Reverse Confessional

This, for me, is an attempt to understand certain emotions and thoughts and things that roll around in my head, as you can see. For the one person that reads this blog (thank you Drew), and for those who occasionally stop by because you see this link in my info or on my Facebook. So far, I've covered things that I dislike about the church, my own personal struggle with lust and insecurity, and my own longing to comfort the wounded. I think this one is going to be a sort of summary of those things, but at the same time, I really don't know.

As of late, I've been examining a movement in the church known as the Emerging Church (not Emergent, follow me here), or Post-Evangelicalism. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this movement, it's the sort of church that includes guys like Rob Bell, Shane Claiborne, Donald Miller, and Brian McClaren. It's gaining popularity among college age students, mostly due to its emphasis on postmodernism and cultural relevance. Core beliefs include a focus on missional living (loving people intentionally despite who they are), truth as subjectivity (and in some cases relative), and going into the world instead of telling them to come to church. Now, don't get me wrong here. I believe truth to be absolute, yet I do see how truth can be subjectivity. Still, what moves me about this church is how it reflects aspects of a church that I never, under any circumstances, saw while I was growing up.

Let me explain. I grew up in an Assemblies of God church in Newport, Pennsylvania, the epitome of backwoods culture. On the political scale, the entire county pretty much falls ultra-conservative, and though many people don't seem to attend church, they do believe in their own sort of version of God. My church is one of few Pentecostal churches in the county (one of three or four, I think), yet is still pretty well known. They sort of get a reputation for being crazy, jumping around during worship and a lot of talk about "baptism in the Holy Spirit" and "speaking in tongues." It's enough to freak people out the first time they come, but if they keep coming, they usually find that they're not so different from other churches in the area. Like the rest of the county, my church reflected an ultra-conservative agenda. When the Da Vinci Code was published, my pastor immediately took it upon himself to preach a two week series on the falsehood of the Da Vinci Code, sort of as an apologetic course. He has spoken out against abortion, gay marriage, and the Democratic party, and shown support for capital punishment and the current administration, and often invites speakers reflecting these same beliefs. Like any good A/G church, we have our Mission's Convention every year, displaying different aspects of different cultures and talk about how much they need Jesus. We have outreaches to our community where we give food to needy families, and outreaches overseas (such as Haiti and India) where we send teams to give medical help and food to the needy there. Often, preaching is a common part of these outreaches.

Now let me tell you why I've come to dislike this church. At age 13, I really had no desire to learn more about God because I had grown up with it and never cared much for it, but my mother insisted that I go along to the services of a week long Holy Spirit baptism thing going on at the church (my mother fits the above stereotype well). I thought I would give God one final shot. I went to the altar to receive the gift of tongues (rather synonymous with baptism of the Holy Spirit in the A/G) and though I felt filled with God and His peace, I received no tongues. I continued praying at the altar, when my pastor came up to me and asked me if I was OK. I said "yes, I haven't felt this peace in a long time." He asked me if I was praying for the gift of tongues, and I said yes, though I wasn't actually showing any evidence of having received it. He then asked me to make more room at the altar for other people. I moved away from the altar and went back to my seat, unsure of what exactly had happened. Repeatedly, I prayed for tongues over the course of my teenage years and never got a darn thing. The only positive reinforcement I got was from a youth leader who told me that God told her to just wait for my time, that it would come one day. Other than that, I was just another person taking up space at the altar.

This, along with the ultra-conservative position of my church, is why I've come to dislike it. Its teachings go against the things that Christ has taught, that loving people intentionally regardless of who they are is more important than political agendas and the gift of tongues. For the longest time, I've wanted to be a part of a church who loved without agendas or conditions. That's how Christ loves: unconditionally. I'm tired of asking to speak in tongues. I'm tired of hearing about how President Bush is a great president. I'm tired of being told how loving Christ is when the church isn't showing it. I want to love as Christ does. I want to go into the world and tell them of God, instead of telling them to come to church all the time.

And yet, when have I done this? When I have I ever lived missionally? When have I ever done something to help the poor, the hungry, the hopeless? When have I ever reclaimed an abandoned area of the empire, or taken the time to feed the hungry, give shelter to the homeless, or visit the lonely? When did I move away from what my church raised me to be? I see the need to, and I want to accomplish that need, but when will I get up off the couch, stop reading about it for awhile, and do it?

When will I stop being a hypocrite?

Some of you will read this and think "wow, way to throw a hissy fit. Grow up." To you, I hope you see what I'm trying to say and go live as Christ would have you live. Some of you will be inspired to take action. God bless you. And some of you will skim this and just see me taking pot shots at the A/G. To you, go back and read the whole thing. It'll make more sense then.

What is it about me that makes me so discontented with injustice in this world? Why do I cry for every broken heart, when I know I can't help them all?

I want so badly to help them all. To pour into their lives and let them know that they truly are loved. Every last reject. Every last outcast. Every last person who was put out by the world, who no one wants anymore.

I want to help them so badly, and I can't understand why no one else wants to do that. Isn't that what we're called to? To show love?


Why won't anyone else show love?

I really don't know what is gonna come out here, but I haven't written here for some time now. I recall promising a series of publishing on the heart of worship, but the Internet situation at Creation prevented such a thing, and, frankly, I'm still discovering what it is to worship the Lord with your heart.

I head back to Valley Forge Christian College in a matter of 2 days (today doesn't count; it's about over anyway). I'm curious as to what to expect. After all, what has this summer done to me as a person? I'm certainly different. The growing pains and stretches I have to show from spiritual movement clearly demonstrate unto me that I have come a long way in my pursuit of God, but is it all an illusion? Perhaps my own mind has fathomed and invented such a delusion that I do indeed dwell in God's presence daily, that, in reality, I am no more spiritually mature than the young person who converted at Youth Convention. I did spend a great deal of my time working, sort of placing myself in a bubble and not spending much time with my friends here (though I did when I could). Though I didn't visit church, I spent frequent time with God, praying, reading the word or reading interpretations of his word, and thus learned more about Him that way. I sought to make my every action one of the Lord, and though I did stumble and fall in some places, I can only write that off as simply being human.

Yet, something still bothers me. On another blog, I wrote about how I longed for the romantic love of a woman, but how I struggled to focus wholly on the Lord and allow him to fill the void there. He certainly did do that, but I found myself stumbling repeatedly. My past actions with women and my constant pursuit of them haunted me, making me desire them all the more. Even as I sit in my local cafe typing this, a pretty girl a few tables over catches my eye. All I can do is remark that God is a wonderful creator of beautiful works, but my flesh longs to do more. Yes, I sound like a pervert, but anyone daring to be critical of such a thing ought to examine how they feel when they see an attractive member of the opposite sex enter the room. I am not alone in this struggle. How is it that a man can cut lust out of their lives to the point where he finally stops defining a girl as a "that" instead of as a person? I relate to Paul having the thorn in his side. I just feel like this is more than a thorn; more like a vicious monster I know I can't control that threatens to consume me, and yet which remains chained to me and never at a distance, a mirror image of what I never want to be again. It taunts me, ridicules me. And yes, God is for me, and no one can be against me, but it sure can put up a fight.

I'm getting weaker.

EXPEL!

In any Bible published in today's world, the section title over 1 Corinthians 5 is "Expel the Immoral Brother!" Now I know Paul did not actually make section titles over his chapters and such, that things like this were added for convenience, but I always think of this section title when people ask me about dealing with people whom they generally stumble around. I've recently had to "expel" someone from my life because of the effect they had on my walk with God, and it has certainly helped my life.

Until said person texted me recently. Now I feel guilty for "expelling" them.

I'm going to be vague here so as to help relate this to any situation as well as to protect the name of this expelled party. The long and short of it is that this person led me down paths that caused me to stumble in a sexual manner. No intercourse was involved, but there were some heated conversations and such that left me feeling sick later on. These events were a direct violation of my promises to God and to my future beloved (I don't know who she is yet, but this is something less I have to give to her), and left me feeling like scum. Because of this, I took the drastic measure to remove this person from my life. I wasn't exactly the nicest person in the process, I will confess, but it felt like I needed to be forceful to get them out of my life, and when they came back one time before (about a month ago), it made my blood boil out of rage.

The guilt, however, comes from the fact that I punished this person for my own weakness. Yes, she did exploit it, but I question how right it was to be angry with them over my own faults. I was already angry with myself and my incompetence in fighting back this false self within me (I still am), but is it wrong to be greatly angry at someone for something you weren't strong enough to fight?

I have no answer here, and I know and believe that God alone gives me the strength to win any battle, but I come up short on answers here in terms of forgiveness. I have forgiven this person and no longer feel anger here, but I have no idea how to handle this in terms of this persons involvement in my life.

Two observations

The job I hold at Harrisburg Hospital (Patient transporter) allows me to meet a myriad of interesting people of all kinds of backgrounds and such, however, my observations do not concern their backgrounds, but their willpower as humans in a bleak and dreary atmosphere.

One person I had to move today was in the ICU for reasons I was unaware of (as a transporter, there is no need for me to know reason for admission to the hospital). For those of you who don't know, ICU stands for Intensive Care Unit, and patients admitted there are on extremely careful and meticulous care in order to be kept alive, and this gentleman in particular was under extreme medical attention. The look in his eyes when I entered his room only registered a dead emotion, nearly a lack thereof. I couldn't even tell if the man was aware of our presence there or that we were even moving him. He was on a respirator, oxygen, and a host of other medical devices meant to keep alive. This man was helpless, and he was barely 40. The thought of being 40 and on intensive care disturbed me. What would happen to this man? What chance did he even have at living again? The helpless look in his eyes gave me a certain amount of animosity, in a way. Why wasn't he trying to live? Didn't he care? Did he even deserve to be in this hospital on all the life support he needed if he was only going to waste away? What was the point, anyway?

However, one other patient changed my outlook on the first one. He was an amputee whom I had to take down for X-ray. When I saw he was missing a leg, I offered to get a nurse so I would have assistance getting him onto the stretcher. He dismissed my offer and told me to move the stretcher adjacent to the bed. I did so and placed the brake on. All he needed from me was the help to sit up. From there, he moved to the edge of the bed, stood on his good leg and pivoted around, sitting down on the litter. This nearly shocked me, as any other patient in the hospital would have probably groaned about having to be moved at all. This man, however, actually moved into the stretcher on his own and got himself situated without any assistance at all. My amazement with this man still stays with me. Even in a situation where there would seem to be no point, a man can make do with what he has and do his best.

My opinion on the first man was altered. Perhaps the look in his eyes was not dead, just distant. The fact that his heart was still beating should have been sign enough to me that he still had the will to live, and our assistance was desperately needed to make that hope be true. Maybe he couldn't move. Maybe he was incoherent in the eyes of the doctors and nurses who tended to him. One thing I know for certain, however, is that while a man still has blood in his veins and his heart remains to beat, he has will. I witnessed what I thought was true helplessness today, but now I see that there is no such thing. No one is helpless as long as the desire to live exists. To deprive a human being of such a desire is abominable and atrocious. Life is so precious, and to come to the aid of the desire and will to live is honorable in the greatest respect.

These two men have taught me this truth. Now, I teach it to you. Honor life.



Uphold it.

I absolve you

Mediocrity. The end result of our society's strive for perfection. Look about you. It is everywhere. In your job. In your music, movies, and literature. In the architecture used to build your home. In the car you drive to work.

It's in your faith.

That's right, Christian. Your faith is mediocre. Complacent. Stagnant.

It's comfortable.

This is why Christianity has come to the standstill that it's at. This is why there is no change. This is why we are still using the same methods that have not worked for years and years and have not moved an inch (in fact, we're on the downhill slope). We are comfortable where we are at. And this does not apply to one denomination, but to Christendom as a whole. Every church has found it's comfort zone and kept itself there, from Catholics to Pentecostals. Catholics with their liturgy and motions which give them a security that their "good works" will get them to heaven, and Pentecostals with their shouting at each other in tongues, competing for the spot of holiest and most seeking Christian. An image is what we have come to seek as Christians. How many Hail Mary's can we say, or how long can we rattle along in tongues without taking a breath? How holy can we look? And what has this image gotten us? Results? No!

We have our mediocrity and comfort that we look "holy" to others, when, in fact, your rolling in the aisles church makes you look ridiculous.

You may say to me "but this is how we seek the Lord!" Is it? Does your comfort make you feel close to God? Well, what if one day that comfort were ripped away from you, the rug yanked away from under your feet so you fell flat on your rear end? Are you able to defend your faith well enough that the fall isn't hard at all? What do you know about what you believe? You've bene told over and over again that theology and head knowledge about God will get you nowhere, so you've avoided it. You fear to know because you fear you will be proven wrong.

Fear inspires your complacency.

I do not blame you for your fear, Christian. Reaching into the unknown is a frightening thing to do, but let me say to you: it must be done. Know thyself. Know why you believe what you believe. 'Be prepared to give an answer." We've said over and over again that when the world asks questions, we'll just tell them we're worshiping our king. What does that mean to them? Absolutely nothing. The world longs for an answer, and that answer is pathetic. Know your faith, give them an answer.

Animal dreams and Constellations

Aside from one or two attempts at relationships, I have spent the past year and a half single. For the past year and a half, I've also begged God not to make me celibate and to show me a woman after Him whom He wants me to spend the rest of my life with. However, for the most part in these past several months, I've used the time to press more into God and come closer to Him. Still, I find myself feeling pretty lonely here and there (I know I'm not alone here, I'm just expressing emotion). My psychology book explains it as a part of the social time line. Generally, 19 is an age to begin looking for a girlfriend and most likely find one, at least in our culture. Sadly, psychology does nothing to really explain the lack of ease in meeting the demands of a social time line. Yet God has always provided for me in those lonely times, particularly last evening.

After I got home from work, I was extremely exhausted, so I took a nap. I had a dream about hummingbirds (of all things) and I recall someone explaining to me within the dream that hummingbirds mate for life and that if one of the pair dies, the other will soon follow because of the bond the pair had. Now, this isn't true of hummingbirds, but it does occur in other areas of the animal kingdom (stick with me here, it's the moral that counts). I woke up hearing Jack Johnson's song "Constellations" in which he talks about drawing constellations in the sky while his father tells stories about the stars. The combination of the dream and the song left me with an understanding that if I were to leave God, or vice versa, I would die spiritually. Life would cease to have any meaning. Albeit this is something most Christians know, but I'm beginning to see how much more important my relationship with God is than it is to have a girlfriend. Social time lines thrown to the wind, I can say (at least for the moment) that I could be happy if it were only God and I for the rest of my life, and though my fickle human emotions will fluctuate and undulate, God sees me through the deepest valleys and the highest mountains. I am His.