be more than fine (wasn’t there a #Switchfoot song about this?), and that mostly – I’m part of a much bigger work – often a work that I am wholly unaware of. As my friend @justinmcroberts said the other night, “There is a responsibility that comes with knowing who you are.” And sometimes we need that reminder from the people that know us the best and love us the most (mostly because they can weave through your #BS—and #ohmygoodness there is so much of it—and get to what really needs to be talked about).
I honestly don’t know how people survive without a strong family and church community around them. I am quite often completely confused as to what’s going on in my life (To apply for a doctorate program or not? What is G-d calling me to do? What should I have for lunch?). If it wasn’t for those friends at my church, (appropriately called #Shelter) I would probably live in a mountain somewhere attempting to hunt food with my bare hands (not too much of an exaggeration; but who am I kidding? I’d die within 2 hours) in order to get away from the “cruel, cruel world.” My people have kept me grounded more times than I could count. Whether it be one of my weekly existential crises or broken heart, I look back to who I have been told I am and walk freely within that identity (or… attempt to.)
So often, we throw ourselves out there in hopes of being told who we are: beautiful, unique, artistic, talented, intelligent, revolutionary, etc… and often we are crushed because we give perfect strangers (professors, cute guy/girl at the coffee shop, etc…) the incredible honor of informing us of our identity—we give them the incredible privilege of telling us our name. People shape us whether we know it or not. However, how transformative would it be to have an intentional community that we can go to for the TRUTH of who we are? I believe this is the heart of #discipleship. Jesus called his disciples by name, often giving them a whole new name, thus completely altering their identity, how they saw themselves, and the effect they had on the world around them. What if we found our identity in the same way and were named by the One whose name we can’t quite pin down.
People walk differently; see differently, once they really know who they are. The insecurities somehow fall away. All of those things that were so world shattering for so long (the bad grade, the lost job) are all of a sudden not so world shattering. You find that nothing much can touch you because you’re grounded in an unshakable truth that you don’t quite grasp, but maybe don’t need to fathom anyway (ironically, often this kind of truth often destabilizes everything else. However, that’s a blog post for another day). But when you find yourself in this place of truth, you look at the world knowing that their misguided labels of who you are don’t matter anymore; you’ve told your people to #saymyname and it is this identity that ultimately shapes your life.
As the holiday season ramps up and the end of the year 2011 reflections begin, may we resist defining ourselves by our culturally constructed societal role/paycheck and begin to ask the question, “What kind of person am I, who do I want to be, and how do I get to that place?” And with much guidance from the Spirit and wiser people, we hopefully begin to deconstruct and reconstruct who we want to be over and over and over again.
repentance. or something like it.
My best friend and I used to say to each other all the time, “sometimes the right thing and the hardest thing are the same.”It’s a line from a Fray song (Track 4 off their first album. I forget what it’s called). It was kind of a half serious joke, but true nonetheless.
This is what my year has been about. Some Christians call it pruning. I call it getting my shit together (or becoming undone. Jury’s still out). Or being willing to have other people call me out and actually taking action (or being passive, whatever the situation calls for).
Repentance is a strange thing. In Greek, it literally means “changing your mind.” I’m changing my mind about quite a few things. Sometimes it takes a well timed text message, running into someone that doesn’t recall the best memories, or simply enjoying breakfast at a dingy diner with your best friend and re-thinking your idea of what the “mountaintop” looks like.
Unlike the crazy “Christians” protesting the Glee concert outside of the HP Pavilion (how you can protest great singing, fancy footwork, and dramatic story lines is beyond me… but I digress), I don’t think repentance looks like bright blue sweatshirts and the Romans Road printed out on a small pamphlet with all the crappy clipart. Repentance has to be more than that. It’s taking a stand (albeit a shaky stand, but a stand nonetheless) for what you actually want to live for and not putting up with the bullshit that’s stopped you so many times before.
What did Thomas Merton say? Ah yes. “”If you want to identify me, ask me not where I live, or what I like to eat, or how I comb my hair, but ask me what I am living for, in detail, ask me what I think is keeping me from living fully for the thing I want to live for.”
Today I learned that not settling hurts like hell. It makes you question everything: especially who you really want to be. And wondering if all this work, this effort, this “what the hell am I doing?” is ever going to pay off (much like being a fan of the Oakland Athletics)- or better yet, is striving for this abstract goal without the certainty of “success” worth it? Am I buying into an illusion? What if it’s all an illusion? What if that B- on that paper I sweated, bled, and cried over is indicative of my sure failure as an academic? (Ugh, I really need to get over that.)
Jesus.
Jesus.
This name scandalizes me to no end. Its so confrontational and politically charged.
Jesus.
Ah. It sends chills up my spine. I instantly think of Saved! And white buddy Jesus from Dogma. It reminds me of the Jesus I had growing up. Angry, vengeful, and much like His scary Old Testament Father. Not only that, my mind also immediately goes to the “salvation prayer” and cheesy youth group talks that are answering questions I didn’t ask.
Jesus.
Ugh.
And yet.
I have been ignoring Jesus for quite some time now. It’s been a solid year or so since I have last REALLY thought about Jesus. It’s like Jesus was an ex boyfriend I thought I would marry and be with forever. But we ended up splitting up for whatever reason (too young to commit?) and thought it best to stay friends, but nothing too committed. A friend I see at a party and nod knowingly to, maybe make small talk, but then move on. And so I haven’t thought about much about Jesus.
I go to a beautiful church and the people there talk about Jesus all the time. I don’t mind it. I don’t get sick of his story. It has always compelled me and I like hearing about it over and over again. He has a beautiful story. The revolutionary Jesus- turning religion upside down! It’s a great narrative. Jesus’ life is something, no question, I have always wanted to follow. But as far as Jesus being IN my life, the way G-d is in my life? Maybe too far.
I have finally accepted, relented, or whatever word, that I connect with G-d. That sounds weird as I type it, but nonetheless. G-d makes sense in all her mystery and wonder and awe. G-d is something I want to be a part of. And am. Everyday. I used to have issues with prayer and talking to G-d, but now it seems natural (for the most part. I still have my moments). I have had my night wrestling with G-d and have walked out with a limp, blessed, and ready for whatever She has in store for me.
But Jesus? A bit too human. A bit too dogmatic.
And yet.
He’s been appearing to me everywhere lately. Not in a piece of grilled cheese or anything like that (though that would be awesome), but in other places. After “sacred quiet time” (as I dorkily call it) as I’m walking back to my car and the weather is a blue that is so perfectly blue. The blue that I used to see when I colored the sky as a kid. An irrationally beautiful blue with perfect white clouds and meticulously placed trees that made the shadows just so. And I looked up and saw all these electric posts with wires hanging in between them. And they looked like crosses.
Crosses. The last thing I wanted to see was a cross. But I stopped. And I sat right on that colorful road. And I listened.
Tonight, at church, I heard it again. And I saw that cross again. And I wrestled with it. I tore that piece of bread off of that loaf and dipped it into that faux wine and heard the words, for the millionth time, “Christ’s body broken for you. Christ’s blood shed for you.”
Why?
I’m not much for atonement theology. I’m not much for sacrificial offerings. And as I held those sacred, beautiful, mysterious elements in my hand, I remembered that electric post and words that were song earlier in that night.
Christ in me. Christ in me. The Hope of Glory.
The Hope of Glory.
As I choked back tears and tried to keep my composure, my ground was shaken.
The Hope of Glory. This Cross. This bizarre and miraculous event that took place thousands of years ago was my G-d, our G-d, saying that Death, Defeat, Oppression, will never ever ever have the final word.
What Jesus did on that Cross matters not only then, but now.
It’s hope.
The Christian hope is that death never has the final say. No matter what society has valued you at, no matter how broken your heart is, no matter what terrible things you think about yourself, Death does not have the final answer.
This is the Christian hope.
As my brilliant and wise friend Bridget said tonight, “Your opinion of yourself does not dictate what G-d does or does not in your life.” Life from death.
Lent is a season for death, for mourning. Lent is a season where we truly confront ourselves in our community and discern what needs awakening. Lent is about struggling in darkness. But it never ends there.
Jesus. Resurrection. It doesn’t end here either.
Awe inspiring words that I still do not comprehend.
And it seems, still too soon to reflect on.
But maybe, that’s where it all truly starts.
On Creativity and Theology OR Why Research Papers Should Hang in the MOMA
There have been quite a few times where people I just met have told me that I must be an artist. They say that they just get a vibe from me. And they always look so dismayed when I tell them that, by no means, am I an artist. I’ve tried to paint, draw, sing, play music, and all the rest my high school electives could offer me. At the end of the day, I just had to admit that maybe the area of “creating” just wasn’t my specialty.
As it would turn out, in college, I made some amazingly creative friends. Painters, graphic artists, musicians, and all the rest. As I went from concert to art show and back again, I began to feel envious. The last semester in college, I was pouring over my thesis and my best friend was finishing up her eclectic portfolio of paintings and graphic designs. I was incredibly excited for her and ooh’ed and ahh’ed over all the hard work she put in her project. And she asked me what I was working on and I handed over my 25 page pager on kosher law. Though encouraging, I knew it was not going to be seen the way her project was seen: as art.
For me, research papers have been my creative outlet. Orchestrating different authors and theologians to have them clash or harmonize in a symphony to create a unique, soulful sound, as I too, somehow try to weave my voice in with theirs to create a cohesive melody. Theology is, in a way, my vehicle of expression. Coming into my class at GTU, Theologies of Creation, I never thought of the “creative process” and G-d’s role in this process. Being made a co creator was G-d was somewhat of a new concept for me. Though I have looked at Genesis as poetry and a creative project- I never really thought about the process within that. However, now it all seems so obvious to me. Humanity has a desire to create unlike any other animal. I have realized a lot of the energy I have is creative energy that has not found an outlet. There is a need to express the inexpressible. Although my talent (or lack there of) in certain artistic expression falls short of what I imagine in my head, there is still a need to get something out. The rawness, honesty, or even simply emotion of coming to terms with what is going on- or not coming to terms- is where creativity flows from. We can never describe a moment, for describing a divine moment (one that is wholly other and intimate simultaneously), only restricts the moment and bounds it to our finite intellect and nails the experience with our infantile language. Thomas Merton’s journal says this about divine moments and experience, “The trick is to order your experience so it doesn’t get possessive, but is lost in the object instead of trying to contain its object. That way it does, in fact, contain the object, but only by not trying.”
Sometimes I wonder if when G-d spoke the world into existence, the word found in John, is somehow connected with this idea of describing a moment that is completely indescribable. As if G-d was able to achieve the impossible in speaking Her creative idea into existence, and it was created perfectly- just as She had thought it to truly be. And along with this plan, She invites us to join Her as co creators along with the process.
We are never done creating.
I believe creativity is G-d given blessing that all humans have and they are expressed in different ways. This is a part of the imago dei. It is when this creativity dies, that there can be great conflict among us. In Mark Kurlansky’s book, Non Violence, and Shane Claibornes, The Irresistible Revolution, creativity is looked at a way to diffuse violence and conflict. For example, Claiborne’s rough neighborhood in Philadelphia had an art project that involved having children give up their violent toys (fake guns and the like), smash them to pieces, and create a mosaic for all the neighbors to enjoy. Creative protests like sit ins, boycotts, and similar acts of dissension allow for the human spirit to be heard without succumbing to harmful violence.
The world needs people to be creative again. Creatiivity stirs up something very human in all of us. The Spirit of G-d moves us to create, sometimes inspiring in moments when we would much rather not be inspired – like the story of Jeremiah in the Hebrew Bible. Jeremiah 20:9 states,
But if I say, “I will not mention his word
or speak anymore in his name,”
his word is in my heart like a fire,
a fire shut up in my bones.
I am weary of holding it in;
indeed, I cannot.
Sometimes we do not choose when inspiration, creativity, or G-d speaks to us. It happens through the chora and in the mystery. There may be things we do that helps this process get going (a walk in nature, reading an inspiring book, sitting still, etc…) but one cannot make the Spirit inspire. And so we live in the in between, trying to connect with the Spirit that reminds of our humanity and imago dei. Never quite possessing our idea fully, for if we try to contain and possess such divine creativity, it usually just runs away. Water through cupped hands.
Creative thought can be a fickle muse. For example, right now, I cannot think of a way to creatively end this blog post. So I can sit around and wait for inspiration or stick it in my draft box, waiting for a revelation for a conclusion as it rots away in inter-space.
Yep, I got nothin.
Somewhere Over the Rainbow (or Kentucky)
I can imagine him. Stepping into the last home he would ever have. I imagine it was a sunny day. Blue skies, birds chirping, the whole nine yards.
Or maybe it was completely gray.
And I see him stepping into his new home and looking around. Humble, quiet, simple. The tiny hut filled with only necessities. The entire space would be cleared, at its most basic, so Spirit could take up the entire room and make a home. I also picture a wooden desk in the corner. Maybe with some blank pages waiting to be written on, eager to capture any bits of wisdom it could. The empty hut nestled into the quiet woods waited. In quiet and in solitude, the world would be changed.
”Contemplation is basically a social matter. Solitude has its own special work: a deepening awareness that the world needs. A struggle against alienation. True solitude is deeply aware of the worlds needs… Contemplation at its highest intensity becomes a reservoir of spiritual vitality that pours itself out in the most telling social action.” – Thomas Merton.
Merton knew his solitude was not only for him. His discipline, desire, and contemplation were not his to keep. G-d blessed him with these things so that the world would be changed, so that wisdom could be passed on, so that the world could imagine that another way is possible.
In this solitude, Merton wrote and wrote. Each pen stroke ambitiously daring to capture divine perfect truth, even though surely slightly twisted by the limitations of human intellect and language.
Raw humanity completely exposed before the divine.
Connection with the self as connection with G-d. An ear deafening loudness, the booming voice of G-d, in the still and quiet woods of Kentucky.
Far removed from the rest of civilization but deeply connected to humanity because through his time alone, Merton somehow figure out what it meant to be truly human- in touch with himself. Worshipping G-d in daring to be fully himself.
And there he was. The bar, just moments before, loud with weekly reunions and louder drink orders. Everything was dark except for the bright lights pointed at the stage. A small section of chairs facing the front- expectant, but mostly ready to applaud whatever was going to happen because no matter what, truth would be exposed somehow and it was worth celebrating. And then he stepped onto the stage.
His costume was simple. Jeans. Men’s military t shirt. Then there was another. He had a beard and an empty beer can in hand. Trucker hat matched the ironically tacky cotton t shirt and fanny pack. And then she came on stage. Beautiful, dancing provocatively to a Top 40 hip hop song. Her leather boots rising past her knees and sequined top fit snugly to show off her midriff. And she danced and performed. Her eyes were dancing faster than her legs. The crowd woo’ed and applauded.
She. He. They. All. They loved it. They danced, sang, sat, performed. Some flubbed the words, some almost fell, and one ran off crying. No matter. They were safe to be themselves through their performativity. The theatricaility that exaggerated their character became a symbol of who they actually were at their rawest. Gender was left at the door. It was only welcomed if it was willing to be bent, varied, played with. Nothing to blur because there weren’t any lines. They were free to be themselves. In all the costumes, make up, torn jeans, unplugged guitar, there was paradoxically heavy , yet light air of human expression. The speakers boomed louder than all the glitter and sequins sang. But somehow, there was a stillness as well. If we would just stop and look, time became frozen. And we could see his performance take a snapshot of who he was during this place, this night. It was good.
Raw humanity completely exposed before the Divine.
Monasteries. Queer clubs. Hermitage. Drunken performances. Solitude. Unconditional community.
It’s all the same, isn’t it?
A desire to know ourselves, be known by others, and somehow connect to the Divine all in one.
I used to think I needed to reconcile my worlds because of their constant collisions. And yet. Perhaps these traditions, performances, prayers, and all the rest are all trying to reconcile me with myself in order so that I may to dare to expose myself to a G-d who loves me.
It is David dancing naked in front of G-d.
In the stillness of the night in Kentucky, tucked away in a cabin. In the crowded drag king and queen shows at the bar in downtown Oakland.
Hallelujah.
unresolved.
The last 7 or so months of my life have been a whirlwind of heartbreak, paradigm shifts, tearing down, rebuilding, struggle, joy, and learning the art of finding light in the dark.
I am at a point of having quite a few of the pieces but I’m not quite sure how to put them together. I am not far ahead enough in this journey to knowI how to make sense of any of it now. I am at a constant crossroad.
Somewhere along the line, I have stopped responding to things like spirituality and supernatural experiences. I dissected G-d so much that I was not left with anything. Pretty literally. I could not say a simple prayer without driving myself crazy with thoughts of the intricacies and metaphysics of prayer. I could no longer simply do much.
And so I became very religious. Because religion has order. It has rationale. I take communion because it makes sense. I go to church every week because community is a basic human need. I could systematize religion. It is orderly and safe. Spirituality is not. Spirituality is a bit messier- bit more abstract. It cannot be controlled or put in a box. Spirituality, like love or really any other emotion, was beyond my reach. And it still might be.
One of the reasons I’ve had such a hard time with spirituality and things of that nature was because I could not, without a shadow of a doubt, prove to myself that it was authentic. Asking me to buy into this whole Jesus thing is quite the risk. Giving authority to others to speak into my life when I dont agree, dying to self for my community, or even saying that simple prayer- it all seems like a huge waste of time if it turns out to be fraudulent. What if this whole thing (Christianity, spirituality, etc..) isnt what Jesus had in mind in the first place? What if it wasnt true?
But lately I’ve been realizing truth is incredibly messy. And, unlike religion, cannot be put into some kind of strain of systematic theology. There will never be a moment where I realize that I’ve got it figured out. No book will give me all the answers. No sermon will completely satisfy all my intellectual inquiries. No conversation will ever give me complete peace and calm all my inner spiritual turmoil.
Nothing could ever satisfy all my questions. I will never be able to just find truth. As if all of “truth” could just be stumbled upon- or be grasped for that matter- as if it was an inanimate object waiting to be found.
So I find that the question shifts from “Is it possible to have a ‘relationship’ with G-d thats authentic? ” to… well I dont know yet.
I do not feel at peace about what I have concluded here. In fact, it is more troubling that anything else. Because even though I have indeed convinced myself about what I’ve written then I must realize that it is not the doubt that is keeping me from G-d, but my unwillingness to do so.
I am unresolved.
such great heights.
This week, I realized that I’ve been asking the wrong questions.
It was tough to swallow. I’m usually the one who gets to say that.
When people ask things like, “Does Heaven actually exist?”
OR
“So did John actually write his Gospel?”
I realize I’ve asked the same questions and realized the answer was not conducive to what I was actually searching for.
I don’t mind when I realize I’ve asked the wrong questions when it comes to philosophy and theology, but recently I’ve come to grips that I’ve been asking the wrong questions about my life.
Trying to navigate through the muddy waters of a recent-ish break up, college graduation around the corner, and the ever nagging journey of self actualization- I was asking a lot of questions.
Should I go to grad school?
Should I take time off before grad school?
Am I meant to live a life of a spinster like Bridget Jones?
What am I getting all these degrees for anyway?
I was drowning in worry and anxiety. One can only stare out of windows gloomily for so long before it stops being as glamorous as movies make it look.
This week, I had one of those late night sushi cravings so I walked up the street to satisfy my spicy tuna craving. As I was going over the numerous worries clogging up my mind, I heard a very still small voice.
Now I don’t know if G-d “spoke to me” or maybe it was my own sub-conscious sick of hearing me freak out about everything. Whatever it was, it all of the sudden dawned on me that I was asking the wrong questions about my own life.
Instead of worrying about what my life was going to look like at 27, I got excited about the thought of being 27. Hopefully, I would be close to completing my education by then. I would have, hopefully, found a job that I can change the world through. And even if those things don’t exactly work out the way I want them to- I would have had probably had more hilariously amazing times, boarded more fantastic powder days, learned something new from another broken heart, cried and laughed and sang with my Shelter family – and hell, maybe I’ll even be grown up by then.
Though the questions I ask have practical importance like what my plans are for a career and things like that, I cant worry about it anymore.
I know what I love, what makes me come alive and that’s probably more than a lot of people can say.
I realize my questions come from practical concern but also probably say a lot more about my own uncertainty and need for security. I would like to look back on my life and remember that my actual desire for questions was not out of a need for security but out of a desire for something… bigger.
Kingdom of G-d bigger.
good.
I have found myself laughing a lot recently.
And I’m not sure why.
Instead of walking to the coffee shop across the street from my apartment, I want to dance across the street. Or skip. And sometimes I do.
Getting my pumpkin spice latte in a mug instead of a paper cup just made my day so much better.
Is that normal?
Im not sure if I’m just bursting with joy or if I’m going crazy. Maybe they’re the same thing.
I’m not sure if its the change in weather or deciding hope or someones prayer heard from some deity somewhere… whatever it was, well, now I can’t stop laughing.
I say this a lot. Life is good. Because, dammit, it really is.
on truth and music
this is probably a rant.
I think I have finally come to terms with my obsession. Its the reason I’m up late at night. It’s why I always stare dreamily into space.
It’s why I usually end up so unsatisfied with my relationships.
I am obsessed with truth. It is absolutely maddening. I crave authenticy, sincerity. Living in such a superficial world complete with fake plastic trees (10 points if you get the reference), it seems as if I can’t have a real conversation with many people about anything that matters even a little bit.
I welcome being crushed with truth. At least it’s better than being destroyed by a sugar coated lie.
Perhaps if we were more honest, we’d stop taking ourselves so seriously because we’re all, at our core, the same messed up people trying their very best to get by.
Maybe that’s why I love music so much. Specifically music by brilliant people like Damien Rice, Regina Spektor, Rachael Yamagata, or even Rage Against the Machine.
They sing, because they have to. Its wretched raw honesty carried in every note. Their words are their heart.
I want my words to be my heart.
Losing My Religion OR Quitting G-d
Article written for school newspaper September 2009.
Losing My Religion OR Quitting G-d
It was about 9 in the evening. I had just finished up working on some research for the night. I was in the middle of my living room, inundated with books about G-d, various bibles, and tons of work from my Christian college, and yet I was continually pestered with a nagging question. It seemed I was asking it a lot lately.
Where was G-d?
Now I’m not talking about “feeling G-d.” I hear Christians complain about how they don’t “feel” G-d anymore. You know, the fuzzy warm feeling one gets after hearing the latest Chris Tomlin single (no offense to Mr. Tomlin or his fans). No, I’m talking about this deep burning desire for G-d. The one that almost hurts and it’s beyond anything emotional. Somehow this desire for G-d is in your very gut. This desire is to truly know G-d (well as much as humanly possible.) So in a sincere attempt to hear/feel/ G-d (I would take anything at this point. I just needed something), I marched up and down the small town I live in for the hope of meeting G-d.
I waited.
I prayed.
I recited psalms.
I pleaded for G-d to meet me.
I was ready to wrestle.
And He didn’t show.
So I found myself in the middle of a park in downtown Lafayette looking up at the dark starless sky waiting for a sign. And yet?
No sign. No voice. No comfort. No just-on-time- phone call from a friend. I got nothin’.
So I quit.
I believe my inner monologue went something like this: “G-d, I’m looking for You and I cant find You, even though You said I would. I am waiting around in a park like a crazy hoping for You. I need You, desperately. I am willing to make a fool of myself for You, and yet, You didn’t show. So I’m done. We’re through.”
I opened my eyes expecting to feel liberated. No more G-d, no more Christianity! I could say what I wanted; do what I wanted without the cloud of religious dogma looming over my head. But this relief never came. Instead I was lost. I knew where I lived (just two blocks down the street), but I couldn’t move. My knees buckled, feet wouldn’t budge, and I was short of breathe. I couldn’t function.
And then I came to a sinking realization. I have no life without G-d.
The very reason my heart beats is because of this unquenchable craving to truly know G-d. This is above religion, above philosophy; I craved the real G-d. Nothing made sense when I quit G-d.
There was no hope.
Though I can be incredibly cynical and analytical, at the end of the day when all is said and done, no matter how much I disagree with many aspects of Christianity, at the heart of who I am is this hope that things will be made right because G-d has loved the world and that has to matter. As frustrated as I can get with Christianity for over-spiritualizing and oversimplifying difficult issues and as annoyed as I get with Christianese (which is a whole other article for another time), there is a part of me that knows there’s so much more to Jesus than this cliché. There is truth to this Jesus thing.
And so I’m back. I’ve converted yet again (5th time this month). I’ve bought into this bizarre beautiful chaotic love that Jesus is about. I can’t help it. It’s become the very core of who I am; or perhaps who I want to be.
I’m still not sure why G-d didn’t meet me.
I suppose its possible I was trying to make Him something that He wasn’t so He slipped away (See John 6:14-15).
And that’s okay. I’m sure my relatively simple life will have its collision with divinity again.
Well, I hope so anyway.
