Stumbling Toward God?

In my Bible study a few weeks ago, we discussed how the word “hope” has different meanings for Christians and non-believers. For Christians, “hope” is a guarantee; something that you know is going to happen. For non-believers, it is really quite the opposite. “Hope” is something that you want to happen, but it is not at all certain. In fact, it generally implies that this thing is more likely to NOT happen.

How did this difference occur? I can only imagine that it came from repeatedly hoping for things that did not come to pass. I think I can speak for cynics everywhere to say that hope only leads to disappointment and regret. That is, of course, the hope for things that will not be. If you always hope for true things, you will never be disappointed.

It has been a source of great vexation to me that both my own experience and my understanding of the Bible lead me to the conclusion that God does not really give a flying noodle what I want. Oh, there are some verses here and there that would seem to suggest otherwise, and some fringe theologians have built entire ministries off of that, but I think that those who really study the Bible would agree with me, though they would obviously spin it quite differently.

Anyway, why should He care, really? When what I want and what I feel changes from day to day, moment to moment? I keep wanting to think that my feelings mean something, and that the things that are important to me might be important to someone else. But I am constantly reminded that they do not, are not. Ultimately, they can not, because in order for what I want and what I feel right now to be significant, to be “true,” I would also have to admit that what I used to want and feel are just as valid. But in most cases, they are not.

An eternal God sees my yesterday in exactly the same way that He sees my tomorrow. What possible importance can my desires du jour have? But for me, who has no choice other than to live one day at a time, nothing could be more important.

I Had Such Hopes…
I have a journal in which I write even less often than I blog, but I have been using it for the past few days to write some notes in. Today, I happened to read what was on the first page. Written during my church group’s summer retreat last year, it was a list of issues that I was struggling with at that time. The shocking thing was that I could easily make an identical list today. How can this be? Has really nothing changed, at all? What in the world have I been doing for the last year?

I have not been literally sitting around doing nothing. There have been struggles, ups and downs, disappointments and new hopes; but all the while I had the ultimate hope that I was on a path that was leading in a positive direction. Yet here I am, in exactly the same place. All of my searching has led nowhere, all of my hopes have been in vain.

And yet, foolish as it seems, I still dare to hope that God will come through, that love will come through. Honestly, that is why Sundays have become so distasteful. I start every Sunday morning with such hope, but by the end of the day, I am always left broken again.

On Sundays I go to church.

I’ve found churches to go to while staying in San Francisco, Geneva, San Antonio, Washington D.C. and Paris. I’ve walked the mile and a half to church when my car battery was dead. I went to church in the morning the night after my mother died. I even went to church last Sunday after blowing off God, my blog, and everyone. It’s what I do.

I’ve been either physically sitting in church or at a church sponsored function without exception every Sunday since I started going. (That is, if you consider “spending Christmas with my family” a church sponsored function – which I do.)

In the absence of faith, there is legalism.

Over three years ago, I set out to try to answer the question, “Why do otherwise rational and intelligent people believe this absurd story?” I gradually immersed myself in the christian culture. I went to church with a genuine curiosity to understand what it was all about. I was doing this for several months before I was asked to work on a Sunday. At that point I had to take an official position. I decided then that I would never miss church for work. I was perfectly willing to work Sundays, just after I had been to church in the morning. At that time I did not consider it a “sin” to miss church, I just knew myself well enough that if I skipped church once for even a legitimate reason like work, it would only be that much easier to miss in the future. Often times I would get home from work very late Saturday night, and I just might rather sleep in. Then before long, I would only be going to church when I felt like it.

Of course, the longer I went, the more important it seemed to keep my “streak” going. I had another motive as well. There was a certain individual whom I would have liked very much to tell that I had been to church every single Sunday since the last time we had spoken. But that was a long time ago, and I have neither the expectation nor the inclination to ever speak to that person again.

After awhile, as I slowly got to know people, it became more and more common to go out for lunch after the sermon. Eventually it became part of the Sunday routine. By that point I was no longer going to church to learn, but (as my father has observed) for the community.

In recent days, that community has dwindled significantly. They obviously do not share my compulsion to never miss a sermon. I imagine that it is not a big deal to someone who has an actual relationship with the Lord.

It occurred to me not long ago that, in a way, I have more faith than those around me. Many people go to church because they have faith in God and believe in His promises. Me, I literally do not believe the Bible, but I go to church anyway, and I still have faith that something good will come of it. This is nonsense of course. For who ever said that blinder faith is greater faith?

I have been on the verge of walking away from all of this for as long as I can remember. What holds me back? As I said, three years ago I set out to answer, “Why do rational and intelligent people believe this absurd story?” Strictly speaking, I have not yet found an answer to that question.

More than one person has told me that I have been an encouragement to them. I am fascinated by that. If after years of searching, I never found what I was looking for and gave up, that must come as a challenge to their own faith. But if in times of doubt, they can look to me as one who is spilling over with doubt, yet I persist, they can be assured that their faith is not in vain.

Perhaps I give myself too much credit, but the point remains: is it really just a sort of mob mentality? Are we, in our doubts, looking to the faith of those around us, who in turn are finding their strength in us, none of us willing to admit that the emperor has no clothes?

I can hear the skeptics quickly agreeing that yes, that’s all it is. I myself am not so ready to accept that, especially when the stakes are so high.

Every once in awhile, I will fast and go to one of the local parks to write. I decided to do that today, choosing Caroline Park. (I did not actually write anything, because I had a book in my car that I had intended to return to its rightful owner yesterday, but that didn’t actually happen, and today I suddenly thought, “Hey, what if I actually read it first?”)

Anyway, I went to sit down on a bench at the top of a long grassy slope, and suddenly the thought occurred to me, “Run to the bottom of the hill and back.”
“What?”
“Run to the bottom of the hill as fast as you can, then turn around and come back.”
“Why?“
“Why not?”

Well, I couldn’t argue with that logic… so I put down my stuff, then I sprinted down the slope and about two thirds of the way back up. Perhaps it would have been better if I could have done the uphill first, but I am out of shape. I made my way panting to the bench.
“Alright God, what was the point of that?”
“Nothing.”
“What?!”
“Nothing.”
I’ve got to stop talking to myself.

So I started the book, and about an hour and a half later, “Do it again.”
“No.“
“Do it again.”
“Is there a point this time?:
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
Well, I choose to ignore that for awhile, but when I finished the chapter that I was had been reading…
“Do it again.”
Alright fine. But I ran downhill more slowly this time, and was able to make it pretty much back to the top. “Alright now, what was the point of that?”
“Roll down the hill.”
“Excuse me?”
“Roll down the hill.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“You did the other things…”

So I emptied my pockets, firmly convinced that I was losing my mind… but it’s not as though I was really using it anyway.
The rolling didn’t work out so well. I kept turning so that I was heading for the edge of the lawn rather than down the slope, never really got the momentum that I had expected, and besides the grass had a lot of prickly weeds in it. I got maybe a quarter of the way down. “Ok, I did it. Now what was the point of all this?”

“It’s Monday. Most people have to work for a living while you are out rolling in the grass. So why don’t you SHUT THE F*** UP!”

Something about the phrasing leads me to believe that this was not the Voice of God, but point taken.

“Now run to the bottom again, but this time, bring back one of those purple flowers.”
“Come on…”
“You like purple.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“DO IT!”

So, now I have a purple flower.

>Its a good time for endings.

…THE HELL IT IS!

I know I don’t usually like to explain myself, but… Robert Smith is the lead singer/only permanent member of the band The Cure. In the 90’s and 00’s, he (they) released four or five albums, each time claiming it would be the last one. Well… that’s lame.

I did not want to do that. When I say I’m done with this, I want to be done with it. If I say that I’m done, and then I keep going, you will think that I’m weak, lack the strength of my convinctions, refuse to let go… whatever. So I specifically said that I was not making any promises.

I know, one vague sentence when the whole rest of my demeanor says “I’m done with this crap” would give anyone the wrong impression. Especially if you have no idea who Robert Smith is. So, everyone thought I was done and… dang it… what was I supposed to do? Well, screw it. You already think I’m weak, and you’re absolutely right.

I’m glad we got that cleared up.

Some days you wake up with your head in a cloud
And when you look up a whole year’s gone by
— <LiM>

When I try to look objectively back over the course of my life, I come to the conclusion that I seem to prefer being miserable. That’s strange, certainly, yet undeniable none the less. I don’t really know what to do with that.

So, over a month ago I picked today as the day that I would dramatically end this blog, but now that it’s here, I find that I really don’t have anything dramatic to say. I did grow tired from the fact that all the comments I was getting were from the unbelievers’ viewpoint – sure makes seeking God seem like a not so valuable use of time… but let’s be honest, I was tired a long time before that. Anyway, I have no desire to do a Robert Smith style ending here, so I’m not going to make any promises one way or another.

Lately, I’ve been consumed with another project that has nothing to do with God. Nothing whatsoever. It’s mildly amusing when my Christian friends keep asking what I’ve been up to, and I know for a stone hard fact that I’ve been engaging in a form of idolatry, but don’t particularly want to come right out and say that.

So, I think this is about the point where I came in.

Happy St. Thomas Sunday.

I did not want to come back from Louisiana. I knew what was waiting for me here. I thought it would be a life-changing experience. “Tell everyone what you saw here,” they said.

It’s impossible not to think about God in a place like that. It’s easy not to think about God in a place like this. It’s real easy. Some people do it for their whole lives. I went about a week, avoiding the issues that deep down I knew I would have to face eventually. But it’s easy not to.

And in the meantime… I had been wanting for some time to get a definitive recording of my old songs, and this seemed like a good time. I was working on one song in particular and was really pleased with the sounds I was getting with new technology that I could only dream of as a starving artist. But I knew that when it came to recording vocals, I would not be able to do the song justice. I am in a very different place now than when I wrote it, and could never capture the sense of bitterness that the song requires. I needn’t have worried, God was all over that one. Circumstances aligned nicely to recreate those old feelings.

It’s easy to get to a dark place. It’s hard to get back out again. Shouldn’t have opened that door, Boy, you knew what was in there… Sometimes the tales say that when you release a spirit from imprisonment, they are so grateful that they will grant you three wishes. I imagine that, more often, they’re just mad as hell.

I wrote my last post at about 5:00 am after a sleepless night. Some thoughts that occur in the dead of night really ought to stay in the dead of night. I considered taking it down, but that seems to annoy people, and it’s a dangerous precedent.

So often I say nothing at all, but when I do speak, I often wish that I hadn’t. I was out with some church folk not long ago, and I’m sure they thought I was just rambling, but I was actually just about to come to a point that would tie it together when suddenly I thought, “WHOA there buddy! Consider your audience!” So I stopped cold, leaving them to just think that I was off my rocker, which is probably accurate anyway.

The blog is tricky thing. I whisper into the wind, but people hear and sometimes what I say comes back again days or even weeks later. It can be difficult to keep in mind an audience one can not see. So forgive the rambling madman, he means not to offend.

There’s really no shortage of people that I could talk to. It’s just that there’s one person in particular that I want to talk to, but that no longer seems to be an option. I do not fully understand why that is either. I could say that the gulf between us has grown so wide and so deep that if we tried to meet half way, we both fall to our deaths. Which is a lovely mental picture, but ultimately, I think it’s really just me.

Let me tell you a little about me. On Monday morning I got up and fixed myself a typical breakfast. I sat and stared at it for a minute or so wondering, “What am I supposed to do with that?” The obvious answer would be, “Eat it,” but first I should pray and it is also my habit to read the Bible while I have breakfast. Well, I honestly did not want to do either of those things, so I decided not to eat either. I plastic wrapped the whole mess and put it in the refrigerator, and did not eat anything the for rest of the day. Sometimes I get carried away when trying to make a point. I’m not even sure what point, or to whom I was trying to make it in this case. It’s just an example of the way I’m wired- everything has to be just right, or else I reject it entirely. All or nothing, no compromises.

It must be maddening trying to talk to me. I tend to answer all personal questions in one sentence or less. One word if I can get away with it. Unless of course, they are “yes or no” questions. I hate “yes or no” questions. I try to favor vagueness over outright lies, but you never know.

It’s not like I would ever take a single step out of my way to make a conversation happen. Everything has to be “just so” naturally, remember? And even when they do, I’m not ready. I can’t help it if even when you ask the right questions, all I get in my head is a stream of pictures and not a single word. I so desperately want to share it all, but no words come. And all I can do is watch as the gulf grows wider and deeper. I wish it were not so, but as they say, wish in on hand, defecate in the other and see which fills up first.

The rational part of my mind is sickened to be permanently attached to such a whiney little snot. I would gladly leave me behind if I had the chance. “So long chump, I hope you get what’s coming to you.”

Some say that I’m harder on myself than necessary, but they don’t know me like I know me. Besides, there’s no one else here to blame.

Sunday nights tend to leave me in a really foul mood. ‘Twas not always thus.

For those following closely, it’s March, and I just got off an airplane.