Stumbling Toward God?

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.

(Before you begin, here is something old that I never finished.)

It used to be my job to find places for various things. One day, I was looking for a place to store some block-and-tackles. I realized that an ideal spot would be to hang them on a nearby wall, so in order to confirm this proposition, I placed them exactly where I thought they should go. I watched in disappointment as they dropped in a heap on the floor. An onlooker said that at that moment, he lost all faith in “faith.” For there were no hooks of any kind on this wall. I had simply placed them up against the wall and let go, hoping that they would defy gravity of their own accord. My friend claims never before to have seen anyone act with so much confidence in something that so obviously was not true.

As the preacher says, it is not faith that saves you, but faith in the truth.

There is far too much in the world for anyone to take it all in. We have no choice but to be selective. We filter, and thus create our own individual “realities.” I get that. But I still contend that there is a greater reality outside of each of our individual realities. I “believe” that there is universal truth that effects all of us, whether we choose to believe it or not. If “truth” and “reality” are only in our heads, then no one would ever get in a car accident. Or, as one speaker put it, “Truth is what you believe. Reality is what you run into when you’re wrong.”

Some of my readers seem to suggest that I would do well to find my own place in the world, and then find a concept of god that suits me. I reject this outright. If I was simply looking for a “god” as a way to make me feel better, I like to think that I might look for something that actually made me feel better.

I want to know if there is a god that exists outside of my reality and outside of your reality. A god that simply IS, not subject to individual perception or perspective. Is such a thing possible? I do not know, but it seems reasonable to assume that if God exists, and that if He was willing and capable of revealing Himself to mankind in a way that they could comprehend, then He would have done so by now. That if the truth about God can be known, then someone already knows it. I happen to think that such issues of whether or not I actually LIKE God, or whether or not I think that He likes me, are fairly irrelevant to the question of His existence.