Talking Faith - Socially Unacceptable?

On matters of a REAL King that is not themselves, people change the subject. This week I talked to two churchgoing friends and mentioned Jesus. One changed the subject and the next one said something like, "I don't want to get too spiritual or anything." I don't know if they did it out of personal embarrassment or to shut the subject down.

I have a few good Catholic friends and today one mentioned an Adoration Room, where people are scheduled 24/7 to be on hand to praise God. The space is said to have the power of God's presence. I have been going to a beautiful chapel to sit and listen for God, so I sort of understand the benefits of making a place to intentionally be with God. When the Room was mentioned however, I cringed. Did I change the subject or catch myself turning off? I sort of did. But I am strong enough to listen to him share this space and see his faith through a space like an Adoration Room. Though I have hang-ups about Catholicism as a construct, I might stop by.

I have been reading more Action Bible with David and continuing to pop my eyes wider as I read Paul getting stoned and then reviving. Looking at how people try to worship the Apostles for their healing powers, rather then Christ. How doubters from everywhere follow these Christians to try and stir up dissension. But they keep at it. I can't imagine what Peter's story would be if he suddenly decided to listen to Pharisees in the Synagogues and recant Christ. My therapist suggested that people have made is socially unacceptable to talk about our faith and suggests that it is imperative I do so.

So I want to talk with a prisoner who is asking about God. Here I can talk of my faith and actually show up as me. I am going to continue my pilgrimage through empty churches, as a way to listen for God!

To heighten this struggle on God, I am running into my third acquaintance attempting suicide within two months. My friend Melissa wrote a piece on body image and social pressures internalized that I am linking here. I recently told her how healthy I felt she was, because she could express herself. I realize that it is more complicated then awareness of the conflict, as the fight continues past the post.

As I sit at dinner hearing people claim they want to "die having sex" or "sky dive" or for me, after "running the perfect 2:59 marathon," or being heroically helpful or interesting. None of that is attainable beyond its moment and the minute I believe it matters, I am stuck! (If you ever get to read Man's Search for Meaning, he says this better then I ever could!)

So I will attempt to speak my truth and want to encourage you to do the same knowing that tomorrow, the same struggle around body or faith will be present and we must begin to address all over again.

Can't Say Yes?

Many people have been asking for my help with childcare and I have felt the frustration of being unable to say no. This came in the wake of my last post about how I should say no. I couldn't do it and even heard myself volunteer help with childcare, hosting events, making meals and hosting people and pets. Then I heard about an interfaith community in the 90's that tried to be communal and imploded because some people became dictators for those who lacked parental nurturing in childhood. Why is it hard to live with others, even if we believe the same thing?

My therapist suggested this morning that I write down my responses and have them ready for anyone who asks. My plan is to keep notecards of words that say no. 

Here's some ideas (though I know they sound mean)?

-If someone approaches with a question about my time or situation, I can say, "Why are you asking?"

-I am quite busy managing my own needs.

-I have a lot going on in my head right now.

-If questioned on what I am doing (to justify not helping b/c I am at home) I can say, I am feeling manipulated

-You have your needs and I have mine

-It is my prerogative to make decisions for me and you for you.

-I don't want to

-There is a no behind every yes. If I say yes to you, I say no to me.

-A personal goal right now as I work on a bad habit of ignoring myself is that, "I am not aloud to compulsively explain myself or be a compulsive care giver."

So if I go through my list each day, I am hoping to get to a place of clearer communication within myself and then towards others. The other goal is to speak my faith and life as myself. I want to show up, instead of hiding behind being a do-er. I do want to help and be helped, I just need practice in healthier spaces.

My fight is against my desire to be a child in making everyone else my dictator, continually trying to justify my presence in saying "Yes." I don't want to hate myself or others in doing their work, and so I seek for an identity and a place to be real.

I want to state my beliefs, what is important on cards as well. More to come. . . 

I am an Island

I met a guy on Monday who said he tried to make it as a writer until he turned 40. When I asked why he quit, he said he decided he was just bad at it and he was tired of being poor. He now drives a two silver convertible and owns a "successful" Graphics business.

Saturday I sat the eight row of the Hill auditorium listening to David Sedaris read from his latest book, his diary and then just talking impromptu. He stood on stage and answered questions as himself. I want to be him. I want to write about nothing and everything that happens at Meijer. 

I do write, but I don't share myself much. My writing group read my words, but their comments all but crush me into believing that I am incomprehensible.

Can I communicate. Is there a message? A past? A good story up my sleeve? I could tell you about my friends lives, suicide scares, depressed children or the Spring peepers. 

What about me? I could tell you that I fight within myself about being a neighbor. 

I live with 34 other families. The idea is perfection, old fashioned, like Leave it to Beaver or The Wonder Years. People walk across lawns and inside my door almost hourly. Intergenerational is in the literature and pictures feature people smiling around camp fires. There might even be a guitar somewhere in the mix. 

I have talked about fearing judgment and wanting to be liked, but I have recently re-discovered it is impossible to please 34 households. I end up hating myself for even trying to "be helpful." I hate typing community notes instead of short fiction. I hate trying to do something good, only to be criticized for my way of doing it. I hate that being clear about my time feels so offensive. Why can't I tell someone to, "Go Away," or say, "I can't help you." These are real people at my door. They are really loving and really flawed and all of their requests are extremely urgent and 100% distracting. 

I escaped to Roos Roast, my local coffee shop, to sit with real campy types. There are no hair-doos, no neon colors, no make-up masks, and no accessories. A woman comes in with her dog and they sit alone for a 10 minutes, then say thanks and walk out. I do want to be in my community, but as me, a Hermit. How can my words be this coffee shop. 

I ordered a drink and today's roast is terrible. It's called Bali and the sharp smell makes my stomach queasy. A series of twanging slow song play with words that are mublings of sounds. 

I ask You to sit in the old wooden chair and experience yourself for 2 minutes. Start the timer to ensure you do this. Seriously, stop reading me and just experience your own moment. What is happening inside? 

I am telling a story about a mouse named Geronimo. He permits me to slam front doors in nice people's faces. As much as anyone else is great and worthy, so am I and so are you. I want to cry when I tell you that I am saying no (in love). I want to experience life and I can't embody it when I am not there. If I only listen to people's reactions, opinions, desires, and nod yes to a billion tiny little requests, then I am a bodiless shell. So "NO." "Thanks for asking, but that just wown't work for me right now." 

To be or not to be KING?

My son and I devour his Action Bible, a comic strip rendering of the story of God’s creation through the second coming of Jesus. Every chapter seems to hit on the push and pull of people trying to be God or control God and falling into ruin, only to be picked up again by God many years later.

It seems like everyone wants to be King. When the Israelites first ask for a physical King and Saul is chosen, Saul embraces the role so emphatically that he tries to kill anyone who could take the throne from him (a theme that continues with many of his predecessors).  

I want to be King of human experience, not just a dabbler in words or relationships. I wish I could write stories that changed lives and brought people hope. I end up sitting in a chair, not knowing what to write or who to be or where to focus or how to act; all becomes internal paranoia at messing up. The focus can’t be me. I must claim someone out of my understanding is the King, and only one person fits that bill.

I blindly follow Christ. When Jesus arrivers in Jerusalem and suggests he is The Messiah, people pick up stones to kill him and later arrest him based on these claims. Why so threatened? If he were a powerless fool, would people care that much? They could have ignored him, right? But the noise of those who are healed and shouting his name can't be silenced.

I see others experience God and I wish I could see him walk down the path, have him look at me in the crowd and say, "I'm coming to your house." I want to know he loves me. Be freed from my attempts to be my own Savior (and the pressure of trying to save others). To assume he will change my life right now, and even more, for him to bring hope my neighbors.

Whose Life Do I Live?

Dorcas and I drove to Ann Arbor early Easter, heading straight to Knox Presbyterian. As we walked into the sanctuary, Pastor Chuck called Dorcas’s name, his arms wide. Then he held out his hand and said to me, “I’m Chuck Jacobs.” She turned blankly and I blushed, because she has been living in Chicago for two years and I have been attending Knox for five.

Dorcas sat in Chuck’s office four years ago, worked with Deacons and Elders, and still has a team of people reaching out to her. Me, I am a hider. I can’t imagine sitting in Chucks office. Every week I think I should go to the front after church where deacons and elders are waiting to pray and/or begin a conversation, but I can't do it.

Dorcas mentioned that based on the questions of one of her team at Knox, she sat down and outlined her experience of God speaking over her life and was able to see the patterns and discipher his voice vs white noise. I wonder about this for myself. I know that God speaks. For one thing, he says, "Go pray with deacons," and I say, Someone else needs them more." For a few years he has been encouraging me to start a “Doubt Night Event: A place people can bring questions” and talk about their own journeys in faith and doubt. I feel like he is calling me to accept rejection, as he did. He has been calling me to Evangelistic mission in my neighborhood and I keep pushing him off. God says speak, and I say, "You don't want me?"

So, I have set up a day of prayer about my mission. I want to explore evangelism and real ways I can share Jesus. This does not mean I have to be anything or do anything or please anyone, just that I listen and follow God, who had done and continues to do the saving.

Takes more guts then I have

Just before leaving for Chicago, my therapist asked me to ask God the question, “Do you love me?” So I asked and asked and asked and trembled in the silence that followed, knowing I had to trust God to speak.  I want to control God’s relationship with me from a distance, saying, “God loves you, he loves every, he is love.”  I put my words in his mouth.

Then I spent four days with Dorcas and as I sat at her table, I knew God loved her and so she was free to love me, I just had to receive her love. 

Another response to the question, “God, Do you love me,” is in watching how Jesus loves Peter. He prays for Peter [Luke 22:32]: “Simon [Peter], Simon, behold, Satan has demanded permission to sift you like wheat; but I have prayed for you, that your faith may not fail; and you, when once you have turned again, strengthen your brothers.”

Catholics believe that all the Saints are above, looking down and praying for us. In Dante’s Devine Comedy, Virgil comes to guide Dante, because Beatrice begs him to. I opened to the first page last Monday (coming into the Last Supper) and reading to he intro placed me in Dante’s shoes. To paraphrase: It is the eve of Good Friday, Dante is 35 and climbing a mountain where he finds himself in a dark wood of Error. He tries to run back to the valley and meets Virgil, who offers to guide him through the spirits of pain to get to bliss and Beatrice.

Dorcas and I attended her House Church in the heart of Rodgers Park (a rough neighborhood). There were an eclectic mix of ethnicities, ages and beliefs all sitting together to contemplate pain as seen in Exodus 5. In the chapter, the Israelites ask for a few days off to sacrifice to God and Pharaoh gets angry and increases their work, and pain. As they complain, Moses goes to God and prays, “O Lord, why have You brought harm to this people? Why did You ever send me? Ever since I came to Pharaoh to speak in Your name, he has done harm to this people and You have not delivered Your people at all.” As we sat on couches struggling to find an explanation, I jumped in with reason for suffering, saying pain is about seeing God, growing stronger and living the call of Jesus. Answers, answers, answers. I don’t experience chronic pain, migraines, or stage 4 cancer, as people there do.

I want to consider how I can be amidst the questions and struggles, and people listening for God in them.