the new legalism (I)

A few days ago I read an article on what the author calls "The New Legalism": the idea that true devotion to God manifests itself in doing life-changing, amazing things; and that the depth of one's devotion can be seen in one's radical lifestyle. I remember being in high school youth group, being told that the best thing I could do for God was change the world. People prophesied over me, prayed over me, repeatedly told me that God had "great and amazing things for me." The thing was, I didn't want great and amazing things. My dream was simple: get married, have kids, work at a church. I wanted a quiet life. I wanted to settle down. And when I got to college, people started telling me that wasn't right, that my priorities were selfish, that if I really loved God, I'd go to Africa or something like that. The evangelism professor seemed to weigh one's love for God upon how many souls that person won, or whether that person worked either (a) in the inner-city or (b) in a foreign country. It was simply unacceptable to desire a quiet life. I felt ashamed for wanting that quiet life, and subsequently when those moments when I thought such a life could be mine were crumpled like tissue paper origami, it was obvious that God was keeping it from me because I wasn't devoted enough, because I didn't love him enough. But the thing is, as the article makes clear, there's no shame in such a dream. In fact, Paul encourages such desire in his first letter to the Thessalonians: "We urge you, brothers, to... aspire to live quietly, and to mind your own affairs, and to work with your hands..." (4.10-11) 

The article made me think about where I'm at now compared to where I was at in high school. During my senior year, at one point I led three bible studies and participated in another throughout each week. I also had weekend commitments; usually stuff with the youth group, but it wasn't uncommon for me to go speak at another church. Flash-forward eight years, and I only have one solid "church activity" a week (and that's church). There's some residual guilt there: "If I were where I should be, I'd be way more involved in church." People have told me so often (as recently as this past year) that "God will do so many awesome things through you." That may very well be the case, but why am I, or anyone, to suppose that means something specific? It's a damned vague prophecy. It's easy to assume that "awesome things" refers to, say, mission work, or pastoring, or spearheading some great movement, or writing lots and lots of Christian books. But perhaps one of the most radical and awesome things I can do is stay married and raise kids who love God? Since when did being a good husband and a good father raising his family in the faith become "not good enough"? 

This New Legalism, that we have to do great things for God and that simply settling down, living a quiet life, and working with your hands doesn't make the cut for true love for God, erects all sorts of performance barriers: we want to move forward, deepen our love for God, but we measure our love for God with those things we're doing (or not doing). We feel unable to live up to God's expectations, OR we simply burn ourselves out by stretching ourselves too thin. Focus on the Here & Now is thrown to the wayside as we're constantly looking to the future, to that point when we change the world for God, and we feel incomplete or unsuccessful if we haven't done just that. The article encourages a reorientation of focus: the focus should be pulled back to God and loving people, not on changing the world for God by doing all sorts of incredible things. The focus, I think, should be on becoming like Christ in our daily lives and in our communities, not on how active we are in the church, or how many programs we're involved in, or what social causes we "like" on Facebook.

It's a strange phenomenon, that sometimes the more we try to attain something, the farther from it we get. Christians want to change the world for God, so we start programs, build churches, and organize mission trips. The early church didn't seek to change the world (in their mind, it was all but over), but they did. And I can't help but ask, "How?" Not by trying to change the world but by putting into practice, in daily life, death to sin and life to Christ. They loved God and loved others. It wasn't their preaching that won converts but their life lived in Christ, their conformity to the pattern of Christ, their love for others (even their enemies), and the strange hope they clung to. What a contrast to today, when Christians are known simply for being vocal about what they condemn and then doing that very thing in secret. Christianity stands as a mockery to most of the western world, a residual hungover to be assuaged with the coffee of science, and one of the key reasons, I think, is that we have failed to pay attention to ourselves and have instead paid attention to social causes, humanitarian reform, and rhetoric against those who disagree with us.

If we're honest, how often do we find someone possessed by the fruit of the Spirit? You know, those things that the Spirit cultivates in us as we grow in Christ. How many Christians are stricken by love, compelled to love others, to show mercy and grace and forgiveness, and to live sacrificially? How many Christians radiate joy, endure life's troubles with the peace of God, and who are wrapped up in kindness, goodness, and gentleness? How many Christians are known for their faithfulness and self-control? Of course, since sanctification is an ongoing thing, no one lives up to it perfectly. During the days of the early church, you could tell who was a Christian by the way they lived, their lifestyle and the way they talked. Nowadays "Christian" is a label you can put on a dating site profile where you're inviting people for casual sex, and no one raises an eyebrow. Who's going to pay attention to a Christian who fills out the vice list of Galatians 5.19-21 but is absent of any of the fruit of the Spirit? Oh, people pay attention to Christians, all right, but there's hardly ever anything surprising.

Brennan Manning remarks in his book The Importance of Being Foolish that the church-at-large seems to be waiting for the next Pentecost, something big and grand, a fresh wind of the Spirit. But we don't need a new Pentecost. The first one was quite enough. What we need is people engaging the Spirit and being transformed by the Spirit, for that IS Pentecost, and it's here. But we turn it into a doctrine and put it on the shelf.

the 21st week

Reading and an Iced Bourbon Latte at 1215

Monday. Blake took me to work since my car’s out of commission. Sarah called off, so things got pretty crazy. I discovered the Skywalk—confusing but cool!—and chilled at 1215 for a bit. Ams picked me up, and we did hot dogs and baked beans for dinner. Monday Nights involved Waterboy and Mario Kart. John and Brandy haven’t been participating: softball.

Tuesday. Ams took me to work this morning, and then Sarah ferried me to the shop so I could get my car. The fix cost $740. The owner saw my book, A Short History of World War One, and his eyes lit up. “I majored in history in college!” he exclaimed. I spent the afternoon hanging out with Sarah and her dogs at her place. August,  timid and cowardly English bulldog, practically crawled into my lap and tried to eat my face. I certainly have a way with dogs. I got Subway for dinner and Ams came over for a bit.

Wednesday. Eric and I opened, a solid morning. A beautiful, sunny day, too: I rolled down my windows and the sunroof and ran to Barnes & Noble to get The Importance of Being Foolish by Brennan Manning (we’re reading it for Small Group). The car’s running much better, and it’s quieter. “When we put your car on the lift to work on it,” the man told me yesterday, “the damnedest thing happened: your exhaust pipes just fell apart.” They patched it up, a far better job than Dad and I pulled off (our patch fell off within days, leaving a gaping hole between the pipes). The owner also told me, “Your car is first place for our Mileage Award. 319,000 miles! Those Toyotas sure are something.” I went to The Anchor for coffee and writing. The place was abandoned, I had it all to myself! I spent the evening watching Youtube videos and pondering the goodness and love of God: he sabotages our own self-sabotage. I still think about Mandy K. A LOT. I’m considering deleting Facebook just so I won’t see her status updates or pictures of her in my newsfeed. The memories (more like fantasies) don’t hurt like hell anymore, and it’s certainly not torturous. Nothing like I experienced with Julie or Courtney, or even Sarah G. I’m a lot more mature now, believe it or not. But I know I HAVE to forget her to move forward: she stands as a shibboleth to disappointment, and the shibboleth must be torn down. Harsh-sounding language for the godly woman I quite possibly love.

Thursday. Eric and I opened together, and after a trip to The Anchor I picked up Amos and we headed to West High Street for Small Group with the Gang: Eric & Tiffany, Ben & Stephanie, Karen, Andy, and of course Amos and me. We drank coffee out back around a fire and talked about faith for two hours. Andy boasted about killing a giant centipede with The Faith Once For All, Adler tried climbing a tree, and Lennon got put in timeout for almost burning Andy with a fiery stick. Andy crossed Adler by ignorantly stealing her princess coffee cup, and she was raging mad. We talked a lot about church, how this Thursday Night Small Group is our church. We encourage one another, support one another, learn from one another, and share life together. We red the scriptures, we pray, we celebrate Christ together. Eric said he and Tiffany decided to start this thing because they felt so disconnected in mainstream churches, wanted the intimacy of community rather than the Sunday Morning show of it. I’ve been wanting to “get back into church” for so long, but have been fearful of the social dimensions. Now I find that I belong to a group of Christians who know and love one another and it’s like God’s saying, “Obviously you’re making an effort, so here you go.”

Friday. Isaac and I opened together, and Sarah and I polished off a Rock Bottom growler during the lunch rush. Blake & Andy went to a Bill Callahan show 2 ½ hours away, and before they left Andy and I talked World War One history while Blake took a poop. The “Love” battles of Verdun & the Somme, Canadians kicking Boche ass on Vimy Ridge and at bloody Passchendale. Andy’s one of the few I can seriously talk history with, and I treasure that. Ams came over around 6:30 and we watched Youtube videos by “Of Mice & Men” (err, Of Monsters and Men; I do that, like, every time). Damned Steinbeck! We played Call of Duty and watched SVU and picked up Subway for dinner. I ate so much I felt sick.

Saturday. I slept ten hours last night. Went by UDF for coffee, and there was a super cute girl there buying cigarettes. But when she opened her mouth, she wasn’t too cute after all. Ghetto Appalachian speak isn’t a turn on for me, though I do miss White Trash Wednesdays with Dylan and Tyler, when we would drink beers and smoke Pall Malls on the front porch in Dayton. Mo called me today, updated me on her life: she’s dating a guy named Steve and is very happy. “Are you dating anyone?” she asked. I told her, “No, but I’m not making an effort. Besides, girls don’t exactly like up to be with me.” That first part is a half-lie: I do have a POF account, and I’ve been messaging women off-and-on, but my replies have gone from scant to nothing since I stated my devotion to God and desire for a Christian woman and a Christ-centered relationship. It seems no one, at least on POF, is into that. Hearing that Mo’s moved on and is happy gives me both (a) relief, especially after all that I put her through, and (b) invites rumination. She’s moved on to better things, a better relationship, and I’m treading water. Her boyfriend has a “real” job and is in a band. I’m stuck at a shitty job, barely have a working car, and am surrounded by people whose dreams are coming true while mine rot in the trenches. Rumination threatens to turn my world dark and cold, the questions and insecurities about my life, myself, and God growing louder. Mandy K. was wise not to be with me, and Mo’s better off without me; so why should I try to make any effort at all? Why should I entertain hope? Exaggerated and irrational thoughts that MUST be put down through persistence and prayer. I went to the Loth House for afternoon festivities: beer pong and hanging in the backyard with John & Brandy, Aaron, Sabrina, and Sarah S. I went to The Anchor for a bit and returned to Brandy’s birthday bash to devour some pizza, kick ass in Mario-Kart, and enjoyed the company of Blake & Traci, Ams and Josh, and of course Andy & Amos. Edith was HAMMERED off vodka, drinking it like beer, and she was all up on me. I kept trying to avoid her, eventually gave up and just went home.

Cinco de Mayo! I ferried Dad to and from The Flying Pig, and Ams met up with us at The Anchor for lunch: a goetta omelet smothered in onions and cheese. Dad headed home, and Ams and I spent the afternoon watching The Colbert Report. She left and I went to The Anchor for a second time, and I spent the rest of the evening reading.

of monsters & men

I've really been getting into "Of Mice Monsters and Men".
They're Icelandic. And the chick's super cute.
This is they're hit song "Little Talks." (below)
Though all of them are pretty great.




I don't like walking around this old and empty house.
So hold my hand, I'll walk with you my dear.

The stairs creak as I sleep, it's keeping me awake.
It's the house telling you to close your eyes.

Some days I can't even dress myself.
It's killing me to see you this way.

Cause though the truth may vary,
this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore.

There's an old voice in my head that's holding me back.
Well tell her that I miss our little talks.

Soon it will all be over, buried with our past.
We used to play outside when we were young,
and full of life and full of love.

Some days I feel like I'm wrong when I am right.
Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear.

Don't listen to a word I say, the screams all sound the same.

You're gone, gone, gone away. I watched you disappear.
All that's left is a ghost of you.
Now we're torn, torn, torn apart, there's nothing we can do.
Just let me go, we'll meet again soon.
Now wait, wait, wait for me, please hang around.
I'll see you when I fall asleep.

those damned ruminations

This past week or so I've been practicing mindfulness to help myself overcome the slippery slope of rumination that drives me to foul and sour moods discoloring my days. A testament to the power of mindfulness and reorienting the mind happened today: Mo called me, updated me on her life, and in the course of it she mentioned that she's dating someone, a guy named Steve, and that things are going really well and that she's very happy.

"Are you dating anyone?" she asked.

"No, but I'm not making an effort. Girls don't exactly like up to be with me."

That first part is a half-life: I'm not really making any effort, though I do have my online profiles up. But since I mentioned that I'm a serious Christian looking for a healthy, non-sexual relationship, replies have gone from scant to nonexistent, and I've just stopped trying. Apparently no one's into that anymore? 

Hearing that Mo has moved on and is happy, there's two outright emotions. First, there's happiness: I'm happy for her, I really am, and I'm glad she's found someone and is happy with that person. I put her through hell because of my own issues, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a relief that she found someone: it shows me that I didn't destroy her life, though that's an irrational fear itself. There's also a sort of sadness: not because she's with someone, because though she's awesome, the two of us just didn't work, and we both know it. The sadness comes at the first spinnings of rumination, thoughts coming, so common and unhindered, that turn my world into a dark and numb place. 

She's moved on to better things, a better relationship, a better guy.

I'm just treading water.

Her boyfriend has a real job, and he's even in a band.

I'm stuck at a shitty job, barely have a working car.

I'm surrounded by people whose dreams are coming true.

And, per usual, I'm stuck going nowhere but backward.

These are the first thoughts, and they quickly spiral downwards unless they're fought against. I start thinking to myself, Mandy was smart not to be with me, and Mo's better off without me: so why should I try to make any effort at all? Why should I entertain hope? These are exaggerated and irrational thoughts, and outside the moment I can look at each and point out all sorts of erroneous assumptions and illogical assertions undergirding the thoughts. But in the moment, it feels so real, and there's nothing I can do but to be drawn into the negative thoughts, to hate myself and hate my lot in life. I wonder if that's borderline blasphemy when God has given me so, so much that I so, so do not deserve. These negative currents must be dammed (and damned indeed!) through persistence and prayer.

If I weren't to stop the trainwreck that is so often my mind, this would be a really shitty day. But practicing mindfulness, being aware of what's going on in my mind, and taking steps not only to curb the negative thoughts but replace them with good ones, does wonders. I told the Wisconsinite, "Recognizing those cognitive distortions from the get-go and shutting them down is so important for me. I'm so used to just indulging those irrational and exaggerated thoughts." Whenever the thoughts come, I practice mindfulness: I focus intensely on whatever's present to me at the moment, refusing to give the thoughts a handhold, and they go in one ear and out the other. I can breathe a sigh of relief and continue on with my day. I also told her, "I'm such a friendly, sociable, funny person who people generally like to be around, but those negative thoughts just tear me down, prevent the real me from coming through, and keep me in a sort of psychological and social bondage." 

As I've been practicing mindfulness, I can't but be amazed at how we can have so much control over our emotions and moods simply by exercising self-control over our thought patterns rather than being enslaved to them. I keep thinking about that passage in Philippians, where Paul talks so much about joy; and he tells the Christians to focus on good things rather than the bad. Self-control's part of the fruit of the Spirit; but since when did self-control become regulated to those things we do or don't do? Self-control is no less important when it comes to the way that we think and perceive ourselves, and one could argue that it's far more important: if we have control over the way that we think and perceive the world, then our behaviors and decisions won't be the convoluted mess they often are. The New Testament talks repeatedly about "taking every thought captive" and pursuing "the renewal of the mind by the Spirit of God"; Brennan Manning wrote in The Importance of Being Foolish that much of the waywardness and muddledness of Christians comes from an inability to see themselves as they are, to be overcome with the weight of various insecurities. If only renewal of the mind was pursued, if only we took captive those thoughts and reformed our thinking around the gospel, then perhaps this wouldn't be the issue it is today. 

pondering joy

Brennan Manning wrote, "In this vale of tears, no Christian life is an unbroken, upward spiral to the mountaintop. Yet the Christian's basic orientation is one of joy and gratitude." In other words, "Christianity means people who are joyfully thankful people." Thankfulness and joy aren't exactly things I'm too good at it, and for this reason I've been doing lots of thinking and praying on the subject. 

Gratitude and joy, they're interconnected. They're practically bed partners. Gratitude is key in joy, and one could say that it's joy's foundation. Joy is a big deal in the Bible: St. Paul mentions joy sixteen times in his letter to the Philippians. The Bible talks a lot about the joy that a person has in Christ. 

I look at my own life, see the lacking joy, and ask, "Well, what about me?" 

If joy is something every Christian intrinsically has, then why don't I have it? 

If the presence of the Spirit in my life is manifested by joy, what's wrong with me?

If joy is something a Christian has, period, then what's that say about me?

Paul says in Romans 14 that God's kingdom isn't a matter of eating and drinking "but of righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit." He prays in the next chapter, "May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope." He writes in Galatians that joy is part of the fruit that the Spirit cultivates in our lives: but why should we assume that joy comes without any effort on our part, any movement towards sanctification? Why should joy just fall in our laps? Does the fruit of the Spirit come upon us all at once, or is it something that grows as we ourselves grow in the Spirit? Pondering all this, I've come to look at joy from three different angles.

Joy & Gratitude. This past Thursday night, Karen told us about a time she was in Africa with a local church there. She was blown away by their worship, by their passion, by their hope, and especially by their joy. They radiated joy: their eyes glistened, their faces glowed, there was quick in their step and exultation on their lips. In that impoverished culture, those Christians knew precisely what they had to be thankful for. Undistracted by those things that so easily enrapture us in the Western World--materialism, hedonism, and prestige--the Christians were able to thank God for their bread, for their families, for their lives. Their gratitude to Christ, for all that he had done and was doing and would do for them, spilled out into their lives, manifested itself at joy. We can mock them for being so thrilled with religion; "Of course they would be, they're in Africa! They barely have clean water!" And there's truth to that: but it's a condemnation on those doing the mockery, not the other way around. We have what we need, and those things we bitch about really aren't that important. Living in a culture where we can be self-sufficient and self-serving, we're blinded to how much we have. We lack the perspective to be thankful. 

Gratitude and joy, they're interconnected. Joy is found when we see, and understand, all that we have been graciously given in Christ. Joy comes when we open our eyes to the work of God around us. Joy comes when we realize how fucking undeserving we are and that, regardless, God has given us everything. Harking back to the renewal of the mind in the Spirit, those of us in the western world have a lot more renewing to do in this arena that most of the world. 

We have to open our eyes to how much we have.

We have to realize that what we have comes as a gift.

Yes, we may have worked for it.

Yes, we may have paid for it.

But it's a gift that we live in a world where we can work and pay for such things.

The fact that I live where I live is itself a blessing.

And all that I have comes from that gift itself: everything's a gift.

I need to make a real effort to see the blessings that God has given me because he loves me. Instead of focusing on what I want God to give me, I need to focus on what God has given me. There's no point in measuring my life against other peoples': Facebook only tells us how people want us to see them; people would KILL for my life, both the good and bad; and not everyone has the same path: God calls and uses people in all walks of life. Gratitude is something that has to be practiced, and its practice spills out into all manner of life.

Joy & Hope. Leafing through the New Testament, I can't help but see that more often than not, joy is tied to hope. In Romans 5 Paul says that through Christ "we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God." In Romans 12, Paul tells the Christians in Rome, "Rejoice in hope!" This isn't a polite suggestion or recommendation: it's a command. Rejoice in hope. 1 Peter is littered with the idea of hope, and the entire letter structures the Christian life around focusing on the Christian hope. The Christians are to have joy in hope; and as they come to understand their hope, and mold their lives around it, joy comes as a byproduct. It's so easy to become distracted from the Christian hope, to set it on the shelf and focus on "things that really matter": the new heavens and new earth, glorification, the consummation of God's kingdom, all of that stuff will be completed in the future, but we're here, in the now, so why focus on all that? Peter has a different approach: focus on that hope, mold your life on that hope, let that hope saturate you and fill you and spill out from your life, to the point that people take notice. Why else would he tell the Christians to be prepared "to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you." As it says in Proverbs 10, "The hope of the righteous brings joy."

Joy & Genuine Humanness. The Bible talks a lot about having "the mind of Christ," or "the attitude of Christ," of conforming to "the image of Christ." Jesus stands as the Perfect Human, the model of what God intended humans to be all along. Because of sin, our image as human beings is marred; but Christ stands as the image of genuine human living. The focus of sanctification is becoming more like Christ; the finishing touches on sanctification, finally being made fully and completely human, lies at the end of the road (and the beginning of another). The work of Christ does a lot of things, but it's point is restoration: a restoration of human beings to be in right relationship with God, one another, themselves, and the cosmos as well. A better word would be new creation: God remakes us into genuine human beings, and then he tells us to start living like it (with some handy help from him, of course). Understanding the point of redemption being just that--redemption--enables us to look at the Christian life not as a different way of living that we need to adapt to but the appropriate way of living for genuine human beings. The Spirit works in us and with us to transform us from self-seeking, self-loving people into God-loving, kingdom-seeking people. The point of transformation is to take us from dehumanization to full-fledged genuine human living (and we note that transformation doesn't culminate until glorification, and that's a complete and utter work of God: until then, we won't be perfect, and won't fully radiate our true identity as redeemed human beings). All those descriptions and lists in the New Testament serve as signposts to what genuine human living looks like. The Fruit of the Spirit is perhaps the greatest signpost, a panoramic vision of what a fully-flourishing human life looks like. Joy, being a key part of the fruit of the Spirit, is thus a facet of genuine human living.

As we grow in Christ, as we come to experience him more and more and experience his change in our hearts and minds, we're fitting more comfortably into the clothes of genuine human living. When we're out-of-sync with who we are, there's often a feeling of disconnectedness, of emptiness. But in Christ, we're being brought back to who we truly are, who we're meant to be. As we conform more and more to the image of Christ, to what it means to be truly human, joy seeps through our lives. Joy is certainly something given to us by God, but I'm thinking there's more to it: when we come to embrace who we really are as human beings, and live in a manner that's appropriate for genuine human beings, joy follows. This may be what the New Testament's hitting on it when it talks about the law of liberty, or our liberty in Christ: "How is conforming to a wholly different manner of living anything close to freedom and liberty?!" Sitting on my desk right now is a half-finished model of the U.S.S. Constitution, an 18th century Navy vessel that didn't enjoy such things as engines. The ship had to use its sails in different patterns to use the wind to its advantage. When a ship's sailing with the wind, it's been said to have a certain liberty in its sails; but when it moves against the wind, it stalls or bobs around listlessly. Perhaps it's the same with Christian liberty: when we move in rhythm with how we're supposed to be, we're not stalling or bobbing around like a fishing bobber in an empty pond. We're moving in conjunction with the wind, filling our sails with the Spirit and geuine human living, and that brings us the truest kind of liberty, that liberty of being who we are in the first place. The existentialist's wet dream.

on "folk religion"

Last night I read a great article on "folk religion": popular religious beliefs absorbed uncritically by the masses and often in complete contradiction to the religion's tradition and sacred writings. The poignant example: "God has a plan for your life," and its corollary, "And if you don't follow it, your life will be in shambles." It's scripturally unfounded, and I know this well enough (I've toyed with the idea of writing a book on the subject), but reading the article made me see that I continue to put stock in it. I interpret my current state-of-affairs only in comparison to what I WANTED my life to look like: "I'm not a pastor, I don't have the blessing of a wife and kids, therefore my life has gone off track." Had I been more devoted (i.e. "good enough") then I would be in ministry and I would have a family. 

Life's major disappointments turn into double-edged swords: not only must I deal with the disappointment, I must also face the fact that it's MY FAULT: I wasn't good enough. Everything gets filtered through the lens of my failures and shortcomings, and I start thinking that what I'm experiencing (or, rather, the absence of experiencing what I want) is the revoking of God's promises, the ultimate destroyer of hope: "I can't have hope, because I'm not good enough to warrant God's blessings." Any attempt to move forward is shadowed by a past of failure, and every setback turns into a manifestation of God's unending displeasure towards me. And the best part is, it gets even more fucked up: interpreting my life in such a manner blinds me to the gifts and blessings all around me, blessings too numerous to count. I fail to see the beauty and adventure and love all around me. Even more, interpreting my life as the direct result of "not being good enough" has made any introspection stained with a dose of self-hatred. I so easily see myself as an awful, beyond hope and beyond help sort of person. Never mind there's nothing too interesting on my rap sheet, and I'm generally known as a loving, albeit weird, person. 

The point of all this is simple: this folk religion, this sentimental belief tied with the rigors of religion, has poisoned me. The implications of such a conviction stretches into every aspect of my faith, bleeding into my faith in and devotion to God. Behind the fears, behind the doubts, lies a heart frightened to trust God because he's unsure of whether God can be trusted. It isn't that God has given me lots of reasons to NOT trust him, but that I've interpreted all of life's twists and turns in light of my inability to perfectly please God and God punishing me for it by taking me from my greatest dream: my own cherished family. St. Paul says our minds must be renewed, and perhaps none more than mine.

the importance of being foolish (I)

Thursday night Small Group (there really isn't a name for it) is going through Brennan Manning's The Importance of Being Foolish. Tiffany is a big Manning fan and recommended it. I'll be posting quotes on my blog as I read through the chapters week-by-week, just a way of sharing some of the things he writes that have importance to me. So, here we go!

Chapter One: Truth

"Self-deception is the enemy of wholeness because it prevents us from seeing ourselves as we really are. It covers up our lack of growth in the Spirit of the truthful One and keeps us from coming to terms with our real personalities." 

"To become a little child again (as Jesus enjoined we must) is to recapture a sense of surprise, wonder, and vast delight in all of reality... A truly balanced person retains a capacity for wonder and the willingness to express it in the very confession of creaturehood, the spontaneous acknowledgement that he is a human being and not a god, a being with limitations who, far from having embraced infinity, is happily and hopelessly engulfed by it."

"[The devil] prompts us to give importance to what has no importance; he clothes with a false glitter what is least substantial and turns us away from what is surpassingly real. He causes us to live in a world of delusion, unreality, and shadows."

"We should be embarrassed by the Word because it says much that we don't want to hear. But why are most of us not embarrassed? Why doesn't the Word exult, frighten, and shock us? It's not because we are unfamiliar with it--we hear it week in and week out. Why doesn't it force us to reassess our lives?"

One reason Christians often reject the way of Jesus: "[The] gospel ethic is too disturbing, too problematic to live out. Let us shove it under the rug and forget about it. If you tell it like it is, people will be turned off. We are reluctant to structure our moral teaching around the gospel."

"The demands of the gospel bring us to the vivid awareness of our weakness and imperfection. They stun us, reduce our overestimation of ourselves, and make us realize how limited we are. This realization--when we allow it to infiltrate our hearts--keeps us from smugness, complacency, and the self-sufficiency that poisons spirituality."

"God's Word wakes us up to our need. Until we submit our lives to the judgment of the gospel and the standards of goodness and virtue established by Jesus, there can be no profound consciousness of being a sinner in need of mercy. How many of us have actually tasted the truth that we are saved; that we do not save ourselves; that in very truth we are poor, weak sinners with hereditary faults and limited virtues; that we are God's children not by our merit but by God's mercy... If the gospel tells us anything, if the church proclaims just one thing year in and year out, it is that salvation is God's free gift. The gospel is the glad tiding of gratuitous redemption."

"In the Jewish community of New Testament times, the child was considered of no importance, meriting no attention or favor. The child was regarded with scorn. For the disciples of Jesus, being like a child means accepting oneself as being of little account, unimportant... In the mentality of New Testament times, poverty and childhood were regarded with equal contempt. However, Jesus says that God prefers the underprivileged. God is pleased to give a privileged place in the kingdom to those whom the world considers most unfortunate."

"The primary posture of the Christian is a childlike openness to God, and our primary attitude one of Thanksgiving."

"We are worshipers of the saving love and mercy of the God who has accepted us. We are steeped in gratitude and dependence. Our very being is a Eucharist, a permanent and perpetual thanksgiving to God. The Psalms remind us that whenever God's people are gathered together, an attitude of joyful thanksgiving is the thanks offering of the assembly... If Eucharist means thanksgiving, Christianity means people who are joyfully thankful people."

"The joyful Christian is one who has retained a sense of awe and wonder before God, one who has existentially experienced membership in a redeemed community. She has a lively faith-appreciation of this great gift. She has opened up to the truth that everything she has is from God, that she is completely dependent on Christ, that 'Jesus saves.' Of course, on a given day she may come to worship more depressed than anything else. In this vale of tears no Christian life is an unbroken, upward spiral to the mountaintop. Yet the Christian's basic orientation is one of joy and gratitude. Such is the legacy of the paschal mystery, the death and resurrection of Jesus. We are God's children not by our merit but by God's mercy."