As a senior in high school, because I was a Christian and it was cool, I wore a star of David with a cross over it - something Ann Coulter would understand - a symbol of heritage and beginnings. The absurdity of course being that I am not nor ever was Jewish; and only now do i realize just how offensive such a symbol actually is. I had an Ichthus on my car, because I was a Christian and it was cool, and a license plate frame that proclaimed Jesus as Lord - part of his new marketing strategy. I had t-shirts with bible verses on them, a sterling silver ring with the trinity symbol (because i listened to POD), and I carried my pocket-size new testament in my left back pocket - my wallet goes on the right.

I was a Christian, and I was very cool.

I was the president of FCA, the president of the charismatic Youth Alive (or, the non-athletic FCA, with louder praying), and I spoke at evangelistic events known as “rallies” where I could proclaim that “True Love Waits” and get recruited by youth pastors to speak at their Wednesday services and have senior pastors marvel at the magnificent call God had on my life. I laid hands and prayed, I prayed, for you, for her, for the world, for starving children, for the poor and homeless, for the world, for the world… standing on hilltops, arms stretched to the heavens, I wept for the lost. I studied the psychology of post modernism and helped craft well-tuned church services into rock and roll light shows and events with give-aways and LCD screens and the occasional fireworks display. We had to be cool, we had to relevant, or they wouldn’t come, Christ’s message couldn’t shine through.

Then i read Matthew 6:6-7, and my world began to invert.

American Beauty

American Beauty

Have you seen American Beauty? Do you remember Mena Suvari’s character, Angela - the school f-slut, always talking about what she did to who and how often? For two-thirds of the movie we listen to her exploits and tales of romp and raunch and watch as she smiles and laughs because this is who she is, this is what she has to maintain. Angela would screw any guy with a carrot. Angela would do unspeakable things with every part of her body. Angela smokes at 16 and wears too much eyeliner and wears skin tight ass pants and creates the whole package for the sake of relevance, acceptance, and being cool. And then we find out that she, in fact, is a virgin, and that she, in fact, had never done any of those things she bragged about. She lays, bare chested and honest at the hands of an older man, shaking and nervous, guilty, exposed for reality and innocence as her character crashes with her world…

I was asked to speak at a baptist church in Marshfield that had recently acquired the fire - the pentecostal gift of speaking tongues. I do believe in this idea, as it is in scripture, the idea that God is big enough to make you speak or pray in a language that you have never heard or understand for His glory and divine purposes. One thing struck me though, about this and all spiritual gifts - people were being taught to pray for these things, to actively seek them in a manner of reception, nearly demand, and some would begin to mumble and others would cry out loudly and the rest of us would expel whatever gibberish from our mouths that we could manage in a cadence convincing enough for the Holy Spirit. I became engulfed with it, the desire to speak in tongues, the fear when it did not happen, and I was rendered to a lower echelon of faith and sainthood because the words just wouldn’t come. Something was wrong with me, I wasn’t praying hard enough, I didn’t desire hard enough, and because I wasn’t speaking in tongues, I wasn’t as strong a Christian as the ones that were, Lord, please, let me speak in tongues!

Paul tells us to desire gifts and they will be imparted to us at God’s discretion; I have not found a scripture that tells us to ask God directly for them. Ironic, I thought, that we would have the audacity to demand anything of God, as if we were somehow incomplete or insufficient as Christians without “gifts.” Were we not made complete through his sacrifice? How then, can anything but salvation through Jesus be esteemed as a necessary element of our faith, to the extent that not having it makes us lesser than those that do?

These were the thoughts I took to the Baptist church in Marshfield, where suddenly everyone was speaking and seeking in tongues and eager to listen to the Springfield teenager who has, in fact, spoken in tongues. I brought them this message - seek things of the Lord and let Him give as He will. Do not obsess over what you cannot impart unto yourself, and do not feel ashamed if you do not receive any of these gifts. As scripture says, “There are varieties of effects, but the same God who works all things in all persons” (1 Cor. 12:6). Gifts are smoke from the fire, not the fire itself. Seek the fire, and if God choses, you will receive gifts from Him. A gift is only a gift when it is given, not demanded. I encouraged them to seek God in quiet times, in the solitude of their rooms, not publicly and noisily in front of family and friends while attempting utterances that are nonsensical to man and God alike.

This did not go over well.

The elders stood in the back and stared as I called people to the front to pray for a desire to seek nothing but God himself.

The Fallout

I had undone what they had been teaching for months. I was supposed to come and lead them to the table of presents laid out by the Holy Spirit. I was supposed to lead them, each and every one, to speak in the tongues of angels. To the elders, I took them back a step, back to traditionalism, back to the boring life of scripture and worship and devotion.

But the kids understood. Teenagers approached the alter to be prayed for, be prayed with, to be encouraged in their pursuit of truth and the Lord, but none of the elders came forward to join them. None of them came forward to comfort them or intercede for them or lay hands on them. I asked them to come, and they did not. I asked them to pray, and they did not. I stood befuddled, asking them again to come and pray for their children. The kids became confused, uncomfortable. some began to leave. My stomach tightened as I dropped the microphone and walked out of the building. What had I done? I had asked them to seek God instead of mysticism, Jesus instead of inexplainable phenomena, and I quickly found myself on the wrong side of the line because of it. I stood by my car as they watched me leave, their eyes demanding my departure, their stature not welcoming me back.

I wept for the kids.

Jerry McGuire

Unable to drive through uncontrollable sobs, I pulled over to the side of Interstate 44. Gripping the wheel and throwing my head back, I bellowed to the heavens that I no longer wanted any part of it - no more speaking, no more leadership, nothing to do with a church so lost it would seek gifts over God and leave its young alone at the alter of Christ. I ripped off my star of David and yanked off my trinity ring, I ran to the rear of the car and tore off the fish and paint. I broke the frame from the license plate before falling to my knees on the gravel, tearing hair and gnashing teeth. My bible verse t-shirt found its resting place in the ditch and I told God, no more.

No more.

I am Angela, and all of my masks have just been removed.

All of the invitations immediately stopped coming in and I soon found myself being asked to step down from leadership positions. The church had turned its back on me, and I was left standing on the stoop, hands in my pockets, wondering what the hell to do next. I dove between the legs of a welcoming world and landed three years later heartbroken and tired. At the time, it felt like desperation, like loss. Now, I see it as baptism. Before I read Matthew 6:6-7, I would have gone to them and laid hands on them and demand of the holy spirit that they all speak in tongues. I would have flaunted my Christian bling and smiled as they read my scripture shirt. They would all have bought fish for their cars, if they had cars to drive.

But i became Jerry Maguire instead, and I had lost the ability to bullshit.

A Sunday morning came and, deciding not to sleep until 3, i went to a church some friends attended. Afraid, I walked in with nothing - no doctrine, no ideas, no titles or sermons or accessories - I walked in naked, I walked in honest, at the bottom of the barrel, with nothing to lose. I found God there, smiling and waiting. I found God simple like a child who loves beyond reason, beyond failure and sin. I apologized for walking away from Him and realized the scope of his love by letting me, and I became aware that it was not him that I walked away from, but the image of him I had created in my need for relevance, my need to be cool. He put his arms around me like a father would and said, “well then, lets get started.”

My fears were irrevocably shaped by the unresearched minds of Christian leadership, who just assumed that any and all rumors advocated by Jack Chick (holy crap, you’ve got to read this) were true. We were afraid for our lives every Halloween night, afraid that maybe we, by some stroke of bad luck, would be the innocent victim of some human sacrifice concealed by the cloak of foliage and relative distance from well, anywhere resembling urban life.

Thanks Frank Peretti. Thanks Jack Chick. Thanks, assholes.

Monkeys and Evil

One of the unfortunate things with being my friend, a part of my family or a part of my past is that you will soon discover a signed invisible waiver, which you signed, that basically lets me include a single part or all of you within the context of my writings. It happens. Like shit happens. Like life happens. With that being said, I press on.

Killer Pumpkin

Today, I was talking with my stepmother, catching up and doing what sons do. What’s frigging fantastic about such a seemingly boring circumstance as this is that my beautiful parents, in all their naivety and misunderstanding, are very devout Christians in some of the most fundamental of ways. My mother-in-law, on the stark other hand, is Wiccan. A witch. Halloween is her New Year, the most revered holiday of her faith.

And I’m not writing this to exploit the conversation with my stepmother, I love my stepmother. But I won’t pretend that when discussion arises concerning my mother-in-law, the turn of the conversation usually ends up down a dead-end street otherwise known as Awkward Lane. The old assumptions are still flowing like a strong current beneath the ice. When I casually remark that I don’t know how my wife’s mother celebrates Halloween and my stepmother responds that “It’s probably better not to ask…,” I can’t help but think that in the back of her mind, she’s still worried about the old assumptions. The past Christian response to evil or anything masquerading as evil is very similar to a monkey’s response: “I didn’t see it, didn’t hear it, didn’t speak it and therefore, because I have kept evil at arm’s length, evil hasn’t corrupted my life.”

But with a little research, one can quickly discover that such assumptions are ridiculously incorrect. So if our past responses to Halloween have been wrong; what, pray tell, is the correct response to the surname of Jack Skellington’s crown? That small distant suburb known as Halloween town…

Growing Up

Sometimes my wife watches some of the most evil crap to have ever graced the television screen. For example: Kimora and her frigging life in the fab lane. Have you seen that crap? I literally want to stab my eyes out for the sole purpose of “seeing no evil.”

And while I’m at it, I might as well wield my ears shut. Maybe I’ll even scrape my tongue so that I can rid myself of the shame I incurred by just saying her name.

When it comes to evil, we have to be very careful. Evil is a very real and powerful force. It truly shapes the world in ways that can’t be undone by human effort alone. In the Bible, the Apostle Paul makes the observation that even he couldn’t do the right thing and that he simultaneously felt an undeniable desire to do the wrong thing. Evil isn’t isolated to “them,” whoever “them” might be. The opposite of white isn’t black. Evil is in all of us. We are all fallen from grace, every one.

By logical deduction, no holiday is truly evil in and of itself. If you look at the origins of the holiday, you’ll find it began with innocent origins. With the Numinous that C.S. Lewis wrote about in The Problem of Pain. When men didn’t understand the whispered voices in the air. Yet, over time, we have demonized the holiday because we didn’t understand it. Because it involved pumpkins instead of candy canes; championed by monsters instead cute elves and a fat man in a red suede suit.

But seriously. Aren’t we just pissed because the holiday doesn’t celebrate Jesus in some form or fashion? Christianity has overrun every other pagan holiday. Is it too much to ask to let the pagans keep one? Or do we have to sanctify it like a frigging “Got Jesus?” t-shirt. Everyone knows the slogan is “Got Milk?”

What’s with us wanting to Jesusify everything.

Hail The Pumpkin Song

My Wiccan mother-in-law tells me she can read my signs. That from the moment she met me, she knew that I was meant for her daughter. Of course, looking back, one would never be able to tell considering how our first conversation went. Let me replay it for you:

Rita: So Zach, why should Marc and I be elated that you’re dating our daughter?
Me: Elated?
Rita: Yeah, elated. It means happy, excited…
Me: I know what it means.

She’ll tell you that it was what she saw in my eyes, and maybe it was. I don’t know. The point is, she felt that I wouldn’t judge her or her family. That I wasn’t going to run to the hills making the sign of the cross with fear and desperation. You know, like every other Christian who hears the word, “Witch.” When she found out that I was writing this, she stressed that I should have tolerance in what I had to say. Tolerance for every faith. And maybe that’s the answer to this question of what the Christian response to Halloween should be.

Maybe the answer is Wikipedia and Google, where decades of research on anything is only a click away. Maybe the answer is listening and open discussion. Maybe the answer is burning every Chick tract in existence.

And to be honest about it, I think the last option I presented is the correct one.

Here’s what I do know. Pagans and the holidays they choose to celebrate are not rooted in child sacrifice. They’re not out to lace your skittles with hemlock. They’re not out to put glass shards in your apples or hexes on your jolly ranchers.

A Christian response to Halloween and subsequently, Pagans, is to love you’re neighbor as yourself.

What? Are you insane? Jesus advocated this as well? Shut up!

You’re right. I should shut up. But one final note. There is no sin in dressing up. There is no sin in taking your kids door-to-door asking for candy. There is a sin however, in building walls between “us” and “them.” The whole Salem Witch Trials thing? Yeah, that was our fault. In case you haven’t heard, Christmas is also rooted in pagan tradition. So we can have decorated trees, but not jack o’ lanterns. It’s just a little bit hypocritical to draw a line in the sand over something most Christians know nothing about.

So let’s start with that, dear brothers and sisters of the faith. Stop being hypocritical.

Matthew 5:3 is an interesting declaration of fact; and one can’t help notice, translated in such a way as to open the door of ambiguity concerning whom this verse specifically applied. For example, to be “poor in spirit” could have a direct connection with being actually poor. It could also mean (as The Message demonstrates) that this person is at the end of their rope. It could also imply hopeless circumstances. It’s not a far stretch to thing that such a phrase could mean low self esteem. I for one, (considering my state of mind, this should be no surprise), read the text to mean the “depressed.” Because speaking from personal experience, nothing seems to so aptly present itself as a definition for “depressed” like “poor in spirit.”

But that’s only the first half. The second part of the verse, a dependent clause mind you, says that “theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” Does this mean “theirs” as in “will be?” How about “theirs” as in “already in possession of?” Much to the chagrin of fundamentalist “Old Truth” empty sacks of externally polished, yet filthy dishes everywhere, there is no way to read this verse simply. There is nothing literal about it. From just two paragraphs, I’ve presented a variety of options concerning as to what this verse may or may not mean. And we’re not even touching on the original text, and the variety of meaning any one Greek word may have taken in the light of who Jesus’ audience was and what implications his yoke as a Rabbi may have concerning the ideas he preached.

If anyone ever tells you the Bible is a simple book, then that person is just simple-minded.

Ambiguity Hurts

The Immortal Charles Simic

Charles Simic once wrote that “the sun doesn’t care for ambiguities, but I do. I open the door and let them in.” If you think about those lines, it’s not hard to see how that sentiment could conflict with what most Christians think.

Many Christians believe that there is no room for ambiguity. No room for questioning. That means no questioning God, no questioning faith and no questioning their doctrine concerning faith and ultimately who they believe God to be. Any nonsense like that requires labels like apostate, heretic and emergent.

I grew up in a private Christian school where questioning was looked down upon. In the minds of the people around me, any concern for ambiguity I may have had was considered a breach of faith. A place where the devil could get a foothold in my life. And while the devil may or may not have footholds in my life, I hardly think it’s because I’m questioning my faith. At some point, in a time long before my birth, it became unreasonable to question the will of God. It became heretical to question the traditional meaning of this or that verse.

And now look around us. With every generation, it’s becoming more and more unreasonable to be a Christian. A recent article contained a study in which “most young non-Christians…felt Christianity is judgmental (87 percent), hypocritical (85 percent), and too involved in politics (75 percent), among other negative perceptions. Furthermore, 91 percent of young non-Christians and 80 percent of young churchgoers say present-day Christianity is “anti-homosexual.”

With asswipes like Ann Coulter, James Dobson and Pat Robertson speaking out as leaders of the Christian political agenda, we’re quickly becoming easily dismissed. In case you can’t smell it shark bait, that’s blood in the water.

And it’s ours.

Will The Real Slim Shady…

Please stand up? Our oh-so misinterpreted strategy of separating ourselves from the world has left us culturally masticated.

Christopher Hitchens

Everyone is asking questions about Christianity except Christians. That proved to be too much work, so we created “Jesus-sanctioned” Bibles, and music, and clothes, and language, and hairstyles and defaced every other damn spot where we could draw yet another line in the sand.

And in the process, we got stupid.

With the rise of “Darwin’s Rottweiler” and bitter-nancy Hitchens, atheists are making a strategic play. Somehow, they’re convincing society that it’s “unreasonable” to be a Christian, in fact, it’s a sure sign that you’re losing your sanity if you believe in faith at all. And yet, the Christian community has very little in the way of a public defender. We’re getting stomped. We’re being repeatedly painted as barbarian and no one is standing up. No, we’re preaching the same old guard: don’t question, believe God, hold on to the faith, don’t be a homosexual, don’t kill your baby — when the world is dying from questions in their hearts. It’s not enough anymore. It’s not enough to sit with our hands under our asses and hoping our bills get paid.

Where is our C.S. Lewis’? Our J.R.R. Tolkiens? I’m not asking for a loud speaker. But a monster of critical thought. The only reason atheist arguments sound so good is because Christianity sounds like a scandal. And no one has the balls to speak in our defense. Hitchens blames religion for most of genocide throughout history, when it’s plain and simple that such an argument is a red-herring. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. It doesn’t matter if that man ascribes to Christianity or not. To blame a faith for something that men are ultimately responsible for is equivalent to saying “the devil made me do it.”

Is it too much to ask that someone with the brains and know-how, that someone who hasn’t been afraid to ask questions, who hasn’t been too much of a frightened kitten to press through doubt and criticism, who possesses skin thick enough to say to both Christopher Hitchens and Todd Friel, “you’re an idiot” to step forward and make Bill O’Reilly out to be the hypocrite that he is? To say, “Yes, Christianity is reasonable. Not because it answers every question, but because at the very least, it inspires us to be selfless and to love our neighbor as ourselves.” To think that atheism will ever advocate such a position is ludicrous. Of course, they’ll claim that it’s possible. But it’s not probable.

I think I’ve heard this argument before.

The National

The National - Boxer

I’ve just discovered The National. Having heard them at Austin City Limits, I’ve quickly become enraptured with their music and the inherent melancholy wrapped within the lead singer’s voice. Right out of the gate, they proclaim that “We’re half-awake, in a fake empire.” And when I hear this, I think back to college when I used to smoke and stare at all the frat boys hitting on girls in class, enticing them with lame invitations to parties and free beer. While there I was, sitting in my seat, contemplating the realities of depression and God and why I couldn’t seem to love any of the women I had enticed back to my apartment with lame poetry recitations and the illusion that I understood them on a deeper level…

I didn’t even understand myself.

But these boys, living in a world I could never understand, which on the surface seemed so shallow in ignorance and self-aggrandizement seemed to always be so frigging happy. Self-confident with the aura of having it all together.

Of course it was an illusion. Of course.

But that didn’t make it any less desirable or simultaneously make me less envious of what they seemed to have. Held in their hands so effortlessly, like it was nothing more than a plastic cup full of beer.

Missing the Past

The National, making me think of my past, invariably follows a line of thought that wanders to a time in my life when I was surrounded by the most beautiful people I had ever known. I’m not going to mention any names, but suffice it to say that I loved these people. All of them. I had a friend that would make me dress up as a Powerpuff Girl in Spanish class for Halloween. The friend that I would sit around and listen to music with during random Saturdays. The poker games that would go on for hours to win four dollars. I still remember the one time a band (all friends of mine) dedicated a song to me simply because I loved it so. The hours I would spend pouring out my thoughts to them, trying to grasp, to grasp somehow the mess that had become my life.

The BBQs with the best baked beans I had ever tasted. The nights we sat alone in the dark, talking about God and drinking Vodka. The parties where the most brave would jump from house roof to garage, lighting things on fire and drinking like banchees.

Parts of the things I miss were merely crazy times of my youth, which I’ll never get back. And I don’t want them back. But these are people that I always thought would love me no matter what I did. No matter what crime I had committed. No matter how many sins were on my head.

But at some point, I crossed the line. At some point, it became too much to forgive.

Congratulations

Me. My wife.

I found out that a couple I had been particularly close to, is pregnant with their first child. I was never notified. Never called. Merely one more thing in a laundry list of not-so-subtle hints that I am unwanted in their lives. And maybe this is what I deserve. Maybe I’m not overly punishing myself this time, but rather, just enough. Maybe my friendships were like a frat boy’s self-confident happiness: an illusion. Maybe they never loved me the way I loved them.

Regardless, I just emailed this couple my congratulations. It’s time I move on and quit wishing for something that like my youth, I will never get back. Besides, it’s so easy to forget what you have in front of you as opposed to what you once had. My wife will also say that they’re not worth it. That what I have now is what’s important. And she’s right. She’s right more than I care to admit.

But that doesn’t make this any less hard.

May God teach me forgiveness like he’s taught me to love. May he teach me strength like he’s taught me vulnerability. May he breathe life into the dust I am. May he teach me happiness and warmth. May he teach me kindness and empathy. May God be with everyone I call “friend.” May God bless those I still love deep inside my heart. May God bless my beautiful wife.

May God bless me.

But the fact remains that most Christians (and nonbelievers as well) don’t fully grasp why stories like the Garden of Eden and the Resurrection are necessary. Non-Christians think the Bible is just mostly little fables that Jewish men and women told their kids at bedtime to impress morality into their young molding minds. Many Christians, (especially the ones converted from childhood), blindly accept these stories without a second thought. “This is God’s Word,” they’ll tell you, like it’s the end of the matter. But what they fail to realize is that it’s only the end of the matter in their own minds, not in the minds of others. Which presents a conundrum for a lot of believers (like myself) that just have to make some frigging sense out of simple stories presented in the Bible. If it’s all we’re left with, then so be it. But don’t say that I must accept what is written like there is nothing more to be said.

On Allegory

Whether you’re of the opinion that stories from the Bible are allegorical or literal, it’s not hard to admit that Christians seem to spend more time arguing who is right rather than understanding (or trying to understand) what it truly means to be a “follower of Christ.” Think about it. Why is the story of Christ necessary? Because of one single infraction involving a piece of fruit? Is the story of Adam and Eve truly a story about obedience? Is it a story about free will? Is it, like the story of Lucifer, a story ultimately about pride? Let’s think on this.

The game of chess is played with great passion by enthusiasts everywhere. Chess is used as a metaphor for life, like baseball, like war. This game depends on rigidity. You are constrained by the moves of certain pieces and the strategies employed as a result of your opponent’s moves. And therein lies the brilliance of chess. The freedom of it. We relate to the game because we relate to life. But think for a moment and wonder. What if we could make any move we wanted with whatever piece we wanted? What if we could instantly take the king in a single swoop, because such a move was simply possible? The game, in that moment, would cease to be a pursuit of skill. Hell, it would even cease to be fun. No move would have great importance. Strategy would cease to exist. The game itself would become pointless.

What if God had, by some miracle within the grasp of his power, corrected that first sin? All is well again. But herein lies the dilemma. God, in his infinite wisdom, wouldn’t have corrected the first sin unless he was willing to correct the second sin, and then the third sin, and then the fourth, fifth, and ad infinitum. Our choices would therefore be rendered absolutely inane. The very foundation of the great human experiment (free will) would be corrupted, and what had started as something beautifully meaningful would be chipped apart to shards of something increasingly insubstantial by miracles of sin reversal performed by God’s own hand.

Let me sum up the previous three paragraphs in one word for you, “Lame.”

So Why Christ Then?

Adam and Eve

What separates Christianity from anything else? We have so many supposed ways to God, but none of them offer an explanation for the ache in the pit of our stomachs. No other religion can tell us why God doesn’t heal amputees, cure the cancer stricken and bring peace on the earth. Christianity offers a very clear reason. We’re fallen human beings.

Maybe you don’t believe in God. Maybe you think God should fix everything if such a thing truly exists. And if I’m speaking to you, I would have to say that you understand nothing about human nature. We are innately selfish, self-preserving, narcissistic creatures. When push comes to shove, we don’t sacrifice ourselves. We sacrifice the poor fool next to us. Call it evolution. Call it survival of the fittest. What you’re observing is merely pride. The time has come for one of us to die, and we’re both pointing the finger at someone else.

God doesn’t heal amputees because he doesn’t involve himself in the perpetuation nor the hinderence of our free will. We made a choice, at some point in time, to abandon God for ourselves. And though it wasn’t the choice God would have made for us, we still made it and therefore have to live with the consequences.

Christ is necessary for one reason and one reason only. It was to provide us with a choice.

Neo

I love the Matrix. It was a fascinating movie. In many ways, a representation of our current state of affairs. The movie in essence, is about choice. Humanity, through the exercise of its free will, made a decision to alienate God. We said we could handle things on our own (the details of this will only get more fascinating in later posts), and that was that. In all fairness, we should have been left to rot.

The One

But God, knowing that free will depended on the ability to choose, foretasted the future. Sooner or later mankind would have become aware of the problem, realizing that if a miracle had occurred and corrected our sin, the lack of any miracle whatsoever would have left us hopeless in our sin. The game isn’t fair when you know that no matter what you do, the consequences will remain the same. Morality, as a result, would have no meaning. And we could rape, maim and kill to our evil heart’s content knowing that no matter what we did, the result would not change. If we’re punished the same for a single lie as a thousand gruesome murders, then what? C’est la vie.

So without Christ, we have two polar opposites. On one side, we have God correcting all of our mistakes and rendering our life meaningless. On the other side, we have God abandoning us to our choices, also rendering our life meaningless. In the former scenario, we live in a bubble. In the latter, a black hole.

Jesus Christ is the very definition of fairness. When Jesus said that “I am the way, the truth and the life,” he wasn’t joking around. Jesus is the reason we still have free will. There are still consequences to be had. There are risks to be taken. Choices to be made. Even know, a great debate is being waged by Christians and Atheists alike over the validity of one choice over the other. Atheists would have you believe that the belief in a ridiculous concept like “god” is childish and delusional. This is all we have and the only difference you can make is in the here and now.

But good writers know that with every story, even the story of humanity, there must be a risk taken. There has to be the possibility at some point in the book where the conflict can affect both a wonderful or horrible ending. Atheists have no imagination. No creativity. Look at the world around you. It’s full of imagination. It’s full of creativity and wonder and excitement. It’s this way because everything has meaning. Your choices have meaning. Your faith has meaning. And even when the world looks empty and pointless and merely a shadow of its former self, remember that the story still has to come to an end. There is a lot of living between now and then.

In the meantime, we have to realize what gives balance to the world around us. Christianity and the meaning behind it offers the only viable explanation of why there is so much hurt in the world. Why there is war and confusion and hatred and pain.

God isn’t going to make us love him. He can’t. He’s bound by the very words he spoke from his mouth. It’s called a promise and if not in the physical world, something like a promise still holds weight in the spiritual world. He promised to let us choose. To always let us choose. And with every moment, we are given a choice. When you think about it, it’s the way a story is written. It keeps us guessing until the very end. No other faith can offer you a better story, a better meaning for your life.

This is not the end. No, we’re just getting started.

I’m not here to drown myself in a massive altercation with fundamentalists concerning this point of doctrine or any other. The point of this writing is to expose you to my own questions concerning spirituality which have risen like flowers along the (dare I say it?) narrow path to Christ (such a cliché). And though most of the ideas presented in this series will seem rather neoteric, I assure you that any original idea I may posit is more than likely built upon the ideas of one C.S. Lewis, taken from his book, The Problem Of Pain.

For Me, This Is The Beginning

If you have read Mr. Lewis’ (in my opinion) opus, or if you plan to — you’ll find that the ideas I present here to be out of chronological sync with the book. My reason for starting with the doctrine of The Fall is because it was in that chapter that I realized why I was depressed. This chapter was a revelation that opened my eyes to all the minor revelations that had come before it. And though these ideas are merely theories and not indisputable fact, we must remember that there isn’t one single fact presented in the entire Bible that isn’t disputable. Speak loud enough for a length of time and you’ll find some Christian, somewhere, who will be more than happy to tell you that you’re wrong and that unless you repent of your erroneous doctrine, you will find yourself on the other side of eternity with only the flames of hell lapping up the flesh of your soul.

With that being said, I want you, dear reader, to understand that what I’m purporting is merely my own humble understanding concerning a story and a subject that I am (as we all are) incapable of understanding completely. My theories, as wrong as they may be, are based on my understanding of Scripture, C.S. Lewis’ writings and my God-given mind. I do not and will not ever declare these thoughts to be revered as doctrine; because the fact is, I cry in my pillow at night for a God that rarely answers me in an audible voice indistinguishable from the thoughts inside my head.

Everything is open to discussion. Reasonable debate is welcomed. But do not approach this subject with nothing more than the “Bible tells me so” fallacy. Yes, the Bible tells us a lot of things and I praise God for that. But the Bible also says nothing concerning more subjects than not. And in this particular subject, where even the most Christian of scholars will disagree on any given point, I feel that the Garden of Eden is fair game for hypothesis and questioning. My salvation does not hinge on my acceptance of the traditional view concerning this doctrine, but I am required to work out my faith with fear and trembling.

Believe me when I say that write with fear. I postulate with trembling.

What You Can Expect

Starting with the next post, I’ll begin to cover as many topics as possible concerning The Fall, human suffering, depression, and other subjects riddled throughout C.S. Lewis’ book as well as my own ideas concerning these matters. For example, Lewis asserts that the story of the Garden is yes, a myth and he presents many valid and reasonable theories for why it is so rather than literal truth. On top of Lewis’ thoughts concerning the matter, I will suppose that a myth can still be a myth and still encompass the entire truth of the matter.

I’ll eventually go further and assert that such a traumatic event like the dissociation of the human race from the spirit of God would result in some kind of PTSD or other disorder for the entire human race, leaving us in a state where we are physically, psychologically, and genetically unable to handle the truth of the matter, leaving us only the possibility of a story that would provide clues which would enable us to determine a need for a savior.

We’ll talk about how we were once superheroes, unconstrained by the laws of nature; about transfigurations and emptiness and the possible meaning behind it all.

Will anything that I write be absolute truth? Of course not. It’s probably so off base that God is laughing with Jesus and the Holy Spirit right now…”Hey Guys! You gotta read this!” But since God (and the Bible) seem rather silent on the matter, it’s only our nature to wonder and theorize and cope with the pain that pulsates with such force to the very tips of our fingers. Your theories are as good as mine, but they’re not any better. In the meantime, we’ll talk until the day comes and all will be made known. Paul said in Corinthians 13 that “I know in part and prophesy in part.” None of us, not a single one, understands everything the Bible is or isn’t saying. But it is our job to search for the answers. To try and understand who we are, where we’ve come from and how God fits into all of it.

So welcome to my search. You’re in for a ride.

What is even more amazing, fascinating to me is that I was missed by strangers. I discovered that there was a priest who lived in California. He had become a regular reader and was wondering when I would come back. Other friends from church had referred my blog to friends and family and now, all their friends and family were asking questions. Kind of like being given a gift only to have it taken away. I found out that pastors around the country read my poor excuses for essays and found them funny, enlightening and intelligent. A pastor in Leavenworth, Kansas, even wrote a book and wanted to feature a quote from me.

I didn’t discover this all at once, but little by little. A tiny question one week, followed by a small inquiry the next week. And these little seeds became a thought, which grew into a full-blown question: Why did I stop?

Nothing To Say?

I guess the first thought that comes to mind is that at some point along the road, I began to believe that I was out of things to say. Frankly, I got tired of ranting about everything I saw in the world and in the church, not to mention all the bickering, backbiting and ridiculous ideologists in every facet of Christianity trying to tell the world that they’re position on any point of doctrine was the correct one and worrying about pushing the sanctity of their opinion rather than the love of Christ. And if one continues to focus on the bad Ladies and Gentlemen, one will only burn themselves as with a magnifying glass during the heat of summer. And well, to no one’s surprise, I got tired of it.

But that’s not the real reason I stopped. Historically, I’ve always slowed down during the summer. It’s actually the worst period in the world for me to write. Which, now that I think about it, is probably the reason it’s so hard for me to get my writing projects done here. It’s always so frigging hot and riddled with sunshine, things to do and beautiful blue skies devoid of anything that would remotely resemble a cloud.

I need gray skies and rain. Cold November days where you can stare outside and almost see the exact moment when nature itself goes comatose. I need snow so thick that there is nothing else to do but watch it come down, come down and think. Drink something warm and think. I need a land that for a time, is always winter and never Christmas. Because I hate Christmas.

I Got Busy…With Depression

Another classic excuse I use for when production becomes poor. And while it is true that I have been exceptionally busy with getting a new job, moving apartments, family issues and troubles…I am left without excuse when one decides to boil the water down. The fact is, if I had wanted to, I could have made the time. I could have found new subjects to write about. Not everything has to be serious or even religious in nature (which is something I am going to try…) I could have posted shorter articles that took less time and preparation. I could have made a variety of little changes that would have ensured the free-flow of ideas. But I didn’t want to.

This summer, like most summers, I was depressed. And it was bad this time, Ladies and Gentlemen. I yelled and snapped at my wife in ways I never thought possible. I stared at the ceiling with tears coming down my cheeks for hours on end. I prayed and struggled and wanted to die. I was to the point that I was going to see a therapist. (Which is something that is still on the table, but we’ll get to that later.) My wife was worried, my pastor was worried, it was–in a word–”bad.”

But even that is not a valid reason for my absence.

So What Was The Reason

The biggest reason I stopped was because I didn’t think it mattered to anyone. People read this blog and say nothing. They’re either afraid to put their thoughts out there, or maybe I’m a guilty pleasure, who knows. Maybe I’m not as “Christian” as they would like me to be if caught with my site on their computer screen. Maybe the articles are too long or hard to read. The fact is, I don’t know why people read or don’t read, why they comment or don’t comment. But I do know one thing. I like having conversations with people rather that spouting my mouth off and thinking that no one gives a rat’s ass. All these pastors and priests and people of the cloth pay attention to what my humble blog has to say and remain silent. It’s not like I give you a lot of room for a neutral opinion.

Maybe it’s just nice to feel needed. And that’s why I’m back. Because, like I mentioned in the beginning of my post, I was missed. And it felt good. It meant something to know that people read this thing. But here’s the problem: I need you to talk back.

Just a little.

It’s a selfish thing to ask, I know. But in order for this to work, I need to know what you like about Johnny Beloved and what you don’t like. What you want to see more of and what you skip over–like a poor choice on a mixed CD you made for a road trip. Otherwise, I’m over pretending that the crap that flows out of my mouth is pure gold and we all know that to be a lie.

So there you have it. You know why I was gone, why I’m back and what I want. Scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. In the meantime, just so you know…

I’ve missed you too.

Many Christians see only two colors. I went to a Christian school like that. Grew up in a Christian school like that. Subsequently home schooled in a home like that. A world where I was taught that there were two colors and everything around me–in every circumstance, in every situation, in every thought, deed or action, there were two choices–right and wrong. To metaphor this up, I could say that I was only aware of two colors–black and white. There was no in-between. No gray areas. I was raised to believe that “gray areas” are nothing more than the devil compromising my faith. Gray areas equal the very lukewarmness that causes God the Father to spit my no-good, compromising, devilishly twisted soul out of his mouth. I was taught that every gray area in life was a spiritual battleground where we wrestle not with flesh and blood, but with principalities and powers.

When you’re eight years old, doctrine like that is scary stuff.
Ever see the movie Saved!
That was my life.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I believe that there are many areas in life where we do struggle. And I believe that most of these struggles are spiritual in nature. But as I grew older, and started thinking for myself, questioning all the doctrine that had been shoved down my throat, I started to wonder: which struggles are spiritual in nature and which ones are left open to human discernment? The more I studied the Bible, the more I realized that life has more gray zones than either black or white. You probably encounter situations every day that the Bible doesn’t have a strict answer for. For example, there is no verse that says: “Thou shalt not do yoga.” It is a gray area, left to a single person’s understanding of the Bible and what God is speaking into his/her heart through the church, accountability partners and prayer; not to mention the influence of how that person was raised, what they were taught, what they believe and so on. You won’t get a single unanimous answer from Christianity concerning this topic. It just won’t happen.

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This is the story of Cornerstone Church, Springfield, MO.

Why Talk About This Now?

According to these news articles, Cornerstone Church is being sued for $10 million dollars in a civil suit involving Angela Hurt, (a 32 year old youth leader according to Cornerstone, an associate youth pastor according to KY3 News), who was caught having sex with a 15 year old boy (a member of the youth group). This wasn’t a one-time occurrence, but happened quite frequently over the span of three months or more.

According to the lawyers for the boy’s family, it is alleged that Pastor Gibson (and other church staff, including his stepson, Jeff Wells) knew about the situation between Angela Hurt and the boy, yet did nothing about it. However, as expected, the church and its lawyers are denying these charges.
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