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Thursday, September 21, 2006
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Wailings of a Waiter
I use to be a waiter at a local restaurant. I wasn’t very good at it though. It takes a special person to wait tables. And I’m not that kind of special. I’m too impatient and don’t respond well to being treated like a lesser person simply because my job for the next 30 minutes is to be your server. In all other instances I’m a people person, but not this one. And especially at the restaurant where I worked.
It’s sort of a fancy place, “fine southern dinning” is how they put it. The wait staff walks around in black pants and white shirts and I half expect to be asked for some grey poupon when I walk across the dinning room. Basically we get a lot of old women who come in and think the world revolves around them and a buck fifty is a good tip no-matter the price of the meal (it isn’t). I really don’t like them. They make me angry and they have the old woman funk. That’s a near toxic, if not lethal, combination of talcum powder, 1940’s perfume and moth balls (no wonder they are all dieing of cancer). When the stench hits your nostrils its sensory overload to your nervous system. What makes it worse is that they come in herds, so you don’t get it in staggered, mitigated intervals. No, they all come in at once. The moment the door opens its like being hit over the head with a two-by-four. Then, when you are taking their orders after repeating the specials to them fifty eleven hundred times you have to lean down real close so you can hear their old weathered voice and smell their rank denture adhesive as they ask you what the specials are. But then, when they want to ask for some decaf coffee you offered five minutes earlier, you can hear them holler half way across the restaurant. I shouldn’t be bothered by this ‘cause they’ll all be dead soon (because of the funk), but it still upsets me.
And if it isn’t the rotting flesh version of women you have to deal with it is their pretentious plastic contemporaries (who will also die of cancer but for different reasons). They are the ones that look like their jaws are wired into an awkward smile, their skin’s an off shade of melanin and the only part of their faces that can really move are their eyelids. They are all far less attractive than they think they are and far more demanding than even Jesus Christ has a right to be. They also believe that a dollar fifty is the appropriate tip amount, again no matter what. Their mothers have taught them well. Sometimes they bring along their businessman husbands who gladly wear them on their arm like a cherished prize; which is all most of the plastics really are (banker Bob is usually far more interested in lawyer Larry than he is in housewife Holly). The plastics have a different type of smell about them but it is no less poignant. It is the reek of arrogance mixed with the stench of Este Lauder. They are known to say grace before they begin their chatter about housewife Holly’s misfortune and other important social goings-ons (oh! the things I know about people in this town). They might even put Holly on the prayer list.
Off and on for three years now I have endured with often agonizing torture the routine of being the equivalent of a 16th century British wipping boy. Last week, I struck back. I could no longer withhold my tongue from the oppressive rule of the Talcum Tyrants and the Silicon Sorceresses who weld their power and cast their spells as nonchalantly as they attend Sunday School. Last week, I had enough.
This is what happened. It was Wednesday evening. This itself needs elaboration. In the restaurant business of the South, Wednesday evenings are notoriously slow. The aforementioned women are all at Baptist churches keeping up appearances. So I was braced for even more fruitless efforts and time wasted at the Deodera House (the name of the restaurant has been changed to protect myself). I had one table that evening. It was a party of four; three women and a man, all over fifty years of age. I should have known better, but I told myself to have faith. I’m not sure what I was putting my faith in at this point, but whatever it was I was wrong because I was about to have the most horrible experience in waiter history.
They seemed nice, at first, your typical southerners from Cordele, Georgia. They greeted me with a smile as they entered the door and I politely greeted them, though in my mind I was saying, “Welcome to The Deodera. How may I kiss your collective @$$es.” Anyway, the cordiality quickly ended. I think the chairs at The Deodera have special powers and can magically suck any kindness, love, and humanity right out of a customer the moment their rear lands in the seat (maybe if I had kissed it when they came in the door things would be different). Before I could tell them my name I was told exactly what each one wanted to drink: a half sweet half unsweet tea w/no lemon, a decaf coffee w/water, a diet coke w/ a glass of ice on the side and a water with extra lemons. This was followed by a volley of questions about serving portions of appetizers. They ordered one of each. I went to the kitchen and got their drinks, put in their appetizers and took a deep breath. This was the pattern for the rest of the evening. I waited on them hand and foot. I ran around that restaurant more that night than the previous three years combined. But, I got them everything they wanted, how they wanted it, when they wanted it. I was the epitome of a quality waiter. I would have made any conseur blush. After all, they were my only table. Their bill, after a round of appetizers, steaks, desserts and coffee was around $150. Like I said, “fine southern dinning.”
Now before I go on, I must explain that the minimum expected tip anywhere, be it Waffle House or the Sun Dial, is 15%, 18% is more courteous and 20% is generous. 12% of their $150 bill would have been $18, but they didn’t even leave that. Nope, after all my work I was left with $10. Let my clarify this. That is not even a 7% tip. Even if they were not feeling generous, which would have been okay, they should have left me $27. I got barely a third of the tip I earned (I was never any good at math until I became a waiter, now I can look at numbers and figure things out). This was beyond being impolite. This was down right disrespectful and rude.
So I had to let them know.
“Ma’m, I apologize if my service to you was below your standards or if I in any way offended you and prompted you to leave such a sorry tip, but if $10 is all you can leave, you need it a heck of a lot more than I do.”
And with that I turned and walked away (walk is a lose term here really, it was more like I bounded towards the back with a rage that even God would fear). They hadn’t just crushed my hope in humanity, they opened a sort of Pandora’s Box. They awoke my wrath and unleashed my rage upon that place. I could have spit fire (and I guess in a way I did).
I took care of my closing work for the evening and left feeling more than just disrespected and angry. I felt betrayed. There is far more at work here than just the snooty actions of a few aging tight-wads. It’s a statement of larger implications on the status of our society, but I’m not writing this to teach a lesson in sociology.
Now granted, my reaction was a bit overboard, and so I am no longer an employee of the Deodera House Restaurant (that’s a whole other story for another time). But, if you are reading this, please, please, please take a single point away from this: Its one thing to leave a bad tip if you’ve had poor service, but if your waiter (or waitress) has done a stellar job serving you, do not leave them a 7% tip. If you don’t have the money to leave a decent tip, you don’t have the money to eat out in the first place. There is no excuse. I don’t care about how it was in the 1950’s. It’s now the twenty-first century and it takes more than a buck fifty to pay for your groceries and college isn’t free, no matter what the government says. And please, “Christians,” never mistake a track for a good tip, as if your 50 cent comic book was equivalent to God’s gift of eternal life. It is not. And I already know Jesus.
It’s sort of a fancy place, “fine southern dinning” is how they put it. The wait staff walks around in black pants and white shirts and I half expect to be asked for some grey poupon when I walk across the dinning room. Basically we get a lot of old women who come in and think the world revolves around them and a buck fifty is a good tip no-matter the price of the meal (it isn’t). I really don’t like them. They make me angry and they have the old woman funk. That’s a near toxic, if not lethal, combination of talcum powder, 1940’s perfume and moth balls (no wonder they are all dieing of cancer). When the stench hits your nostrils its sensory overload to your nervous system. What makes it worse is that they come in herds, so you don’t get it in staggered, mitigated intervals. No, they all come in at once. The moment the door opens its like being hit over the head with a two-by-four. Then, when you are taking their orders after repeating the specials to them fifty eleven hundred times you have to lean down real close so you can hear their old weathered voice and smell their rank denture adhesive as they ask you what the specials are. But then, when they want to ask for some decaf coffee you offered five minutes earlier, you can hear them holler half way across the restaurant. I shouldn’t be bothered by this ‘cause they’ll all be dead soon (because of the funk), but it still upsets me.
And if it isn’t the rotting flesh version of women you have to deal with it is their pretentious plastic contemporaries (who will also die of cancer but for different reasons). They are the ones that look like their jaws are wired into an awkward smile, their skin’s an off shade of melanin and the only part of their faces that can really move are their eyelids. They are all far less attractive than they think they are and far more demanding than even Jesus Christ has a right to be. They also believe that a dollar fifty is the appropriate tip amount, again no matter what. Their mothers have taught them well. Sometimes they bring along their businessman husbands who gladly wear them on their arm like a cherished prize; which is all most of the plastics really are (banker Bob is usually far more interested in lawyer Larry than he is in housewife Holly). The plastics have a different type of smell about them but it is no less poignant. It is the reek of arrogance mixed with the stench of Este Lauder. They are known to say grace before they begin their chatter about housewife Holly’s misfortune and other important social goings-ons (oh! the things I know about people in this town). They might even put Holly on the prayer list.
Off and on for three years now I have endured with often agonizing torture the routine of being the equivalent of a 16th century British wipping boy. Last week, I struck back. I could no longer withhold my tongue from the oppressive rule of the Talcum Tyrants and the Silicon Sorceresses who weld their power and cast their spells as nonchalantly as they attend Sunday School. Last week, I had enough.
This is what happened. It was Wednesday evening. This itself needs elaboration. In the restaurant business of the South, Wednesday evenings are notoriously slow. The aforementioned women are all at Baptist churches keeping up appearances. So I was braced for even more fruitless efforts and time wasted at the Deodera House (the name of the restaurant has been changed to protect myself). I had one table that evening. It was a party of four; three women and a man, all over fifty years of age. I should have known better, but I told myself to have faith. I’m not sure what I was putting my faith in at this point, but whatever it was I was wrong because I was about to have the most horrible experience in waiter history.
They seemed nice, at first, your typical southerners from Cordele, Georgia. They greeted me with a smile as they entered the door and I politely greeted them, though in my mind I was saying, “Welcome to The Deodera. How may I kiss your collective @$$es.” Anyway, the cordiality quickly ended. I think the chairs at The Deodera have special powers and can magically suck any kindness, love, and humanity right out of a customer the moment their rear lands in the seat (maybe if I had kissed it when they came in the door things would be different). Before I could tell them my name I was told exactly what each one wanted to drink: a half sweet half unsweet tea w/no lemon, a decaf coffee w/water, a diet coke w/ a glass of ice on the side and a water with extra lemons. This was followed by a volley of questions about serving portions of appetizers. They ordered one of each. I went to the kitchen and got their drinks, put in their appetizers and took a deep breath. This was the pattern for the rest of the evening. I waited on them hand and foot. I ran around that restaurant more that night than the previous three years combined. But, I got them everything they wanted, how they wanted it, when they wanted it. I was the epitome of a quality waiter. I would have made any conseur blush. After all, they were my only table. Their bill, after a round of appetizers, steaks, desserts and coffee was around $150. Like I said, “fine southern dinning.”
Now before I go on, I must explain that the minimum expected tip anywhere, be it Waffle House or the Sun Dial, is 15%, 18% is more courteous and 20% is generous. 12% of their $150 bill would have been $18, but they didn’t even leave that. Nope, after all my work I was left with $10. Let my clarify this. That is not even a 7% tip. Even if they were not feeling generous, which would have been okay, they should have left me $27. I got barely a third of the tip I earned (I was never any good at math until I became a waiter, now I can look at numbers and figure things out). This was beyond being impolite. This was down right disrespectful and rude.
So I had to let them know.
“Ma’m, I apologize if my service to you was below your standards or if I in any way offended you and prompted you to leave such a sorry tip, but if $10 is all you can leave, you need it a heck of a lot more than I do.”
And with that I turned and walked away (walk is a lose term here really, it was more like I bounded towards the back with a rage that even God would fear). They hadn’t just crushed my hope in humanity, they opened a sort of Pandora’s Box. They awoke my wrath and unleashed my rage upon that place. I could have spit fire (and I guess in a way I did).
I took care of my closing work for the evening and left feeling more than just disrespected and angry. I felt betrayed. There is far more at work here than just the snooty actions of a few aging tight-wads. It’s a statement of larger implications on the status of our society, but I’m not writing this to teach a lesson in sociology.
Now granted, my reaction was a bit overboard, and so I am no longer an employee of the Deodera House Restaurant (that’s a whole other story for another time). But, if you are reading this, please, please, please take a single point away from this: Its one thing to leave a bad tip if you’ve had poor service, but if your waiter (or waitress) has done a stellar job serving you, do not leave them a 7% tip. If you don’t have the money to leave a decent tip, you don’t have the money to eat out in the first place. There is no excuse. I don’t care about how it was in the 1950’s. It’s now the twenty-first century and it takes more than a buck fifty to pay for your groceries and college isn’t free, no matter what the government says. And please, “Christians,” never mistake a track for a good tip, as if your 50 cent comic book was equivalent to God’s gift of eternal life. It is not. And I already know Jesus.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Waffle House Blues: Deconstructing the Box / Restructuring My Faith
Note: This post is a continuation of the post, "Losing My Faith, The Problem With God in a Box." I would suggest reading it before continuing...
I went to see a friend and mentor about my problem of God in a box. His name is Charlie Walker. He talks real slow so people think that he thinks real slow too. Not true. We agreed to meet at the Waffle House when he called me back after I left a somewhat panicked and tear wrought message on his answering machine. I got there early to prepare myself for what was to come, whatever it was going to be. I don’t know what I expected, but I felt more like I was going to the principle’s office than meeting a friend for advice. I sat uncomfortably in my booth surrounded with eighties décor, though the building isn’t even ten years old. I imagined myself being reprimanded for what I was about to confess, my doubt in God. I folded my arms on the table and laid my head down. I would have cried, but I was too tired for that.
A few minutes later Charlie came in with his signature waddle and lighthearted smile. He is a short man in his early fifties, a little less wide than he is tall. His eyes shine with the depth wisdom affords. His presence is so disarming that my fears immediately faded. After ordering dinner and some small talk with the WaHo manager (Charlie knows everyone in this town) we got down to business.
“Tell me about your problems, Matthew,” he said slowly, slouching in the booth across from me in his typical way. He made me laugh. My walls came down and I explained to Charlie that I felt I was losing faith in God, or at least how I’ve thought of Him until this point. I told him of my frustration of wanting more, but not finding it and how seeing all these others who have found something more just furthered my frustration. I told him about the horrible day I’d had, how I’d wigged out at work and just had to leave. I felt my whole world was unwinding in a matter of hours, all because I think too much. It was like having a mid-life crisis at age twenty-one and I felt like God’s ugly step-child. He listened patiently and intently until I was finished and then he just sat there for a minute, letting the words come to him.
When the words finally came they came with the same calmness with which he’d acknowledged mine. He explained that what I was experiencing was completely natural, which I agreed, that doubt is often Satan’s tool of choice for those who choose to make thinking a habit. He told me that God is doing something in my life, that this is part of the process. I could actually see what he was talking about too, though to a lesser extent (perspective is everything). He also told me something that he has told me many times before (I guess I haven’t gotten the point yet), “you cannot base your faith on how you feel or what your mind tells you.” The truth in those words is so obvious that they almost don’t need explanation. The soul (mind, will, and emotions) is fleshly in nature, opposed to the heart of God. It’s what Satan uses to lie to God’s children. I guess this is partly why sanctification is so important; it reigns in the soul under the authority of God so that Satan cannot hold sway.
The conversation lulled a few moments as our waitress interrupted for the umpteenth time to ask us if we needed anything. She was a young girl who had obviously been hurt in her past, but was still so innocent. She was meek, almost cowerly, but sweet also. I bet she had a huge propensity to love, though it was stifled by hurt and pain. She made me sad with her tender smile and soft voice. I hadn’t said anything to Charlie about the girl, but he echoed my thoughts with a soft comment.
We sat there a while. I ate my hash browns; scattered, covered and chunked. Charlie ate his toast and eggs. This was his second meal that night. He made some comment on his jovial belly and asked if I had been exercising regularly. I hadn’t been (and it’s starting to show).
Then Charlie got serious again. What was about to come out of his mouth was probably the most significant thing I’ve ever heard him say, “Matthew,” he says your name a lot when you’re talking to him, I like that, “the biggest problem with you and your generation is you are looking for experiences with God instead of relationships with Him.” He had nailed me and he knew it. This was a truth far more profound that what I realized. God had been dropping hints at me for sometime now, but waited for this moment to come out blazing. I sat there stunted at how obvious this all was. It was like all my big God revelations until now led to this one huge truth.
I think about my relationship with God in completely wrong terms. I think about it in terms of experiences with Him instead of focusing on the day-in and day-out relationship I’m suppose to be having with Him. I get frustrated, even angry when my quiet times don’t spawn some huge life defining moment everyday. If the preacher’s sermon doesn’t act like Miracle Grow to my soul then he’s a lousy preacher. And heaven forbid that everyday life doesn’t go my way: that I’ll get cheap tips from work or my cell will get washed, that I won’t have the car when I need it or gas will jump eight cents. It must mean God’s abandoned me! What foolishness!
Grandiose experiences with the Lord are more like mile markers on the road of relationships. They are not the relationships themselves. There is nothing wrong with these experiences, its just that they are not the essence of what knowing God is really about. Relationship with God is about trusting in Him when there seems no reason to do so; to praise Him by loving Him in spite of difficult circumstances; to say to yourself, “I am God’s child and He loves me,” when everything around you is trying to say otherwise. I, of all people, should have learned this by now. I have suffered far more than I admit to those around me, and God has seen me through every bit of it.
“God is far more concerned with your character than he is with fixing all your problems instantly,” Charlie added. I want a quick fix to all life’s little and big difficulties, who doesn’t! But He has allowed these sufferings. In Romans Paul tell us that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope and that hope does not disappoint because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit (Romans 5). This is one of my favorite promises in scripture. It’s a threefold chord not easily broken when you think you’re hanging on by a thread.
This led me to think about how selfish my view of God has been until now. It has all been about what God can do for me, what I can get out of God. Granted, this is what initially draws many to the faith, and that’s okay. As a matter of fact I believe God designed it that way. But there comes a point when the hearts desire changes, when it is no longer all about me, but about what I can do for the Lord. What can I do for the Lord? Nothing. He doesn’t need me. He can do anything and everything without my input or help. He doesn’t rely on me for anything (and thank God he doesn’t because if He did, nothing would ever get done). This ‘what to do for God’ could better be described as a yearning to please Him, to make Him smile as a Father would his child. There is a stark contrast between striving to do stuff for God, as if our actions could win or lose His favor, and yearning for the smile of Heaven. The evangelist/author John Piper wrote an excellent book on desiring God and how finding joy in Him is the foundation of pleasing Him and fulfilling our purpose.
But to please God we must have faith. The Bible says that without faith, it is impossible to please God. So, God is restructuring my faith so that it better pleases Him, so that I find more joy in Him, which is exactly what I wanted in the first place! How ironic is it that the frustration resulting from being unable to go deeper with God will be the very thing that God uses to draw me closer to Him?
I left Waffle House that night very exhausted and still somewhat frustrated, but I knew that God was with me, that He hadn’t abandoned me and that He loved me, even if I didn’t feel it or think it or experience it in a tangible, explainable way. And I believe that’s the way God wanted it to be, to put principle into practice.
Charlie kindly paid for dinner even after I argued with him, classic Charlie. I left our waitress a hefty tip, but felt it lacked any real substance in comparison to what God could offer her, or what she could offer Him. Once outside I hugged Charlie good night and drove home.
As chance would have it, I ended up at Charlie’s house later on the night and spent some time in prayer before God with a friend, something I haven’t done in a long time. Again God reminded me that He wasn’t finished with me, that He has hardly begun. I told my friend a little of my evening with Charlie and he confessed to me the same longing to please God in his heart. There was a sweet presence at Charlie’s house as we prayed to our Father and even if there hadn’t been it would have been alright. When I finally went home that night I felt satisfied, like I had honestly pleased my heavenly Daddy in my yearning, in my suffering to find joy in Him. I fell asleep ready to meet with Him the next day, ready for the everyday adventure of having a relationship with Him.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Losing My Faith: The Problem with God in a Box
I have a headache, the kind you get from thinking too much. The past few days I’ve been battling doubt about my faith in God. I guess I’ve been dealing with it for a while now. I’ve just been able to push it to the back of my mind and pretend it isn’t there, until now. I’m afraid to admit it to myself, let alone anyone else. I guess the general consensus is that people who struggle with doubt have a weak faith, and therefore cannot possibly have a strong relationship with God (and with my group of people, this means everything). It makes sense too. A most basic principle in building relationships is an acknowledgment that there is someone there to have a relationship with. If I’m not even fully convinced that there is a God, how could I possibly have any semblance of a relationship with Him?
This is new for me. I can honestly say I’ve never doubted my faith in God, or should I say my faith in a God. Now I may have doubted some aspects of Christianity, whether or not this God actually loved me or cared about me, but I’ve always had an intrinsic knowing that there is at least a God. This is a different doubt, one that scares me far more than any in the past.
For so long I’ve had an intellectual understanding of what I believe, or what I think I believe (is that an oxymoron?). I have a very clear perception of truth within my framework of faith. Now that same intellect is causing me to question the very foundation that framework is built upon. Does God even exist?
I guess my biggest hang-up is this: could everything that I have experienced so far in my faith walk, from the simple experiences of fellowship to the more complex issues of operating under the influence of the Spirit of God, all be fabrications of the human mind? And have we corporately constructed a communal explanation for what we have experienced? Sometimes the Church (or maybe Christianity) feels like a huge machine that feeds on itself, pumping out relatively complex yet seemingly logical nuggets of belief that help it grow strong and become sturdy, tangible and real. Then there is the verse that says we walk by faith and not by sight. Is that a copout, a guilt-trip to keep us within an established framework and keep us from doubting? What about testing the Lord, to see if He is not faithful to those who follow Him? Those that follow Him always find that He is faithful to them, eventually.
And I guess that is the part that gets me, the ‘eventually’. “God came through for me, eventually.” “Even though it had to get worse first, eventually, He worked everything out to my good and His glory.” Anything can happen given enough time. Then there is this line, “well, I may never know His purposes, but He is so much bigger than me… I don’t need to know why that happened to me.”
I don’t mean to sound disrespectful and I’m definitely not trying to mock people of faith. After all, I am one. Its just that I’m frustrated with the system. I’ve never been a fan of programs, processes, or formulas. Even within the framework of my faith I have vehemently opposed the structured approach to knowing and experiencing God. That said, there are some elements to the way I believe God works that require order. Within that order I have reached a new threshold in my faith, in my relationship with God.
Up until know I’ve pretty much been your stereotypical guy as far as faith goes. Yes, I’ve bucked the system (organized church) more often than not, and in comparison with my parents faith I’m a bit revolutionary, if not liberal. But I am still, on the surface (and maybe that’s the problem), your typical follower of Christ. I go to church, even if it is a new model of church. I read my bible, even if it isn’t the KJV. I sing praise and worship songs, even if they tend to be on the bit more artistic side. I pray, even though it sounds a lot different from how my parents pray. And in all this I found Christ. I experience God and knew that He was real. But it is no longer enough. It is not satisfying to go through these obligatory motions day in and day out. My faith, literally, is no longer sustainable by mere routine and what I am beginning to see as somewhat trivial practices. I need something more, much more.
If there is a God, I feel like He is teasing me. You see, the more frustrated I become with my current position, the more I seem to meet people who have that something more that I so desperately want. My framework tells me that what they have is the Holy Spirit. Now, supposedly I have that too and I guess I do, but it is in a different way. These people seem alive in their faith. To them it is more than just a system of belief, it is more than a lifestyle. To them it is more than daily rituals or social activities. To them it is their essence, their life source. You could say they have been “baptized by the Holy Spirit,” if we wanted to give it a technical explanation, but I’m trying to get away from the technicality of it all. Sometimes these folks pray in what sounds like gibberish. When they talk to God they are so passionate they are at a loss for words, literally, and it comes out in incomprehensible syllables. I call this speaking in tongues. And while some of my more boring and fruitless compadres in faith don’t believe this to be “of God” or “valid to the faith,” I do. I have never experienced this, but understand its use and meaning within my framework of faith often better than those who have experienced it. Often these individuals who have been baptized in the Holy Spirit also experience other interesting facets of faith. These are people who experience the miraculous, who have such an interaction with the Lord on a level beyond the mind that words cannot describe and logic cannot explain (nor need too) what it is that they’ve experienced. Their spirit has been witness to that which the mind cannot comprehend.
Here in lies my problem: I want a faith that defies explanation. I don’t want to be able to rationalize what I experience in my faith, which so far is one that is, both personally and corporately, reducible to explanations of the human mind. I don’t want that. As odd as it sounds (especially to someone like me), I don’t want to understand what I believe. After all, isn’t that what faith really is, the belief in the unexplainable? I want to be so overcome by Him in whom I believe that I cannot explain Him. I’m not suggesting an emotional experience in and of itself either. Emotions have their basis in the mind, and that’s what I’m trying to avoid. I want a deeper reality than what the mind affords. The mind is a part of physical reality, and my framework of belief tells me that spiritual reality is even more real and more important than the physical word. So why then should I be satisfied with a faith that exists solely in cognitive reasoning, on a plane of lesser importance?
I want to realize God in a different way than what I currently do because how I know and experience Him now is limited to the confines of my mind. Never put God in a box, right? I think it works both ways. Never put yourself in a box either, because if you do the only way to see God is to put Him in there with you.
This is my prayer: God, take me out of this box. I don’t know how I got in here and I really don’t care. I just want out. I want to see you and know you and feel you in ways that these words seem inadequate to describe. Will you let your Spirit flood my box and break down its flimsy walls and wash me away from what I know? Break apart my framework so you can paint picture and take me on an adventure into the unknown where you are revealed for who you truly are. Take away my doubt by taking away my mind. Amen.
This is new for me. I can honestly say I’ve never doubted my faith in God, or should I say my faith in a God. Now I may have doubted some aspects of Christianity, whether or not this God actually loved me or cared about me, but I’ve always had an intrinsic knowing that there is at least a God. This is a different doubt, one that scares me far more than any in the past.
For so long I’ve had an intellectual understanding of what I believe, or what I think I believe (is that an oxymoron?). I have a very clear perception of truth within my framework of faith. Now that same intellect is causing me to question the very foundation that framework is built upon. Does God even exist?
I guess my biggest hang-up is this: could everything that I have experienced so far in my faith walk, from the simple experiences of fellowship to the more complex issues of operating under the influence of the Spirit of God, all be fabrications of the human mind? And have we corporately constructed a communal explanation for what we have experienced? Sometimes the Church (or maybe Christianity) feels like a huge machine that feeds on itself, pumping out relatively complex yet seemingly logical nuggets of belief that help it grow strong and become sturdy, tangible and real. Then there is the verse that says we walk by faith and not by sight. Is that a copout, a guilt-trip to keep us within an established framework and keep us from doubting? What about testing the Lord, to see if He is not faithful to those who follow Him? Those that follow Him always find that He is faithful to them, eventually.
And I guess that is the part that gets me, the ‘eventually’. “God came through for me, eventually.” “Even though it had to get worse first, eventually, He worked everything out to my good and His glory.” Anything can happen given enough time. Then there is this line, “well, I may never know His purposes, but He is so much bigger than me… I don’t need to know why that happened to me.”
I don’t mean to sound disrespectful and I’m definitely not trying to mock people of faith. After all, I am one. Its just that I’m frustrated with the system. I’ve never been a fan of programs, processes, or formulas. Even within the framework of my faith I have vehemently opposed the structured approach to knowing and experiencing God. That said, there are some elements to the way I believe God works that require order. Within that order I have reached a new threshold in my faith, in my relationship with God.
Up until know I’ve pretty much been your stereotypical guy as far as faith goes. Yes, I’ve bucked the system (organized church) more often than not, and in comparison with my parents faith I’m a bit revolutionary, if not liberal. But I am still, on the surface (and maybe that’s the problem), your typical follower of Christ. I go to church, even if it is a new model of church. I read my bible, even if it isn’t the KJV. I sing praise and worship songs, even if they tend to be on the bit more artistic side. I pray, even though it sounds a lot different from how my parents pray. And in all this I found Christ. I experience God and knew that He was real. But it is no longer enough. It is not satisfying to go through these obligatory motions day in and day out. My faith, literally, is no longer sustainable by mere routine and what I am beginning to see as somewhat trivial practices. I need something more, much more.
If there is a God, I feel like He is teasing me. You see, the more frustrated I become with my current position, the more I seem to meet people who have that something more that I so desperately want. My framework tells me that what they have is the Holy Spirit. Now, supposedly I have that too and I guess I do, but it is in a different way. These people seem alive in their faith. To them it is more than just a system of belief, it is more than a lifestyle. To them it is more than daily rituals or social activities. To them it is their essence, their life source. You could say they have been “baptized by the Holy Spirit,” if we wanted to give it a technical explanation, but I’m trying to get away from the technicality of it all. Sometimes these folks pray in what sounds like gibberish. When they talk to God they are so passionate they are at a loss for words, literally, and it comes out in incomprehensible syllables. I call this speaking in tongues. And while some of my more boring and fruitless compadres in faith don’t believe this to be “of God” or “valid to the faith,” I do. I have never experienced this, but understand its use and meaning within my framework of faith often better than those who have experienced it. Often these individuals who have been baptized in the Holy Spirit also experience other interesting facets of faith. These are people who experience the miraculous, who have such an interaction with the Lord on a level beyond the mind that words cannot describe and logic cannot explain (nor need too) what it is that they’ve experienced. Their spirit has been witness to that which the mind cannot comprehend.
Here in lies my problem: I want a faith that defies explanation. I don’t want to be able to rationalize what I experience in my faith, which so far is one that is, both personally and corporately, reducible to explanations of the human mind. I don’t want that. As odd as it sounds (especially to someone like me), I don’t want to understand what I believe. After all, isn’t that what faith really is, the belief in the unexplainable? I want to be so overcome by Him in whom I believe that I cannot explain Him. I’m not suggesting an emotional experience in and of itself either. Emotions have their basis in the mind, and that’s what I’m trying to avoid. I want a deeper reality than what the mind affords. The mind is a part of physical reality, and my framework of belief tells me that spiritual reality is even more real and more important than the physical word. So why then should I be satisfied with a faith that exists solely in cognitive reasoning, on a plane of lesser importance?
I want to realize God in a different way than what I currently do because how I know and experience Him now is limited to the confines of my mind. Never put God in a box, right? I think it works both ways. Never put yourself in a box either, because if you do the only way to see God is to put Him in there with you.
This is my prayer: God, take me out of this box. I don’t know how I got in here and I really don’t care. I just want out. I want to see you and know you and feel you in ways that these words seem inadequate to describe. Will you let your Spirit flood my box and break down its flimsy walls and wash me away from what I know? Break apart my framework so you can paint picture and take me on an adventure into the unknown where you are revealed for who you truly are. Take away my doubt by taking away my mind. Amen.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
If You Love Me, You Will Love The Church
Note: The other day got into an argument of sorts with a friend of mine. It was about why Christians with deeper faith walks stay at spiritually dead churchs. The argument kind of faded out, but was never resolved. So, I wrote him a letter not only to apologize, but to explain what I really felt. When I was done I had written a three page thesis on my heart for the church. I would have reworked it into a better format for a blog, but I think it would have lost part of its poigancy. So, I left it as it was in hopes that it might speak to someone else in the same way it has my friend (I have changed his name for his privacy).
Jonathan,
It is a quarter past 12 on Tuesday night as I write this. I just got your text message about our conversation on the drive back from Fort Valley and felt it was too late to call and I have too much to say to send in a text message. I feel the Lord is laying this on my heart, so I choose to write it down and send it in a letter because I don’t know when I’ll see you next and I don’t want to forget this.
First of all I want to tell you how special I think you are. Not just to me, but to the Lord. You are someone who exemplifies what it means to be Christlike. Yes, you are a little rough around the edges, and God made you that way on purpose, but your heart and love for the Lord is undeniable. I see you as one who has rejected the world’s false notions of what it means to be a man, and has discovered and personified what it means to be a man of God. Your integrity inspires me and your character challenge’s me to be Christlike also. What I sometimes see as stubbornness is really a testimony of how determined you are to follow God no matter what the cost. And while you are solidly rooted in Christ, your childlike faith reveals how God is sanctifying you, making you holy and completing the great good work that He started in you. The Bible says we (as brothers in Christ) should spur each other towards whatever is good and Godly. You challenge me to go deeper in my walk with the Lord. Proverbs says it best, “as iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.” So I thank God for our friendship and I love you with the love of the Lord. God has used you to minister to me in more ways than you know (and I know you know some particular instances).
Now that I’ve covered all the sappy (but true) stuff, I want to talk about tonight. I apologize for placing you in a position that made you feel like we were arguing. That was never my intention. I have a bad habit of doing that, making people think I’m arguing with them. Which, even though I don’t feel like I am, is exactly what I’m probably doing. Please forgive me.
So let me try and clear that up…
Here is what I felt like you were really asking: Why do people who know of the deeper things of the Lord go to church where they are not fed. Why do they settle for and be content with shallow doctrine. If this is not what you were asking I guess I jumped the gun and missed your whole point in the first place (which isn’t that unlikely knowing me). If so, I guess you can just disregard all this.
I think this is a very important question (kind of like the ‘once saved always saved’ debate) that has many answers. First, I think many of these people started their faith walks in churches that don’t teach the deeper things of the Lord in the first place. They, like you, probably became dissatisfied with the level of teaching they were receiving. Sadly, when this happens many give up on church altogether. Others, like you and I, find places that better meet our needs. We go to places like First Love or another church where we are fed the deeper things of the Lord.
So then, why not spend our time in fellowship with other believers discovering these more complex parts of our faith? Shouldn’t we desire to go deeper than the simple Sunday school lessons of our youth? Of course. BUT, I believe we have an obligation, a calling, to show our more simple-minded brothers and sisters the depth and height and glory of the God they claim to worship.
Think of it this way: one of the goals of evangelism to the lost is to show them that they are sinners and need God’s redeeming grace. So, we go to where they are at, “the highways and the byways,” as you would say. We go to their turf and share with them the gospel of Christ. I know we’ve had a conversation before about effective evangelism techniques and how so many times our church programs fail to reach the lost because we force them into our churchy environment and force them to play by our churchy rules. We leave them feeling like outsiders and like we condemn them because they are different. We push them away and they don’t want to come back. Instead, we should go to where they are, be that a pool hall or a night club or a party. Or even just their homes. We go to them on their turf and share with them the love of God by our actions in their environment. That way they can see something different about us and be drawn to Christ in us. Remember this conversation?
Anyway, I feel like the same idea applies to the dead church (lets be honest, that’s what it really is). I believe these people have relationships with God and I know they believe in Him and His glorious work on the cross. I have too. I would die of a broken heart if they didn’t. But I also recognize that their understanding of Him is very limited and sometimes down right wrong. This is the place that I come from, Jonathan. I grew up in this environment of powerless faith. By the grace of God I’ve been blessed to have found that a relationship with God can be more than worship services that drone on for hours and programs that have no lasting affect on my life. And I am humbled by it. I am unworthy of this. Nothing I did made me deserving to have this amazing thing we call a relationship with God. I was just as pious and self-righteous and clueless as those we look at now with all too judgmental eyes. These people have been given the gift of Christ just like we have. And they have accepted this gift just as we have too. They are a part of the bride of Christ. A line to one of my favorite songs says, “you cannot care for me (Jesus) with no regard for her (the Church), if you love me you will love the church.”
I feel that we, as Christians, have an obligation not only to the lost, but to our fellow believers as well. It was these kinds of Christians that led me to Christ in the first place. I cannot abandon them now. I cannot leave them behind when I’ve tasted what they could have in the Lord. I have to help show them the way! After all, iron sharpens iron, right? And what’s more is God wants them to know Him on this more intimate level that we have tasted. It is God’s will that not one should perish, yes. But how much more would it grieve our Father if those who took His gift ran off with it and never bothered to get to know Him deeper. Think about the group of lepers who went off dancing after Jesus healed them… only one came back to thank Him. Doesn’t that make you want to cry? How will they ever know God deeper if no one is there to tell them?
I think I’ve told you before that I feel my calling is to awake the apostate church (the dead church) to a life of power in the Lord. Tears are in my eyes now just thinking about all this. There is a passion in my soul to reach out to our family and show them just how great this Jesus guy really is. Maybe that is why I came across as argumentative tonight. My love for God’s church, His bride, is so strong I feel the need to defend her and fight for her no matter what. All to well I see her faults. But I long for her wedding day when Jesus sees her in all her beauty, when she has been purified and made clean. Made whole. I feel God plans to use me to do just that.
And they are listening, Jonathan. They do want more. The spirit of the Lord is in them if they have received Christ and He will draw them to Him. Their desire for Him may be covered up by years of hurt and bitterness or may be dampened by sin in their lives or a demon of religion, but it is there. I know it. I’ve seen it.
I use to be so critical of the modern church, the dead church. It frustrated me to no end, much in the same way I’m sure it does you. But the Lord has convicted me of being so critical towards His beloved. And when I allowed Him to take out my condemning eyes and see things the way He sees them, He gave me discernment into the hearts of His people. I see past the many veils they wear into their hearts where they do truly long to know their savior. It takes patients, often more than I have, but the Lord is disciplining me, showing me how to love. And that’s where it all starts, love. Just like in reaching the lost, we must show them God’s love.
That’s why I, personally, still attend what could be considered such a church. Because I do see life there, I do see Jesus awakening his bride. I really cannot speak for others, but that is my explanation. Please know that I in no way think that you condemn these people, or have given up on them. I know you love them, it’s obvious. I think maybe this is just a matter of different callings, your’s is to the lost; mine is to the not so lost… to the confused. And really, they are not that different of callings. They just lead us to slightly different places is ministry. Neither is more important to the other. If nothing else I hope to have shared my heart with you, what I feel the Lord has called me to. This is not ‘my side of the argument’. There really wasn’t an argument in the first place because we really don’t have conflicting opinions here. At least I don’t see any. This is just my response to your question. I guess I took your question in the wrong way at first. I see now that you weren’t condemning those who still attend certain churches, that you were really just curious as to why. You are a seeker just like me. Thank you for sharpening my iron. I only hope I’ve done the same for you.
Jonathan,
It is a quarter past 12 on Tuesday night as I write this. I just got your text message about our conversation on the drive back from Fort Valley and felt it was too late to call and I have too much to say to send in a text message. I feel the Lord is laying this on my heart, so I choose to write it down and send it in a letter because I don’t know when I’ll see you next and I don’t want to forget this.
First of all I want to tell you how special I think you are. Not just to me, but to the Lord. You are someone who exemplifies what it means to be Christlike. Yes, you are a little rough around the edges, and God made you that way on purpose, but your heart and love for the Lord is undeniable. I see you as one who has rejected the world’s false notions of what it means to be a man, and has discovered and personified what it means to be a man of God. Your integrity inspires me and your character challenge’s me to be Christlike also. What I sometimes see as stubbornness is really a testimony of how determined you are to follow God no matter what the cost. And while you are solidly rooted in Christ, your childlike faith reveals how God is sanctifying you, making you holy and completing the great good work that He started in you. The Bible says we (as brothers in Christ) should spur each other towards whatever is good and Godly. You challenge me to go deeper in my walk with the Lord. Proverbs says it best, “as iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.” So I thank God for our friendship and I love you with the love of the Lord. God has used you to minister to me in more ways than you know (and I know you know some particular instances).
Now that I’ve covered all the sappy (but true) stuff, I want to talk about tonight. I apologize for placing you in a position that made you feel like we were arguing. That was never my intention. I have a bad habit of doing that, making people think I’m arguing with them. Which, even though I don’t feel like I am, is exactly what I’m probably doing. Please forgive me.
So let me try and clear that up…
Here is what I felt like you were really asking: Why do people who know of the deeper things of the Lord go to church where they are not fed. Why do they settle for and be content with shallow doctrine. If this is not what you were asking I guess I jumped the gun and missed your whole point in the first place (which isn’t that unlikely knowing me). If so, I guess you can just disregard all this.
I think this is a very important question (kind of like the ‘once saved always saved’ debate) that has many answers. First, I think many of these people started their faith walks in churches that don’t teach the deeper things of the Lord in the first place. They, like you, probably became dissatisfied with the level of teaching they were receiving. Sadly, when this happens many give up on church altogether. Others, like you and I, find places that better meet our needs. We go to places like First Love or another church where we are fed the deeper things of the Lord.
So then, why not spend our time in fellowship with other believers discovering these more complex parts of our faith? Shouldn’t we desire to go deeper than the simple Sunday school lessons of our youth? Of course. BUT, I believe we have an obligation, a calling, to show our more simple-minded brothers and sisters the depth and height and glory of the God they claim to worship.
Think of it this way: one of the goals of evangelism to the lost is to show them that they are sinners and need God’s redeeming grace. So, we go to where they are at, “the highways and the byways,” as you would say. We go to their turf and share with them the gospel of Christ. I know we’ve had a conversation before about effective evangelism techniques and how so many times our church programs fail to reach the lost because we force them into our churchy environment and force them to play by our churchy rules. We leave them feeling like outsiders and like we condemn them because they are different. We push them away and they don’t want to come back. Instead, we should go to where they are, be that a pool hall or a night club or a party. Or even just their homes. We go to them on their turf and share with them the love of God by our actions in their environment. That way they can see something different about us and be drawn to Christ in us. Remember this conversation?
Anyway, I feel like the same idea applies to the dead church (lets be honest, that’s what it really is). I believe these people have relationships with God and I know they believe in Him and His glorious work on the cross. I have too. I would die of a broken heart if they didn’t. But I also recognize that their understanding of Him is very limited and sometimes down right wrong. This is the place that I come from, Jonathan. I grew up in this environment of powerless faith. By the grace of God I’ve been blessed to have found that a relationship with God can be more than worship services that drone on for hours and programs that have no lasting affect on my life. And I am humbled by it. I am unworthy of this. Nothing I did made me deserving to have this amazing thing we call a relationship with God. I was just as pious and self-righteous and clueless as those we look at now with all too judgmental eyes. These people have been given the gift of Christ just like we have. And they have accepted this gift just as we have too. They are a part of the bride of Christ. A line to one of my favorite songs says, “you cannot care for me (Jesus) with no regard for her (the Church), if you love me you will love the church.”I feel that we, as Christians, have an obligation not only to the lost, but to our fellow believers as well. It was these kinds of Christians that led me to Christ in the first place. I cannot abandon them now. I cannot leave them behind when I’ve tasted what they could have in the Lord. I have to help show them the way! After all, iron sharpens iron, right? And what’s more is God wants them to know Him on this more intimate level that we have tasted. It is God’s will that not one should perish, yes. But how much more would it grieve our Father if those who took His gift ran off with it and never bothered to get to know Him deeper. Think about the group of lepers who went off dancing after Jesus healed them… only one came back to thank Him. Doesn’t that make you want to cry? How will they ever know God deeper if no one is there to tell them?
I think I’ve told you before that I feel my calling is to awake the apostate church (the dead church) to a life of power in the Lord. Tears are in my eyes now just thinking about all this. There is a passion in my soul to reach out to our family and show them just how great this Jesus guy really is. Maybe that is why I came across as argumentative tonight. My love for God’s church, His bride, is so strong I feel the need to defend her and fight for her no matter what. All to well I see her faults. But I long for her wedding day when Jesus sees her in all her beauty, when she has been purified and made clean. Made whole. I feel God plans to use me to do just that.
And they are listening, Jonathan. They do want more. The spirit of the Lord is in them if they have received Christ and He will draw them to Him. Their desire for Him may be covered up by years of hurt and bitterness or may be dampened by sin in their lives or a demon of religion, but it is there. I know it. I’ve seen it.
I use to be so critical of the modern church, the dead church. It frustrated me to no end, much in the same way I’m sure it does you. But the Lord has convicted me of being so critical towards His beloved. And when I allowed Him to take out my condemning eyes and see things the way He sees them, He gave me discernment into the hearts of His people. I see past the many veils they wear into their hearts where they do truly long to know their savior. It takes patients, often more than I have, but the Lord is disciplining me, showing me how to love. And that’s where it all starts, love. Just like in reaching the lost, we must show them God’s love.
That’s why I, personally, still attend what could be considered such a church. Because I do see life there, I do see Jesus awakening his bride. I really cannot speak for others, but that is my explanation. Please know that I in no way think that you condemn these people, or have given up on them. I know you love them, it’s obvious. I think maybe this is just a matter of different callings, your’s is to the lost; mine is to the not so lost… to the confused. And really, they are not that different of callings. They just lead us to slightly different places is ministry. Neither is more important to the other. If nothing else I hope to have shared my heart with you, what I feel the Lord has called me to. This is not ‘my side of the argument’. There really wasn’t an argument in the first place because we really don’t have conflicting opinions here. At least I don’t see any. This is just my response to your question. I guess I took your question in the wrong way at first. I see now that you weren’t condemning those who still attend certain churches, that you were really just curious as to why. You are a seeker just like me. Thank you for sharpening my iron. I only hope I’ve done the same for you.
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