testing 3/25/15

testing 3/25/15

The Interrupted Christian Life

I'm a straight and narrow kind of person most of the time...or at least I tried to be.

There can be various reasons for that kind of approach or response to life.
One might be fear.  In fact, that's a really common starting place for many folks.
For some people, it is their natural bent.  Soem people have been raised
by fearful parents.  Your early church experience may be molded you along those lines.


Often, what seems good to them strikes them as applicable to everyone. 
Disconcertingly...it isn't, much of the time.

I was born under the triple...no quadruple...whammy of nature, nurture,
natural bent and the sign of Capricorn: the stern taskmaster of the heavens.
If ever one was born to be a straight and narrow type with clearly defined beliefs
and lifestyle, that would be me. 
But Heaven, in it's infinite and comic wisdom, has messed with my neatly arrayed
course on several occasions in life.
I could tell you stories...SUCH stories...but that is not where I want to focus today.

I re-embarked on my voyage of discovery of God on the rocky shores of Cape Breton Island
after having ship-wrecked spiritually and otherwise in the aftermath of a disastrous marriage to a preacher's kid.  
Was it any wonder that I was in for a storm-tossed time of things? The clues were all there.

Comfort eventually came in the form of a passage that found its way to me...
"If God has never interrupted your plans, then you have probably not made His acquaintance."

Anyone who knows what I'm talking about here, knows that there is no small measure
of dark humor in this passage. 

Now, if God has repeatedly interrupted your plans, you are in for a really fine experience,
but that may not be readily apparent at first.  With the passing of time you eventually find that you will survive and even thrive as you learn to let go of your carefully contrived
plans for your life.

Sometimes, nothing can prepare you for the unexpected. 
You might experience an accident, illness or the birth of a less-than-perfect child.
It might be the loss of a job or a career change, the loss of a dream you'd worked hard
to achieve.
You feel like you are caught in a snare, your plans have been up-ended,
your life is not turning out as you wanted it to.... 
You feel that you are the butt of somebody's bad joke.  
Something happens and you are suddenly in uncharted waters and all the pat answers
that served you before have no meaning or efficacy.  
It doesn't help that your friends, family, pastor and well-meaning spiritual counselors have
little of real comfort to offer.  It all sounds right, but it feels strangely hollow...or worse. it engenders more pain 

If God has interrupted your life by way of a painful event...and that is not always the case...you can find yourself in a whirlwind of confusion and distress with thoughts tumbling and emotions in runaway mode.  

For the moment, let's not dwell on the details, even though we naturally strive for answers
and ways to make sense of things.  That is the human response, after all. 

The important factor here is that God/Nature has interrupted our plans...
changed the course of our lives.
Like it or not, we will have to deal with it...and it will change us.

The path can seem lonely and long. 
We feel as though we have fallen out of favor with God.
We struggle with thoughts of guilt for past wrongs, remorse of many kinds.

Details...the mind struggling to undertand what is beyond the mind...for now, that is. 
Not very helpful....
The mind will eventually open and widen and it will understand...as a result of these
very experiences. But it will be a process that can't always be hastened.
 
Perhaps one of the best ways to begin to understand is to look in a very simple
and straightforward way at what has happened to you...   

Did you lose a lot of money in the stock market?
Did your 401k go to money heaven without you? 
If so, money is a tool that can be used to get your attention.  
It becomes a teaching tool.  A very potent one, in fact.

Was it loss of health or an accident?
Then your body is the means by which God could capture your attention.
You may have heard the little whispers to slow down, take care of yourself 
or change a habit,  but you were only half-listening...

Maybe an event such as the kids moving back home or elderly parents needing your time
has altered your plans for your golden years.  You feel as though everything you worked
so hard for is being stripped away.
These are the hard interruptions of life.

It gets your attention!   It holds you fast in its grip . 

From our perspective, things are terrible, unfair, unwanted, unbearable. 
Everyone who views our plight would agree.

But what we really suffer from is not being aware of things from Heaven's perspective.

You have heard it said that God's thoughts are not our thoughts and that His ways
are not our ways.    They are high above our thoughts and our ways...
It is so true!  
After some early struggle, it becomes obvious to us that our perspective is not sufficient.
We muddle through with oftentimes trite, pious sounding prescriptions that offer
little real comfort.
We don't know where or how to get better answers. 
Everyone is doing the best they can, but it's not enough! 
We become frustrated, angry, despairing.


The whole point of God getting your attention is so you can begin to 'hear' from God. 
So that God can get a word in edgewise, so to speak.  
In our busyness and noisy lives,  we cannot be still enough to hear. 
We might be missing out on some very important information.

Remembering that we are eternal souls...and that we are in a series of classrooms
in Life School might help. 
God is intent on growing our souls, while we are bent on perpetual recess or choosing
our own lesson plan and studying at our own pace.
As young souls, we may think we know what is best for us, but in reality, that is unlikely.   
So we make childish choices.
Childish choices that will someday cause us harm or keep us from fulfilling our potential.

I remember gym class, where the coach made us run laps.  I thought I was dying,
but the coach knew what we were capable of and he pushed us to finally run that mile. 
Were it up to me, the outcome would have been far different.  
I would not have believed that I could ever run a single mile.
People run marathons, after all.  Maybe I should head back to the track and try for more!

Were it not for these 'interruptions, we would ply a similar course of underachievement.
We would faint and fail and sometimes think we are dying.  
We do not know what we are made of until we have been forced to exert ourselves
in painful ways.   We find that we are made of very good stuff in the end.

I look back on several decades and several significant setbacks and ' interruptions' of my plans.
At the time, I could never have seen how each of them would re-direct and enrich my life.
Even if God had shouted in my ear, I could not have gotten it.  He knows that...

And so Life carries us to the place where we begin to see and to know far beyond
our first capacity.
I never would have dreamed up this script of my life, but for all that has come...
and not come...I am amazed and grateful. 
Our minds are simply too small in the beginning.  Our lives are too small. 
Our goals too immature.
But as we walk the medicine wheel that we call Life, we grow into that which we really are.

More on the medicine wheel in a future post...   

In the end, God is growing a soul, a child, a man, a woman. 
His agenda is not our agenda. 
It is a better one than the one we had in mind
We are fortunate if we invite that interaction with Spirit. 
Even if we cower from it or fail to invite God to take hold of us in this life,
He is faithful to our soul's needs and deeper desires.
The interrupted Christian life might be the best thing that ever happened to you...

Detroit Story      1975

 

One winter I left the island to visit a young friend in Detroit. 
He had recently become a Christian while  staying at my hostel
on Cape Breton. 
I knew he had a tough road ahead of him. 
I wanted to see how he was doing and help him
find a church to attend. 
I was always ambivalent about that sort of thing. 
I hated to see someone like this young man make
a good start in his spiritual life and then get sidelined
in a dead church. 
Time and time again, once a church got hold of a new convert,
they would promptly ‘educate’ the life right out of them. 
Still, most people would need the support of a body of believers. 
It just helped to show them how to negotiate the scene. 

My young friend and I planned to go shopping for a church

to attend on Sunday morning. 

But this was Saturday night and we headed out for a long walk 

to catch up on things.  We walked for miles it seemed.

We eventually found ourselves in the downtown area. 

By that time the sun was going down and it was getting

colder by the minute.

We looked for a diner or coffee shop, but everything

was closing and the downtown was quickly emptying

of people.   It was too late to turn back and too late to go forward. 

Eventually we noticed an open door with a brightly lit interior. 

We ducked in hoping to warm up a bit and rest before the long walk home.  Once inside, we were fascinated by the architectural details. 

It was a stately old building in a crumbling inner city. 

We wandered around admiring the old staircase, the ornate tiles

and the marble wall panels. 

We were in an old Masonic temple from the look of things. 

We headed up the staircase to see what the mezzanine

and the balcony held. 

We had been chattering away happily up to that point, 

but when we got to the top and surveyed the auditorium below,

we quickly lowered our voices. 

Down below us we saw a few elderly black folk carrying Bibles

under their arms. 

Apparently the lodge had been turned into a church and we had intruded on their service. 

We sat down out of sight and tried to be inconspicuous. 

The few people gathered were thinly dispersed around the huge auditorium. 

Perhaps a dozen or so parishioners scattered 2 by 2, mostly older, mostly women. 

They bowed their heads and prayed quietly or spoke in low tones

while they waited for the service to start. 

2 or 3 more people joined them and their prayer service began. 

Not a very impressive crowd.  They prayed silently for a brief time. 

They prayed informally, each tending to their own concerns.  

Their voices, quiet at first, began to be audible to us. 

Their voices gradually became more animated. 

Then one woman stood alone and began to pray in tongues. 

I wondered what my young friend would think. 

We had never talked about anything like that. 

I had little experience of it myself.  

Soon another worshipper stood and prayed in tongues. 

And then another...and another. 

Before long there was an embarrassing cacophony of sounds. 

Then one of the women lifted her voice above the others as she began to sing in tongues.

I had never heard anything like that before. 

It was an eerie tongue and an eerie melody. 

The others began to do the same tongues-singing. 

We had never seen a church service like this.

The sound was confusing as they all sang different

 languages and songs. 

Their voices became louder now, more emphatic. 

I was embarrassed and didn’t know what to say to my friend. 

It was so strange...hard on the ears.

 

In the next instant, the most astonishing thing happened. 

All of their voices quite suddenly flowed and fell together 

into the same glorious melody. 

And then in the next moment, those few voices were joined

by hundreds of other voices. ..angelic voices.

The music we heard was indescribably beautiful.  

There is no music on earth that compares.

It lifted us to our feet. We stood frozen, with hair standing on end, transported into an ethereal realm. 

Tears streamed down our faces.  We couldn’t speak. 

Our eyes alone confirmed to each other that we were hearing the same unearthly performance.  

The hall was filled with voices singing in majestic tones.

The sound of the voices rose and fell together for some time. 

We were transfixed, weeping for the beauty and power of it.  

 

And then... just as suddenly as they began...

the voices rose and fell together one last time...

and then they stopped as one. 

The hall throbbed with what can only be described

as Glory. 

A few moments of silence followed. 

Then without fanfare or remark, people quietly gathered

their things, put on their coats and left for home.            

Uncle George....a selection from 'Church' stories

We were on our way to church one night for yet another predictable and disappointing
church service. 
We were members of Brooklyn’s most popular interdenominational church.  
But for us, something was missing…something was just not right.

“What was it?’ we wondered yet again…

We had tried so many times to get into the spirit of the place…
We couldn’t put our finger on what made us so uncomfortable…
Lord knows, everyone else seemed wildly enthusiastic. 
What misfits we were....   
We couldn’t fit ourselves in no matter how hard we tried.
People were beginning to notice that we hung back a little.

We had discovered that everyone had to be in lock step at all times…or else. 
The same smiles, the same ‘amens’, giving assent to every suggestion from the pastor. 
Right or wrong.  No questions allowed.
We were beginning to realize that this was not a group that tolerated dissent.

The dissatisfaction we felt was growing. 
Each service felt like a fresh assault on our spirits.  
That night, as we drove to church for the Wednesday evening service,
we finally voiced our deep discomfort. 

The question we finally asked ourselves was “What is church? ”
Was this God's idea of how it should be ? 
If so, we were woefully lacking...
We were at an impasse and something had to give.
We sat silently and waited…  We wanted God’s input.
We drove slowly and somewhat aimlessly in the direction of the church
as we considered the question. 

It was a bitterly cold and rainy evening in February. 
As the daylight faded, the rain turned to sleet and ice. 
The wind was whipping, people were clutching their coats.
It was not a night to be out if you could avoid it.

We found ourselves in a black neighborhood crowded with people at the end of the work day.
We drove slowly watching the scene when we suddenly spotted an old black man
weaving his way through the crowd clad only in pajamas and bedroom slippers.
We watched in shock as people rushed by, pretending not to see him.
He was being jostled and pushed aside by the commuters rushing home for the evening.
We simply couldn’t believe that no one would extend a hand to help this elderly man. 
Maybe they thought he was drunk. 
The cars behind us were honking and pushing us along, so we circled the block
hoping that by the time we got back to that corner, he would be gone, 
hoping that someone would have looked after him. 
When we finally got back to the corner we found him again, stumbling badly now
and being shoved by the still unseeing crowds.

Where had we seen that behavior before? 
We realized with a little catch in our throats… after our church services! 
The church we attended was situated in a poor neighborhood. 
As we left services each time, there would be a few homeless people standing outside
asking for a bit of help. 
The church folks would callously push past them, sometimes with a shove or a harsh word. 
They were rushing off to their favorite cheesecake restaurant where they
would invariably stuff themselves.
The servers hated to see them coming.  Their mistreatment of the servers was legendary.
They'd run the staff ragged all evening.
It was always the same thing…how much could they get for nothing?
They often complained until they got a free meal.
In the end they might leave a bit of small change for tips.
Their behavior stood in such stark contrast to the message they professed. 
We were embarrassed to be seen with them after a few such encounters.  

We soon shed those thoughts and focused on the scene in front of us. 
Suddenly our man stumbled and fell into a filthy, storm clogged gutter. 
Still no one seemed to notice! 
We maneuvered our little Volkswagen to the curb and jumped out.
We lifted the old man to his feet and half-dragged him to the car. 
He was nearly frozen.  He was incoherent and shivering intensely.
He was in bad shape from exposure to the cold and sleet. 
 
We tried in vain to find out who he was and where he needed to go.   
He carried no ID.  He could not speak.   His condition was pitiful. 
So we just concentrated on getting him warmed up. 
He was not drunk, but beyond that, we couldn’t piece together his situation. 
We searched for a policeman, but couldn’t find one. 
We were at a loss in a strange neighborhood with a nameless, homeless man in tow. 
We realized that we would have to come up with a solution ourselves. 

Once seated in a warm car, our fellow was coming around slowly. 
We found a diner and got some hot soup for our guest.
Offering him some hot food stirred him and he showed the first signs of life.
He shivered so much that he couldn’t hold the container or feed himself,
so we fed him carefully.  
After a few spoonfuls of soup, he nodded off and slept a bit. 
His shivering slowly subsided.
We drove aimlessly for awhile just to thaw him out and figure out our next move. 
He started to come to after about an hour, but we still couldn't get a word from him. 
No name, no address, no explanation.  
We drove around and around feeling pretty helpless. 

And then our man made a sudden move. 
He jerked his head up and clumsily pointed to the right with a grunt.  That was all.
So we headed right.  Then after awhile, he sat up and motioned to the left. 
Off we went to the left!  Then he nodded off again.
This was repeated a few more times until we finally realized that we were going
in hopeless circles.
We were no closer to a destination of any kind and to make matters worse,
we were now lost in an unfamiliar part of Brooklyn on a dark and stormy night.  
Our passenger obviously didn’t know who he was or where he lived. 
Now what!?  

As we threaded our way through the area, we found a block of brownstone houses. 
It was a quiet residential street... a place where we could pause for a few moments out of traffic.  
Finally, I said, ‘Stop the car’. 
I got out and headed for the first house with a porch light. 
I knocked on the door and waited, feeling a little fear and a lot of frustration. 

A tall stately grey haired black woman answered the door.  She towered over me,  
obviously wondering what a white girl was doing knocking on her door after nightfall. 

I tried to explain to her that I had an old man in pajamas with no known identity
in my possession and that I needed to use a phone, Please.... 

She drew herself up to her full height and questioned me closely. 

Where had we found him?  What was he doing?  What did he look like?  What was he wearing? 

Suddenly, she gave a shriek and cried  "Uncle George!”  
I stepped back, startled... 
She dashed inside, grabbed a coat and ran past me down the steps into the street to our car. 
I followed her, still uncomprehending. 

When she reached our passenger, she launched into an emotional tirade. 
“Uncle George!!!  What got into you that you would leave the hospital!!!??

This WAS, in fact, HER Uncle George!  I shook my head in disbelief! 

Meanwhile, poor Uncle George was getting the scolding of a lifetime. 

It turned out that Uncle George had been taken to King's County Hospital
that morning with a stomach complaint. 
As near as anyone could tell, he had waited hour after hour for someone to see him. 
Toward the end of the day, he simply got hungry and frustrated and just left on his own.
He was going to walk back home.  He was a bit senile and confused and lost his way. 
He had been missing for hours…and now, in some inexplicable way, he was home.  

We were all amazed at what had just taken place!
His grateful niece thanked us and hurried him inside, scolding all the way!

As we headed back toward the church, we checked our watches. 
We had been gone for more than 2 hours. 
Church would be letting out just about the time we would be arriving. 
It was hardly worth the trip now, we realized.  We might as well head home.
We were actually kind of relieved to have missed church that night.

We turned the corner and headed toward home when suddenly,
the atmosphere in that little car shifted slightly. 
There was a Presence...soft, but sure.

And the revelation that came into us held the answer to our all but forgotten question...
the one we had asked earlier that evening. 

“This is Church,” the Voice said.     “THIS is Church…”    

What Church Do You Attend, Dear?

Often times I am asked by well-meaning Christians and some nosy ones, as well, about my church affiliation.
Sometimes I feel as though I must pass this "Test" before any further conversation can follow.
I must be pigeon-holed and categorized to be understood. 
They must know to whom I belong.
I can sometimes feel a little judgment coming on... 

I am pretty squirmy on this topic.  As you get to know me, you will understand why.

"Church"  has been a pretty squirmy experience from the start...
and I don't just mean the kind of squirming in the pews that we generally do as little children,
though that should have been a tip-off. 

But I honestly don't have the kind of answer that anyone is particularly pleased with...
and I've been working on this for a long time now. 

It was never my intention to become the kind of believer that I wound up becoming,
but after awhile, you 'know 'the Voice'.    And you follow...
Don't worry, I'm not hearing voices...I'm talking about the 'still, small Voice'.

It has been an offbeat journey, to say the least, but it has also been potent and authentic.
That works for me...

But back to the question...

In the kindest, softest way that I can, I tell them that I have come to understand
that it's ALL church.
I count myself lucky if they don't quite hear me and move on. 
But that almost never happens. 

"Why, what do you mean?!" they ask with a puzzled expression.
Or...  "Oh yes, I believe that, too." (not knowing a thing about what they just said)

"But, WHERE do you GO to church?" they persist .  "You HAVE to go somewhere!"

"Well dear heart", I say, " Right here and now, where we stand is 'Church',
even though it's Tuesday at 2:15 pm."   
I am already categorized as some sort of heretic or new-ager.
Not good enough, I realize..   It's going to be another tricky encounter.

"Well, where do you go on Sunday MORNING?"   (as if I'm some idiot child)
By now they have had just about as much nonsense from me as they are willing to take.

Taking my life and what's left of my reputation in my hands, I reply along these lines,
"Well... these days I can usually be found at Prairie Creek Reservoir on my pontoon boat." 
They are immediately offended, but I know that deep down they are envious, as well.

Now...if this person attends the so-called megachurch in town, I might follow up with
the declaration that I have been hanging out at God's megachurch.
And then, depending on how feisty I'm feeling in that moment, I'll continue with
"It's just me and the ducks, the herons and fish, just breathing in the fresh air
and watching the water sparkle with sunshine". 
"You know...you can really hear God out there...all day long, if you like."
"How's that for a sermon ?!," I smile.  

They are usually a little flustered by now and will shift to another line of questioning.
"Now you know scripture requires you to be in submission to a pastor",
to which I reply, "I am under Jesus' authority...is that not sufficient?"  (apparently it's not)

"But you must be in submission to a pastor and not forsake the assembling of yourselves together."  
"Well, you may have a point there.  I have been searching for a long time for a pastor who knows
more than I have come to know in my simple way.. one that can bring me closer to God.
So far I haven't found one". 
Most of the ones I have known are more concerned with their programs and budgets
and membership drives.

Oh and there is the other matter of finding one who's life is a worthy example..
"Your new  pastor is what now...33 years old?   Now why would I go sit under a child? 
From what I understand of his family life, his life isn't working out so well....

If the pastor isn't making his life work, then why would I sit under him and let him tell me how to make my life work?"

"But you must go somewhere to be fed!," they cry, intent on winning the argument or my soul...
I'm not sure which..
"My dear", I reply, "I have been walking with God since I was 22.  I am now 60 years old.
If I don't know how to feed myself by now, I should be ashamed of myself, don't you think?"