Shirts and Porches

If you were to walk into my house right now and take a look around, you would see some pretty normal stuff.

Pictures on the wall

A refrigerator

A recliner

A lamp

And a shirt nailed to the wall.

When I first moved in, I didn't want to completely ruin my impression on the landlord. So, the first few times she came near the front door, I kept the door barely open so she wouldn't ask

Why is there a shirt hanging on your wall?

I had several episodes like this, where the landlord or an electricity salesperson or the maintenance man would come knockin', and I would keep the door barely cracked as if my living room was full of marijuana.

I don't remember if I even ever told the story, even though I got comfortable with people seeing the shirt.

And then, the other day, I was sitting on the porch with my grandpa. It was his porch.

It was probably the best conversation we've had in the last ten years, and there wasn't a word said.

He kept dozin off to the sound of the birds singin in the yard, and I kept watchin em to see what would catch his attention and what wouldn't. 

Airplanes flyin would cause em to lift his face to the air as if he were watchin an old war memory float across the sky, but his eyes were closed. He was lost in a world that I surely couldn't see. I wish I could of though.

My oldest memories place my grandpa on a porch, either at his old house in Crosby, or right here. 

Lookin at the garden

Checkin the water gauge

Watchin the birds play in the bird bath.

A shirt hangin on the wall.
A porch with my grandpa sittin on it.

As I've been ringin my brain tryin to figure out why I have such a hard time with the whole church thing, I think I've come to some near closure.

But first, the sacred story behind the shirt. 

Painted on the shirt in red and black cross formation are the words Grace Is For Everyone.

A couple coworkers and I had received a leaked email from a local megachurch pastor who was planning a rally that would be negatively aimed toward the homosexual community.

And so, my friends (who knew nothing about the stories of Jesus) and I decided to get buckets of water, make shirts, and set up foot washing stations directly beside the sidewalk where these pastors would be walkin in.

And as we were deciding on what the shirts would say and how we should go about it, I opened to the passage of scripture where Jesus washed his disciples feet. 

And I read. And we listened. And we formed a mental picture. And we knew what to do.

Did I mention I was with two agnostics? 

We stayed up for hours gettin ready. I think it was like 4:30am before we finally went to bed. 

We pulled up to the front of church and set up the stations. We didn't really know what to do while we were waiting for the first pastors to show, so we all got down on our knees beside the water buckets and waited.

We just waited. 

And I'm sure images of all our homosexual friends were flipping through our minds. We thought about the persecution they've experienced by stuff like this. We thought about the rejection. We thought about how the church could have possibly got it so wrong.

And we waited.

And the first pastor passed.
And the second. 
And the third.

And one of the administrators asked us to leave.

We told him no.

And another pastor passed.
And another.
And another.

And another administrator told us to leave. 

And we left.

In all, the scene lasted about an hour. 

It'll probably never be remembered by a single person who walked into the building that day. In fact, I'm sure our little Jesus protest was forgotten the next day.

But for us, for me, that shirt still hangs on the wall. That shirt represents a turning point and a conflict and an adventure and a shared part in the continuing story of what it looks like to draw people in to God's redemptive love.

And so, the things about shirts and porches are: They are sacred.

And Sunday sermons - even though I just can't wrap my head around why they even exist - are, for someone sitting in that sanctuary listening, possibly the most direct expression of God is in this place, and I don't wanna miss it.

The things I consider sacred may look way different than the things other people consider sacred.

So why not celebrate the fact that we are all in our own weird and funny and relaxing and bogus and creepy and fun and prayerful and exciting ways attempting to experience more of that which is sacred. 

What is it in your life that sets off this inner voice that says, "God is in this place, and I don't wanna miss it"?

At The End Of The Day

At the end of the day.
After the creative juices have flown.
And blown.
Mayhem.  Exuberance.  Turbulence. Flow.
Thoughts that trail to the next.
The high that will not draw back.
The unexpected fall like the Judge Roy Scream.

I find it necessary to say goodbye to myself.
And find something not mine.
Something not trying to burst through.

But, something to listen to.
Read it until I wooze off into sleep.

Okay!  Off to read! :-)
Bit by bit :-)

Why the Sunday Service Can Easily Turn Into a Getaway Car (From This Evil, Nasty, World)

I feel like I don't have any closure yet with the post I wrote yesterday.

After sitting around a fire last night with a couple friends, I explained to them the best I could how my beliefs have changed dramatically over the last few months, how I'm kinda liking not going to church on Sunday, and how I always have this drive to keep pushing the envelope. 

Yet, at the same time, I feel like I've been on hiatus from really following Jesus the way I want to.

I need to read that Boenhoeffer 40-day devotional book or something, or maybe read Irresistible Revolution again. Maybe then I'll get that extra umph that I'm looking for.

Or maybe not.

There's this phrase that I thought for a long time could be found in one of Paul's letters to the churches. It goes something like: "you are in the world but not of the world."

I looked and looked and looked and it turned out it wasn't there. 

All these years of hearing this supposed quote, and it's nowhere to be found in the scriptures. 

I had a great post lining up with regard to that crafty little cliche, but I guess I'm gonna have to save it for a rainy day. Actually, I can still use it, because the cliche still exists (it just won't be found in the canonized scriptures).

I think what's meant by the phrase (which is a very Christian phrase) is that Christians need to watch how close they get to sin (or sinners). 

And so, as we were sitting around the fire last night, there were some isolated coals inside the firepit. My buddy was explaining to me that I was part of the isolated coals, while all the burning embers represented the church (or, the body). 

While it didn't dawn on me in the moment, but started dawning on me today, I realized there was an even bigger piece of the pie that was missing in the fire analogy. I missed it as well as my buddy. 

That phrase that I always hear come from the mouths of people who are claiming spiritual truths, is the best representation of the stark reality that is the church (at least the Church I'm familiar with): the Sunday service and all its trappings are a pretty modern way of getting us out of this ole' world.

While we teach and talk about the Jesus of the streets, hangin out with the roughnecks and the drunks, we know that that was then. This is now.

One thing that we can gather from speed-reading through the Gospels is: there were people who disagreed and didn't believe. But wait. If we're reading about specific people like Roman centurions and prostitutes and Pharisees, then that means that Jesus and/or Jesus followers were right in the middle of it all. 

Right in the middle of the chaos. 

Not closed off from the world in some synagogue, hiding from those meanie-head Pharisees.

Which looks very different from the Sunday service of today's church. 

The only accounts we have in the gospels of verbal sermons are accounts that involve scenes like outdoors, by water wells, on hills, with cripples, with "sinners," and in harm's way. 

To prevent from going too extreme, some of it was because that's just how it was back then. 

But then, there's other parts that don't fit the that's-just-how-it-was-back-then mold.

What does it look like to take the Sunday service to the people as if the building didn't even exist?

What does it look like to get deeper into the world instead of deeper into the church?

Are those of us standing on the margins, wondering if the church is right for us, doing it all wrong? Or, are we closer to the world? 

Are we closer to the world in which Jesus lived? Closer to the people whom Jesus talked to and ate with? Are we closer to the lepers, the prostitutes, and the tax collectors? The despised of society? The atheists? The agnostics? The rebels? The burnt out? The discontent?

It seems that when I walk into a Sunday service, I have to force myself to forget about the real life going outside. To forget about the real people who couldn't even come if they wanted to because they didn't have money to put gas in the car. Or, they didn't have a car. 

So, my next question to you, the reader, is:

If you're on the fence about the Sunday service or even the church in general, are you being Jesus where you are? Or, do you have any creative ideas of what it would look like to be Jesus where you are?

I'd love to hear your stories!

Redbud Crawfish Boil Poster

Finally... I think I'm done with this!  There's been a million drawings.  And this thing is it... that's it - goodness.  It's ridiculous!

I'm looking forward to croquet, crawfish, badminton, washers, laughing and hopefully a good fun time.

Why It's So Much Easier (For Me) to Listen to a TED Talk Than a Sunday Sermon

When I was part of a Sunday-is-The-Big-Deal-church, I loved trying to get people to join with me. 

Yet, I couldn't seem to come to a valid explanation of why Sunday services made any difference. After all, the Jesus I read about didn't spend all his time clumping folks up in the synagogue and giving them a nice TED Talk.

In a way, I lived vicariously through the people I would bring to church. I would see their smiles and their responses, and in some way it would comfort me knowing that someone found meaning in the service. Sometimes, they would talk about what they heard all week long. It made an impact in their lives, and even changed them a little.

I've had those experiences, too, but they haven't happened in a long time. A very long time.

Here's why:

I've read a ton of books, and I'm not gonna stop. 
I've talked to a ton of people, and I'm not gonna stop.
I've heard the other sides of the stories. You know. The Jewish sides. The Muslim sides. The Buddhist sides and the Hindu sides, and, I'm not gonna stop hearing those sides.

It turns out that the Universal Claims that I held onto for so long weren't so universal after all. There was always the other side of story. 

While I hold on very well to the teachings of Jesus, and the compassionate God he enables the reader to get a picture of, I don't hold on very well to Christianity. And, I'm starting to think that's okay. 

But here's why not holding on to Christianity very well, but hanging onto God and Jesus as much as possible doesn't work inside a church service.

When you hang onto the teachings of Jesus and the awesomeness of God, and try to stay away from doctrine, you have to compromise something on a Sunday. And so, while the pastor is mouthing that perfectly Christian doctrine of the only way to salvation is through Christ Jesus, I'm thinking of my Jewish friend, my atheist, friend, and my agnostic friend - all excluded from something being taught as Universal Truth.

I feel like a traitor, like an anti-Jesus, or, antichrist.

In other words, the exclusivity of Christian religion sometimes gets in the way of the inclusiveness of the Christian God. Not sometimes. All the time.

But, lets backtrack. As long as this very non-Judeo-Christian setup continues (with one lecturer proclaiming the indisputable truth), I don't see how the Sunday service is ever gonna work with the people who the Christian Church is designed to coerce, I mean, love on. 

Am I the only one who does the hard work of not only listening to a message and sorting out what I believe and don't believe? Am I the only one who will sit in a Sunday service and wonder where the hell the pastor got that idea? Am I the only one who sits in a service and wonders why the lecturer will talk as if they know things that are impossible to know, and since they say it in a convincing manner, it convinces the audience that it's true (even though it can't be proven)?

I may be asking the questions that many non-church-goers are asking:

Why continue to lay ourselves open to stuff we don't believe in, when there's no one asking if we see things differently?

I would LOVE it if once a month, we would spend a whole Sunday service going around the room and allowing everyone to tell why they believe or don't believe the "truths" that are talked about every Sunday. 

Do a good enough advertisement for that one, and you'll have all the area atheists and agnostics ready to have a [very Biblical idea in the New Testament] discussion.

I keep trying to formulate these ideas of how I can jump back in so I can get the community I'm longing for. And, the only thing I can come up with is, agree to disagree in order to be part of the family. And the idea sounds horrible. 

I don't want to tighten some mental bolts just to be able to sit in a Sunday service without having to remind myself that this is the pastor's belief system. That's what he's saying right now. It's his belief. 

And, then I forget to do it sometimes. And then, there's other times that I spend so much time doing it that I completely miss the parts of the message that I like.

I'm gonna stop right now because my thoughts are shooting in a million different directions, and there is so much that can be covered in this topic. So, I'm gonna open it up for you, the reader, to please share your experience, strength, and hope.

Have you ever experienced what I'm experiencing right now?
What happened?
What did you do?
Have you given up, or did you find a way to persist?

That's all.

What It Feels Like to Live in a State of "What's the Point?"

 Somewhere in my car is a walking stick - not the kind you use to walk with, but the bug. 

Every time I see it, it grosses me out but I can't bear to think of getting near it to get it out of the car. It's the same problem I have with roaches. 

So I just let it do its thing, hoping that it's not gonna crawl on my neck while I'm driving. 

As I looked up the word "walking stick" to see if there are any interesting things about it, I learned something pretty cool. When they're in the wild (or a vehicle), they'll sway back and forth to mimic vegetation swaying in the wind. Also, they camouflage themselves with their surroundings.

And so, this little dude is somewhere in my car, camouflaging itself to the color of my seats. When I drive with the windows down, it's probably mimicking the motion of any trash that's blowing around on the floorboards. 

The problem is, one day this little guy's gonna creep up on me when I'm not expecting it. And, when stuff like that happens (like the one time a wasp got caught in the car while I was driving), I nearly swerve off the road in panic. 

So what's better? Get rid of it so I don't have to worry about it anymore, or let it stay there, hoping that that frightful day isn't gonna come?

It would seem that the first answer would probably be the most logical, but the fear of having to get near the thing in order to remove it keeps me from taking any action. And so, the choice to let it linger and live in fear rules the day. 

What if we expanded this silly concept to more realistic issues? 

This morning, I woke up and literally felt like I was hungover. I don't know how I woke up when I did, because I set my alarm clock for 6:30 p.m. and not a.m. I had this overwhelming feeling of apathy and disinterest in life. I didn't want to go to work, and I damn sure didn't want to pray.

And just like the camouflaged walking stick lingering around in the car, this thought came to mind: "What's the point of it all?"

The question lingers underneath the surface. It hides underneath all the good things in life. It waits for the perfect time - when things aren't going exactly as they should. It waits for the slightest imperfection, and them pounces out of the darkness.

So, what is the point of it all?

While this question sounds elementary and archaic at the same time, my naked self - left to my own mind - is bound to the answer: "There's no point of anything."

And so, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, and decade after decade, I wake up to this state of pointlessness. I can't find anything worth fighting for, dying for, or living for. It's all futile, and in the words of Solomon, "There's nothing new under the sun."

And the thing is, I can't see how it could be any different left to my own human devices. I can't see how the thinking that gets me to a state of pointlessness and meaninglessness could be the same thinking that gets me somewhere different.

Enter God (or Divine Being, or Spirit Whisperer, or Allah, or The Guy Upstairs, or The Lover Pursuing Her Bridegroom, or Whatever Name You Want to Call He/She/It).

Another word I could throw in there is Phenomenon. That probably catches what I'm trying to get at the best. 

First of all, I have nothing to give to this God. 

You may be a great preacher, listener, pray-er, bible studier, or whatever, and may have this electric sensation that God is everywhere with you and flowing through your veins. 

I don't have this experience. 

What I do experience (whenever I attempt it) is, phenomenal. 

This feeling of what's the point of it all anyways has a solution. But, it doesn't just happen. And, chances are that I'm gonna wake up tomorrow with that same question lingering in my brain as if it's hard-wired to think that way every chance it gets. 

The solution is communication with this Phenomenal Being.

I know it sounds crazy, but if you're willing to go to any length to get out of the state of what's the point of it all anyways like I am, then you're willing to utter up the two or three words that you don't really want to say because you're so fucked up in the head, but then you do it anyways and finish with something like, "I'm done. That's all I have," and maybe on a good day, "Help me."

And, something happens. 

Something phenomenal happens. Over the next few minutes and hours, you start thinking that maybe there is a little meaning in what I'm going to do. Maybe there is a point in what I'm doing right now. And maybe after a few hours, you forgot you even woke up feeling like death because now you're laughing at some stupid joke your coworker just said, or you're trying to do a good job at work. 

And then you get an opportunity to help someone else (who would have seen that coming when you felt like death this morning?).

The alternative (choosing to dwell in the state of what's the point of it all anyways) is not a fun state of being to live in. I know because it's my defaulted, hard-wired state. 

My point is, we weren't created to live what's the point of it all anyways kinds of lives. We were created to thrive, to have fun, to create, and to love. And, we have this God who loves to thrive with us, and have fun with us, and create with us, and love with us.

And, one more thing. We don't pray in order to summon up some dead ancestor so that we can somehow get in touch with ancient wisdom. We pray so that we'll be awake to what this God is already doing.

We'll be awake to the reality that this life does have purpose and meaning and creativity and passion. This God isn't boring, but is constantly inviting us to wake up to Ultimate Reality, the antithesis of what's the point of it all anyways.

A Broken Harmony

 So, it's been good to read what some people have had to say in response to the blog I posted yesterday.

I knew that what I was writing had the potential to ruffle some feathers, but the overwhelming response has been one of love, grace, and an open discourse that's been really good.

After reading all the responses, the best phrase I can use to tie it all up (like it can be done that easily) is broken harmony.

Here are some of the phrases that I've extracted from the responses that really point to this idea:

emotionally cross-pollinated 
 strain of music
 missing the major movement
 unchristian
 perfect world
in the end we're broken
 God is bigger than our mistakes and mishaps

In other words, what started out as me testing the waters to see what people would think if I told the truth about a specific situation I'm in,

I was pointed to a deeper reality: 

             we live in broken harmony.

             We live in a world where 300 schoolgirls get kidnapped by terrorists, all at once . . . 

              and on the other side of the world, at the same time, in Clear Lake Texas, a small church is practicing the  discipline of fasting.

  And then a friend of mine gets gang-raped by eight men, left for dead with a needle sticking out of her arm. . .  

       and 30 minutes away, at the same time, a grandmother is sitting with her granddaughter on the floor, just stuck in a state of smiles. 

        And then there's the middle-aged man, fighting to keep his head above water, fighting for his kids, but just can't seem to keep it all together; and decides to go back to his old ways of hustlin' . . . 
      while a group of friends sits at Starbucks planning a trip of a lifetime to Hangout Fest 2014.

Broken . . . harmony.

Some of us try so hard to keep everything black and white.

And some of us try our best to keep everything gray.

But no matter what, we can't kick this sensation that things just aren't how they're supposed to be.

But then, a moment or an hour or a day or a week later, we get this other sensation that comes over us, this silent but real power that flows through our veins, and it seems to say,

The harmony may be off but the song is gonna keep playin'

And while these notes seem to dance off our hearts we realize in that split second that pain isn't the last word. It may even be a millisecond, but it seems like enough to keep us participating, keep us playing, keep us harmonizing with the song.

So, maybe it's not about being right or wrong.

Maybe it's not about knowing the right answers.

Maybe it's not even about black or white or gray.

Maybe it's about finding out what keeps us as close to the rhythm of the song as we can possibly get.
Maybe it's about finding out how to tap into the flow that seems to keep going no matter what.



 

Playin' House With Yo' Potential Spouse (Why I Think Cohabitation is a Good Idea)

So, I'm moving in with my girlfriend on the 24th. Not many people know this yet, and not many people will know by then because not many people read this blog. 

But, just in case you happen to read this blog, I'm going to give an explanation for my actions of - what some labeled as - cohabitation. 

First of all, I am a Christian (an agnostic Christian would probably be a better description, because I do believe in Jesus and I do believe in God, but I do not believe Jesus was or is God). 

Second of all, I know what the bible says about marriage. Or, wait, no I don't.

If I were to take the Bible literally when it comes to marriage, then there should be alot of literalists out there who would agree that I should be finding not only a house to live in with my girlfriend, but some mistresses to move in as well. I would say the Bible is way more pro-polygamy than it is anti-cohabitation. To my knowledge, the Bible says nothing about it being wrong to cohabitate. 

Yet, our Christian culture tells us that evidently we're missing the parts all throughout scripture where God says to not play house with your potential spouse.

Don't play house with yo' potential spouse, thus sayeth the Lord.

It sounds like the making of a top 40 Christian rap song.

Here's why I think it's a good idea to "play house" before deciding if you wanna stay with the person you're with for the rest of your life. 

But first, I'll start with examples of how we practice this same logic in other aspects of life.

We read books, attend seminars, and invest tons of time and energy into savings and retirement. In other words, in the financial realm, we go to great lengths to prepare for the unknown. Yet, no one goes around on Facebook blasting their horns about how God doesn't want you to budget. 

When we buy cars or houses, we find out all we can about those things. We find out who lived in the house before, what kind of people they were, what kind of incidents may have occurred with the car, if it was involved in any wrecks, and so on. 

Yet, no one goes around telling people God says not to investigate before buying. 

In fact, the one verse that's usually used to defend the principle of investing is "count the cost. A king wouldn't go into battle without counting the cost."

Even though this verse has nothing to do with how it gets used today, it seems it would be a great verse to defend my reasoning in moving in, or, if you prefer, "playing house."

I'm starting to hear God flowin' already, Don't play house with yo' potential spouse.

And, so in the words of all those literalists who've come before me, I'm just a countin' tha' cost.

It may not be Grade-A Christian approved, but it sure seems logical. Out of all the things that we can't plan for, it seems like this would be the one thing that people would start stockin' up for. 

Yet, for some reason (extra-biblically, I might add), there's this - I don't know - fear-driven idea pops up everytime I hear about how little Johnny's all grown up now and, um, did you hear about him and - uh - what's her name? And the lips smack together in unapproved agreement as one can only wait for the fire and brimstone that's about to pour down on that little Sodom and Gomorrah. 

Who knows how this is gonna end up? I sure as hell don't. I do know one thing - if I'm gonna do everything I can to be financially responsible (even though I care very little about how much money I have), then I'm damn sure gonna do everything I can to be relationally responsible. Especially if we're talking about a lifetime under the same roof, hell or high water, good and bad, sick and healthy, and whatever else you married people said when you stood under that white thing. 

CRXII

Awesome stuff.

Heads For The CRX

These guys came over to install new heads on Richard's CRX.  A week or two ago, on the way to Discovery Green for a photo shoot, the engine went kaput.  I called the guy in the middle, Dr. David.  It was inspiring watching the guys work.

Be Humbled

This was his first living situation off the streets in over five years. All he had was his sleeping bag and a backpack if I remember correctly. Maybe a few books and a razor or something small like that.

I had never really talked with the guy, except for a few hellos here and there.

My friend Jody was the real matchmaker in this drama. I just happened to have an extra room that I was keeping open for situations such as this one.

I was in Colorado when he moved in, so I didn't get to see his first sigh of relief when he sprawled out on the couch or read his first book in peace. I wonder what he felt like getting to close the door to the world outside, knowing he didn't have to sleep with one eye open . . . finally.

Anyways, the plan was to get home from Colorado, have a little talk with 'em, then take him to the best place I know of for oysters on the halfshell. I figured being from Washington State he didn't know what oysters were (aside from the occasional conversational piece about their Rocky Mountain siblings), much less fried catfish and shrimp.

So, we headed out for his inaugural night of food drunkenness - the best kind of gluttony there is.

We sat down, peered over the menu, and I asked question after question. I wanted to know every detail on what it was like to be homeless. I wanted to know how to fix it, how to prevent it, how to do a better job hanging out with the homeless, and how not to help homeless people. I grilled the poor guy. He probably just wanted me to shut up and let him scour the menu some more.

I got up to go to the bathroom, and a sudden panic shot through my chest as I looked at the handwritten sign on the door. "Shit!" I screamed in my head. "I don't have any CASH ONLY!" I figured by the time I walked to the bathroom, took a piss, and walked back to the table I would have a plan of action.

So, I told him, I promise I didn't pull a quick one on ya', but I totally forgot this is a cash only restaurant and I don't have any cash. I'm gonna run over to the ATM across the street real quick.

He responded, No, no. Don't worry about it! You've done enough for me already. Let me pay.

Do you have the money? This place isn't exactly cheap, I explained.

He laughed and replied, I have the money. Don't worry.

Regardless, I felt bad, but I don't know if the feeling bad was because my plan to be the hero failed, or because I didn't know how much money would be left in his wallet after this meal.

The total bill ended up being about forty five dollars, not including the tip. I didn't even have the tip.

Have you ever had a situation like this one, where you were completely planning on treating somebody to something really nice - maybe it was a girlfriend, or a mother, or a dad, or a sick friend. You thought you had everything ready.

It was like one of those times when you put the blindfold on the other person, because you don't want them to have a clue to know what is next.

And then, as you're off by yourself, giggling inside out of the excitement of knowing that you're serving someone else tonight, you see the sign on the door that says CASH ONLY.

And in about one second you go from excitement and bliss to panic and survival mode.

There should be a definition for this somewhere. In a book I read recently, the author did have a definition for this. He used an acronym to define it as HpTfTu - or, the high propensity to fuck things up. Isn't this something we experience as humans?

No matter how great our intentions, how innocent our plans, how fantastic our motives - it gets fucked up.

We try and try and try to be nice people, to do good things, to say the nice words, to console the hurt friend, to play the peacemaker, to give the money, to give the time, and eventually there's that moment where we realize that we are helpless, digging around in our pockets looking for the cash that we know's not there.

And we become the receivers. The ones who need the help. We get taken care of by the ones we were planning on taking care of.

And the feeling is foreign because we soooooo never thought it would happen this way. So, our legs move around under the table out of uncomfortable restlessness, and our words make it sound like we're used to accepting gifts. But, inside our heads, the voices scream at us, telling us Don't let this happen again. Don't let this person help you. You can do it on your own, you idiot!

What's a better word to describe the process that happens when we seek to do good, then it fucks up, then we end up on the receiving end other than humility?

I've always wondered if humility is something we can actually do, or if it's something that randomly happens to us. God knows I love my pride.

I hear the word all the time used in a directive like Be Humble. Like it's a billboard that all of us pass on the way to work, and we're supposed to be reminded to do what we really aren't able to do, which is follow the directions on the billboard.

I like the line Be Humbled better. This way, it supposes that there is some kind of outside presence, or force, if you, will that is required to interact with my current state of fucked-up-edness, and produce this foreign, uncomfortable but somehow correct, form of behavior.

So, my advice for you today is, don't try to be humble. Believe me, you'll fuck it up.

Rather, be open to being humbled. When it happens, don't try to fix it, because chances are you won't have another experience like it for some time. Let the drama play out, and you'll have a great story to tell later. Just feel what being humbled feels like for a little bit.

Lets Clear up Some Stuff About Jesus

 First of all, I'd like to define what agnostic actually means - what you and I have signed up for currently.

ag means without

and

gnosis means knowledge.

And so, when we say we're agnostic, we're saying we're lacking knowledge. Not knowledge in all respects, but knowledge about one particular subject, which is God.

We're clueless, but not quitting the search for whatever it is that may be out there (and/or in here).

Many of us have come to this conclusion based on information that was given to us labeled as knowledge, but when the rubber finally met the perverbial road, we actually had the balls to question it because deep, down, inside there was something in our minds that told us something doesn't sound right about this. 

And so, we haven't thrown the baby out with the bathwater yet, otherwise we wouldn't be calling ourselves agnostic right?

We keep searching, looking, reading, studying, and repeating this process in the hopes that we'll finally find it is that we're looking for - spiritual truth, right? We're looking for the thing that brings it all together.

Well, I'm not too sold on the idea of spiritual truth myself, that's if we're talking about having a sensible experience with the divine, something that can be proven beyond a shadow of a doubt. If that's what your looking for as a soon-to-be-atheist, then you might as well pack your bags early. You ain't gonna find that one buddy.

Let me get to the point now.

We can be just as "without knowledge" about God, or agnostic if you prefer, even if we claim to agree with and even like the teachings of this fellow named Jesus. In my belief, the fancy titles that we read of Jesus in the scriptures were not adopted by himself, but attributed to him by later generations. 

Is that scandalous or what? 

Jesus' main mission, just like the many who came before him, and the many after, was to point us low-information-folks to the character of this being we call God. And so, when Jesus shared meals with the outcasts of the village, he was essentially saying: "This is what God is like. Do this and you'll experience what I'm experiencing."

We have reports that Jesus showed up to a temple one day and started wrecking shop - turning over the tables of accountants and getting all the animals out of the building. He knew the agnostics were left out of the whole "worship" experience, because they couldn't quite meet the litany of requirements to be a Jew. When Jesus wrecked shop, he was essentially saying, "God is inclusive. God doesn't demand anyone to join a club, but wants to hang out with everyone. But, God does get aggravated when people try to make money off of other people trying to connect with God."

We have reports that Jesus was executed on a Roman cross. This is how all enemies of the state died - a loser's death. He was essentially saying to we agnostics, "This is what God is like. God is willing to die for the sake of showing as many people as possible that the governments of this world are not on your side. The powers of the kingdoms of this world are out for their own, and they'll go to any length to get their way. Follow this way and you'll find freedom from the abusive power and manipulation."

In the earliest documents of what Jesus said, we have nothing about Jesus telling people to believe in himself, but everything about Jesus pointing people to God.

It wasn't until many generations after Jesus died that the movement came about that decided to place him "on the right hand of the throne of God." And, even so, it was a movement of people who believed that. They couldn't prove it any more than I can prove God exists. But, it worked for them and it stuck for a very, very, long time.

So, here's my "dare" to any of you who have utterly given up on the bible. Start reading it again, but with skepticism. Strong skepticism. 

Read Paul first, then Mark, then Matthew, then Luke. That's the order in which the "Jesus accounts" were written. 

Every time you read a sentence or paragraph, ask yourself, "Did Jesus actually say/do this, or did somebody later attribute this to Jesus in order to meet their own agendas? Does this sound like something Jesus would have said or done?"

Remember, when we read anything in scripture, we're reading different oral traditions that were being passed around for generations before they ever got put into writing. Essentially, we're reading the end results of "the telephone game," so there are things that were made up. But, there are also things that are historically accurate. It's up to us to do the research and find out.

Hopefully, this helps trim away some of the roadblocks for those of us who are deeply interested in connecting with God, but find ourselves agnostically inclined.

Why My Phone Goes Off One Day a Week (Unless, of Course, I Haven't Paid the Bill and it Goes Off Much More Than One Day a Week)

Turn off your phone. 

Now.

And leave it off until you finish reading this post.

There's a crazy thing that's about to happen now that I have your undivided attention:

The world is gonna keep going, but you aren't. You're gonna be still. You're gonna wonder for a little bit about how mom's gonna try to call and not get ahold of you. You're gonna freak a little about the numerous attentions that are dying to have YOUR attention right in this moment. But . . . keep hanging . . . 

      you're doing great . . . 

     that's it . . . 

Ok. Let's move on. Take a deep breath, it'll be okay.

Today I want to talk about Sabbath. I know if you're someone who cringes when words like this come up, you'll probably tune out right about now. So,

Let's change the word. Let's call it rest. 

Today I want to talk about rest. There. 

I've developed the habit of going out to the water every Sunday and turning my phone off (unless, it is absolutely necessary to turn it on, like today, when I passed my landlord on the road and had to send an emergency text to the two people who stayed at my house last night to tell them the landlord was coming aka GET OUT FAST; I turned the phone off as soon as the word SENT happened). 

There are several things that have happened in the time since I've started doing this (about six months ago it seems):

1. People get really pissed when they can't get ahold of me (even if it's for something like six hours).
2. I become the blame for the problems that happened while I was off the radar (evidently I was the only one who had the answer to the world's problems).
3. I've noticed I have more energy come crunch time Friday at work.
4. I've done a ton of reading.
5. I've learned how to share sabbath (or rest) with my girlfriend (not anyone else yet, though).

As an unexpected extension of my Sunday-phone-turnoff-day, I haven't paid my phone bill yet this month, so it's been forcibly turned off. But, that has nothing to do with the REST part of this post, even though it extends the idea of silence into the rest of my week.

It seems that turning off our cell phones for any given period of time (besides sleep, and I bet there's a lot of you who sleep with the phone on), would be like the equivalent of a 1st century Jew tying up his donkey on the sabbath. 

Technology has become such a vehicle for communication, that it seems absurd to turn it off, even when it comes to spiritual practices.

Here's my suggestion. Take it or leave it. Turn the phone for one day a week (or as many hours as you can survive phone-less for that day) and do what you restfully love to do - uninterrupted by the phone. For me, it's reading, then napping, then eating, then repeating. 

After a couple weeks of trying this, you'll find that you'll go into the next seven days with a bigger zeal to talk and listen to people you'd normally be ready to hang up on. You'll also find that come Friday and Saturday, there's a new-found burst of energy that wasn't there before.

Godzilla Attack Redbud!

Oh no!
They say he's got to go
Go, Go!
Godzilla!

The Scandalous Nature of "Spiritual Authority" and "Spiritual Truth"

If there's ever been a thorn in my side, it's been my defiance toward "spiritual authority". The reason I put the phrase inside quotations is, it's an oxymoron to me.

If something is spiritual, it's unknowable. It's something words can't describe. It can't be touched, only felt. It can't be experienced with the senses, but rather leaves itself to be defined by words like "peaceful," "serene," and "awesome." It's the sense of knowing there's wind blowing, but not knowing where it's coming from.

On the other hand, the word authority implies ownership of a concrete realm of time and space. A master mechanic has authority on the intricate details of assembling an engine.

So, when someone claims to have spiritual authority, they are trying to box in something that is outside of space and time. They're trying to take something that was originally meant to create a sense of awe and wonder and manipulate it into something that fits into our worldview.

And, when a group of people attribute spiritual authority to one or two people, they are essentially giving that person power to take what wasn't supposed to be defined in the first place and to put our own, broken sense of what spirituality should look like onto it.

And, once this happens, another phrase results: "spiritual truth."

Once something spiritual is defined in human terms that make sense to sensible beings, truth claims can start being made.

The problem with this is, everyone who claims to have this insider's knowledge of what's spiritually true comes up with different measuring sticks to gauge it with.

And so, when we take the Gospels for instance, we have four differing accounts of Jesus' life.
      What's true for Matthew, isn't true for Mark, isn't true for Luke, and so on. It's the nature of journalism and eyewitness accounts. Everybody witnesses things differently.

And, when we take U.S. history, we have differing accounts of what happened when the Pilgrims first made it to the New Land.
And, with the dinosaurs.
And, with every news report.
And, with every government scandal.

So, as a Christian who grew up with this idea that certain people had insider's knowledge to "spiritual truth," while the rest of us had to crawl around looking for the gurus, it's hard to listen to any lecture outside of a Ted Talk without experiencing the sensation of feeling manipulated.

I can only suspend reality for so long before I have to put my feet back on the floor.

I don't know if this makes sense to anyone, but it's my experience right now.

In order to even have a phrase like "spiritually true" exist in the first place, you have to be able to marry the elements of sixth-sensedness and sound, intution and touch, emotionalism and smell.

Or, "Taste and see that the Lord is good."

Basically, I feel like I've fallen for a God-shaped pyramid scheme.

Someone decided to write down what they thought God was like, and left to the devices of the fucked-up-edness of human beings, it became true. It became boxed in. It became law. 

And the law determines who's in and who's out. Who gets into the God club and who doesn't. 

I wonder what Jesus meant when he said "the truth will set you free."

Did he possibly mean something much simpler than the concept we've somehow turned into law - which is (flippantly and disgustingly unintelligible) "just believe in Jesus and you'll be set free!"

What if the "freedom-setting" truth he was talking about was the horrible idea (to the truth-dependent) of not trying to be so anal about what the truth really is?

What if this being set free that Jesus spoke of so frequently was not about grasping God with our hands and turning spiritual concepts into binding laws that put fences around the unknowable, but letting

            truth be what we can grasp and spirituality be what can't be grasped (aka God). 

 

Some Thoughts About What Jesus Might Do if He Were to Walk Into a Christian Worship Service Any Given Sunday

A story just popped into my head:

What if Jesus were to show up randomly one day to any of our "synagogues" (assuming he'd even want to walk into a synagogue considering how many open-air amphiteatres and parks are around)? Lets just say he walked into any of our church services and as soon as he found a seat in the back somewhere, he looked up onto the powerpoint and saw words about him, solely about him. The words said things like "his blood set us free, he forgave our sins once and for all, he came back from calvary, etc."

You would think (because you were singing the songs about him) that if you looked at his face as he was sitting there, he'd be smiling, kind of pridefully.

      He'd probably feel elevated right?
                 
            Or maybe he'd feel blessed?

                   Or maybe he'd feel really loved?

                            Or maybe he'd feel like he was worthy of worship?

            Or maybe, this is just what we'd think if we were to actually see Jesus sitting in a service that was all about him . . .

But . . . 

What if Jesus did show up? What if he did hear songs being sung about him? What if he did hear the pastor say that Jesus was the only way to God?

And to our amazement, we expected to see an elevated . . . blessed . . . loved . . . worthy . . . Jesus . . .

       But what we got instead was completely not what we expected. 

                This Jesus stood up right in the middle of it all . . . and flipped over the offering tables . . . and the hymnal stands . . . and started ripping down the statues . . . the projectors . . . the cameras . . .

And walked up to the front of the auditorium, grabbed the mike from the pastor [who's passing out] and said authoritatively,

"Why do you call me good? No one is good, only God." 

And then he walks off the stage, obviously fighting back the vague memories of a people from the past who wandered around like lost sheep looking for a shepherd.

What would you do?
What would you think?
What would you feel?

Would you feel like every bit of your faith was ripped from your hands?

Would you feel crushed?

Would you feel like you'd been doing the best you could, but were suddenly told by the one person you wanted to please all this time that you were worshiping something other than God?

Or would you feel relieved that after all this time you thought that if you didn't worship Jesus you were gonna somehow be cut off from God or punished or sent to hell?

What if Jesus's greatest mission was to point people to the one true God, and not become the one true God himself?

That'd be pretty scandalous, wouldn't it be?

Tour De Braz

Larry and I began training for this ride back in December after Fred (another neighbor) fixed my back wheel.

We took the 100 mile loop.  Larry made it over the bridges.  I drafted off Larry.  Got to ride in a bike train in the beginning.

With stops, it took us 7 hours.  Lots of head and cross winds.

After quitting my cycling days, I got back in the saddle. I'm proud of us for training and sticking with the plan.  It feels like a real accomplishment.  We did it.