Saturday

There is no substitute for the experience of the journey.
There is no way to discipline myself into a perfection that will be worthy of the love of God.
A community of believers is not something I will be worthy of sometime in the future, when I sort myself out.
It is in the holy space held between two people that one can understand Christ.


WIld Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

-Mary Oliver

Friday: Lent

Thank God it's nearly over.

Thurs. Distilled Lent

In sum, I say this:

Lent is teaching me to be still.



"Be still, and know..."
-King David



"Peace, be still..."
-Yeshua himself

Wednesday: A Non-summary

So a summary eh? When I think of writing a summary of my lent experiences I have a feeling of being overwhelmed that is much like the feeling that I’ve felt for the last week and a ½ that I finally admitted to today. In the past 40 days I’ve had nights filled with so much anxiety that I can’t sleep, I’ve seen my brother get married, I’ve seen several new beginnings and unfortunately some endings. There is no way that I know how to sum up the last 40 days, this journey through Lent with my community. I’ve appreciated the opportunity to not only share but to be shared with, for a new way to participate in community. When I thought about what I might write for my last entry however, there is something that I haven’t been able to shake from my mind that I’d like to share.

The topic I can’t get out of my mind is Pain.

A couple weeks ago I was riding the bus over the Aurora bridge, probably on my way to Fremont. I do this roughly once a week, sometimes two or three times depending on the week. For the first time on this bus ride I noticed that along the railing of the bridge there are several signs posted reading “Thinking of Suicide?” and then a phone number to call. As I looked at the sign and then looked out the window over the bridge toward docks and water, I was filled an intense sadness that is pretty hard to shake. What would it take for someone to look at the rough presence of the docks hundreds of yards below and feel that they were more inviting than the life they are currently living?

This sent my mind through a spiral of thoughts that led me to finally think about the pain of the cross. I found myself comparing the pain that a person who finds his or her only relief in suicide with the pain that Jesus felt as he was headed toward the crucifixion.

I’m not really sure why this makes sense to me, nor am I really sure how to explain it. But when I conceptualize the feeling of hopelessness in life that often leads to suicide I feel an overwhelming sense of compassion for Jesus, not because he was hopeless but because he embodies all that there is to be hopeful for in life, some much so that he died for it. How often do we find ourselves wandering through life feeling that there is no hope that things will change, no hope that one day what is causing us pain will cease to cause pain?

In the last week, I’ve seen 3 people lose their jobs. I’ve seen a community react to the loss as though they were losing a part of their body and in some cases a piece of their soul. People feel betrayed, let down and discouraged. I have heard more people than I can count express anger, frustration and sadness. Where do you begin to pick up the pieces when what you once viewed as your foundation is pulled from beneath you?

There is a time for grief. There is a time express loss. There is a time to give into pain and hopelessness, to be angry, to be sad, frustrated. But in the end what leads us to new life is hope. According to my belief, what led to Jesus death was hope, hope in our life, in our existence. Hope that we will rebuild. Hope that when we lose a part of the body that we have others there to carry us through, to depend on.

To help us live.

So I guess you could say this is what I take with me from Lent. It's generally what I always take with me from Lent. Nothing extremely profound, just a renewed sense that life is a good idea and there is something that makes it worth getting out of bed every morning to see what the day will bring. Thank you all for giving me the opportunity to share some of my disjointed thoughts and observations of what this life brings to me.

Tuesday: Unreality.

"God, have mercy on me in the blindness in which I hope I am seeking you."
--Thomas Merton

I have prayed that every morning of Lent as I put on what I can only consider some variant of a cross I once received from Karen. In the evening, I would generally pray, "Lord, be present with us in the nighttime" as I took the cross off for bed. It is the only consistent thing that I have ever maintained throughout this season.

The prompt is to give a summation of Lent. I think summaries are to be of the brief nature. My summation will not be such, so if you will indulge me in the length of a somewhat philosophico-metaphysical entry (or don't, I suppose you do have the option of exercising full autonomy in reading posts):

About halfway through the period of Lent, I came to realize that for all intents and purposes, I was no longer operating under the belief that God is real. This is only somewhat problematic to me because I still hold absolutely that God exists. The problem only arises in the disjunct between the theory in my head and the practice at church. It is more or less incompatible (as far as I can tell) to hold in one's head the belief of the possibility that God is not real (though existent, ontologically) and still engage in corporate prayer, and the consumption of body and blood.

There are many terms here that warrant definition before I continue, but for the sake of brevity: real is simply how I am describing the way in which God is tangibly impacting life, specifically mine (apologies for the phrasing - the definition does not imply that I think it to be God's job to necessarily make...God [someday, I will find an appropriate pronoun] known to me and for me to in fact know); and existence is simply that God is an ontological being. I am intentionally avoiding the phrase, "that God is really real" to describe my conception of existence, but it could be conceived in that manner.

I have no problem at all presupposing that God exists--for any level of my life. God's existence is both external and independent of however I may conceive of and interact with God. This is problematic in itself, but I do not have the capacity to engage this tonight. In other words, God's existence is safe and free from any sort of personal, convoluted, nonsensical doubt. But I am having a difficult time trying out work out what it means for God to be (un)real in the midst of said personal, convoluted, nonsensical doubt. And so Merton's prayer has been significant to me these past few weeks. There is blindness. There is a hope that I am seeking. And there is a great need of mercy in all of this.

I am anticipatory of Good Friday. It seems to be the most fitting day in which I can feel comfortable with God's lack of reality. I want that physical manifestation of...lack. And I really want to take that day to sort out what that has meant to me, currently means for me, and what it will mean to me for the season of Easter.

So ends my participation in this Lenten blog.
Gratia et Pax.

Monday: Summing It Up

This week we are supposed to sum up our experience of lent, since this will be the final week for the 40 blog. This is tough to do in some ways and in others is quite simple.

I'm a seminary student. I'm studying to become a more informed pastor. I was a youth pastor for five years. Christian: my whole life. How many times have I given up anything or practiced anything for lent? None. I've tried so many times. Sometimes I even got close to making it, but sure enough a stressful day would come and I just had to have a Mountain Dew. Fasting a meal? Couldn't do it. Reading a book? Didn't happen. So this year...I said screw it, I'm not doing anything.

Well, every Sunday night or Monday, I've blogged with and for my community. I didn't intend for this to happen, but I guess this 40 blog has successfully put me in a place spiritually I've been before during lent. Hooray for me right? Maybe.

You see, this came as more of a pain in the ass than anything else. I usually remembered to do this right before going to bed, thus prolonging my ability to sleep for at least 20 minutes. I didn't really do any preparation for this, so the struggle, and time, and energy just wasn't there. I simply didn't do much. I did reflect. I did read the other posts. I was inspired, relieved, curious, and amazed by them during this time. So does this count? I don't know, I probably won't even care after I click publish, but for me, I'm going to say yes.

Lent has been filled with pain, betrayal, hope, dreams, desire, frustration, and anger. I've lost a job and a place to live all at the same time. Found out my wife is going to get a pay cut in order to work on an internship so she can get certified for the state of Washington. I've also been part of planning and starting a new community house for COTA. I've seen that house one signature away from being ours, to being delayed another month by a greedy real estate agent and naive home owners.

This lent has been so different for me in so many ways, but the recurring theme in my life during lent is ambivalence, and this year is no different. It is the paradox of my life...I suppose I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thank you 40 blog writers for your stories, poems, thoughts, interpretations, time, effort, and truth.

Friday: Longing

She alone sits at his feet.

She alone understands.

As I scurry throught the house

envy fills my heart.

Oh! To just sit at his feet!

To hear his words. To touch his skin.

But in my restless nature,

there is much to be done.

So I breathe in the perfume

that fills the house

and pretend it is me

who has annoited his feet

then quickly shelve the thought

and return to duty.