Monday, November 1, 2010

Born Spiritually Breech

That is how Phillip Yancey refers to the spiritual life in his book "Reaching for the Invisible God." I thought it funny at first, but soon after I realized it was more of an accurate depiction than just a humorous antidote.

Being born breech poses a lot of problems for both the mother and the baby. It can be a much more strenuous labor and not to mention it just isn't the "normal" way a baby is supposed to enter the world. So when we compare a natural childbirth with that of a spiritual birth, we must also list all the complications that come with being born spiritually.

There are three complications that effected my being born spiritually.


1. I thought God and Santa Claus were a lot a like...
Until I was 7 I kind of looked at God like Santa. If you're good, you get good things, if you're bad, then bad things happen. I also believed in God like I believed in Santa. I thought Santa was real, but I never saw him. I thought God was real, but I never saw him either. The only difference in Santa and God at this point, was that Santa came down the chimney and stole your cookies, while God just had a bunch of quotes hanging on our walls.

2. My family went to church...
Now most would assume this is something natural and not a complication. However, church, in my case was a social gathering, not a place where we lived out the gospel Jesus preached. In fact, until the time I was 14 all I knew was that Jesus came, died, and rose again. And if I wanted to go to heaven I needed to be a good little girl and Jesus would give me gifts under the Christmas tree so I could add them to my mansion that sat on the streets of gold. There was something in their messages too about forgiveness, sin, and righteousness. I understood very little, and tried for all of 7 years (7 to 14) to do what was right so the God of Wrath didn't annihilate me or my family. So at 14 when I started to question the reason we went to church and what the Bible actually said I wasn't that popular among my friends. It wasn't that they were not interested in knowing God, He just didn't seem to have the same appeal to them as He did to me.
So in order to come out healthy I had to stop listening to what the preacher said and start reading things for myself. It was a painful process. Weeding through truth never is easy.

3. I thought I was awesome.
The number one spiritual killer. Pride. Yep, I had it. Like a bad case of chicken pox. I was always scratching and busting open the wounds that were scabbing over. I think I acquired my pride when I started asking questions and reading things on my own. My knowledge increased and so did my pride. I thought momentarily that I was God's elect and it was my job to tell everyone else how wrong they were for believing certain things about Jesus. And on top of all that, I am certain my pride was a cover up for the insecurity that was walling my heart in.

My spiritual birth wasn't easy. It wasn't incredibly difficult, but there were many times when someone would yell push and I would turn. I don't think it is ever easy to come to Jesus. Nor is it easy to stay with Him. My spiritual birth may be over, but now there is that whole growing up part. And God knows (literally) that has been more difficult than the initial celebratory birth.




Jesus, Gin, and the Cat Dish

And so it seems I am writing again. I haven't given up on writing, I simply moved it to a more comfortable location...my journal.

I've recently craved the often irreverent writings of Anne Lamott. She is funny and fresh. When I read her, I can smell the Bolinas salt water and taste the 3 day old coffee that is sitting in the sink. Every word is alive in all of my senses.

The most recent quote, "I thought such awful thoughts that I cannot even say them out loud because they would make Jesus want to drink gin straight out of the cat dish." Now, I don't know if Jesus would drink gin. He seems more like a bourbon kinda guy (or girl) however you choose to interpret His/Her gender. (Yes, I too read The Shack) While the quote makes me chuckle, I've often wondered how true it is. Not in the sense that Jesus drinks gin, but more so, do I believe that Jesus is taken back by my thoughts? That He stands with His finger pointed at my face shaking his wispy white hair side to side. Sometimes in my head I can hear Jesus say "that rich young ruler had a better chance of getting into heaven than you do."

Obviously this isn't what I "actually" believe, but it is how I often live out my faith. Striving for perfection and stepping so carefully in order to hit each stone that I miss what is around me. And what I miss is often the beauty and mystery of God.

Perhaps I will fill my cat dish up with water tonight.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Honk & Holler Opening Soon

I read Billie Lett's novel Honk & Holler six years ago during an English class. I don't remember much about the book, only that the characters were different, and had stories, messed up stories, but somehow it all worked out. What I remember the most though, was the cover. It seemed warm and inviting, but quaint, very quaint. I thought about that book several months ago while driving, because I saw this image just over the horizon on my way to dinner. It was the cover of that book. And in a split second my mind raced back to six years ago, and all the thoughts and plans I had for my life. I wanted to trade in my small town roots for something much larger and more adventurous. I didn't care where or how, I just wanted to cut the apron strings and run. Now six years later I sit at the computer with some of the exact same thoughts. I typically do not divulge my feelings in this particular format. I save that for my thread bare journal with tea stained pages, but today is different. I feel uneasy about life come August. I think much too often about the future and wonder if my apron strings will ever be ripped away. I have difficulty deciding if my aspirations and dreams are just fluff, and if eventually I will be pulled into the reality of this world.

Perhaps in August I will drive to Oklahoma and find the now opened Honk & Holler...where the characters are alive and their stories resolved.


Thursday, January 21, 2010

Recovering a sense of delight

Two days ago was quite possibly one of the warmest days in winter that I've had the chance to experience in some time. So to celebrate such, I convinced a few fellow house mates to take a trip down to the river. I have been missing the closeness I had in Boone to such beautiful sites of nature, but alas the Broad River is a fair substitute.

There was a particular part on the trail that I found myself alone for a few moments. When I turned to look out across the river, the sun hit the water in a way that made everything dance. The colors were vibrant and a stillness settled across the sky. For most it wouldn't have been an incredible act of nature, but for me, one who finds such contentment and rest in those instances, it moved me. And in that moment there was a part of my being that understood the view God has from above...the fact that his entire attention is absorbed into that one place. My heart is restless for more of those moments, but my time constraints seem to lessen them.

Midway through the writing of this blog, I paused to read a chapter from Marva Dawn's "Truly the Community" she said " I want to inspire holding fast to the good in each moment. To recover a sense of delight, to appreciate the flavors or fragrances or colors of beauties that surround us at particular moments, to feel things with our inmost beings, and thereby be sensitive to God's presence in a multitude of little ways."

Perhaps we should seek to delight in goodness again...


Saturday, December 26, 2009

Bookstore ramblings...

I am back in my hometown for the week. It has been nice to see old faces, but I hate the question "so what are you doing with your life?" How do you explain to people that you now live in intentional community and have taken a substantial pay cut? ... It's harder than you would think. Most people you bump into only want a 5 minute conversation, and explaining intentional community takes at least 15 minutes...without taking a breath, hence why I have been trying to avoid people.

I did, however, slip into Barnes & Noble for some R&R...reading and refocus. I found an empty chair near the kids books (I figured I wouldn't be bumping into too many people there) and proceeded to read from C.S. Lewis' "The World's Last Night, " a book lifted from the increasingly smaller section of Christian Inspiration. The first essay was written about the Efficacy of Prayer. It was a lot to think about, especially after my prior musings about why people use prayer like it's a slot machine. Throwing quarters in, and hoping for a good outcome. C.S. Lewis must have thought the same thing because he said:
"For up till now we have been tackling the whole question in the wrong way and on the wrong level. The very question “Does prayer work?” puts us in the wrong frame of mind from the outset. “Work”: as if it were magic, or a ma­chine—something that functions automatically. Prayer is either a sheer illusion or a personal contact between embryonic, incomplete persons (ourselves) and the utterly concrete Person. Prayer in the sense of petition, asking for things, is a small part of it; confession and penitence are its threshold, adoration its sanctu­ary, the presence and vision and enjoyment of God its bread and wine. In it God shows Himself to us. That He answers prayers is a corollary—not necessarily the most important one—from that revelation. What He does is learned from what He is.

I like how Lewis works out the dimensions of prayer. I particularly like the last part about the enjoyment of God being the bread and wine. There are two reasons I like this analogy.The first is because the way you drink wine. You drink it slow, in order to get the full effect of the alcohol dancing around. Secondly, much of the reason for drinking wine is for the benefits. Wine has certain compounds that neutralize the negative effects that digestion has on the body. So like wine, my prayers aren't just hitting the ceiling, they are perhaps neutralizing the negative effects of my selfish heart and mind. Prayer is keeping things in perspective, lending itself to the created being connected to the creator.

A note to myself.
No more slot machine prayers Emily. No more crossing your fingers hoping you get your way. Pray in a manner that invites Him in. Savor the moments with your Father.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Cyber Social Networking: kills community.

It's true. The hours we spend searching for hometown friends, uploading videos, and tagging friends, kills the Body. My next project lends itself to researching trends among college students. So far so good. I've compiled information on the top ten trends (I think), and I've started processing in my mind how some of these known facts about college students are actually killing the physical body, as well as the other Body, the Church Body that is.

We have entered an era where almost every Westernized individual is always CONNECTED. We are known not for our physical network of friends, but rather how many mutual friends we have on facebook. We stalk, talk, and balk on profiles. "We've never met, but I've seen you on facebook." or "That's ok, I don't need your number, I'll find you on facebook."

Social Networking through the web can be a wonderful thing, but when it hinders our ability to connect with the real world, what can be said of it then?

I am not advocating for or agaisnt, or putting my marker on either side of the spectrum, but I am bringing to light (eventually) how being so connected actually disconnects us.

I will admit that as I write this blog, the next tab over says: "Welcome to Facebook!"

Continue to think about thinking,
Emily

Friday, November 6, 2009

Why don't women write more?

I just finished reading "Soul Survivor" by Phillip Yancey. Interesting story. He talks mostly about a fallen world, and people who try to weasel their way out of the reality of that fallen world by attending a church service. They put on their heels and suit coats, comb their hair, and blow the dust of the family Bible that sits on the edge of a chewed up corner table. They hear a message that tickles their ears and makes them appreciate the fact that "they," once sinners, have escaped the near fatal death of the world. And when they return home, they praise God that they aren't as bad as the folks they hear about on talk radio, or secular news reports. These are the people that Yancey speaks of in his book. The misfits of the Body. But on the outside these misfits seem to fit together perfectly. Like a 500 piece jigsaw puzzle on your Grandma's table. What some of these misfits do not realize is that their slight bent towards cynicism and utter outrage of all the "worldliness" that occurs today, is driving the message of Jesus out the back door. (it smells like burnt rubber) If I took a survey, I am almost positive that more than half would agree that they too have experienced this type of behavior within the Body.

This is precisely Yancey's point. Today's churches have done more damage than good. Those who teach, and who realize this, are having to de-churchify the gospel message. Yancey was raised in an era of segregation. And not only was it segregation, it was Southern segregation. His home church preached a message of love for God, but hatred for those of a different skin color. And while they sang: red, yellow, black, and white they are precious in his sight; just try and let one of those who were red, yellow, or black, slip into a church service. It's infuriating to think about it now some 50 years later, but the roots are still there. And I think that's why Phillip Yancey wrote "Soul Survivor." To help the soul of the one who realized that Church and Faith were different than what had been taught. He tells the story of how 13 unlikely mentors helped his faith survive the Church. 12 men and 1 woman. All who had some horrible flaw, but all had incredible wisdom regarding faith and truth. 12 men and 1 woman. And it's that one woman that has been bothering me since I finished the book.

Annie Dillard was her name. From the stories in the book, I imagine her to be a simple woman who would have survived the era of the 60's far better than most hippies. She smokes one too many cigarettes, french I presume, and has a voice so low that, well I've never heard it, but it's raspy I'm sure. I kind of picture her as a Janis Joplin imitator, who sits in a centered blocked wall office with no windows. Lighting cigarette after cigarette, waiting for her next big idea to flow onto paper. Phillip Yancey talks about her in a way that is as moving as a ballerina hitting center stage for the first time. It was this one woman (and 12 men) that helped shape his faith. And it's still the one woman part that keeps reeling through my mind. Why don't women write more about their faith? And not the faith they wrap neatly to sell. And not the faith that pertains to raising spiritual children, being the Proverbs 31 woman today, or how to lead as a woman. No, it's none of that. (Which by the way is important) It's a woman who is willing to write in a way that uncovers a depth to faith. A woman, whose writing will be passed from the hands of my child to their child. Writing so powerful that Phillip Yancey will write a book entitled, 13 women mentors/writers who helped my faith survive the church.

So I am on a mission to find "truth/faith" writing by women that is sustainable for a lifetime.

Any suggestions?