Seems appropriate that I sit here to write this post on Friday the 13th, as that seems to be the day that best represents me. Yet another rejection letter from a potential employer arrived today. "We had numerous qualified candidates apply for the position. You are not one of them. Good luck at Sam's Club!" When will I ever learn to stop getting my hopes up?
I went back to school, spent a lot of money, time and effort to improve myself and get an advanced degree. Now, after having gotten the degree, I find myself further behind than I was before. No job and more debt. Lovely. What is my problem? I will be 45 in a couple of weeks and am going to start a part-time, entry-level job with no future. I fried my brain trying to be a pastor and can not return to that field, no matter what. Yet, it seems to be the only kind of work for which I am considered qualified.
I face the specter of spending the rest of my life in menial, barely-better-than-minimum-wage jobs and watching my wife work herself to death to support us. How do I face her...not just now, but twenty years from now? How can I handle knowing my kids will have to fend for themselves because their dad just isn't capable of earning a living? My oldest is already in over her head because I am not able to help her get through college, which every parent is supposed to do and supposed to be capable of doing.
My parents and my wife tell me that I am not what I see myself as. How can they not see the truth after all these years? Their investment in me seems to blind them to the reality of the situation. I offer nothing of value to this world. I hate myself and the mess I am making of the lives of those about whom I care deeply. I am so sorry to have dragged my family into this mess. I wish they could get a mulligan.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
A Break in the Clouds
Well, despite all my anxiety and depression, it has been a pretty good week. Last Tuesday I received a letter of eligibility to begin looking for teaching jobs in Colorado schools. While there aren't exactly a ton of openings in October, I have until January to find a job and gain entry into the Teacher in Residence Program. Then we had our church retreat and it was a really good time. At the end of the retreat, Cole and I were invited to go to the Broncos/Patriots game with a new friend from our church. We had such a great time and I will always cherish the opportunity to go to my first pro football game with my son. The look on his face throughout the game was priceless. Then today I had a meeting/interview and was added to the substitute teacher at a local charter school. So I am getting into the process and figuring out how to go for the jobs that are available. And that is a really good first step. I have miles to go before I am healthy and back on my feet but at least I am making some progress.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Halfway Through and Already Finished
For most of my life my parents, my teachers, my friends, my wife have been telling me I have a lot to offer, that I bring many skills to the game, that I am filled with potential. I am now 44 and am resigned to the fact that they are all wrong. I am halfway through a race in which I have no chance at winning. Well, probably more than halfway as I don't see any way that I live to 88, but you get my meaning. There is no way I will ever make a living, provide for my family, or make a lasting and positive impact on anyone or anything. I am, to borrow a phrase from my brother-in-law, a waste of skin.
I have applied for numerous jobs in the past few months. Not only do I not get the jobs, nor the interviews, I don't even get the letter, the call or the email telling me that I didn't get the job. I have tried getting hired doing jobs that require no education like working in a bookstore or opening the door and admitting people at the YMCA and still get no response. I guess that is common in today's economy so if that were the only problem, I might be able to handle it. But because I feel the need to do something, to get out of the house and be productive somehow, I put out some feelers for doing volunteer work...and was REJECTED! Yes, that is correct folks: I am not even qualified to volunteer.
So I am middle aged, unskilled and undesirable. I am a burden on my wife, my kids, my parents, the friends I have left and there is nothing to indicate that it is ever going to get better.
I have applied for numerous jobs in the past few months. Not only do I not get the jobs, nor the interviews, I don't even get the letter, the call or the email telling me that I didn't get the job. I have tried getting hired doing jobs that require no education like working in a bookstore or opening the door and admitting people at the YMCA and still get no response. I guess that is common in today's economy so if that were the only problem, I might be able to handle it. But because I feel the need to do something, to get out of the house and be productive somehow, I put out some feelers for doing volunteer work...and was REJECTED! Yes, that is correct folks: I am not even qualified to volunteer.
So I am middle aged, unskilled and undesirable. I am a burden on my wife, my kids, my parents, the friends I have left and there is nothing to indicate that it is ever going to get better.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Paging Dr. House
SPOILER ALERT!!
I watched the two-hour season premiere of House last night, in which our anti-hero was locked up in an asylum trying to get himself together. It was an episode that hit really close to home. Not so much while he was institutionalized, as House did everything he could to sabotage himself and others, but more when he was leaving. There is a moment of hesitation when the camera shot is close-up on House's face. There is fear and uncertainty there. That is what hit me. Dealing with the first obvious symptoms of mental health issues--for me it was the first anxiety attack--is terrifying. Going through a mental disorder like depression and general anxiety is overwhelming and lonely. However, the prospect of being declared "well" and being sent back into the world to try to work and function is as scary as hell itself. Failure to handle one's problems at home alone is embarrassing enough, but what happens if the meltdowns occur again while working? What if I can't make it in the real world and end up a mental and emotional invalid, burdening my wife, my kids and our families until the day I die? What if there really is no "well," and this is who I am. Will the pressures of life reveal that more vividly when I try to go back to "normal"?
I find myself torn between my desire to overcome my fears and face down my demons and the enticing desire to hide in my house, to find some sort of work that isolates me and allows me to work from the computer in my recliner. Like House, I peer out at the future and its possibilities and I have a glimmer of hope wrapped up in a cloud of anxiety. What's next? I only wish I knew.
I watched the two-hour season premiere of House last night, in which our anti-hero was locked up in an asylum trying to get himself together. It was an episode that hit really close to home. Not so much while he was institutionalized, as House did everything he could to sabotage himself and others, but more when he was leaving. There is a moment of hesitation when the camera shot is close-up on House's face. There is fear and uncertainty there. That is what hit me. Dealing with the first obvious symptoms of mental health issues--for me it was the first anxiety attack--is terrifying. Going through a mental disorder like depression and general anxiety is overwhelming and lonely. However, the prospect of being declared "well" and being sent back into the world to try to work and function is as scary as hell itself. Failure to handle one's problems at home alone is embarrassing enough, but what happens if the meltdowns occur again while working? What if I can't make it in the real world and end up a mental and emotional invalid, burdening my wife, my kids and our families until the day I die? What if there really is no "well," and this is who I am. Will the pressures of life reveal that more vividly when I try to go back to "normal"?
I find myself torn between my desire to overcome my fears and face down my demons and the enticing desire to hide in my house, to find some sort of work that isolates me and allows me to work from the computer in my recliner. Like House, I peer out at the future and its possibilities and I have a glimmer of hope wrapped up in a cloud of anxiety. What's next? I only wish I knew.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Done and Doing
I'm about ten days out from having successfully defended my Master's thesis. I honestly did not think it would ever happen as I was pretty sure if I ever finished the text there was no way they would ever approve it. But I passed, and it was really a lot of fun. The defense with my committee was encouraging and invigorating--I really enjoyed the meeting. Go figure.
So, now I'm home in Colorado (wow, that never gets old!) and trying to discern the next step in the journey of the rest of my life. Here is what I know: I haven't got a bloody clue!!!! I really want to teach, but am unsure as to the best path toward teaching. College? That would be fantastic but at the moment seems unrealistic since there aren't a lot of communication courses offered in the area community colleges. High school? I could live with that but will have to do some extra steps to get there and am not sure how long that will take. Non-profit? I have applied to some and am supposedly still a candidate for one position but it doesn't energize me like teaching does. I just don't feel any closer to an answer than I was a year ago or two years ago. And the beat goes on.
On the church front, we have settled--at least for a season--at Mountain Community Mennonite Church in Palmer Lake. Way outside my realm of experience but it really meshes with where I am internally at this point in my life. I can be present with the group without serious chest pain and anxiety attacks which is a huge bonus. The kids enjoy it and Carol is working to figure out her feelings about it. My friend Art, back in Minnesota, wanted me to convert the church where I was pastor to a "peace church," and I let him know that was not possible. Now, however, I am a part of a peace church that is focused like a laser beam on reconciliation.
I think the most difficult thing in life right now (outside of having no money and no prospects) is the realization that people see me as broken or that they don't understand why I can't just "snap out of it" and get on with life: Finish the thesis! Get a job! Act like an adult! Man up! And to them I say, "I wish it was that easy." I don't understand why I get paralyzed and afraid. I don't know how to get beyond the anxiety and move forward with my life. I really wish I did. Still, there is a level of shame when I have to face those to whom I am intricately connected and know that they think I am dogging it and that I could do better if I would just try. Believe me, I'm trying. Sometimes the trying just about kills me. Maybe a time is coming when it gets better--in fact, right now may be better than a while back was--but I can't predict it and I'm not sure I can control it. Sorry.
So I continue to plod forward with the occasional--or maybe regular--detour. I'm terrified but holding onto a glimmer of hope that better times are ahead. It is the best I have to offer right now.
So, now I'm home in Colorado (wow, that never gets old!) and trying to discern the next step in the journey of the rest of my life. Here is what I know: I haven't got a bloody clue!!!! I really want to teach, but am unsure as to the best path toward teaching. College? That would be fantastic but at the moment seems unrealistic since there aren't a lot of communication courses offered in the area community colleges. High school? I could live with that but will have to do some extra steps to get there and am not sure how long that will take. Non-profit? I have applied to some and am supposedly still a candidate for one position but it doesn't energize me like teaching does. I just don't feel any closer to an answer than I was a year ago or two years ago. And the beat goes on.
On the church front, we have settled--at least for a season--at Mountain Community Mennonite Church in Palmer Lake. Way outside my realm of experience but it really meshes with where I am internally at this point in my life. I can be present with the group without serious chest pain and anxiety attacks which is a huge bonus. The kids enjoy it and Carol is working to figure out her feelings about it. My friend Art, back in Minnesota, wanted me to convert the church where I was pastor to a "peace church," and I let him know that was not possible. Now, however, I am a part of a peace church that is focused like a laser beam on reconciliation.
I think the most difficult thing in life right now (outside of having no money and no prospects) is the realization that people see me as broken or that they don't understand why I can't just "snap out of it" and get on with life: Finish the thesis! Get a job! Act like an adult! Man up! And to them I say, "I wish it was that easy." I don't understand why I get paralyzed and afraid. I don't know how to get beyond the anxiety and move forward with my life. I really wish I did. Still, there is a level of shame when I have to face those to whom I am intricately connected and know that they think I am dogging it and that I could do better if I would just try. Believe me, I'm trying. Sometimes the trying just about kills me. Maybe a time is coming when it gets better--in fact, right now may be better than a while back was--but I can't predict it and I'm not sure I can control it. Sorry.
So I continue to plod forward with the occasional--or maybe regular--detour. I'm terrified but holding onto a glimmer of hope that better times are ahead. It is the best I have to offer right now.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Unpacking and Repacking
I pretty much took the summer off from the old blog. I felt guilty about writing here when it was such a struggle to write on my thesis. Now the writing part of the thesis is done and I am just editing while I wait to defend. So I thought I would put something up here today to get back in the habit.
My daughter Aimee is a wonder. She is encouraging and caring. She never lacks for friends, as people just love to be around her. I am amazed at the beautiful person she is. One little quirk she has is that when she needs to clean her room, she can't just straighten things up. She has to take everything out and pile it in the middle of the floor and kind of reassemble the whole thing. I think I am long overdue to learn a lesson from her.
My life is a lot like Aimee's room. Lots of clutter as I collect junk and can't seem to let things go. When I really need something, I dig around inside and usually can't find it. So, I'm trying to deal with the stresses of life, be they large or small, and I just simply can't find the resources. In fact, I can't even seem to find the mental or emotional floor, there is so much clutter.
I think it is time for me to take everything out and start over, reassembling the whole room. Not only do I not know how to deal with the stresses of life, I can't even figure out who I am or what I stand for. I'm 44 years old, grew up in a Christian home, have been a pastor, and quite frankly, I'm not even sure what I believe about God these days. A while back, Greg Boyd talked to me about how he came to a point where he had to take a season and sort out everything he had always believed about God and decide what to keep and what to discard until he got to the essential core. It was at that point that he found some level of liberation. I think I have come to that place in my life.
For the past couple of years, through two therapists and a psychiatrist who have pushed me to do hard business with God, I have managed to keep the issue pushed below the surface but it simply cannot continue this way. I have to go home and find a way to figure out who God is and where I stand before him. It won't wait and I won't get better until it happens.
My daughter Aimee is a wonder. She is encouraging and caring. She never lacks for friends, as people just love to be around her. I am amazed at the beautiful person she is. One little quirk she has is that when she needs to clean her room, she can't just straighten things up. She has to take everything out and pile it in the middle of the floor and kind of reassemble the whole thing. I think I am long overdue to learn a lesson from her.
My life is a lot like Aimee's room. Lots of clutter as I collect junk and can't seem to let things go. When I really need something, I dig around inside and usually can't find it. So, I'm trying to deal with the stresses of life, be they large or small, and I just simply can't find the resources. In fact, I can't even seem to find the mental or emotional floor, there is so much clutter.
I think it is time for me to take everything out and start over, reassembling the whole room. Not only do I not know how to deal with the stresses of life, I can't even figure out who I am or what I stand for. I'm 44 years old, grew up in a Christian home, have been a pastor, and quite frankly, I'm not even sure what I believe about God these days. A while back, Greg Boyd talked to me about how he came to a point where he had to take a season and sort out everything he had always believed about God and decide what to keep and what to discard until he got to the essential core. It was at that point that he found some level of liberation. I think I have come to that place in my life.
For the past couple of years, through two therapists and a psychiatrist who have pushed me to do hard business with God, I have managed to keep the issue pushed below the surface but it simply cannot continue this way. I have to go home and find a way to figure out who God is and where I stand before him. It won't wait and I won't get better until it happens.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Saying Goodbye to a Home that Wasn't Supposed to Be Home
It's Saturday morning and I am sitting in my favorite Caribou, professing to do some work but really just trying to center my mind. It has been a full week, and this is my last Saturday as a resident of Minnesota. I am looking forward to the going home element of this move to Colorado, but have to admit that the leaving is much more difficult than I expected. There have been numerous opportunities to reinforce this strange separation anxiety this week.
First, the kids. Cole and Aimee are struggling so much with leaving the friends they have made here. Even now, Cole and Logan are running around St. Anthony somewhere (they said they were going to Walgreen's) and treasuring this last week together before we move. They are one day apart in age and have been like brothers since we first moved to Minnesota four years ago. As much as two 11 year old boys can, they genuinely love each other. You don't get those friends every day nor in every locale.
Aimee is away at her last youth retreat/activity with her Echo group from Woodland Hills Church. She makes friends easily, but I don't think she has ever had a group of friends who feed her soul like the ones she made this year at WHC. I don't know how much she will miss her small group and youth leaders (I think a lot) but I know I am having difficulty with pulling her away from this. She also has a great group of friends at school here, and one of those friends is having serious struggles with Aimee's departure. So much so that her mom is willing to help pay for a plane ticket to bring Aimee back for a week later this summer. I know Aimee and I have no doubts that she will have a whole crew of friends pretty quickly after school starts this Fall, but her story illustrates to me how many tentacles these decisions we make as parents end up having. And while I really hope to spend the rest of my life in Colorado, the timing is not as ideal as it seemed eight weeks ago.
Emilee, on the other hand, will stay and make her way in life in Minnesota. While this is probably the right thing for her, the idea of leaving her behind is difficult for us and for her. She is the girl who was going to be independent, out on her own, out of our house pretty much from the time she was about 12 years old. Now that it is reality though, it is a lot tougher than expected. My girl, the one who is wired so much like me that it is almost frightening, will no longer be within earshot. She has her own place, her own job, her own friends, her own path, her own life. I will miss her like I would miss my heart if it were removed. I am sure she has made a good decision and I support her and am proud of her. Still does not make it easy to leave. I know you read this from time to time Em, and I don't want you to feel sad or guilty when you do. I want you to know that my heart aches, but it is the ache of every father whose children have to grow up and go their own way. It is the right thing, but it is not an easy thing.
As for me, this place and this season of life have kind of grown on me. I love the Twin Cities. What other metro area has the kind of natural beauty within the city limits that Minneapolis and Saint Paul do? Lakes, trees, a mildly rolling terrain: you don't have to go away to live in wonder. Add to that an amazing diversity of people from Asia, Africa, and yes, even Europe, and it is quite simply an incredible place to live. Part of the beauty of the Twin Cities chapter of my life has been Woodland Hills Church. I love the people, I love the openness to new and different, I love the diversity, I love being a part of the Woodland Hills family. I will miss it and not entirely sure I can ever find a place like it, which makes it really tough to leave.
I will miss people. My old friends (Russ, Ken) and my once-in-a-while friends (Greg, Efrem, Marque), my cohort friends (Jenny, Chibs, Andrea, Erin, Deb) and my hang out when we can friends (Jeremy, Derek, Tahna). I will miss Jason and Lisa and those three beautiful kids. I would love to be closer to watch Ana grow up and become president of this or some other country (it is inevitable, I think...even if we have to change the Constitution). I will desperately miss the two friends who have walked with me through this rough stretch of life, Brent and Todd. Brent, if you could know how much your calls and encouragement saved my life when this fight with depression and anxiety began, you might be surprised to know that you are a superhero. And Todd, it seems like we were just getting started. I love your knowledge and your incredibly twisted sense of humor. I love your family and the times we have spent together. I love that we can both be about 13 years old together for significant stretches of time and it is perfectly cool. I am so happy for your new job adventure. I just wish it were in Colorado.
I will deeply miss Leta, my advisor and much more. She has loved on me through the frustration of not being able to write. She hasn't yet killed me, but she might before we are done! And I will miss Phil. My friend, you have become the human face of a loving heavenly Father to me. I don't know if I can fully explain it, so I will just let it stand alone. You are grace personified. Not perfection or deification, just good, broken grace. Thanks for walking the journey with me.
The capper to all this reminiscing is the picture that remains from our block. Our neighbors--next door and across the street--are wonderful Tibetan people. On Thursday night, before Carol was leaving on Friday, about 10:30 the doorbell rang. It was the younger woman and her mother dropping in to say goodbye to Carol. About twenty minutes later, the bell rang again. It was the grandmother--the one who doesn't speak English but has been one of the kindest and friendliest neighbors you could ever hope to have--and "big Tenzen" (a lot of Tenzens, this is the one who graduated 8th grade with Aimee last week) coming over to say goodbye to my wife. This little lady with the warm smile brought a scarf/shawl over and draped it around Carol's neck and over her shoulders and through her grandson told us it was a Tibetan tradition that means "good luck." She has one like it and will think of Carol when she wears it. It was a gift of love and affection, one that came with and produced tears. It is so tough to leave these wonderful neighbors. The grandmother was holding Carol's hand the other day and saying "sorry" over and over, letting us know that she was sad we were leaving. Incredible. Then she and Tenzen stood in the front yard Friday morning, waving until we disappeared down the street on our way to the airport. More tears. In fact, kind of like the tears that keep coming to my eyes as I write this. I love these dear friends and will miss them more than they can possibly know.
This is long, too long for blogging, but it needed to be written. Hope you can indulge me a little as this parting is very sweet sorrow. Next Saturday morning, I will be headed from Holly to Colorado Springs to show Emilee and Jared the sights before taking them to Denver and the airport so they can get home for Father's Day (the first time that getting home doesn't mean returning to me). It will be good, eventually. It will not be easy.
Thanks God for Minnesota. I will miss this place.
First, the kids. Cole and Aimee are struggling so much with leaving the friends they have made here. Even now, Cole and Logan are running around St. Anthony somewhere (they said they were going to Walgreen's) and treasuring this last week together before we move. They are one day apart in age and have been like brothers since we first moved to Minnesota four years ago. As much as two 11 year old boys can, they genuinely love each other. You don't get those friends every day nor in every locale.
Aimee is away at her last youth retreat/activity with her Echo group from Woodland Hills Church. She makes friends easily, but I don't think she has ever had a group of friends who feed her soul like the ones she made this year at WHC. I don't know how much she will miss her small group and youth leaders (I think a lot) but I know I am having difficulty with pulling her away from this. She also has a great group of friends at school here, and one of those friends is having serious struggles with Aimee's departure. So much so that her mom is willing to help pay for a plane ticket to bring Aimee back for a week later this summer. I know Aimee and I have no doubts that she will have a whole crew of friends pretty quickly after school starts this Fall, but her story illustrates to me how many tentacles these decisions we make as parents end up having. And while I really hope to spend the rest of my life in Colorado, the timing is not as ideal as it seemed eight weeks ago.
Emilee, on the other hand, will stay and make her way in life in Minnesota. While this is probably the right thing for her, the idea of leaving her behind is difficult for us and for her. She is the girl who was going to be independent, out on her own, out of our house pretty much from the time she was about 12 years old. Now that it is reality though, it is a lot tougher than expected. My girl, the one who is wired so much like me that it is almost frightening, will no longer be within earshot. She has her own place, her own job, her own friends, her own path, her own life. I will miss her like I would miss my heart if it were removed. I am sure she has made a good decision and I support her and am proud of her. Still does not make it easy to leave. I know you read this from time to time Em, and I don't want you to feel sad or guilty when you do. I want you to know that my heart aches, but it is the ache of every father whose children have to grow up and go their own way. It is the right thing, but it is not an easy thing.
As for me, this place and this season of life have kind of grown on me. I love the Twin Cities. What other metro area has the kind of natural beauty within the city limits that Minneapolis and Saint Paul do? Lakes, trees, a mildly rolling terrain: you don't have to go away to live in wonder. Add to that an amazing diversity of people from Asia, Africa, and yes, even Europe, and it is quite simply an incredible place to live. Part of the beauty of the Twin Cities chapter of my life has been Woodland Hills Church. I love the people, I love the openness to new and different, I love the diversity, I love being a part of the Woodland Hills family. I will miss it and not entirely sure I can ever find a place like it, which makes it really tough to leave.
I will miss people. My old friends (Russ, Ken) and my once-in-a-while friends (Greg, Efrem, Marque), my cohort friends (Jenny, Chibs, Andrea, Erin, Deb) and my hang out when we can friends (Jeremy, Derek, Tahna). I will miss Jason and Lisa and those three beautiful kids. I would love to be closer to watch Ana grow up and become president of this or some other country (it is inevitable, I think...even if we have to change the Constitution). I will desperately miss the two friends who have walked with me through this rough stretch of life, Brent and Todd. Brent, if you could know how much your calls and encouragement saved my life when this fight with depression and anxiety began, you might be surprised to know that you are a superhero. And Todd, it seems like we were just getting started. I love your knowledge and your incredibly twisted sense of humor. I love your family and the times we have spent together. I love that we can both be about 13 years old together for significant stretches of time and it is perfectly cool. I am so happy for your new job adventure. I just wish it were in Colorado.
I will deeply miss Leta, my advisor and much more. She has loved on me through the frustration of not being able to write. She hasn't yet killed me, but she might before we are done! And I will miss Phil. My friend, you have become the human face of a loving heavenly Father to me. I don't know if I can fully explain it, so I will just let it stand alone. You are grace personified. Not perfection or deification, just good, broken grace. Thanks for walking the journey with me.
The capper to all this reminiscing is the picture that remains from our block. Our neighbors--next door and across the street--are wonderful Tibetan people. On Thursday night, before Carol was leaving on Friday, about 10:30 the doorbell rang. It was the younger woman and her mother dropping in to say goodbye to Carol. About twenty minutes later, the bell rang again. It was the grandmother--the one who doesn't speak English but has been one of the kindest and friendliest neighbors you could ever hope to have--and "big Tenzen" (a lot of Tenzens, this is the one who graduated 8th grade with Aimee last week) coming over to say goodbye to my wife. This little lady with the warm smile brought a scarf/shawl over and draped it around Carol's neck and over her shoulders and through her grandson told us it was a Tibetan tradition that means "good luck." She has one like it and will think of Carol when she wears it. It was a gift of love and affection, one that came with and produced tears. It is so tough to leave these wonderful neighbors. The grandmother was holding Carol's hand the other day and saying "sorry" over and over, letting us know that she was sad we were leaving. Incredible. Then she and Tenzen stood in the front yard Friday morning, waving until we disappeared down the street on our way to the airport. More tears. In fact, kind of like the tears that keep coming to my eyes as I write this. I love these dear friends and will miss them more than they can possibly know.
This is long, too long for blogging, but it needed to be written. Hope you can indulge me a little as this parting is very sweet sorrow. Next Saturday morning, I will be headed from Holly to Colorado Springs to show Emilee and Jared the sights before taking them to Denver and the airport so they can get home for Father's Day (the first time that getting home doesn't mean returning to me). It will be good, eventually. It will not be easy.
Thanks God for Minnesota. I will miss this place.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Feeling Cantankerous
I have been getting requests on Facebook to join the group, "Tell Obama We're Still a Christian Nation." So, of course, to get people really annoyed, I made my status something snarky like "Joe wonders what makes a nation Christian?" Which led to some responses, some sincere and others equally snarky. I especially like the snarky ones.
Seriously though, when was this or any other nation genuinely Christian? As I stated on Facebook, nation building is about gaining power over people in this world. Living the Kingdom of God, on the other hand, is about submitting ourselves to others in the name of Jesus, living a life of grace and peace and laying down our rights in order to demonstrate the genuine love of God in daily living. Tell me then, what nation does that? What nation has ever done that? Really?
Was it the marauding armies of "Christians" who wantonly slaughtered Muslims behind the banner of the cross...you know, the cross where Jesus willingly sacrificed himself? Was it the European settlers who took advantage of their superior fire power to deceive and destroy the inhabitants they found when they landed on this continent? Was it the "founding fathers" who wrote about freedom and liberty while enslaving countless Africans for their own economic benefit, deeming them (by law) as less than fully human, enforcing breeding and separation in order to make sure those "family values" we speak so highly of were never allowed to take root among the black slaves they claimed to own? Was it the preachers in this country who justified slavery, segregation, war and brute force when it was expedient for their own success and security? Is it the United States where millions of innocent unborn are slaughtered in the womb, many for nothing more than the sake of convenience? Or is it the other side of the argument where those who "speak for life" end up murdering to make their point? Is it the churched ones who reacted to the September 11th brutality by threatening and pouring venom on anyone who so much as looked like a Muslim? The churches who sent their young men and women out to "kill some Arabs?" Is it in the evangelical lifestyle of excess and affluence, taking mission trips to other parts of the world while walking blindly past the homeless guy on the corner? Is it in the multimillion dollar church edifices that house a weekly pep rally and do little to positively touch the lives of those who live in their shadows?
(One quick note: I am not able to answer the really tough questions about war and that is not the purpose of this post. Nations do war. The problem that I see is Christians who get excited about killing anyone, including an enemy. This does not seem to be the example of the Jesus after whom we claim to be named.)
I plead guilty to living the lie for too many years. Americanism is not "Christian," any more than is allegiance to any other nation, political structure or power. But I'm trying to unlearn the things that kept me from seeing the true Jesus. You know the one: the guy who lived a life of healing and service, who was a political separatist while working to bring life and hope to those who were victims of the political structures of nations and of religion. So forgive me if I don't get too riled up over President Obama, pastor gold watch, or any of the others who seek power here. I am trying to commit myself to powerlessness as humanity sees it so I can live a life pleasing to the God who provides legitimate power.
And whether I like the president's politics or the doctor's ethics, I pledge to continue practicing seeing the unsurpassable worth of each person I encounter in this world.
Seriously though, when was this or any other nation genuinely Christian? As I stated on Facebook, nation building is about gaining power over people in this world. Living the Kingdom of God, on the other hand, is about submitting ourselves to others in the name of Jesus, living a life of grace and peace and laying down our rights in order to demonstrate the genuine love of God in daily living. Tell me then, what nation does that? What nation has ever done that? Really?
Was it the marauding armies of "Christians" who wantonly slaughtered Muslims behind the banner of the cross...you know, the cross where Jesus willingly sacrificed himself? Was it the European settlers who took advantage of their superior fire power to deceive and destroy the inhabitants they found when they landed on this continent? Was it the "founding fathers" who wrote about freedom and liberty while enslaving countless Africans for their own economic benefit, deeming them (by law) as less than fully human, enforcing breeding and separation in order to make sure those "family values" we speak so highly of were never allowed to take root among the black slaves they claimed to own? Was it the preachers in this country who justified slavery, segregation, war and brute force when it was expedient for their own success and security? Is it the United States where millions of innocent unborn are slaughtered in the womb, many for nothing more than the sake of convenience? Or is it the other side of the argument where those who "speak for life" end up murdering to make their point? Is it the churched ones who reacted to the September 11th brutality by threatening and pouring venom on anyone who so much as looked like a Muslim? The churches who sent their young men and women out to "kill some Arabs?" Is it in the evangelical lifestyle of excess and affluence, taking mission trips to other parts of the world while walking blindly past the homeless guy on the corner? Is it in the multimillion dollar church edifices that house a weekly pep rally and do little to positively touch the lives of those who live in their shadows?
(One quick note: I am not able to answer the really tough questions about war and that is not the purpose of this post. Nations do war. The problem that I see is Christians who get excited about killing anyone, including an enemy. This does not seem to be the example of the Jesus after whom we claim to be named.)
I plead guilty to living the lie for too many years. Americanism is not "Christian," any more than is allegiance to any other nation, political structure or power. But I'm trying to unlearn the things that kept me from seeing the true Jesus. You know the one: the guy who lived a life of healing and service, who was a political separatist while working to bring life and hope to those who were victims of the political structures of nations and of religion. So forgive me if I don't get too riled up over President Obama, pastor gold watch, or any of the others who seek power here. I am trying to commit myself to powerlessness as humanity sees it so I can live a life pleasing to the God who provides legitimate power.
And whether I like the president's politics or the doctor's ethics, I pledge to continue practicing seeing the unsurpassable worth of each person I encounter in this world.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Thanks!
It's funny, I begged people to read my blog the other day because I wanted to get some dialogue about the whole Christian pop culture thing (the DJ urging prayer for American Idol winner which is now even crazier with Jon and Kate). It was one of the few posts in which I didn't spend much, if any, time on my anxiety and depression issues. That said, there were a number of responses about my "issues," and I want to say thanks to those who took time and were concerned enough to offer me some insight and some encouragement. I also want to update a bit.
I think the reason the post was not about my internal journey is that I seem to be doing better than I have in a long time. To the person who asked about Cognitive Behavior Therapy, that seems to be the catalyst for some real help. I have been seeing a therapist who specializes in this method/treatment and he has helped me face down some of the fears that were keeping me in turmoil. I have not had an anxiety attack in a couple of months (give or take) and have been doing well enough that the psychiatrist agreed to step me off the depression meds, which she believes weren't helping me much anyway. I know it is early and that this taking thoughts captive thing is a process that has to continue for a much longer time, but I am amazed at how much better things are going. Outward circumstances are still crazy: my grandma's health is still uncertain, we have to travel again this weekend, my thesis is still trying to be written, our oldest is moving out Monday, next week is the final week of school for the other two kids, Carol leaves for Colorado on the 12th, and we load up and head out on the 18th. Still no jobs, although Carol may be interviewing with a school in Colorado Springs in the next few days. So it isn't that life has miraculously gotten less crazy for us. But the way I do life is significantly changing.
So, again, thanks to those of you who took time to respond. I appreciate your concerns and your prayers. I hope someday to pay it forward to another person who has ended up at a similar place in their journey.
Grace and peace to you all.
I think the reason the post was not about my internal journey is that I seem to be doing better than I have in a long time. To the person who asked about Cognitive Behavior Therapy, that seems to be the catalyst for some real help. I have been seeing a therapist who specializes in this method/treatment and he has helped me face down some of the fears that were keeping me in turmoil. I have not had an anxiety attack in a couple of months (give or take) and have been doing well enough that the psychiatrist agreed to step me off the depression meds, which she believes weren't helping me much anyway. I know it is early and that this taking thoughts captive thing is a process that has to continue for a much longer time, but I am amazed at how much better things are going. Outward circumstances are still crazy: my grandma's health is still uncertain, we have to travel again this weekend, my thesis is still trying to be written, our oldest is moving out Monday, next week is the final week of school for the other two kids, Carol leaves for Colorado on the 12th, and we load up and head out on the 18th. Still no jobs, although Carol may be interviewing with a school in Colorado Springs in the next few days. So it isn't that life has miraculously gotten less crazy for us. But the way I do life is significantly changing.
So, again, thanks to those of you who took time to respond. I appreciate your concerns and your prayers. I hope someday to pay it forward to another person who has ended up at a similar place in their journey.
Grace and peace to you all.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Catching Up
It has been awhile since the last post. Life has been crazy. First I got really sick with bronchitis, the cough from which is still hanging on. In the middle of that, my grandma in Missouri fell and broke her hip and was not doing so well. This led to a whirlwind trip to Missouri and back this week. In the midst of all that, I have been trying to do some writing with very mixed results as well as finishing the Basic Communication course I was working in and trying to find work for next school year...so far an unrealized dream. All that to say that writing on a blog hasn't been a high priority lately.
First, the annoyance. While I was in Missouri I had some Christian radio station on in my car. I could not believe it when the woman who was hosting in the morning spent about five minutes explaining to everyone listening that they should remember to pray daily for the guy who won American Idol earlier in the week, that he would be under a great deal of pressure in the year ahead! GAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Laying aside the fact that I don't get why people are so into shows like this, what pressure is there in having your fifteen minutes of fame in the world of pop culture? This is insane! Pressure is losing your home. Pressure is facing torture and genocide. Pressure is fighting cancer or some other life-altering disease. Pressure is your child missing or your wife leaving. When someone goes on a stupid TV show and gets a recording contract from it, this is not pressure. So, go ahead and pray for this pop culture creation if you want, I'll hold my prayers for victims in Darfur, people who are homeless because of the economic crash and my friend who lost his wife to cancer a few weeks ago. Come on people, grow a brain!
Second, the realities of moving are setting in. Found myself in tears numerous times today as I shared in the worship encounter that is Woodland Hills Church. Quick tangent...WHC is going to open its doors in August for use as a homeless shelter. What megachurch is doing stuff like that? Another, among the many, reason I love this place. Leaving our church behind is among the most difficult parts of moving. Where else can I see a woman with Downs Syndrome dancing and raising her hands while we sing the Kirk Franklin song, "Imagine Me," on a typical Sunday morning? Woodland Hills has transformed church for me in this past year. It is hard to think of being 1000 miles away. Add to that the sorrow of saying goodbye to our daughter and parting with friends like Todd and Dawni and it is with a serious mix of emotions that we leave.
Finally, the thesis is coming along slowly. I am doing some analysis that I hope will be acceptable and demonstrate some level of intellectual credibility. Pray for me. I am pressing forward and will finish this. Or it will finish me. Either way, it will be done!
Congrats to Jenny, a friend from grad school, on making a huge life transition and moving to the Dominican Republic to teach this summer! I am so proud of you Jenny. I pray it is the continuance of the revolution that has become your life.
First, the annoyance. While I was in Missouri I had some Christian radio station on in my car. I could not believe it when the woman who was hosting in the morning spent about five minutes explaining to everyone listening that they should remember to pray daily for the guy who won American Idol earlier in the week, that he would be under a great deal of pressure in the year ahead! GAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Laying aside the fact that I don't get why people are so into shows like this, what pressure is there in having your fifteen minutes of fame in the world of pop culture? This is insane! Pressure is losing your home. Pressure is facing torture and genocide. Pressure is fighting cancer or some other life-altering disease. Pressure is your child missing or your wife leaving. When someone goes on a stupid TV show and gets a recording contract from it, this is not pressure. So, go ahead and pray for this pop culture creation if you want, I'll hold my prayers for victims in Darfur, people who are homeless because of the economic crash and my friend who lost his wife to cancer a few weeks ago. Come on people, grow a brain!
Second, the realities of moving are setting in. Found myself in tears numerous times today as I shared in the worship encounter that is Woodland Hills Church. Quick tangent...WHC is going to open its doors in August for use as a homeless shelter. What megachurch is doing stuff like that? Another, among the many, reason I love this place. Leaving our church behind is among the most difficult parts of moving. Where else can I see a woman with Downs Syndrome dancing and raising her hands while we sing the Kirk Franklin song, "Imagine Me," on a typical Sunday morning? Woodland Hills has transformed church for me in this past year. It is hard to think of being 1000 miles away. Add to that the sorrow of saying goodbye to our daughter and parting with friends like Todd and Dawni and it is with a serious mix of emotions that we leave.
Finally, the thesis is coming along slowly. I am doing some analysis that I hope will be acceptable and demonstrate some level of intellectual credibility. Pray for me. I am pressing forward and will finish this. Or it will finish me. Either way, it will be done!
Congrats to Jenny, a friend from grad school, on making a huge life transition and moving to the Dominican Republic to teach this summer! I am so proud of you Jenny. I pray it is the continuance of the revolution that has become your life.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Backsliding and Back on the Horse
Sorry for that last post. Things piled up and I reverted to the old way of dealing with them. I really want to be committed to a new way of thinking and responding. So if you read the (now deleted) entry, I apologize. Now let's see how today goes!
Monday, April 27, 2009
Passing Scene
Some observations from a great day of worship at Woodland Hills yesterday. It was so good, I went twice!
1. I saw God yesterday. He was wearing a purple vest and an usher name tag. I was moved as I watched this guy, who has a familiar face but whose name I don't know, walk in with two women with pretty severe physical disabilities. The first one, he wheeled in in her wheelchair and found her a quality seat, even though the service was well underway. Then he went back out and walked in another woman who struggled along with a walker. It wasn't that he "showed" her a seat, he put his hand on her back affectionately and steadied her walker all the way to the seat he had picked out for her. He was love personified. I don't know this guy, but I see him all the time. I will never be able to look at him the same.
2. Some of the songs were tough for my voice to get around yesterday. Familiar songs with slightly varied arrangements in vocal ranges that were unfriendly to my voice. In the middle of it, I had a thought. Seems like we write songs and go looking for voices that can sing them. What if we listened to the voice and then wrote songs that fit the voice? Would everyone have a "good voice"? How much of life would be better if we first "listened to the voice?" Instead, it seems we create standards and go looking for people who can live up to them. Most people can't. I can't.
3. My heart's desire has been to go back to Colorado. For twenty years, Carol and I have tried to find a way home and nothing has ever worked out. Now it is happening, we're moving in June. I am experiencing a deep happiness at the prospect. Unfortunately, it means leaving behind a church where God really lives with scarred human hands and feet. I don't know if anything like it exists anywhere else. Greg is a good teacher and I can podrish his sermons. Unfortunately, the other parts of Woodland Hills can't be experienced online. It is a unique place where broken people put other broken people first and live out the love of Christ in really tangible ways. It is so big that nobody knows your name...except everyone does.
Making progress on the thesis. I'm pretty excited about where it is going. Hopefully in the next week a big chunk will fly out of my computer...a big chunk of my thesis, not a big chunk of my computer!
Pretty bummed about my Broncos. Finally going to be able to watch them every week next season and they will be unwatchable. As usual, my timing is impeccable.
1. I saw God yesterday. He was wearing a purple vest and an usher name tag. I was moved as I watched this guy, who has a familiar face but whose name I don't know, walk in with two women with pretty severe physical disabilities. The first one, he wheeled in in her wheelchair and found her a quality seat, even though the service was well underway. Then he went back out and walked in another woman who struggled along with a walker. It wasn't that he "showed" her a seat, he put his hand on her back affectionately and steadied her walker all the way to the seat he had picked out for her. He was love personified. I don't know this guy, but I see him all the time. I will never be able to look at him the same.
2. Some of the songs were tough for my voice to get around yesterday. Familiar songs with slightly varied arrangements in vocal ranges that were unfriendly to my voice. In the middle of it, I had a thought. Seems like we write songs and go looking for voices that can sing them. What if we listened to the voice and then wrote songs that fit the voice? Would everyone have a "good voice"? How much of life would be better if we first "listened to the voice?" Instead, it seems we create standards and go looking for people who can live up to them. Most people can't. I can't.
3. My heart's desire has been to go back to Colorado. For twenty years, Carol and I have tried to find a way home and nothing has ever worked out. Now it is happening, we're moving in June. I am experiencing a deep happiness at the prospect. Unfortunately, it means leaving behind a church where God really lives with scarred human hands and feet. I don't know if anything like it exists anywhere else. Greg is a good teacher and I can podrish his sermons. Unfortunately, the other parts of Woodland Hills can't be experienced online. It is a unique place where broken people put other broken people first and live out the love of Christ in really tangible ways. It is so big that nobody knows your name...except everyone does.
Making progress on the thesis. I'm pretty excited about where it is going. Hopefully in the next week a big chunk will fly out of my computer...a big chunk of my thesis, not a big chunk of my computer!
Pretty bummed about my Broncos. Finally going to be able to watch them every week next season and they will be unwatchable. As usual, my timing is impeccable.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Balaam and Me
While this probably won't be the bestseller on the level of Marley and Me, it pretty much sums up what has been running through my head for the last several hours. The Old Testament tells the story of a prophet named Balaam who had real trouble making wise decisions. Just when one of his bad choices was about to cost him his life, God began speaking to him through the lips of his donkey, or as the King James Version says, "his ass." Preachers for generations since have used the illustration of God speaking through an ass to make points with their congregations and shock people into seeing how God can speak in unusual ways. What no one has ever seemed to consider is the possibility of Satan doing the same thing.
This morning was the latest of many examples of my speaking like an ass. My daughter was running later than I wanted her to be in getting ready to go to worship and teaching at our church. To "encourage" her (read, "manipulate"), I puked out this lovely line: "See you at lunchtime, cause their is no way you're getting to Woodland Hills on time." I adore my daughter and want the very best for her, so where in the world does a snarky, stupid statement like that come from? I usually blame it solely on myself, but the class on spiritual warfare is at least teaching me that I have a partner in this kind of behavior. I allow myself to be Balaam's ass for less than noble purposes. Yes, Satan is speaking through an ass, and it seems that the ass is me.
Fast forward now to the service at Woodland Hills this morning, in which Greg is teaching on using our imagination to truly connect with God. I sat and gave mental assent to everything he was saying, all the while realizing that my imagination has been almost solely devoted to my destruction, to driving me away from God all these years. Oh, not in a "Satan-worshiper, ouija board" kind of way, but rather imagining me as an object of scorn and wrath, someone who will never genuinely connect with God because God knows that I am lowlife scum of the earth. See how difficult it is to imagine yourself in love with and being loved by God when you can't stomach the images you see in your mind of the kind of person you are? Not easy. But these are the voices and images I deal with moment by moment, nearly every day, and have for as long as I can remember. It's really no wonder that my brain and emotions finally short-circuited and have left me paralyzed inside.
My brain is busy, it is full. Unfortunately, what it is busy with and full of are generally crap. Stuff so trivial and so wrong-minded, that what comes out (verbally and nonverbally) is usually embarrassing and hurtful. And to sum up part of the teaching this morning, it isn't going to get better by simply trying harder to be better or even to think better. I forgot to turn off the faucet and now the stuff is overflowing. Before my mind and my spirit can contain anything good, I need to begin to bail, to create space. I think that is my primary need and purpose as we begin this six week "Animate" journey together at Woodland Hills. I have to create space by emptying myself of some sources of prejudice against myself in order to really imagine me being intimate with and loved by God.
So, here is the basic agenda for the days ahead: start unloading. First, I need to stop using the internet as a crutch to distract me and keep me unfocused. I have to cut down on my idle usage of this wonderful land of make-believe. Along those lines, I really must pare down the amount of time I spend using entertainment technology. I don't need to watch everything that is on TV, in fact, I don't need to watch much of what is on TV. Once I hear one sports talk show, I have probably heard them all, so I don't need the noise and clutter of constant radio blab. My physical appetites create grief because I sit and eat...not celery and carrots, for sure...and gain weight, which reinforces just how much I hate myself. So I need to create some space by eating to live, not living to eat. The sitting simply compounds my basic lethargy, so in order to create physical and emotional space, I really have to start moving and "resisting" (using resistance training to build some physical strength). The journey of imagination begins not with filling up with more stuff to imagine but rather reimaging by creating space for the realities of a new imagination to dwell. Convoluted? Probably. But I think I understand what I'm trying to say. I'll keep you posted as to how it works out.
This morning was the latest of many examples of my speaking like an ass. My daughter was running later than I wanted her to be in getting ready to go to worship and teaching at our church. To "encourage" her (read, "manipulate"), I puked out this lovely line: "See you at lunchtime, cause their is no way you're getting to Woodland Hills on time." I adore my daughter and want the very best for her, so where in the world does a snarky, stupid statement like that come from? I usually blame it solely on myself, but the class on spiritual warfare is at least teaching me that I have a partner in this kind of behavior. I allow myself to be Balaam's ass for less than noble purposes. Yes, Satan is speaking through an ass, and it seems that the ass is me.
Fast forward now to the service at Woodland Hills this morning, in which Greg is teaching on using our imagination to truly connect with God. I sat and gave mental assent to everything he was saying, all the while realizing that my imagination has been almost solely devoted to my destruction, to driving me away from God all these years. Oh, not in a "Satan-worshiper, ouija board" kind of way, but rather imagining me as an object of scorn and wrath, someone who will never genuinely connect with God because God knows that I am lowlife scum of the earth. See how difficult it is to imagine yourself in love with and being loved by God when you can't stomach the images you see in your mind of the kind of person you are? Not easy. But these are the voices and images I deal with moment by moment, nearly every day, and have for as long as I can remember. It's really no wonder that my brain and emotions finally short-circuited and have left me paralyzed inside.
My brain is busy, it is full. Unfortunately, what it is busy with and full of are generally crap. Stuff so trivial and so wrong-minded, that what comes out (verbally and nonverbally) is usually embarrassing and hurtful. And to sum up part of the teaching this morning, it isn't going to get better by simply trying harder to be better or even to think better. I forgot to turn off the faucet and now the stuff is overflowing. Before my mind and my spirit can contain anything good, I need to begin to bail, to create space. I think that is my primary need and purpose as we begin this six week "Animate" journey together at Woodland Hills. I have to create space by emptying myself of some sources of prejudice against myself in order to really imagine me being intimate with and loved by God.
So, here is the basic agenda for the days ahead: start unloading. First, I need to stop using the internet as a crutch to distract me and keep me unfocused. I have to cut down on my idle usage of this wonderful land of make-believe. Along those lines, I really must pare down the amount of time I spend using entertainment technology. I don't need to watch everything that is on TV, in fact, I don't need to watch much of what is on TV. Once I hear one sports talk show, I have probably heard them all, so I don't need the noise and clutter of constant radio blab. My physical appetites create grief because I sit and eat...not celery and carrots, for sure...and gain weight, which reinforces just how much I hate myself. So I need to create some space by eating to live, not living to eat. The sitting simply compounds my basic lethargy, so in order to create physical and emotional space, I really have to start moving and "resisting" (using resistance training to build some physical strength). The journey of imagination begins not with filling up with more stuff to imagine but rather reimaging by creating space for the realities of a new imagination to dwell. Convoluted? Probably. But I think I understand what I'm trying to say. I'll keep you posted as to how it works out.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Solo, Unauditioned.
And here I sit, far too late for a guy my age to be up and yet unable to sleep. It has been an eventful week or so, with a trip to Colorado thrown into "normal" life just to keep things interesting. After having to duck out of yet another group meeting because the anxiety was just too much to take, I have come to a realization: I travel alone. Mostly not by choice.
Here's the deal. I have friends and acquaintances all over the country and even in other parts of the world. It is always good to catch up and even get the opportunity to hang out once in a while when our paths cross. However, the longer this anxiety mess continues, the fewer friends I have who really look forward to seeing or hearing from me. My problems have worn them out. When I first had my meltdown and as I began this weird journey, there were many people who walked with me, and for that I am eternally grateful. But as time goes on and I can't seem to get straightened out, I think it just takes too much energy for people to deal with me. I understand, as it is increasingly difficult to deal with myself.
My wife is tired and out of answers. My kids suffer from the uncertainty of a dad who is a basket case. And the biggest kicker of them all is that as I seem to sink further into myself, fewer people want much to do with me, which reinforces the sense of isolation and depletes the motivation to be among people. It is so much easier to hide at home and to continue to shape the couch cushions around my butt.
While I don't struggle with thoughts of suicide...first of all, I am far too cowardly, and second, I don't want to cause my family the trauma that comes with it...I admit that most days I wish there was a way for me to just die in peace and relieve my wife, my kids and the friends I have left of the burden that is dealing with me. I hate feeling this way, but the days in which I can see any light are so few and far between. There comes a time when you have been kicked in the gonads enough times that you just want the pain to stop; when you have seen those who used to embrace you avert their gaze when you come around and you really want to quit being a burden, stop being "poor, sick Joe." If only I could disappear and everyone could move on.
I read a story many years ago, I think it was by Bob Benson, about a man who was constantly searching or seeking for God. At first, everyone was excited about his search, but as it dragged on year after year, people began to distance themselves from him as no one had the energy to listen to him talk about his desire and his inability to become convinced of the truth of God. That's how I feel about my mess. Most of the world is just plain weary of listening to me and dealing with me.
I'm sorry. And I don't like it myself either.
Here's the deal. I have friends and acquaintances all over the country and even in other parts of the world. It is always good to catch up and even get the opportunity to hang out once in a while when our paths cross. However, the longer this anxiety mess continues, the fewer friends I have who really look forward to seeing or hearing from me. My problems have worn them out. When I first had my meltdown and as I began this weird journey, there were many people who walked with me, and for that I am eternally grateful. But as time goes on and I can't seem to get straightened out, I think it just takes too much energy for people to deal with me. I understand, as it is increasingly difficult to deal with myself.
My wife is tired and out of answers. My kids suffer from the uncertainty of a dad who is a basket case. And the biggest kicker of them all is that as I seem to sink further into myself, fewer people want much to do with me, which reinforces the sense of isolation and depletes the motivation to be among people. It is so much easier to hide at home and to continue to shape the couch cushions around my butt.
While I don't struggle with thoughts of suicide...first of all, I am far too cowardly, and second, I don't want to cause my family the trauma that comes with it...I admit that most days I wish there was a way for me to just die in peace and relieve my wife, my kids and the friends I have left of the burden that is dealing with me. I hate feeling this way, but the days in which I can see any light are so few and far between. There comes a time when you have been kicked in the gonads enough times that you just want the pain to stop; when you have seen those who used to embrace you avert their gaze when you come around and you really want to quit being a burden, stop being "poor, sick Joe." If only I could disappear and everyone could move on.
I read a story many years ago, I think it was by Bob Benson, about a man who was constantly searching or seeking for God. At first, everyone was excited about his search, but as it dragged on year after year, people began to distance themselves from him as no one had the energy to listen to him talk about his desire and his inability to become convinced of the truth of God. That's how I feel about my mess. Most of the world is just plain weary of listening to me and dealing with me.
I'm sorry. And I don't like it myself either.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Say It Ain't That, Pat
KYLE ORTON? KYLE STINKING ORTON???? ARE YOU KIDDING ME???!!!!
The team that made one of the best trades in NFL history in 1983 has now made what will surely be one of the worst in 2009. Taking the side of a dishonest, bumbling goober of a rookie head coach from the cheating Bullychick tree is the very definition of insanity in football terms. How in the world did it come to this?
KYLE ORTON? KYLE STINKING ORTON???? ARE YOU KIDDING ME????!!!!
Nuf said.
The team that made one of the best trades in NFL history in 1983 has now made what will surely be one of the worst in 2009. Taking the side of a dishonest, bumbling goober of a rookie head coach from the cheating Bullychick tree is the very definition of insanity in football terms. How in the world did it come to this?
KYLE ORTON? KYLE STINKING ORTON???? ARE YOU KIDDING ME????!!!!
Nuf said.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Seven Days
What a difference a week can make. Last Sunday, I wrote that we were likely going to have to move out of our house. About six hours ago, the woman who owns our house called and let me know that there is a very high likelihood that we'll be able to do another lease for a year. So, it looks like we have a place to live and at the moment of her call, that seemed like a great gift and a tremendous relief. Funny how we are able to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory though.
I admit that I have spent a good chunk of the past week looking for housing and jobs, both here and in Colorado Springs. Carol and I have wanted to move back since we left more than 20 years ago and this looked like the season in our lives that made the most sense. But with the pressure of our housing lifted, Colorado seemed to take a step back. Except our hearts, and particularly Carol's heart, didn't get the memo. I knew she was happy to think about being back near family and close to the mountains, I just didn't realize how much it was getting into her system. She really wants to move "back home," whatever home is. (That is a post for another time, as it would take loads of space.)
So, I'm back to stuck. My kids want the stability of being here with their friends, in their schools, surrounded by familiarity. My wife wants nothing more than to be near her parents and brother and to have some emotional support after a year (and probably a lot more than that) of enormous pressure and responsibility of having to babysit me and make sure we are able to survive, financially and emotionally. She is tired, worn out, and in need of a change of scenery. If you are new to our story, you may not understand the gravity of that statement. I am the one with wanderlust. Carol has always wanted a place to settle in and put down roots. It seems that this is not the plot of ground she had in mind.
While we don't have to decide right now, and perhaps the decision will be made for us--you may have noticed that jobs are not easy to come by these days and a move would require some sort of gainful employment--my wife's needs and desires are important to me and I want desperately to figure this thing out. We'll see what is next, I suppose.
I admit that I have spent a good chunk of the past week looking for housing and jobs, both here and in Colorado Springs. Carol and I have wanted to move back since we left more than 20 years ago and this looked like the season in our lives that made the most sense. But with the pressure of our housing lifted, Colorado seemed to take a step back. Except our hearts, and particularly Carol's heart, didn't get the memo. I knew she was happy to think about being back near family and close to the mountains, I just didn't realize how much it was getting into her system. She really wants to move "back home," whatever home is. (That is a post for another time, as it would take loads of space.)
So, I'm back to stuck. My kids want the stability of being here with their friends, in their schools, surrounded by familiarity. My wife wants nothing more than to be near her parents and brother and to have some emotional support after a year (and probably a lot more than that) of enormous pressure and responsibility of having to babysit me and make sure we are able to survive, financially and emotionally. She is tired, worn out, and in need of a change of scenery. If you are new to our story, you may not understand the gravity of that statement. I am the one with wanderlust. Carol has always wanted a place to settle in and put down roots. It seems that this is not the plot of ground she had in mind.
While we don't have to decide right now, and perhaps the decision will be made for us--you may have noticed that jobs are not easy to come by these days and a move would require some sort of gainful employment--my wife's needs and desires are important to me and I want desperately to figure this thing out. We'll see what is next, I suppose.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
In Need of a Place to Live
Just a quick note today to ask for your prayers and for help in looking for housing. The house we are renting here in Minnesota is probably going to go on the market this summer to pay for the owner's impending long-term care. No way we can buy it, so it looks like we're going to need a place to live. We would like to keep the kids in their schools here so would like something in this specific area. However, if we don't find a place and have to transfer them, we will probably look at Colorado Springs so we can get back to the mountains after twenty years away and also be close to family for the first time in quite a while.
Let me know if you are aware of anything (house, duplex, townhouse, apartment; 3 bedrooms or more and preferably will take our dog) in the St. Anthony, New Brighton, Columbia Heights area.
Thanks.
Let me know if you are aware of anything (house, duplex, townhouse, apartment; 3 bedrooms or more and preferably will take our dog) in the St. Anthony, New Brighton, Columbia Heights area.
Thanks.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
The God Fantasy
Writing has always come easy to me, so imagine the frustration that accompanies a mental incapacity for putting words on a page (or a screen, which is more accurate in this age) for weeks at a time. I read through these blogs that I write and am amazed that what used to be an idea now and four or five paragraphs fifteen minutes from now has become a several day process. I think of something and wrestle with it and sit down to write and nothing comes out. I put all this out there to say, the entries are pretty few and far between because writing has become difficult and the mental energy that I am able to muster to do any writing really should be channeled toward finishing the thesis that refuses to write itself. But for tonight I am back because something really bizarre came out of my experiences today.
First, the background. I am doing my thesis using Fantasy Theme Analysis as my methodology. Fantasy themes arise in groups when members use narratives (stories) of people in a different setting--not in the here and now--which create a sense of resonance among the group and many/all members begin to share that fantasy (fantasy in the sense of the way something is mentally presented as reality rather than as a lurid dream), creating a "chain" reaction. Fantasy themes can grow and connect with other themes to create a type. Enough people, sharing enough types will cultivate a "rhetorical vision," a shared reality for a large group of people described as a rhetorical community.
Next, the setting. I have, for the past year plus, struggled with anxiety attacks. Trying to write on my thesis this week has been a constant battle of chest pain, shortness of breath, my brain racing and struggling to focus and general despair. That said, I finally handed in a few pages of writing/research and that is something of an accomplishment, I suppose. Today, we had extra kids and extra activity in our house and I have an ill wife. Also, as I wrote a few entries back, I seem to have a heightened acuity to sensory stimuli...touch, feel, and especially noise. It is as if I can "feel" the noise on and in my body. So by mid-afternoon I was going crazy and decided to get out of the house and go to a coffee shop and try to study and write there. I spent two hours of intense concentration on fantasy themes. And then, since Carol is sick and probably won't be going out tomorrow and because there will be less chaos at home and thus a better opportunity to write here (at the house) tomorrow, I went to the Saturday evening service at Woodland Hills. So, there is the subtext of this plot: lots of iced tea, focus (as much as is possible) on fantasy themes, and moving into a scene of group worship.
The group that led worship tonight is one that has been a consistent struggle for me to find an attachment, any sense of oneness in worship. I started out a year ago thinking, "Aren't they fake!" In the year that has passed, God and Greg have helped me change that thinking. It is not my place to pass that sort of judgment and there is a very high likelihood that they are not fake, but simply a little difficult for me to connect to stylistically.
Understanding these things, and with my brain filled with fantasy theme stuff, I found myself (consciously) doing Fantasy Theme Analysis on the fly during the music part of the service. See, the theme that seemed to be coming from the front was a theme of "expressive worship" and those in the lead were doing everything they could, using verbal and nonverbal means, to bring those in the auditorium along with them to a place of resonance with this theme. Again, I am not trying to judge motive, just making a communication based observation that I would never have noticed before. I admit that this line of thought created a bit of an "existential crisis" for me. What if "faith" is nothing more than a series of fantasy themes (expressive worship, social ministry, contemplation and liturgy, etc.) chaining out and creating fantasy types (charismatic, mainline, denominational, non-denominational, etc.) until a rhetorical community (Christians) is formed around a rhetorical vision (God). What if the entirety of our faith is nothing more than a simple act of easily critiqued and analyzed communication? I am freaked out.
The only answer I can provide for myself at this stage is the most basic answer, one that sounds like circular reasoning, but it goes something like this: the only answer to a faith that is nothing more than a rhetorical construct is...faith. If I believe that behind all of these fantasy themes and types is a genuine God who really is worthy of our worship and devotion, who really has the power to create worlds and renovate lives, then God as rhetorical vision is only part of the equation. Not sure how to make sense of all this exactly, but it is what is racing through my seriously furious (not angry) mind right now. Any thoughts?
First, the background. I am doing my thesis using Fantasy Theme Analysis as my methodology. Fantasy themes arise in groups when members use narratives (stories) of people in a different setting--not in the here and now--which create a sense of resonance among the group and many/all members begin to share that fantasy (fantasy in the sense of the way something is mentally presented as reality rather than as a lurid dream), creating a "chain" reaction. Fantasy themes can grow and connect with other themes to create a type. Enough people, sharing enough types will cultivate a "rhetorical vision," a shared reality for a large group of people described as a rhetorical community.
Next, the setting. I have, for the past year plus, struggled with anxiety attacks. Trying to write on my thesis this week has been a constant battle of chest pain, shortness of breath, my brain racing and struggling to focus and general despair. That said, I finally handed in a few pages of writing/research and that is something of an accomplishment, I suppose. Today, we had extra kids and extra activity in our house and I have an ill wife. Also, as I wrote a few entries back, I seem to have a heightened acuity to sensory stimuli...touch, feel, and especially noise. It is as if I can "feel" the noise on and in my body. So by mid-afternoon I was going crazy and decided to get out of the house and go to a coffee shop and try to study and write there. I spent two hours of intense concentration on fantasy themes. And then, since Carol is sick and probably won't be going out tomorrow and because there will be less chaos at home and thus a better opportunity to write here (at the house) tomorrow, I went to the Saturday evening service at Woodland Hills. So, there is the subtext of this plot: lots of iced tea, focus (as much as is possible) on fantasy themes, and moving into a scene of group worship.
The group that led worship tonight is one that has been a consistent struggle for me to find an attachment, any sense of oneness in worship. I started out a year ago thinking, "Aren't they fake!" In the year that has passed, God and Greg have helped me change that thinking. It is not my place to pass that sort of judgment and there is a very high likelihood that they are not fake, but simply a little difficult for me to connect to stylistically.
Understanding these things, and with my brain filled with fantasy theme stuff, I found myself (consciously) doing Fantasy Theme Analysis on the fly during the music part of the service. See, the theme that seemed to be coming from the front was a theme of "expressive worship" and those in the lead were doing everything they could, using verbal and nonverbal means, to bring those in the auditorium along with them to a place of resonance with this theme. Again, I am not trying to judge motive, just making a communication based observation that I would never have noticed before. I admit that this line of thought created a bit of an "existential crisis" for me. What if "faith" is nothing more than a series of fantasy themes (expressive worship, social ministry, contemplation and liturgy, etc.) chaining out and creating fantasy types (charismatic, mainline, denominational, non-denominational, etc.) until a rhetorical community (Christians) is formed around a rhetorical vision (God). What if the entirety of our faith is nothing more than a simple act of easily critiqued and analyzed communication? I am freaked out.
The only answer I can provide for myself at this stage is the most basic answer, one that sounds like circular reasoning, but it goes something like this: the only answer to a faith that is nothing more than a rhetorical construct is...faith. If I believe that behind all of these fantasy themes and types is a genuine God who really is worthy of our worship and devotion, who really has the power to create worlds and renovate lives, then God as rhetorical vision is only part of the equation. Not sure how to make sense of all this exactly, but it is what is racing through my seriously furious (not angry) mind right now. Any thoughts?
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Symptoms or Semantics
My friend responded to my last post with a comment that I was isolated, estranged, detached. I have been wrestling with those words in the days since. They are certainly descriptive of some of the symptoms I seem to be experiencing, but I'm not sure they are the core or the heart of the matter. I have come to believe that the word that best describes my life right now is dissonant. There are so many contradictory things going on that it can be really unnerving.
The days often seem to pass in a fog, with many lost hours and experiences. However, in the midst of this numbness is an acuity that is uncomfortable. I feel my skin, I feel the air pressing on me, every physical ache is intensified. Every negative thought is magnified (which is not altogether uncommon for me) and it seems I am far more aware of every physical, mental and emotional craving. One of the worrisome things about all this is that while I have heightened sensitivity, I don't seem to have any better understanding of how to interact with these issues. So I live with this conflicting blurriness and clarity.
I desperately want to be involved, yet find motivation for involvement lacking. When the motivation is present, it seems the opportunity often isn't. Life sometimes feels completely random or haphazard, while at the same time seeming to be very orchestrated--whether for the good or the bad. So I live with both the feeling of restraint at being someone's puppet and the terror of being in free fall.
I am going to stop here for now, as I don't have any significant conclusions to apply. Just writing out my conflicting thoughts to see if they provide a map for the journey in any way. If you have any thoughts or suggestions, I would love to hear/read them.
The days often seem to pass in a fog, with many lost hours and experiences. However, in the midst of this numbness is an acuity that is uncomfortable. I feel my skin, I feel the air pressing on me, every physical ache is intensified. Every negative thought is magnified (which is not altogether uncommon for me) and it seems I am far more aware of every physical, mental and emotional craving. One of the worrisome things about all this is that while I have heightened sensitivity, I don't seem to have any better understanding of how to interact with these issues. So I live with this conflicting blurriness and clarity.
I desperately want to be involved, yet find motivation for involvement lacking. When the motivation is present, it seems the opportunity often isn't. Life sometimes feels completely random or haphazard, while at the same time seeming to be very orchestrated--whether for the good or the bad. So I live with both the feeling of restraint at being someone's puppet and the terror of being in free fall.
I am going to stop here for now, as I don't have any significant conclusions to apply. Just writing out my conflicting thoughts to see if they provide a map for the journey in any way. If you have any thoughts or suggestions, I would love to hear/read them.
Friday, January 16, 2009
An Undesired Anniversary
I am coming to the anniversary date of the onset of anxiety attacks and the past 24 hours have been a constant reminder of their presence in my life. This is not where I expected to be at this point and I can't say that I appreciate this "learning experience" every moment of every day, but it is indeed a learning journey. So, while this blog is not supposed to be primarily about my mental and emotional struggles, I think it is important to look at what I have been learning.
Throughout my life, I have been the ultimate multi-tasker, or the ultimate ADD sufferer...depending on your perspective. I have always thrived when I had multiple plates in the air, multiple tasks on the to-do list. I couldn't read just one book, I had to be working on five or six books at once. I have never been satisfied in jobs that involved a daily, unchanging routine, I needed variety in life. I craved options. As I review the past several months, though, what I discover is that options and uncertainty are causing me extreme anxiety and distress these days.
I really want to get a job. We need the income, my wife is really tired as the pressure of bringing in enough weighs her down, and I would really like to feel like I am accomplishing something of substance rather than sitting at a computer staring at Facebook for hours on end. I find, however, that when I go to a website full of job listings, I feel overwhelmed and paralyzed. I'm sure there are jobs available for me, I just can't get past the list of openings without my chest seizing up and my brain going into rapid descent. This leads to more problems with the depression and anxiety as it reminds me that I'm broken and not feeling any closer to fixed than I was when this whole mess began.
Then there is the daunting process of writing the dreaded thesis. I have never struggled to write--in high school and undergrad I could write five page papers after just reading a book jacket--but I can't seem to focus enough to do any writing on my thesis. I read and study and I love what I am learning. I just can't get it to transfer from my brain to my fingers. Others tell me to write in short sessions or smaller bites, but I can't seem to get my brain around where to start. Again, the sinking feeling of being overwhelmed and paralyzed envelopes me and I find myself sitting and staring at a stack of materials and a blank document on which I am making no progress. I can write one entry on my blog, although it takes a lot more effort than it used to, but I can't organize my thoughts enough to write a paragraph or even a sentence academically.
It is both frustrating and terrifying. I wonder when/if my cognitive abilities will ever return. It is a dark and desperate place in which to live. I cry out to God and hear nothing. I talk to my psychiatrist and she tells me I'm doing better, but why don't I grasp that? My friends and mentors try to help me but I seem to be burrowing into a deeper hole every day. Where is the end? When have I learned enough to get out and move on? I wish I knew.
There is one wonderful/terrible realization to report: I am far less judgmental of others struggling with these kinds of issues these days. There was a woman in our church twenty years ago who had times when she couldn't leave the house and life was a constant battle for her. I remember thinking, and hearing others comment, that she was weak or that she was in some way sinful and thinking less of her. After a year of living a portion of her terror and lostness, my heart goes out to her and others like us who can't seem to defeat "the demons." It can feel like a journey which has a beginning but no known ending and no map or compass to give you direction as you travel. I would not wish this existence on anyone.
I probably know at a deeper emotional level that God loves me and that I really want to love him too than at any point in my life. The queer thing is, it doesn't take care of the symptoms. I have a greater appreciation of my wife and our kids than ever before, but still find myself alone and under the covers at times because I can't handle the relational end of things at the moment. Maybe someday this will make sense. Maybe.
Throughout my life, I have been the ultimate multi-tasker, or the ultimate ADD sufferer...depending on your perspective. I have always thrived when I had multiple plates in the air, multiple tasks on the to-do list. I couldn't read just one book, I had to be working on five or six books at once. I have never been satisfied in jobs that involved a daily, unchanging routine, I needed variety in life. I craved options. As I review the past several months, though, what I discover is that options and uncertainty are causing me extreme anxiety and distress these days.
I really want to get a job. We need the income, my wife is really tired as the pressure of bringing in enough weighs her down, and I would really like to feel like I am accomplishing something of substance rather than sitting at a computer staring at Facebook for hours on end. I find, however, that when I go to a website full of job listings, I feel overwhelmed and paralyzed. I'm sure there are jobs available for me, I just can't get past the list of openings without my chest seizing up and my brain going into rapid descent. This leads to more problems with the depression and anxiety as it reminds me that I'm broken and not feeling any closer to fixed than I was when this whole mess began.
Then there is the daunting process of writing the dreaded thesis. I have never struggled to write--in high school and undergrad I could write five page papers after just reading a book jacket--but I can't seem to focus enough to do any writing on my thesis. I read and study and I love what I am learning. I just can't get it to transfer from my brain to my fingers. Others tell me to write in short sessions or smaller bites, but I can't seem to get my brain around where to start. Again, the sinking feeling of being overwhelmed and paralyzed envelopes me and I find myself sitting and staring at a stack of materials and a blank document on which I am making no progress. I can write one entry on my blog, although it takes a lot more effort than it used to, but I can't organize my thoughts enough to write a paragraph or even a sentence academically.
It is both frustrating and terrifying. I wonder when/if my cognitive abilities will ever return. It is a dark and desperate place in which to live. I cry out to God and hear nothing. I talk to my psychiatrist and she tells me I'm doing better, but why don't I grasp that? My friends and mentors try to help me but I seem to be burrowing into a deeper hole every day. Where is the end? When have I learned enough to get out and move on? I wish I knew.
There is one wonderful/terrible realization to report: I am far less judgmental of others struggling with these kinds of issues these days. There was a woman in our church twenty years ago who had times when she couldn't leave the house and life was a constant battle for her. I remember thinking, and hearing others comment, that she was weak or that she was in some way sinful and thinking less of her. After a year of living a portion of her terror and lostness, my heart goes out to her and others like us who can't seem to defeat "the demons." It can feel like a journey which has a beginning but no known ending and no map or compass to give you direction as you travel. I would not wish this existence on anyone.
I probably know at a deeper emotional level that God loves me and that I really want to love him too than at any point in my life. The queer thing is, it doesn't take care of the symptoms. I have a greater appreciation of my wife and our kids than ever before, but still find myself alone and under the covers at times because I can't handle the relational end of things at the moment. Maybe someday this will make sense. Maybe.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Is Jesus Coming on a Cloud of Excellence?
After a holiday hiatus, it is time to post again. I haven't been teaching for most of a month and study on my thesis continues to drag on, so finding things to write about has been a bit of a challenge for me. I will say that it was so good having family around for several days between Christmas and New Year's and I'm thankful that we got a chance to see each of them and get to know some of the nieces and nephews that we don't see often. Thanks for coming everyone!
Went to a monthly lunch meeting today with a group of people who have interest and passion in seeing reconciliation happen. We start with about 30 minutes of prayer together each time we meet. It was the prayer time that has me thinking today; specifically, the prayers of a couple of people, neither of whom I know very well. So, let me put in the disclaimer that I am only evaluating words and making no statement about the heart or motive of these two gentlemen. The fact that they want to be part of this group and make a difference in North Minneapolis is commendable.
The first guy kept praying that we would be ready when Jesus comes to North Minneapolis, as if he is in some way absent right now: "Jesus is coming and we need to be ready to assist him when he gets here." After more than three years of working with ministry types on the northside, I can testify that Jesus is alive and well in North Minneapolis. There are Christ-following men and women who are giving their lives, day-by-day, moment-by-moment, to be his hands and feet in a community that is hurting. This kind of statement exposes our biases about urban centers. There is a common misconception that inner-cities, perhaps because we read of violence in these areas so often, are more sinful and lacking hope or light. However, having lived in suburban and rural communities all my life, I believe that there may be more hope for our cities than there are for some other parts of our country.
I would invite you to spend some time in a small town in a rural area. Pay attention to how many problems there are with drugs (especially methamphetine) and alcohol, the amount of domestic violence and abuse, the number of teenaged girls that are pregnant, and then see if the view remains the same. Add to that the tendency of small towns to deny or hide their troubles, the prevalence of empty religion and moralism, and a general sense of boredom and you can see that Jesus faces some sizable obstacles in these areas too.
Perhaps the journey could then lead you to the suburbs, land of excess and affluence, McMansions and malaise. The lack of contact with reality has a numbing effect on people in these communities. Until the past several months, the financial hardships that define our urban core have had very little bearing on the suburbs. So the security net of comfort, the accumulation of and addiction to stuff, the need for bigger houses and newer SUV's create a shell around the suburbanite that rejects the calling of the quiet voice of God. Maybe, and only maybe, those outside the city limits have fewer obvious problems (teen pregnancy, violence, drugs, etc.) but they share the same aversion to God that those in other communities do.
North Minneapolis needs people to be committed to living out Christ's kingdom on the ground, but so do every small town and every suburb in our world. Jesus isn't "coming," Jesus is present and he is working in big ways and small to restore each of these communities and bring them to relationship with him.
The other troubling prayer was one which kept emphasizing "excellence." Somehow excellence is the key to effective ministry for Jesus, and if we don't pursue excellence, we aren't following Jesus. Not sure where we fell into this flawed way of thinking, but it is so pervasive in evangelical circles and on the shelves of Christian bookstores as to be troubling.
I won't go into a huge amount of detail, but if one just begins with Matthew 1, I think the excellence ideal is blown away. When we consider the bloodline of Jesus, it is a tribute to messiness, to a lack of excellence. Abraham? Mess. Jacob? Mess. Rahab? Mess. David? Mess. Israel in general? Mess. Yet from this flawed stream of contributors, God presented the world with Messiah. Jesus had three years of public ministry which would probably not rate high on the excellence scale of today. He hung out with those whom society would encourage avoiding: tax-collectors, prostitutes, unstable fishermen--you name it, they were a part of his entourage. He built no buildings and had no viable programs for soul-winning. He drifted around from small town to small town, stirring things up as he went but often leaving no tangible evidence that he had been there. Executed as a criminal, abandoned and betrayed by those he considered his closest friends, and buried in a borrowed tomb...wow, what a portrait of non-excellence. No, I think the evidence is pretty overwhelming: Jesus was messy and his was not a model of ministry excellence by human standards.
I think we should do our best, give great effort when we put ourselves into places where we can be of use in ministry to people for the kingdom of God. That said, there may be more genuine affect in real human lives by messy ministry than by professional excellence. I don't want to plan to fail, but I don't want the success of Jesus to hinge on my excellence.
Just a couple of thoughts.
Went to a monthly lunch meeting today with a group of people who have interest and passion in seeing reconciliation happen. We start with about 30 minutes of prayer together each time we meet. It was the prayer time that has me thinking today; specifically, the prayers of a couple of people, neither of whom I know very well. So, let me put in the disclaimer that I am only evaluating words and making no statement about the heart or motive of these two gentlemen. The fact that they want to be part of this group and make a difference in North Minneapolis is commendable.
The first guy kept praying that we would be ready when Jesus comes to North Minneapolis, as if he is in some way absent right now: "Jesus is coming and we need to be ready to assist him when he gets here." After more than three years of working with ministry types on the northside, I can testify that Jesus is alive and well in North Minneapolis. There are Christ-following men and women who are giving their lives, day-by-day, moment-by-moment, to be his hands and feet in a community that is hurting. This kind of statement exposes our biases about urban centers. There is a common misconception that inner-cities, perhaps because we read of violence in these areas so often, are more sinful and lacking hope or light. However, having lived in suburban and rural communities all my life, I believe that there may be more hope for our cities than there are for some other parts of our country.
I would invite you to spend some time in a small town in a rural area. Pay attention to how many problems there are with drugs (especially methamphetine) and alcohol, the amount of domestic violence and abuse, the number of teenaged girls that are pregnant, and then see if the view remains the same. Add to that the tendency of small towns to deny or hide their troubles, the prevalence of empty religion and moralism, and a general sense of boredom and you can see that Jesus faces some sizable obstacles in these areas too.
Perhaps the journey could then lead you to the suburbs, land of excess and affluence, McMansions and malaise. The lack of contact with reality has a numbing effect on people in these communities. Until the past several months, the financial hardships that define our urban core have had very little bearing on the suburbs. So the security net of comfort, the accumulation of and addiction to stuff, the need for bigger houses and newer SUV's create a shell around the suburbanite that rejects the calling of the quiet voice of God. Maybe, and only maybe, those outside the city limits have fewer obvious problems (teen pregnancy, violence, drugs, etc.) but they share the same aversion to God that those in other communities do.
North Minneapolis needs people to be committed to living out Christ's kingdom on the ground, but so do every small town and every suburb in our world. Jesus isn't "coming," Jesus is present and he is working in big ways and small to restore each of these communities and bring them to relationship with him.
The other troubling prayer was one which kept emphasizing "excellence." Somehow excellence is the key to effective ministry for Jesus, and if we don't pursue excellence, we aren't following Jesus. Not sure where we fell into this flawed way of thinking, but it is so pervasive in evangelical circles and on the shelves of Christian bookstores as to be troubling.
I won't go into a huge amount of detail, but if one just begins with Matthew 1, I think the excellence ideal is blown away. When we consider the bloodline of Jesus, it is a tribute to messiness, to a lack of excellence. Abraham? Mess. Jacob? Mess. Rahab? Mess. David? Mess. Israel in general? Mess. Yet from this flawed stream of contributors, God presented the world with Messiah. Jesus had three years of public ministry which would probably not rate high on the excellence scale of today. He hung out with those whom society would encourage avoiding: tax-collectors, prostitutes, unstable fishermen--you name it, they were a part of his entourage. He built no buildings and had no viable programs for soul-winning. He drifted around from small town to small town, stirring things up as he went but often leaving no tangible evidence that he had been there. Executed as a criminal, abandoned and betrayed by those he considered his closest friends, and buried in a borrowed tomb...wow, what a portrait of non-excellence. No, I think the evidence is pretty overwhelming: Jesus was messy and his was not a model of ministry excellence by human standards.
I think we should do our best, give great effort when we put ourselves into places where we can be of use in ministry to people for the kingdom of God. That said, there may be more genuine affect in real human lives by messy ministry than by professional excellence. I don't want to plan to fail, but I don't want the success of Jesus to hinge on my excellence.
Just a couple of thoughts.
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