I like total silence. Early in the morning I like it best. No distant cars with their gently purring engines, and the swish of tires on the roadway. No hum of computers, or appliances singing through the house. No birds chirping, or voices whispering. Total silence.
To find this soundless universe I sometimes just cover my ears, but even here the sounds of my own breathing, occasionally the beating of my own heart, and the movement of my hands against the cartilage of my ears invade the noiseless universe; but these self generated sounds at least give the sense that I am alone.
I realize that evangelists and theologians have theorized that man's lonliness is one of the factors drawing the human heart towards God. This sense of lonliness in the universe is a cause for anxiety, and creates my deeper search for meaning I am told. Yet somehow I am drawn toward the silence. In a portion of every day I just want to be alone.
"Alone with God?" you ask.
No, just alone.
Perhaps this is a mild version of Job's regret that he was ever born. Maybe it is just my brief encounter with running away without having to go anywhere.
Avoidance is a major characteristic of my seasons of stress. I wonder how many people like me cover their ears just to hear the silence? If you do this go ahead and leave me a comment so that I will know that I am not alone in my little universe of loneness. Darn....there goes my theory that I really want to be totally alone.
I like complete dark too. Sometimes when my eyes are tired late at night, and bedroom still has enough light to give that gentle glow through my closed eyelids which tells me that the deep night has not come to its fullness, I cover my eyes with my hands. My eyes relax with relief in this lightless universe I create. No pinpoints of light coming through my fingers like the night stars. No barely perceptible glow like distant cities on the horizon. No deep grays, browns, or blues. I wait for the impressions of color upon my retina leaving their subtle watermark in my vision to fade away. Total dark.
Perhaps like silence, I've never met the complete dark. I visited the mighty Mammoth Caves in Kentucky, and while beneath the earth, the lights were turned off for a minute to experience complete darkness. I could not see my hands in front of my face. Was this really complete darkness, or is there something darker?
Christianity does not generally gravitate toward darkness. We compare light and darkness with truth and lies. We speak of the spirit of darkness, and the children of darkness, and contrast that to ourselves being the children of light. I realize that darkness is not a popular subject among Christian leaders through the ages. But I like the darkness.
You ask, "Are you drawing near to God in the thick darkness as Moses did?"
No, just plain darkness is what I am looking for.
Perhaps at some point I've just seen enough. Maybe this is my way of saying that I've had enough of searching for answers why, and receiving information which only deepens the mystery; and enough of seeing blessings which do not appear to match the depth of misery experienced in this world.
Perhaps this too is my brief encounter with running away at the end of the day. Do I have a gentle deathwish prodding me toward the dark and final sleep? Theologians and Psychologists say I have an innate fear of the dark sleep of death. Yet I love complete dark.
Avoidance fills my senses I suppose. I just like to be alone. Seeing no one smile. Seeing no one cry. Does anyone else cover their eyes to block out the gentle glow of light at night? Does anyone else like complete dark and search for it before sleep? If you like to be completely alone occasionally, leave a comment. Perhaps there is a twilight zone episode we can create together.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Manic Joys of Stressful Seasons
So we are now into our fourth week of watching Forrest 24 hours a day. He was hit by a car on Halloween morning, had to have a leg amputated, and had surgery on his other back leg. For the first week, his liver almost failed, and he was on his deathbed, then on the second week, he snapped out of it, and became his same old silly self.
After he came home, with the price tag of a new car, I have watched him for most of the 24 hours each day. He had to have a second surgery on his one back leg because the sutures didn't stay after the first day of recovery. So now he has a bigger cast, and it has a rounded bottom, which makes him shakey on it. Every time he goes out, we need to keep him on a sling to keep him from bouncing too hard on his back leg. So each time he stirs in the night, I am up to see how he is doing. Since Forrest has always stirred a lot at night - so do I.
Tonight April came to visit. April was the first person to help Forrest when he was hit by a car. Somehow he got up with his seriously mangled leg, and hopped to her. She was two cars behind the car which hit Forrest. She drives a trash truck, and stopped to help him. She held him, and used her hand to stop the bleeding until I arrived on the scene. She probably saved his life. In all the furious action to get Forrest to the Vet Hospital, we never actually met April, nor did we hear the story until tonight. Somehow she tracked him down at the Vet, and then found us, and wanted to come visit him.
In the midst of a series of stresses, and tragedies over the last year, meeting April seemed to bring joy to the house.
Of course, I question myself and wonder: Will the joy last for an evening, and dissipate quickly to the bland feeling which comes with discouragement? or will it prove to be one of those steps up toward normality?" (Perhaps I should have used the word normalcy, because normalcy wasn't a word until a President used it in a speech, and as we know normal doesn't exist.) Is this just the manic up of a bi-polar swing?
Over the last three weeks I have slept few hours each night working my doggy-nursing position. I am sure sleep deprivation, added to stress helps create a sense of having bi-polar disorder. Dog accidents, sickness in the family, financial stress, and naughty Christian leaders can help create stress which leads to sleep deprivation - we know here at 7 Upham Street.
I saw Elijah go from slow to happy yesterday as well. He was feeling terrible - which is common as his kidneys are failing, but he found out that it was primarily because his blood pressure was so low. That means that he had to stop taking one of his meds which is supposed to bring his blood pressure down. That was something like mildly good news, so he was happier when he came home from his Nephrologist visit. Up, down, up, down we go in this house lately.
I've never been bi-polar, although I've experienced the swings from mania to depression which mark its presence over this season of stress. I am hoping that mania, and depression are fading away into the stability of simple joy. April's visit may be a simple return to joy, but perhaps it is a mild manic swing. I'll let you know. But right now, we're smiling here at 7 Upham Street, and we are not even taking any happy meds.
After he came home, with the price tag of a new car, I have watched him for most of the 24 hours each day. He had to have a second surgery on his one back leg because the sutures didn't stay after the first day of recovery. So now he has a bigger cast, and it has a rounded bottom, which makes him shakey on it. Every time he goes out, we need to keep him on a sling to keep him from bouncing too hard on his back leg. So each time he stirs in the night, I am up to see how he is doing. Since Forrest has always stirred a lot at night - so do I.
Tonight April came to visit. April was the first person to help Forrest when he was hit by a car. Somehow he got up with his seriously mangled leg, and hopped to her. She was two cars behind the car which hit Forrest. She drives a trash truck, and stopped to help him. She held him, and used her hand to stop the bleeding until I arrived on the scene. She probably saved his life. In all the furious action to get Forrest to the Vet Hospital, we never actually met April, nor did we hear the story until tonight. Somehow she tracked him down at the Vet, and then found us, and wanted to come visit him.
In the midst of a series of stresses, and tragedies over the last year, meeting April seemed to bring joy to the house.
Of course, I question myself and wonder: Will the joy last for an evening, and dissipate quickly to the bland feeling which comes with discouragement? or will it prove to be one of those steps up toward normality?" (Perhaps I should have used the word normalcy, because normalcy wasn't a word until a President used it in a speech, and as we know normal doesn't exist.) Is this just the manic up of a bi-polar swing?
Over the last three weeks I have slept few hours each night working my doggy-nursing position. I am sure sleep deprivation, added to stress helps create a sense of having bi-polar disorder. Dog accidents, sickness in the family, financial stress, and naughty Christian leaders can help create stress which leads to sleep deprivation - we know here at 7 Upham Street.
I saw Elijah go from slow to happy yesterday as well. He was feeling terrible - which is common as his kidneys are failing, but he found out that it was primarily because his blood pressure was so low. That means that he had to stop taking one of his meds which is supposed to bring his blood pressure down. That was something like mildly good news, so he was happier when he came home from his Nephrologist visit. Up, down, up, down we go in this house lately.
I've never been bi-polar, although I've experienced the swings from mania to depression which mark its presence over this season of stress. I am hoping that mania, and depression are fading away into the stability of simple joy. April's visit may be a simple return to joy, but perhaps it is a mild manic swing. I'll let you know. But right now, we're smiling here at 7 Upham Street, and we are not even taking any happy meds.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Home Brew Gone Bad? gauging persecution, isolation, and a Martyr's Complex
This being my personal blog which releases the serial deconstructionist in me back upon myself it only seems right to consider whether my highbrow ideas about church life, and the state of Christianity are really just some sick Messiah Complex.
Okay my ideas about churchlife may not really be highbrow. They may actually be quite common, simple, and more like an home-brewed ale, than a expensive wine matched with the first course of a seven course meal, but that does not relieve me from the possiblility of acting all highbrow and know-it-all about my self-appointed important ideas.
Now I know a few people with Messiah Complexes. Most of them tend to have a Martyr Complex as well. Could it be that somewhere their good ideas were rejected, that they received a little abuse - perhaps even a lot of abuse? Could it be that good ideas ignored ferment, and build pressure until they bust out in a more aggressive expression? If left to ferment too long, is it possible for the expression to be more violent than it needs to be - self important, and perhaps over bitter like a bad home brew?
The Messiah Complex people I know are pastors, alcoholics, businessman, unemployed laborers, lawyers, high school dropouts, soccer moms, and society's disenfranchised. They do not fit a specific demographic, but they do all have ideas which carry some sense of urgency, and they view their ideas as under-utilized, and ignored.
Of course, I am not sure how one personally discovers whether their ideas are revolutionary or simply insane. I am not sure that Martin Luther felt any different about his ideas than Rasputin, DeTorquemada, or the countless mad monks who have filled the hills of history.
I do know this: I need to be careful about how I think about what I think. I am convinced that church as usual is not the way to go. Having been on the receiving end of abuse in denominational activity, I am convinced that something needs to change in the circles I had a part of over the last twenty years. I have seen the hypocrisy of the people who speak in the name of unity, and carry the small knife which gets buried deep in the back. I have seen Christian leaders nod in approval to ideas which I have presented, only to have them turn and treat those same ideas as heretical spewings.
Yet I have to ask myself, "What is the difference between good ideas gone bad, and truly revolutionary thinking?"
I am sure that I have had enough persecution, and general trouble, with a small degree of isolation (especially now while I help lil' ol' Forrest to recover) to allow the Martyr's Complex to ferment in my heart, and even develop to the Messiah Complex. Yet I am hopeful that in questioning this I am knocking myself back to a humble position, and avoiding thinking more of myself than I ought to. Perhaps this will allow the yeast of my thinking to controllably ferment.
Jesus was a Rebel, and so must I be. Yet his home-brew has lasted for centuries. It has not gone bitter. It still fills the heart with laughter and joy. I am not sure I have His recipe, or his skills in my batch.
Lord, help my revolutionary thoughts to brew a fine deep red ale, and not a nasty little home brew no one else can stomach.
Okay my ideas about churchlife may not really be highbrow. They may actually be quite common, simple, and more like an home-brewed ale, than a expensive wine matched with the first course of a seven course meal, but that does not relieve me from the possiblility of acting all highbrow and know-it-all about my self-appointed important ideas.
Now I know a few people with Messiah Complexes. Most of them tend to have a Martyr Complex as well. Could it be that somewhere their good ideas were rejected, that they received a little abuse - perhaps even a lot of abuse? Could it be that good ideas ignored ferment, and build pressure until they bust out in a more aggressive expression? If left to ferment too long, is it possible for the expression to be more violent than it needs to be - self important, and perhaps over bitter like a bad home brew?
The Messiah Complex people I know are pastors, alcoholics, businessman, unemployed laborers, lawyers, high school dropouts, soccer moms, and society's disenfranchised. They do not fit a specific demographic, but they do all have ideas which carry some sense of urgency, and they view their ideas as under-utilized, and ignored.
Of course, I am not sure how one personally discovers whether their ideas are revolutionary or simply insane. I am not sure that Martin Luther felt any different about his ideas than Rasputin, DeTorquemada, or the countless mad monks who have filled the hills of history.
I do know this: I need to be careful about how I think about what I think. I am convinced that church as usual is not the way to go. Having been on the receiving end of abuse in denominational activity, I am convinced that something needs to change in the circles I had a part of over the last twenty years. I have seen the hypocrisy of the people who speak in the name of unity, and carry the small knife which gets buried deep in the back. I have seen Christian leaders nod in approval to ideas which I have presented, only to have them turn and treat those same ideas as heretical spewings.
Yet I have to ask myself, "What is the difference between good ideas gone bad, and truly revolutionary thinking?"
I am sure that I have had enough persecution, and general trouble, with a small degree of isolation (especially now while I help lil' ol' Forrest to recover) to allow the Martyr's Complex to ferment in my heart, and even develop to the Messiah Complex. Yet I am hopeful that in questioning this I am knocking myself back to a humble position, and avoiding thinking more of myself than I ought to. Perhaps this will allow the yeast of my thinking to controllably ferment.
Jesus was a Rebel, and so must I be. Yet his home-brew has lasted for centuries. It has not gone bitter. It still fills the heart with laughter and joy. I am not sure I have His recipe, or his skills in my batch.
Lord, help my revolutionary thoughts to brew a fine deep red ale, and not a nasty little home brew no one else can stomach.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Feeling Like Fumi: The Struggle of What to do with our Troubles
Is it sane to think that the troubles we go through may actually help someone somewhere sometime? I hope so. Paul says, "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God."
So perhaps feeling a bit like Fumi is okay. So click on the link, and watch this cool short animation.
So perhaps feeling a bit like Fumi is okay. So click on the link, and watch this cool short animation.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Tension and Excitment: The Revolution Starts Now?
Today I received a letter from the old Denominational gang. We sent a letter asking for them to reevaluate their previous decisions, and look fairly at all the evidence - which they previously neglected to do. Their letter said in business like terms, 'we will review this request.'
Meanwhile back on the blogfarm, I have been listening to a song repeatedly, like a four year old. The song is "The Revolution Starts Now" by Steve Earle. In fact, I will pause for a moment to light up my iTunes, and play it while I type.
"buh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh...I was walking down the street, in the town where I was born..."
Okay I'm back - kind of.
"The revolution starts here..."
I was nervous to open the letter, because we've been through Hell in the last year. The Wall Street Journal did not have the space to even touch the depth of our tension, and struggle. But after reading the short, (terse perhaps?) response from a denominational VP, I began to get excited as the day progressed.
Pause again - I've been typing slowly, because I was singing along with Steve, and now like the four year old, I must restart the song. Tom Petty is cool, but not revolutionary enough for the moment.
"buh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh..."
"I was moving to the beat, that I never felt before..."
Okay, I'm back again.
Is this some weird form of mental disease, or was I born for revolutionary activity? Do I enjoy pain, or is my sense of adventure overheightened by a love for adrenaline? I should be mad, sad, or tense that this might start up again, but for some reason I am feeling excitement. What's up with that?.
"Yeah, the revolution starts now - in your own backyard, in your own home town...."
That's it. I can't type anymore, but I can replay the song a third time.
"buh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh...I was walking down the street, in the town where I was born. I was moving to the beat, that I never felt before. So I opened up my eyes, and I took a look around. I saw it written 'cross the sky, 'The Revolution starts now.'"
By the way - Forrest is home, and appears to be coming along as a three-legged Greyhound. What a tough little guy. He's my inspiration.
Meanwhile back on the blogfarm, I have been listening to a song repeatedly, like a four year old. The song is "The Revolution Starts Now" by Steve Earle. In fact, I will pause for a moment to light up my iTunes, and play it while I type.
"buh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh...I was walking down the street, in the town where I was born..."
Okay I'm back - kind of.
"The revolution starts here..."
I was nervous to open the letter, because we've been through Hell in the last year. The Wall Street Journal did not have the space to even touch the depth of our tension, and struggle. But after reading the short, (terse perhaps?) response from a denominational VP, I began to get excited as the day progressed.
Pause again - I've been typing slowly, because I was singing along with Steve, and now like the four year old, I must restart the song. Tom Petty is cool, but not revolutionary enough for the moment.
"buh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh..."
"I was moving to the beat, that I never felt before..."
Okay, I'm back again.
Is this some weird form of mental disease, or was I born for revolutionary activity? Do I enjoy pain, or is my sense of adventure overheightened by a love for adrenaline? I should be mad, sad, or tense that this might start up again, but for some reason I am feeling excitement. What's up with that?.
"Yeah, the revolution starts now - in your own backyard, in your own home town...."
That's it. I can't type anymore, but I can replay the song a third time.
"buh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh...I was walking down the street, in the town where I was born. I was moving to the beat, that I never felt before. So I opened up my eyes, and I took a look around. I saw it written 'cross the sky, 'The Revolution starts now.'"
By the way - Forrest is home, and appears to be coming along as a three-legged Greyhound. What a tough little guy. He's my inspiration.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Tragedy and Twitching
My buddy Forrest got out of the gate on Halloween morning. Some one left it open, and I did not see that the gate was not latched. He got hit by a car on North Street, and now he is in doggy intensive care.
He had one leg amputated, and another had some surgery. After all this work, we are not sure he is going to make it. So we spend a few hours each day sitting with him in the vet clinic.
This is the second dog in as many years to be hit by a car. Annie was killed right in front of me a little over two years ago.
When Annie died on the street as I knelt in front of her, I could not sleep for three days. Each time my eyes shut, and I began to fade off, the scene suddenly replayed in my mental vision so clearly that it seemed real, and I startled suddenly awake. Sometimes still I remember that event and I will quickly blink, or perhaps even jerk mildly.
This must be a mild version of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, or perhaps even Tourette Syndrome.
Forrest's recent tragedy has caused this response to increase a bit.
Bev and I have been crying periodically throughout the day, and are perhaps a little distant to our friends. I suppose that comes with the emotional, and financial stress of seasons like this.
I am twitching less over the treachery by my Christian brethren last year. I am sure that Suzanne Sataline and The Wall Street Journal Article about "Befriending Witches Still a Problem in Salem" was instrumental in helping that twitch, but now I have an old twitch renewed by a recent tragedy.
I hope that in Heaven there will be no more twitches, just as there will be no more tears.
He had one leg amputated, and another had some surgery. After all this work, we are not sure he is going to make it. So we spend a few hours each day sitting with him in the vet clinic.
This is the second dog in as many years to be hit by a car. Annie was killed right in front of me a little over two years ago.
When Annie died on the street as I knelt in front of her, I could not sleep for three days. Each time my eyes shut, and I began to fade off, the scene suddenly replayed in my mental vision so clearly that it seemed real, and I startled suddenly awake. Sometimes still I remember that event and I will quickly blink, or perhaps even jerk mildly.
This must be a mild version of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, or perhaps even Tourette Syndrome.
Forrest's recent tragedy has caused this response to increase a bit.
Bev and I have been crying periodically throughout the day, and are perhaps a little distant to our friends. I suppose that comes with the emotional, and financial stress of seasons like this.
I am twitching less over the treachery by my Christian brethren last year. I am sure that Suzanne Sataline and The Wall Street Journal Article about "Befriending Witches Still a Problem in Salem" was instrumental in helping that twitch, but now I have an old twitch renewed by a recent tragedy.
I hope that in Heaven there will be no more twitches, just as there will be no more tears.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Big Talk Time
Me think me should bring peace pipe.
Tonight we will sit down with someone, and talk about our story. It may turn out to be an important discussion for us. Bev and I, and then later Jeff and Diane (we're the troop which sat before the District Council last year - actually tomorrow it will be exactly one year) will discuss our story.
Hopefully this will be like sending a smoke signal, rather than us just blowing a lot of smoke. I'd prefer to communicate to people at a far distance, rather than sit and spew the remnants of our confusion. So a peace pipe might be in order.
The gentle communication of reconciliation had been our method throughout, and we expected other Christians Leaders to do the same. Apparently not all Christian Leaders act like Christians. Truth has been our goal, and apparently that too is a commodity of rare value in some Christian Leadership circles.
Well perhaps our goal will be realized soon, and truth will puff across the skies like the smoke signal on a distant hill.
A couple weeks ago four of us sat in my office, and considered tonight's discussion. The opinions differed on what to do until our buddy Jeff Gentry from Sinners and Saints made the comment, "The church has nothing to lose from the truth."
Me break out peace pipe and puff big tonight.
Tonight we will sit down with someone, and talk about our story. It may turn out to be an important discussion for us. Bev and I, and then later Jeff and Diane (we're the troop which sat before the District Council last year - actually tomorrow it will be exactly one year) will discuss our story.
Hopefully this will be like sending a smoke signal, rather than us just blowing a lot of smoke. I'd prefer to communicate to people at a far distance, rather than sit and spew the remnants of our confusion. So a peace pipe might be in order.
The gentle communication of reconciliation had been our method throughout, and we expected other Christians Leaders to do the same. Apparently not all Christian Leaders act like Christians. Truth has been our goal, and apparently that too is a commodity of rare value in some Christian Leadership circles.
Well perhaps our goal will be realized soon, and truth will puff across the skies like the smoke signal on a distant hill.
A couple weeks ago four of us sat in my office, and considered tonight's discussion. The opinions differed on what to do until our buddy Jeff Gentry from Sinners and Saints made the comment, "The church has nothing to lose from the truth."
Me break out peace pipe and puff big tonight.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Today is My Anniversary!
I was married to Bev, April 2nd, 1983. So that's not the day I'm talking about. My birthday isn't for another month. So, that's not the day either.
Some dates are impressed upon one's brain indelibly. Those dates are either wonderful, or terrible. Sometimes we may need to refer to that date in documents so frequently, that it becomes etched upon the gray matter. October 12th was both terrible, and in need of being referred to in documents for months following.
This blog had its inception because of the events of October 12th, 2005.
Today I mentioned to someone that this was the anniversary day of the letter I received calling me to a hearing which eventually removed me from fellowship in a denomination over false, and exaggerated charges. The letter was a surprise, and was not sent to me alone, but to many others simultaneously, and without warning, or prior questioning. So, this day lives in personal infamy.
She said, "Oh Wow, the Anniversary. My sympathies."
I responded, "Sympathies or congratulations - we are still trying to decide which."
I'm not sure if that response was funny, or sad, or both. I wonder if there is something wrong with not knowing if something is funny, or sad? Is that some sign of arrested emotional development?
Some dates are impressed upon one's brain indelibly. Those dates are either wonderful, or terrible. Sometimes we may need to refer to that date in documents so frequently, that it becomes etched upon the gray matter. October 12th was both terrible, and in need of being referred to in documents for months following.
This blog had its inception because of the events of October 12th, 2005.
Today I mentioned to someone that this was the anniversary day of the letter I received calling me to a hearing which eventually removed me from fellowship in a denomination over false, and exaggerated charges. The letter was a surprise, and was not sent to me alone, but to many others simultaneously, and without warning, or prior questioning. So, this day lives in personal infamy.
She said, "Oh Wow, the Anniversary. My sympathies."
I responded, "Sympathies or congratulations - we are still trying to decide which."
I'm not sure if that response was funny, or sad, or both. I wonder if there is something wrong with not knowing if something is funny, or sad? Is that some sign of arrested emotional development?
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
I Know This isn't Eustress
I read Hans Selye's classic book "The Stress of Life" some years ago, and was caught by the term "eustress" - no rocket science needed to define the term. Good-stress could be harmful in high doses Hans submitted, just as bad stress can.
Halloween has been a season of eustress for me each year. It is filled with tension, and surprises. It has more work involved with it than I should handle. This is true not only for myself, but the poor people who are a part of our church. They follow me faithfully into the night just beyond the Autumnal equinox.
We will run the 10th annual Halloween Children's Day. We will host about 50 people who come from far away to minister on the streets of Salem. We will sponsor about 40 hours of live outdoor music, and give away 8,000 cups of hot cocoa. People will be fed, dreams will be interpreted, movies will be shown, people will be blessed, and we will be over-worked.
These events have been a great joy, and a beautiful experience over the last 7 years.
This year I am not sure that I am feeling the eu- part of the stress. Somewhere in the last year the joy of serving was temporarily robbed, and is returning only slowly.
Is it possible that I am feeling what a person who seems to hate every moment of existence feels? Am I feeling the sensations of a permanent state of dissatisfaction? I have observed people who have acted this way, but I have not experienced permanent antagonism toward life myself - at least not until this year.
Even the things which I typically find joyous have been difficult to accomplish. They come with a sense of dread, weariness, or disinterest. Every now and then, the old joys surface, and with them come the excitement of the need for flexibility, and spontanaiety which is part of Halloween in Salem, MA. Although I am sure this season will deliver me from the doldrums, I am still struggling with loss of the eu- on this season's stress.
In two days it will be anniversary of the greatest treachery I have experienced from the hand of any leader in church life. I think to myself, "Get over it Wyman." This silly event shouldn't bother you so much, and yet I feel in my belly, and discover in my head that I carry the dissatisfaction with life which I have seen in others who somehow have been stricken with a similar affliction.
My affliction is light, but I write about it to chronicle a sickness which may well be spread through oppression, lies, and hypocrisy in people holding leadership in religious circles.
Oppressors steal eu- from seasons of stress, and perhaps from life itself.
So I wonder - whatever happened to Jesus' promise? You know, "My yoke is easy, my burden is light." Shouldn't that be the experience of serving God? It sounds as though He knew how to keep the eu- in His stress, and has a few lessons to teach me still.
Halloween has been a season of eustress for me each year. It is filled with tension, and surprises. It has more work involved with it than I should handle. This is true not only for myself, but the poor people who are a part of our church. They follow me faithfully into the night just beyond the Autumnal equinox.
We will run the 10th annual Halloween Children's Day. We will host about 50 people who come from far away to minister on the streets of Salem. We will sponsor about 40 hours of live outdoor music, and give away 8,000 cups of hot cocoa. People will be fed, dreams will be interpreted, movies will be shown, people will be blessed, and we will be over-worked.
These events have been a great joy, and a beautiful experience over the last 7 years.
This year I am not sure that I am feeling the eu- part of the stress. Somewhere in the last year the joy of serving was temporarily robbed, and is returning only slowly.
Is it possible that I am feeling what a person who seems to hate every moment of existence feels? Am I feeling the sensations of a permanent state of dissatisfaction? I have observed people who have acted this way, but I have not experienced permanent antagonism toward life myself - at least not until this year.
Even the things which I typically find joyous have been difficult to accomplish. They come with a sense of dread, weariness, or disinterest. Every now and then, the old joys surface, and with them come the excitement of the need for flexibility, and spontanaiety which is part of Halloween in Salem, MA. Although I am sure this season will deliver me from the doldrums, I am still struggling with loss of the eu- on this season's stress.
In two days it will be anniversary of the greatest treachery I have experienced from the hand of any leader in church life. I think to myself, "Get over it Wyman." This silly event shouldn't bother you so much, and yet I feel in my belly, and discover in my head that I carry the dissatisfaction with life which I have seen in others who somehow have been stricken with a similar affliction.
My affliction is light, but I write about it to chronicle a sickness which may well be spread through oppression, lies, and hypocrisy in people holding leadership in religious circles.
Oppressors steal eu- from seasons of stress, and perhaps from life itself.
So I wonder - whatever happened to Jesus' promise? You know, "My yoke is easy, my burden is light." Shouldn't that be the experience of serving God? It sounds as though He knew how to keep the eu- in His stress, and has a few lessons to teach me still.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Of Fingernails, Postage, and Short Tasks Made Long
Today I folded some letters, put them into their #10 envelopes, addressed the envelopes which I had believed would take far too long to find the addresses for, placed the 39¢ stamp in the top right-hand corner, and nervously scraped my fingernails with my thumbnail.
The letters had been written for quite some time. I had to hold on to them, because I was told it was wise to wait until a proper time. It is near, or at the proper time now.
Placing the postage on the letter was the strangest of moments in this activity. The postage made the act feel irretrievable. Of course, I could waste the handful of 39¢ little stickies, but that would not sit well with me. Consequently I scraped my fingernails with my thumbnail. It's an action I nervously perform. I take the thumbnail of one hand, and scrape the underneath side of the fingernails on the opposite hand as if I was cleaning them. Sometimes I guess I really am, but often I am just habitually acting, and often nervously so. The latter is what occured today.
I was writing to people who had been my source of struggle for almost a year, and doing so in a manner our church council had decided was good some months back. Yet I needed to wait until a certain time. That time is near, maybe now. So, the letters (except for just a few) are ready to pony up, and head west.
It took me far more time thinking of this action, than performing it. I dreaded hunting down addresses, and envisioned searching for days. It actually took about an hour.
What strange mental disease creates such distortion in my time anticipator? and why do postage stamps make me revert to a bad habit of fingernail scraping?
The tension of communicating with people who had been my source of stress for almost a year was the reason for this twisted emotional moment of time warp, and quirky habits.
...meanwhile my home team is choking in the Playoffs, but still you gotta love them Pads.
The letters had been written for quite some time. I had to hold on to them, because I was told it was wise to wait until a proper time. It is near, or at the proper time now.
Placing the postage on the letter was the strangest of moments in this activity. The postage made the act feel irretrievable. Of course, I could waste the handful of 39¢ little stickies, but that would not sit well with me. Consequently I scraped my fingernails with my thumbnail. It's an action I nervously perform. I take the thumbnail of one hand, and scrape the underneath side of the fingernails on the opposite hand as if I was cleaning them. Sometimes I guess I really am, but often I am just habitually acting, and often nervously so. The latter is what occured today.
I was writing to people who had been my source of struggle for almost a year, and doing so in a manner our church council had decided was good some months back. Yet I needed to wait until a certain time. That time is near, maybe now. So, the letters (except for just a few) are ready to pony up, and head west.
It took me far more time thinking of this action, than performing it. I dreaded hunting down addresses, and envisioned searching for days. It actually took about an hour.
What strange mental disease creates such distortion in my time anticipator? and why do postage stamps make me revert to a bad habit of fingernail scraping?
The tension of communicating with people who had been my source of stress for almost a year was the reason for this twisted emotional moment of time warp, and quirky habits.
...meanwhile my home team is choking in the Playoffs, but still you gotta love them Pads.
Monday, October 02, 2006
What Emotions Do I Still Have Left?
Darn. Four bad things happened today. Not disasters. Disasters happened some time ago. These were just small items.
The first was a simple mention by a friend that I looked drained, and without motivation. I was trying to figure out what he was talking about, and I wasn't quite sure if I became drained feeling because the suggestion magically overcame me, or if I just suddenly realized that I was drained feeling.
The second thing was that I went shopping after a day of working, but not feeling as though I actually accomplished anything. I did not shop for me, but I shopped with my "goode wife." (One must use such words in Salem during October.) We shopped for some needed items to make a few changes in our house - our house which has ever increasing numbers of people living in it. Currently five, soon to be six - and we have but one son, and he was moved out on his own until this last weekend. We are happy to have he and his "goode wife" in the house with us, but the dynamics are a changing around me. So our shopping was centered on making a few house changes. Now it wasn't the people in the house, but the fact that Linen's 'n' Things was followed up by Target that nearly killed me. I could have melted into the linoleum floors of Target by the time we were finished.
Then the hot water feed to the upstairs bathroom sink was leaking. Good thing my son found it leaking, and shut off the valves. Good thing again that my "goode wife" found that the valve was not quite turned tight enough, and it was leaking more. Bad thing that it happened, and that it had gone on for a good amount of the day. I am frustrated to think that we have a few old house problems - a new roof on the back room which leaks worse than before it was fixed, a recently fixed leak in the upstairs bathroom which may actually be unfixed, and now this leak today which I hope has not ruined the ceiling in the downstairs bathroom.
So problem #4 - me. I was really upset when questioned about how things are going in preparation for Children's Day, and other the Halloween stuff. I am way too far behind this year, for way too many reasons, but I just don't need to be reminded, and so it makes me upset, unless someone has a solution for me.
Was I so upset because I am already having so many things going wrong? or was I upset because this whole year has been filled with enough treachery to leave me tense, edgy and feeling beat down? Maybe it was because I feel so pressed on every side by the needs which are mounting around me. Actually I wonder if I was upset because I really don't have too many other emotions left in my system after two years of having my emotions jerked around so violently.
I am tired of writing about these feelings, but this blog is an experimental concept of monitoring how my emotions, and thoughts have been effected by the abusive treatment of church leadership. I suppose like the person walking through the grief cycle I must complete the task of journaling, and thinking through this. Could it be that many emotions which have been a part of my life previously are currently deadened, or at least numbed, and that anger is the only quick emotion to rise to the surface?
When other people contract colds or flues, I usually hold them off for a long period. Unfortunately, when I do succumb to the sickness, I often keep its symptoms longer than other people who contracted it earlier. Am I doing the same with my emotions as well? Will this last longer than it should, because I held it off for so long?
Darn. I hope not. Four bad things happened today, and they were really rather little things. Will four little things happen every day which will upset me like today? It's quite possible, but I know that if I can find some emotions other than anger, those four things won't seem so large.
The first was a simple mention by a friend that I looked drained, and without motivation. I was trying to figure out what he was talking about, and I wasn't quite sure if I became drained feeling because the suggestion magically overcame me, or if I just suddenly realized that I was drained feeling.
The second thing was that I went shopping after a day of working, but not feeling as though I actually accomplished anything. I did not shop for me, but I shopped with my "goode wife." (One must use such words in Salem during October.) We shopped for some needed items to make a few changes in our house - our house which has ever increasing numbers of people living in it. Currently five, soon to be six - and we have but one son, and he was moved out on his own until this last weekend. We are happy to have he and his "goode wife" in the house with us, but the dynamics are a changing around me. So our shopping was centered on making a few house changes. Now it wasn't the people in the house, but the fact that Linen's 'n' Things was followed up by Target that nearly killed me. I could have melted into the linoleum floors of Target by the time we were finished.
Then the hot water feed to the upstairs bathroom sink was leaking. Good thing my son found it leaking, and shut off the valves. Good thing again that my "goode wife" found that the valve was not quite turned tight enough, and it was leaking more. Bad thing that it happened, and that it had gone on for a good amount of the day. I am frustrated to think that we have a few old house problems - a new roof on the back room which leaks worse than before it was fixed, a recently fixed leak in the upstairs bathroom which may actually be unfixed, and now this leak today which I hope has not ruined the ceiling in the downstairs bathroom.
So problem #4 - me. I was really upset when questioned about how things are going in preparation for Children's Day, and other the Halloween stuff. I am way too far behind this year, for way too many reasons, but I just don't need to be reminded, and so it makes me upset, unless someone has a solution for me.
Was I so upset because I am already having so many things going wrong? or was I upset because this whole year has been filled with enough treachery to leave me tense, edgy and feeling beat down? Maybe it was because I feel so pressed on every side by the needs which are mounting around me. Actually I wonder if I was upset because I really don't have too many other emotions left in my system after two years of having my emotions jerked around so violently.
I am tired of writing about these feelings, but this blog is an experimental concept of monitoring how my emotions, and thoughts have been effected by the abusive treatment of church leadership. I suppose like the person walking through the grief cycle I must complete the task of journaling, and thinking through this. Could it be that many emotions which have been a part of my life previously are currently deadened, or at least numbed, and that anger is the only quick emotion to rise to the surface?
When other people contract colds or flues, I usually hold them off for a long period. Unfortunately, when I do succumb to the sickness, I often keep its symptoms longer than other people who contracted it earlier. Am I doing the same with my emotions as well? Will this last longer than it should, because I held it off for so long?
Darn. I hope not. Four bad things happened today, and they were really rather little things. Will four little things happen every day which will upset me like today? It's quite possible, but I know that if I can find some emotions other than anger, those four things won't seem so large.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Always Sleepy, Never Sleeping
Ever the insomniac am I.
It is now early in the AM. If I precede my nouns and pronouns with my verbs I will feel wise like Yoda, or better yet, I will feel as though the Welsh language has finally become the normalized pattern of thought in my brain. Like that would I.
Being so late/early I must get to the point. I am having a hard time sleeping. This is common coming into October, because I am so busy in October, and in September I am remembering things I should have done as far back as May. This year it is more like that than ever. Sleepy am I, but sleepless am I.
I have been more sleepless this year than any year in my life. I have also been sleepier than at any other time. Of course the two go together. I look forward to a time when there is no sleep. Most of the time I really don't enjoy sleeping. Maybe heaven is a sleepless place where people are never tired - like God Who never slumbers. Would be cool that.
Considering that this has been a sleepless year for me, I wonder how many Christians have lived sleeplessly due to the way they have been treated by Christian leaders. I wonder if I have done that to others often. It might be acceptable to create sleeplessness in someone, if they are awake because they are struggling with positive change, or excited about new possibilities in their lives, but if they are awake because of stress I have created - is bad that.
Christianity ought to be the place of rest. You know the "take my yoke upon you, and learn of me" kind of rest.
I guess this year the yoke was on me. Sorry - bad old pun was that. Is late now. Am tired now. Try sleep now will I. Am not wise yet. Write better when not tired will I.
It is now early in the AM. If I precede my nouns and pronouns with my verbs I will feel wise like Yoda, or better yet, I will feel as though the Welsh language has finally become the normalized pattern of thought in my brain. Like that would I.
Being so late/early I must get to the point. I am having a hard time sleeping. This is common coming into October, because I am so busy in October, and in September I am remembering things I should have done as far back as May. This year it is more like that than ever. Sleepy am I, but sleepless am I.
I have been more sleepless this year than any year in my life. I have also been sleepier than at any other time. Of course the two go together. I look forward to a time when there is no sleep. Most of the time I really don't enjoy sleeping. Maybe heaven is a sleepless place where people are never tired - like God Who never slumbers. Would be cool that.
Considering that this has been a sleepless year for me, I wonder how many Christians have lived sleeplessly due to the way they have been treated by Christian leaders. I wonder if I have done that to others often. It might be acceptable to create sleeplessness in someone, if they are awake because they are struggling with positive change, or excited about new possibilities in their lives, but if they are awake because of stress I have created - is bad that.
Christianity ought to be the place of rest. You know the "take my yoke upon you, and learn of me" kind of rest.
I guess this year the yoke was on me. Sorry - bad old pun was that. Is late now. Am tired now. Try sleep now will I. Am not wise yet. Write better when not tired will I.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
When Pastors Hate Going to Church, and When Swords Heal
"I hate the church, but I love Jesus." I can not tell you how many times people have said these words to me. There are a few people in our church who feel that way. They have been coming for quite some time. I guess our church isn't a very good church, because they like us.
A friend of mine who works in a denominational headquarters said today that once he left (which he hopes is soon) he will not have anything to do with "the church" ever again, but he will do his thing with his wife and God, and a small group at their house.
I have met many pastors who have been burned by churches and denominations, and did not want to return to church life ever again. Some have overcome this struggle, and others have not. Today another friend is struggling with this same problem.
I have felt like this periodically in the last year. Sunday morning arrives. I get ready to "go to church." (I hate the phrase "go to church" - it reminds me that we don't know what church is yet.) Then I get a nervous feeling which I haven't felt in years. It has come upon me only when things have been at their worst in the church, but things in the church are great, and I love everything that is happening, and everyone in the church. So what's wrong?
I know what's wrong. This feeling is not connected to the local church itself, but to denomination I was once a part of. A little abuse can go a long way, and the emotions created by abuse have the half life of Bismuth.
I want to go - I don't want to go - I want to go - I don't want to go.... I'm as confused as a kindergartener getting on the bus for the first time.
Sunday night we had a party. It was mostly a surprise to me, and some of you reading this were there. Thanks. I think that I grew up a few grades, and I will not be getting on the bus for the first time anymore.
I was given a sword on Sunday night - a big sword. Big swords are filled with testosterone, and now I feel like a man, not like the little kindergartener - at least for now.
I'll carry my sword to church next Sunday, and let you know how I feel then.
A friend of mine who works in a denominational headquarters said today that once he left (which he hopes is soon) he will not have anything to do with "the church" ever again, but he will do his thing with his wife and God, and a small group at their house.
I have met many pastors who have been burned by churches and denominations, and did not want to return to church life ever again. Some have overcome this struggle, and others have not. Today another friend is struggling with this same problem.
I have felt like this periodically in the last year. Sunday morning arrives. I get ready to "go to church." (I hate the phrase "go to church" - it reminds me that we don't know what church is yet.) Then I get a nervous feeling which I haven't felt in years. It has come upon me only when things have been at their worst in the church, but things in the church are great, and I love everything that is happening, and everyone in the church. So what's wrong?
I know what's wrong. This feeling is not connected to the local church itself, but to denomination I was once a part of. A little abuse can go a long way, and the emotions created by abuse have the half life of Bismuth.
I want to go - I don't want to go - I want to go - I don't want to go.... I'm as confused as a kindergartener getting on the bus for the first time.
Sunday night we had a party. It was mostly a surprise to me, and some of you reading this were there. Thanks. I think that I grew up a few grades, and I will not be getting on the bus for the first time anymore.
I was given a sword on Sunday night - a big sword. Big swords are filled with testosterone, and now I feel like a man, not like the little kindergartener - at least for now.
I'll carry my sword to church next Sunday, and let you know how I feel then.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
A Man Named Phil?
Rose Wolf has been bringing me books. Rose has a Doctorate in Fantasy Literature, and is a walking encyclopedia of memorized poetry, and literature knowledge. She calls herself a Wiccan-Christian, and believes that the old ways point to Jesus.
When I mention something I am interested in, Rose finds wonderful used books at great prices, and gives them to me. I may have to call the library we want to build in The Vault at our church the Rose Wolf Library if this keeps up.
I mentioned that I was blogging about insanity, and a variety of stress related disorders because I noticed the similarities of my responses to a year of heavy stress to psychological disorders of various kinds. So she brought me this book called, "A Man Named Dave." I just finished "A Man Named Dave."
Throughout the book, Dave Pelzer the writer of a trilogy of books about his life of abuse as a child, and his eventual redemption speaks of feeling unworthy around other people. He knew that when his mother severely abused him it was not his fault, but he still could not look people in the eyes due to a deep sense of unworthiness.
This weekend, a friend from my former denomination called. He was in Salem, and happened at the time of his call to be standing in front of our church meeting location. It was extremely uncomfortable for me to talk to this guy. He does not yet even know about the heinous manner in which we were falsely accused by our "superiors" (Man! is that word a sick misnomer or what!?), and that we are no longer in the same denomination. So, he talked on as though things were like they always had been, and I fumbled to find something to say.
Why do I feel ashamed when my situation was caused by someone above me ("above me?" is that another poor way of describing authority?), and we had done our best to rectify things in a graceful and Biblical manner? I realized I was behaving like Dave. Does this happen to all people who live through abusive situations?
I in no way received the damaging treatment Dave did, but we did live through Hell brought on by someone who acted like the Devil, and now I am the one hanging my head. What's up with that?!
I suppose it is a result of abuse. Just when I think I am over it all, I find another way in which I have been affected by our experiences. I realize that this is a lesson not just for me, but for the the whole church, and so from this experience which relates to "A Man Named Dave" I find there is a man named Phil, and his experiences teach me that abusive church leadership leads to Christians who live with shame, and that shame may not belong to them but to the abusive leaders themselves.
When I mention something I am interested in, Rose finds wonderful used books at great prices, and gives them to me. I may have to call the library we want to build in The Vault at our church the Rose Wolf Library if this keeps up.
I mentioned that I was blogging about insanity, and a variety of stress related disorders because I noticed the similarities of my responses to a year of heavy stress to psychological disorders of various kinds. So she brought me this book called, "A Man Named Dave." I just finished "A Man Named Dave."
Throughout the book, Dave Pelzer the writer of a trilogy of books about his life of abuse as a child, and his eventual redemption speaks of feeling unworthy around other people. He knew that when his mother severely abused him it was not his fault, but he still could not look people in the eyes due to a deep sense of unworthiness.
This weekend, a friend from my former denomination called. He was in Salem, and happened at the time of his call to be standing in front of our church meeting location. It was extremely uncomfortable for me to talk to this guy. He does not yet even know about the heinous manner in which we were falsely accused by our "superiors" (Man! is that word a sick misnomer or what!?), and that we are no longer in the same denomination. So, he talked on as though things were like they always had been, and I fumbled to find something to say.
Why do I feel ashamed when my situation was caused by someone above me ("above me?" is that another poor way of describing authority?), and we had done our best to rectify things in a graceful and Biblical manner? I realized I was behaving like Dave. Does this happen to all people who live through abusive situations?
I in no way received the damaging treatment Dave did, but we did live through Hell brought on by someone who acted like the Devil, and now I am the one hanging my head. What's up with that?!
I suppose it is a result of abuse. Just when I think I am over it all, I find another way in which I have been affected by our experiences. I realize that this is a lesson not just for me, but for the the whole church, and so from this experience which relates to "A Man Named Dave" I find there is a man named Phil, and his experiences teach me that abusive church leadership leads to Christians who live with shame, and that shame may not belong to them but to the abusive leaders themselves.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
I Want to Sit on a Curb and I Want a Pet Chicken
A curb in front of 7/11 would be fine.
A curb doesn't have an address. It doesn't have a mortgage. If I park myself far enough away from a public phone booth, no one can call with their demands, or questions. As long as I have enough change for an occasional Diet Raspberry Snapple, and a bag of Crunchy Cheetos I'll be fine. I can get some hot cocoa in the winter, or move to a curb in Palm Springs.
Some people become workaholics when they are stressed. I don't have that problem - well actually - let me rephrase that: I don't have that blessing. I would rather check out, and find a place with no expectations, and no responsibilities.
A curb is a great place to go.
When my son was young, I used to tell him that when he turned 18 we would set him up for life. I would get him an extra large felt pen, and a large piece of cardboard. Then I would take him to the grocery store and get him a shopping cart. All he would have to do is get himself a pet chicken, and he would be set for life.
Back in Oceanside, there was a man with a shopping cart full of all his belongings, and the man had a pet chicken which sat on the handle bars of the shopping cart as he pushed it down the street. Elijah and I thought the man with the pet chicken was cool. I think he had it made. His only cares were his shopping cart, and his pet chicken, but if I were the pet chicken man, I would scale back, get rid of my stuff in the shopping cart, and keep my pet chicken.
I understand how people choose to live outdoors - well maybe not here in New England, but back in California I understand it. No cares, no responsibilities - just a strange socially inept freedom.
I have occasional moments of lapsed living. I am not sure what to do next, choices can be hard to make, and taking action on little issues can take more effort than it seems they are worth. Over the last year the sessions of lapsed living have increased. Could it be that stress strips many people of personal impetus, and drive? Could it be that some of the people sitting on the curbs have given up their mortgages for the free life? I wonder if some of those people left the church for the curb.
I know that I won't check out and take up residence without an address, but I have moments in the day when I really want to sit on a curb, and I really want a pet chicken.
A curb doesn't have an address. It doesn't have a mortgage. If I park myself far enough away from a public phone booth, no one can call with their demands, or questions. As long as I have enough change for an occasional Diet Raspberry Snapple, and a bag of Crunchy Cheetos I'll be fine. I can get some hot cocoa in the winter, or move to a curb in Palm Springs.
Some people become workaholics when they are stressed. I don't have that problem - well actually - let me rephrase that: I don't have that blessing. I would rather check out, and find a place with no expectations, and no responsibilities.
A curb is a great place to go.
When my son was young, I used to tell him that when he turned 18 we would set him up for life. I would get him an extra large felt pen, and a large piece of cardboard. Then I would take him to the grocery store and get him a shopping cart. All he would have to do is get himself a pet chicken, and he would be set for life.
Back in Oceanside, there was a man with a shopping cart full of all his belongings, and the man had a pet chicken which sat on the handle bars of the shopping cart as he pushed it down the street. Elijah and I thought the man with the pet chicken was cool. I think he had it made. His only cares were his shopping cart, and his pet chicken, but if I were the pet chicken man, I would scale back, get rid of my stuff in the shopping cart, and keep my pet chicken.
I understand how people choose to live outdoors - well maybe not here in New England, but back in California I understand it. No cares, no responsibilities - just a strange socially inept freedom.
I have occasional moments of lapsed living. I am not sure what to do next, choices can be hard to make, and taking action on little issues can take more effort than it seems they are worth. Over the last year the sessions of lapsed living have increased. Could it be that stress strips many people of personal impetus, and drive? Could it be that some of the people sitting on the curbs have given up their mortgages for the free life? I wonder if some of those people left the church for the curb.
I know that I won't check out and take up residence without an address, but I have moments in the day when I really want to sit on a curb, and I really want a pet chicken.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Justice versus Vengeance versus Nobility
Oh the horrible constraints of holiness! How is it that even things which are good and correct, can be convuluted by the human heart into harmful actions?
I wonder to myself this morning about finalizing an issue of justice. To do what I have been preparing has the potential of protecting other pastors from being abused in the future, but also would cause the abusive actions of a sick leader (who did me great wrong) to be opened up to a larger audience of his peers, and the leadership over him. Of course, this action would carry a sense of vindication for myself, but I must ask myself - would this action be taken for my personal satisfaction, and sense of vengeance, or is it for the benefit of Christianity, and its need for health?
The answer is not simple, because both purposes would be fulfilled in one action. So the question is one of personal health versus greater church health. Is it nobler to overlook this serious sin in the leadership of the church, and believe that God will do His work of justice, while I keep my heart protected from the desire of getting vengeance; or is it nobler to speak up, understanding that judgment is suppose to begin in the house of God, and that I will need to work on dissecting my own heart from the vengefulness which it sometimes tends toward?
I realize that "letting go and letting God" is the common expression some might apply to this issue, but how many others before have said that same thing, and how many good people after me might be abused in similar or worse manner than we have been. There is no doubt that the church has been negligent to judge an abusive leader, who has lied and harmed others for his own ego. To remain silent is to hinder justice. To speak up is to potentially give in to my darker passions, and risk the recompense of sowing and reaping - those who rejoice in judgment will receive its rewards after all.
Of course, in all this consideration, I must also realize that the church which has been so negligent until now, may simply bury its head, and consider continued negligence to be the safer path. They could choose to ignore the sins in their own camp, and that also leads to another thought - by taking action could I set myself up for negative emotions to be strung out longer than they need to be strung out?
How is it that right things can be made so twisted and difficult by the human heart? I at least comfort myself in the fact that I ask my heart these questions. To act without pondering these deeper issues would only evidence a darker heart, and a complete lack of nobility.
I wonder to myself this morning about finalizing an issue of justice. To do what I have been preparing has the potential of protecting other pastors from being abused in the future, but also would cause the abusive actions of a sick leader (who did me great wrong) to be opened up to a larger audience of his peers, and the leadership over him. Of course, this action would carry a sense of vindication for myself, but I must ask myself - would this action be taken for my personal satisfaction, and sense of vengeance, or is it for the benefit of Christianity, and its need for health?
The answer is not simple, because both purposes would be fulfilled in one action. So the question is one of personal health versus greater church health. Is it nobler to overlook this serious sin in the leadership of the church, and believe that God will do His work of justice, while I keep my heart protected from the desire of getting vengeance; or is it nobler to speak up, understanding that judgment is suppose to begin in the house of God, and that I will need to work on dissecting my own heart from the vengefulness which it sometimes tends toward?
I realize that "letting go and letting God" is the common expression some might apply to this issue, but how many others before have said that same thing, and how many good people after me might be abused in similar or worse manner than we have been. There is no doubt that the church has been negligent to judge an abusive leader, who has lied and harmed others for his own ego. To remain silent is to hinder justice. To speak up is to potentially give in to my darker passions, and risk the recompense of sowing and reaping - those who rejoice in judgment will receive its rewards after all.
Of course, in all this consideration, I must also realize that the church which has been so negligent until now, may simply bury its head, and consider continued negligence to be the safer path. They could choose to ignore the sins in their own camp, and that also leads to another thought - by taking action could I set myself up for negative emotions to be strung out longer than they need to be strung out?
How is it that right things can be made so twisted and difficult by the human heart? I at least comfort myself in the fact that I ask my heart these questions. To act without pondering these deeper issues would only evidence a darker heart, and a complete lack of nobility.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
I'm Outta Here!
Not really.
I will stick it out in blogland, but I've not posted recently, and I will be away for two weeks. Potentially I could blog from Florida, because I will have more time. Yet I also might not say anything, because not saying anything feels good right now. Know what I mean Verne? See you after September 1st, unless I become inspired while away.
I will stick it out in blogland, but I've not posted recently, and I will be away for two weeks. Potentially I could blog from Florida, because I will have more time. Yet I also might not say anything, because not saying anything feels good right now. Know what I mean Verne? See you after September 1st, unless I become inspired while away.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Stress, Control and Rage
I get angry at small things on some days. For example as I am typing right now the computer has a delayed response between my typing and the appearance of the letters on the screen. The rage roils each time this delay causes me to respond clumsily in my typing progress.
I could turn off the BBC Wales radio station, but listening to the spoken Welsh language is more important to me than a smooth typing experience. So, I must move forward in jerky movements, and feel my rage rise steadily as I continue to write. Of course, I realize that I probably need to do some "spring cleaning" on the computer, but I don't have time right now.
Why am I like this right now? The small series of tragedies we have experienced are some months back. Shouldn't I feel better now?
Asking myself this question brings my mind back a few months. A lying, treacherous church leader stood close to my face, and suggested his treachery should be overlooked, and there was no place for disussion about it. To bring it up for discussion meant that I was not "moving forward, but choosing let the experience define me." At one point in the conversation he exploded in rage, and growled, "there's something deeper going on here." I suppose that was some sick Pentecostal way of getting out of being held responsible for one's sins - turn it around and accuse the other person of some deep problem which you pretend to divine by spiritual discerment.
Why is it that I am raging within lately? Did I pick up this sickness by being in the same contagious space as other sick leaders for too long? No, I know that's not the answer to the question.
The answer lies within me. I have the rage, and although it may be exaggerated by this season of stress, it lies within me nonetheless. Hopefully I have learned the lesson that it is wholly evil to lead others from the deep need to control, and that the rage which rises from a lack of control is sourced from below.
I could turn off the BBC Wales radio station, but listening to the spoken Welsh language is more important to me than a smooth typing experience. So, I must move forward in jerky movements, and feel my rage rise steadily as I continue to write. Of course, I realize that I probably need to do some "spring cleaning" on the computer, but I don't have time right now.
Why am I like this right now? The small series of tragedies we have experienced are some months back. Shouldn't I feel better now?
Asking myself this question brings my mind back a few months. A lying, treacherous church leader stood close to my face, and suggested his treachery should be overlooked, and there was no place for disussion about it. To bring it up for discussion meant that I was not "moving forward, but choosing let the experience define me." At one point in the conversation he exploded in rage, and growled, "there's something deeper going on here." I suppose that was some sick Pentecostal way of getting out of being held responsible for one's sins - turn it around and accuse the other person of some deep problem which you pretend to divine by spiritual discerment.
Why is it that I am raging within lately? Did I pick up this sickness by being in the same contagious space as other sick leaders for too long? No, I know that's not the answer to the question.
The answer lies within me. I have the rage, and although it may be exaggerated by this season of stress, it lies within me nonetheless. Hopefully I have learned the lesson that it is wholly evil to lead others from the deep need to control, and that the rage which rises from a lack of control is sourced from below.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Getting Past My Cochlea
These are the times I feel trapped in my body - or, is it that my body is trapped in my experiences, and unlike my mind and heart can not escape?
She talked along. She talked a long time. I listened. I am sure that I listened longer than she talked. She was having fun talking, and unknown to Einstein was the fact that fun is the ingredient which compresses time. Fear holds the power to stretch time - especially the fear of being trapped in a monologue disguised as a discussion.
Along came another talker. Different than the first, but not different enough.
Now I was looking out through my eyes. I listened, but I wasn't really hearing. The words which passed beyond the cochlea, and into my auditory nerve were random snatches of the monologue. "I'm having a hard time with...unfair to treat me...smells bad...don't you think?" I was thankful that monologues have rhetorical questions. If you occasionally nod your head, you can appear to be paying close attention.
Actually I wondered if I really appeared to be paying close attention. The monologue became white noise. The white noise became unsufferable. My whole body was screaming at me, and rebelling at the fact that I remained in the presence of this incessant static. I wondered if the screaming of my mind was visible on my facial expressions. How long would it be until my body started shaking? I was beginning to feel the subtle body quakes of pent up tension deep inside me.
Many people say I am a good listener. Why was my listening being shortened? Why was I unable to hear all that was being said? Is there something about a monologuer which compresses the listener in me, and shortens my patience? Or could it be that I am still struggling with the stress of past treachery? Could it be that the failed, and lying leadership I have had to submit to and endure has caused me to struggle with listening for this season while I recuperate?
This Why Man Blog is all about questioning these personal responses and asking myself how they relate to my experiences in the last year. The extension of this questioning is to ask how abusive leadership effects myself, and perhaps the church as a whole.
I know I am a good listener, but it is not as true now as it has been in the past. I am sure it will return. The stress of this season is the primary reason for the difference in my attention span and patience. So I ask myself, "Could it be that Christians are not good listeners because their leaders are know-it-all blabber-mouths who speak without knowing, and judge without inquiry? Do conclusion jumping Christian leaders bring stress upon the church? Does that stress create a congregation of bland-minded, short-tempered, poor listeners who can not handle anything which does not fit their enjoyment experience?
I feel less the listener today than a year ago, but I am committed to being a good listener. I know my mind will stop screaming soon enough, and I will begin to hear a large percentage of the words once again. My monologuer is not the problem. I am, but the problem I am has been stretched by the abuse we've endured. Or so methinks for now. If you disagree, I might not hear what you have to say for a few more months.
She talked along. She talked a long time. I listened. I am sure that I listened longer than she talked. She was having fun talking, and unknown to Einstein was the fact that fun is the ingredient which compresses time. Fear holds the power to stretch time - especially the fear of being trapped in a monologue disguised as a discussion.
Along came another talker. Different than the first, but not different enough.
Now I was looking out through my eyes. I listened, but I wasn't really hearing. The words which passed beyond the cochlea, and into my auditory nerve were random snatches of the monologue. "I'm having a hard time with...unfair to treat me...smells bad...don't you think?" I was thankful that monologues have rhetorical questions. If you occasionally nod your head, you can appear to be paying close attention.
Actually I wondered if I really appeared to be paying close attention. The monologue became white noise. The white noise became unsufferable. My whole body was screaming at me, and rebelling at the fact that I remained in the presence of this incessant static. I wondered if the screaming of my mind was visible on my facial expressions. How long would it be until my body started shaking? I was beginning to feel the subtle body quakes of pent up tension deep inside me.
Many people say I am a good listener. Why was my listening being shortened? Why was I unable to hear all that was being said? Is there something about a monologuer which compresses the listener in me, and shortens my patience? Or could it be that I am still struggling with the stress of past treachery? Could it be that the failed, and lying leadership I have had to submit to and endure has caused me to struggle with listening for this season while I recuperate?
This Why Man Blog is all about questioning these personal responses and asking myself how they relate to my experiences in the last year. The extension of this questioning is to ask how abusive leadership effects myself, and perhaps the church as a whole.
I know I am a good listener, but it is not as true now as it has been in the past. I am sure it will return. The stress of this season is the primary reason for the difference in my attention span and patience. So I ask myself, "Could it be that Christians are not good listeners because their leaders are know-it-all blabber-mouths who speak without knowing, and judge without inquiry? Do conclusion jumping Christian leaders bring stress upon the church? Does that stress create a congregation of bland-minded, short-tempered, poor listeners who can not handle anything which does not fit their enjoyment experience?
I feel less the listener today than a year ago, but I am committed to being a good listener. I know my mind will stop screaming soon enough, and I will begin to hear a large percentage of the words once again. My monologuer is not the problem. I am, but the problem I am has been stretched by the abuse we've endured. Or so methinks for now. If you disagree, I might not hear what you have to say for a few more months.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Why am I so Sleepy?
For centuries revivalists have been speaking about the church being asleep. It has been a common theme to speak about the need to wake this sleeping giant. I have heard this so often I yawn when I hear it again.
I have been sleepier than ever lately. I am having a difficult time reading without wanting to visit the land of Nod. That is not a good thing for a Pastor, or a Teacher. Much time needs to be spent in reading, in order to have something worth saying.
As I continue to monitor my emotions following a year of great difficulty, I am wondering what part of this a response to the previous year of struggle. After a year and half of high stress dramatically crescendoing, could it be that I simply want to sleep for a year to make up for it?
Does this help explain the bland moments I have been experiencing. Is blandness my brain going to sleep while I stay awake?
I am going to stop typing now, and blow up the Hippo-doggie-pool my wife handed me. I hope I have the lung capacity to accomplish the task without getting dizzy and passing out. It really should be quite easy, but I am afraid my sleepy body and mind might trick me into unconsciousness. Check in on me to see that I am not sleeping in that Hippo-doggie-pool.
I have been sleepier than ever lately. I am having a difficult time reading without wanting to visit the land of Nod. That is not a good thing for a Pastor, or a Teacher. Much time needs to be spent in reading, in order to have something worth saying.
As I continue to monitor my emotions following a year of great difficulty, I am wondering what part of this a response to the previous year of struggle. After a year and half of high stress dramatically crescendoing, could it be that I simply want to sleep for a year to make up for it?
Does this help explain the bland moments I have been experiencing. Is blandness my brain going to sleep while I stay awake?
I am going to stop typing now, and blow up the Hippo-doggie-pool my wife handed me. I hope I have the lung capacity to accomplish the task without getting dizzy and passing out. It really should be quite easy, but I am afraid my sleepy body and mind might trick me into unconsciousness. Check in on me to see that I am not sleeping in that Hippo-doggie-pool.
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