Archive for the ‘ Personal Journey ’ Category

G.K. Chesterton, David Bazan, and All of My Atheist Friends

“When Job asked you a question,
You responded, “Who are you to challenge your creator?”
Well if that one part is true
It makes you sound defensive
Like you had not thought it through
Like you didn’t have an answer
Like you bit off more than you could chew”

David Bazan, “In Stitches”

This powerful song (posted below) encapsulates the seemingly betrayed demeanor of the apostate. The question, “Where was God when….” has haunted humanity for thousands of years. Philosophers have worked God into either a clockmaker that has left the world ticking till the battery runs out while he stands idly by, or as the intimately personal God who has no real claim to the events that reshape the world, neither beneficial or tragic. In all honesty, it’s hard to blend both ideas.

The abysmal dichotomy between both theological and cosmological perspectives is confronted really just a few times throughout the scriptures. David writes songs about being abandoned by the divine, Solomon writes of the purposelessness of existence, Jesus cries out to the one he called father but is left hanging on a cross. But neither seemed to confront God so bluntly as Job.

 

Why then do you not pardon my transgression,
And take away my iniquity?
For now I will lie down in the dust,
And you will seek me diligently,
But I will no longer be.”

Job 7:21, NKJV

Job was the idealist. He was the barefaced evangelical passion, naive to the gritty questions of life. The blessed life he lived caused him a disservice; he did not truly know suffering on the inside. And once experienced, his perception of a loving God, a divine Friend even, was shattered. In reality, the prayers of Job riddled throughout the story sound a lot like a break up letter. God is angry, and I don’t know why. Job tries to hang on to a fleeting perspective of God as friend, when, as the story is narrated, God ruined and rebuilt the life of Job on a bet with an evil spirit. Job’s theology begins to turn from an intimate friendship with the divine to an irrational, insecure ruler of the cosmos that does what it wills without a second thought to the plight of humanity. In essence he’s defending God, although Job knows that he had done nothing wrong. His last rant lists off all the righteous things he’d done, and all the righteous acts he would continue to do as a last pleading for mercy to the divine.

As G.K Chesterton put it, Job may easily be categorized as a pessimist, but his desire to hold on to a quickly crumbling paradigm may rightfully place him as the ultimate optimist: “[Job] shakes the pillars of the world and strikes insanely at the heavens; he lashes the stars, but it is not to silence them; it is to make them speak.” And God comes onto the stage with not much to answer by. Rather, in true Socratic form, he answers with more questions, pointing to mysteries maybe deeper than why suffering exists, like who hung the stars in their place? God does not answer the question, rather he stirs more doubt. In essence God does not prove a thing, but rather “becomes for an instant an atheist.” He gives grounds to the questions.

This is the basis of the doubter. Of many people that ask the unanswerable questions. Sometimes there are no answers, otherwise I think the book of Job would have ended a little less frustratingly. And silence or more questions is not satisfying. You begin to doubt any altruistic motive, you begin to doubt the very existence of the divine, you begin to doubt the foundations of society, and then finally you begin to doubt yourself. And maybe that is the point God drowns humanity with questions; is to end up not believing yourself.

I’m going to get a little personal now. I don’t know, but this is the reason it’s frustrating to me when “friends” tell me not to hang out or indulge in conversation with “doubters.” Many of my Christian friends speak of the atheist or the agnostic like a plague, to be avoided because they may be “intelligent” but that “intelligence has gotten the best of them.” It’s demeaning and patronizes the very questions God himself continued to ask right back at Job. Rather, I say to my dear atheist and agnostic friends: “I don’t have an answer. I just have a hope. And I think that’s the point. I hope things are going to be made right one day. I hope that the life lived like Jesus, after all the death and destruction this body may suffer, will be resurrected again. The good news is that there is hope. And that hope is being made here on earth slowly, sometimes painfully slowly. I’m sorry for ignoring your questions, because I ask myself those same questions everyday. I think you are closer to the kingdom of God than many of my “Christian friends.” And I think my “Christian” friends really do ask these same questions. They play the atheist in the secret conversations in their heads, trying to dilute them with mystic notions of “blind faith…” I say let’s not hide the questions, but rather taking God’s example, let’s continue to ask.

 

 

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Don’t Repair Me, Give Me the Journey

I breezed quickly down the cobblestone path, as if running away from some huge, unconquerable beast. My chest tightened and I tried to take another failed deep breath, so aware of my faults. The steps that I took didn’t come close to matching the chaotic beats of my heart, pumping blood yet lacking in oxygen—I wasn’t breathing at all now. I wanted to faint, die, anything to stop the panic that was within me. After a teary phone call with my mother, she begged me to get help. So, I did. This is the story of my battle with anxiety.

As an early adolescent, I was severely afraid of death. Aside from my fear of my own death, I was equally as terrified of losing someone that I loved. The panic consumed my life, extending into my college career; moving away from home had an unfortunate blossoming affect.  My counselor labeled my struggle as a general anxiety disorder that required weekly counseling and daily awareness. During my counseling sessions, I began to notice the woman looking at me with narrow, concerned eyes. She asked questions and I answered them while I cried and wiped my own tears with the used, crumpled tissue I held in my hand.

“Leasha, what are you scared of?” Allison, the counselor, asked as I cried.

“I’m…I’m scared of dying. I’m scared of my family dying. If they die… It’s not quite as hard when I am away at school, but when I’m at home I feel like I have to go everywhere with them because if I don’t, they might get into a car crash and…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Instead, I began to sob. Allison’s concerned eyes looked at me again, and then she looked down and scribbled something on her legal pad.

“What about the other things you talked about last time, about your work and numbers? How is that this week?”

She was talking about this horrible habit I had. My boss gave me this mailing assignment, and included in the packet was a piece of paper with the receiver’s Social Security Number. During the mailing process, I had to verify that the student’s name and SSN on the paper matched with what was in our data system. Well, all of that alone seemed fine, except that my obsessive compulsive nature would get paranoid and insist that I check the names and numbers at least five times before sealing the envelope to be mailed. Not only did this lower my productivity, but it drove me so crazy that one time I had to leave work because I felt so unwell.

“Eh…it’s fine. I am almost done with the mailing and try not to think about screwing stuff up…” I had stopped crying at this point, but now my nose was clogged and I felt drained. Allison crossed her legs and continued to look at me with her big, blue eyes. Blue eyes have always been alluring to me; the people that had them always seemed pure. I wasn’t normally this vulnerable, but I knew that I could trust her.

“Leasha, I need you to think about something for a minute, and then we’ll call it a day. What is the worst thing that would happen if you sent the wrong paper to someone, and it got into the wrong hands?” I thought about this for a moment, as she had asked. It had never occurred to me to think about it that way. I had always jumped directly to the fact that I was making a mistake, and that mistakes were very bad (especially when they were dealing with Social Security Numbers).

“Well, uh. I guess someone’s identity would get stolen, they would be very angry, trace it back to me, and I would lose my job.” I took in a deep breath after I spoke the words, feeling the tightness in my chest subsiding slightly. “I guess that isn’t horrible. I wouldn’t be dead.”

“Right. So, try to think of things that way. Most of the time, even the worst possible thing isn’t going to end your life. I’ll see you next week, Leasha.” Allison gave me a smile and I exited her office with my newfound revelation. Maybe there was more to my life than anticipating death after all.

My sessions seemed to go pretty well each week, with less tears shed each time. Allison became like a friend to me, although I knew nothing about her. There was this new sense of openness that I felt not just in my sessions, but in the rest of my life. For the first time in years, I could breathe. Allison suggested that I get into the habit of doing something that I love, something that was just for me. I discovered that “thing” was taking daily walks outside to relax. Taking my “nature walks” did more for me than I ever thought it would. It didn’t just relax my anxious nerves, it awakened my spirit. I began to notice things about the world that I couldn’t have when I was wrapped up in my own anxiety and fear. In retrospect, those walks were when I began to truly live for the first time.

Several years after I began my walks, I met a group of people that now remind me of Allen Ginsberg’s “subterraneans,” people who live in communal groups as friends, subversive in beliefs and dissatisfied with the status quo, the system, and the current state of the American government. I can remember running into my new friends at the local coffee shop and wondering how they had gotten there. We walked, was the reply. I was confused—these people had perfectly good cars but had walked for miles because it was “good exercise?” How little I knew.

After thinking about this and other occurrences, I surmised to take a long walk of my own without deciding on a location. I had never walked any considerable distance by myself, but with my then current habit of trying new things I decided to give it a go. I began my little journey by looking up and seeing a canopy of trees filled with various shades of green and tinges of yellow. Closer to the ground I saw a brown cat knock over a garbage can lid beside a brown, brick house that I had never seen before. I’d driven down this road hundreds of times over the past few years, but I had never noticed this house. It occurred to me that there were probably many things that I missed. At this point I felt like I truly was on an adventure. A journey.

The next thing I knew, I was turning the corner to a huge lake, one that I knew to be roughly three miles around. It was a bit cold and windy that day, but that didn’t stop the joggers and bikers from doing their afternoon exercising. I passed by an older couple walking together, and silently hoped that if I ever got married that my husband and I would be close enough to wake up and go for a Saturday morning walk. Then I began thinking of everything that I had been through within myself, and realized something on my little journey that would change my life forever:

Some might say that I have reason to label myself as “in repair,” waiting for someone or something to come fix me. Someone like Allison, or my mother, or a man. But that approach hinders and binds, it puts a contingency on health and happiness. No. I’m not in repair, I’m on a journey. A journey that has ups, downs, and times where absolutely nothing happens. My journey has hills, enjoyable people, and irritating ones, too. It’s exciting and it’s boring, but this journey is slowly molding me into the person that I want to be for myself and, most of all, for the people that I love. At this realization, I took the deepest, fullest breath that I could manage and kept on trekking.

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It came to the end.

I want to say I failed, but how can I say so when I learned  so much. In the traditional sense I did fail. I didn’t make it to Sunday, yes, I ate something last night. I was at a friends apartment hanging out until it was clearly past my bed time so I could wake up at 5 a.m. Again I got in the car and it hit me. I would like to say it was something spiritual that God challenged my life with that made me feel release from my fast, but it wasn’t. I was driving home and began to feel immensely sick and dizzy. I got to my apartment where my roommate also was laying day sick from some unknown illness that I was desperate not to catch.

I began to see how he was and explained I was starting to feel really bad. Well I went to go lay down hopeful that sleeping would be an adequate way to forget the dizziness, nausea, and headache I was going through. Well after laying there for a while just praying it became to the point that I could no longer bear it. Nearly for days and I was done. I cheated out, ate about a two spoonfuls of rice and a piece of toast. Yet while I was disappointed with myself that my body got to the best of me I subtly realized something I have never actually experienced before.

We hear over and over again that Africa is a starving nation, and it’s not just Africa, but many places around the world even some places here in America (albeit not in as a sever fashion). I have never felt so hungry in my life as I did that night and as much as I hate to admit it, I had my way out. I knew no matter how bad it got out I could always eat something, but I could never imagine what that means to not be able to at all. While I can’t imagine that I know there are people who go through that every day. The become so hungry and have no way out, none at all, not even a shelter to find, no scraps to find.

It makes me want to do something, to want to change something, to find a way to feed people. I have heard all of the statistics, I know what the improbable is, I know what the church in America is capable of. Beyond all of this I know what can be done, but I am not worried about the can I am worried about the how. How do we do this? How do we stop world hunger with using the power of the church and with showing the love of Christ that needs to be clearly shown. How can we spread the gospel to those who are dying of hunger? Shoes, clothes, presents, friends are all very very good things to be given to people around the world, but so many lack just the necessity of food and water. Diseases may come from a lack of shoes, but death comes so much more immediately from lack of food. I want help. I want to know what we can do to show the church what we have a responsibility to do. I know I would love to see followers of Christ who have never experienced this feeling to go without food for even three or four days. Learn what it does to your body to lack food, to be completely without. Any thoughts I would love to hear, but for now I am going to contemplate more on what I think we can do.

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