Rest

Maybe it is no longer just making it through the week, pining for the end. Maybe no longer ten steps ahead in conversation, looking from the outside in. Maybe no longer an escape from inevitable confrontation.

Rest. Maybe rest is no longer dissociation.

Maybe rest is being me, which I think means showing up to fight. Sticking around, not leaving, acknowledging that you affect me and that I will stay. Rest is saying that this is ok.

Rest then is seeing all of you. It is slow motion, it is sensual, it is feeling. It is your glance. It is your face, captured, illuminated, soft, strong, harsh, tangible, whole, human. In rhythm, in joy. Rest then is this delight not having to turn to shame.

Rest is sitting beside you, and becoming myself.

Look Who's #1

I just have to say that I feel blessed. Many factors contribute, one being college basketball. Not very often that your favorite team is number one in the nation. Although I have to say being a North Carolina fan your chances are higher than most ;)

And your other favorite team, Michigan State, is looking very promising at the #10 spot, their only loss a heartbreaker to the #2 team at the time, UCLA.

This is the current case, and it feels wonderful.

(I do realize that simply posting on this puts both of my teams in jeopardy of a major slump like jinx, but I can't resist).

This is Story

I met her at a show.My hands slipped through her hair.She listened to my story.Said I've heard all about you.Well it seemed she was sincere.But the conversation fled.He spoke through the prophets.Crucified for our salvation.He suffered and was buried.And on the third day he rose born again.She held my hand.Now wrinkles are for thinking.Old and weak I've become.The saint became a poet.That poet wants to fly.So show me the Kingdom.Where the angels come undone.As they marched into the rainbow river sky.Heal the wounded singer.Now he's on his way.They were dancing to the music.The shadow of the season.We tango'd through the sacrifice.Climbed the virgin hills.Walked straight up to the sunrise.Never had a reason.We released the blood upon the peasant land.She held my hand.
~Steven Delopoulos

An entire book can describe someone's life, but only a few lines of poetry are needed to describe one's experience of it. And only there do we find the real story.

You can sit with me for two hours talking about your past, but it will be that look on your face that can only be yours that tells me your experience of it. And in that look I find the real story.

Walls

The time change offered me another hour in the morning before church this sunday to finish up my sexual development paper. I hashed out the last bit of the sticky, rather-not-be-talking-about-this kind of paper and headed to church, still very much in it. The major theme that kept coming up was relational distance - what felt like an impenetrable wall separating me from the rest of the world.

In the room, in the people, in the singer, the words of the song, all came head on with the blockage, the feeling like no one had gotten through, the feeling that no one will ever get through. All a part of being so caught in the moment that certainty was bellowing from the room, but not a certainty of being right, but of hoping so much in what will be that it felt like it was already here.

The words spoke about a veil being torn, and that it is done. The symbolism slapped me in the face, and a feeling, or a voice, speaking over and over that it does not have to be this way. There was access. Intimacy was possible. To be known was possible. The wall has been blown to pieces. There is access and there is intimacy, and things do not have to be the same, because it is done.

Nelly Sayin It Right

Ok, some deep stuff came from an odd source as far as the topic goes. Lyrics from Nelly Furtado’s song Say it Right held some weight the last time I heard them.

From my body
I could show you
A place
God knows
You should know
Space is holy
Do you really
Want to go

I don’t want to go. And know few who do. I work at a psych hospital with patients doing everything they can to escape it. The arms of the adolescents sliced up, the adults detox-ing, eyes bloodshot. Their experience has not gone well. They went for it, massive disappointment came in after. Now slicing open their arms or poisoning their body to cope with the aftermath.

Of course I’m not that far off. Right away I think of the girls that get me, that make me so vulnerable when I’m around them, causing me to long, to remember, to think about what could be, and at the same time what was there in the past. Engagements so loaded. My heart skips, like a skip deep back into desire. Though the desire doesn’t exactly feel sexy. Even writing these words, revealing some of my desire, feels foolishly vulnerable, and I want to silence it all. The heart of desire carries with it the heart of pain.

Writing, feeling just a taste of the pain, I think of the most intense desire ever lived. It fits that we call the experience of the cross the passion. Desire taken to the heart of pain, and the way of redemption, and the way of resurrection. I can’t help but see how longing calls me to die – not just to die in an abstract sense, that sounds too sexy. But to really die in relationship, to actually feel like a part of yourself is about to implode in vulnerability with another. Falling forward, letting the rush of love surely disappoint, and in the center of that disappointment, redemption.

“It is always nice to hear how God has made your life go well, but it is when you have no reason to love God that when your talk of the love of God moves me to the core.” Dan Allender from the Wounded Heart

Sense of Touch

"Mystery is very different from a problem. While a problem can be solved, a mystery is inexhaustible. A problem can be held at arm's length; a mystery encompasses us and will not let us keep a safe distance." -Gabriel Marcel

When I think I know someone, I can know how not to know them, I know how to keep a safe distance. When I allow mystery, I allow for surprise. Mystery does not create distance, but horrifying nearness. Thank God we do not fully know Him, or we would choose not to know Him, for we would make Him all the things we continually want Him to be - money, sex, knowledge, power - anything we can control. The same for you an I, for not fully knowing you allows us to know each other far more than we may want to imagine. And that is what we don't want, and that is everything that we want. As spoken in the first words from the movie Crash:

“It’s the sense of touch. In any real city you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We’re always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.”

The Brothers In Town

Matthew and David in Seattle. Two different worlds coming together made for a great weekend, which definitely climaxed at the party saturday night. To have so many people I know meet the brothers was the coolest experience I've had in a long time. We thought about going out at some point but had too good of a dance party at the house. We stepped it up several notches - there was no need to dance anywhere else.
I hope I gave them a pretty good experience of Seattle. Running around Green Lake, Zoka's and Peete's, East Lake Bar, Sushi, Pike's Market, Golden Gardens, volleyball, and some good views of the city happened. Sleep didn't happen...mostly because two of us were sleeping on the floor every night, a cheap trip for the bros but not exactly plush. But we hadn't had that kind of time together in a long time, and I'm thankful for that. It was special to have family come to where I was instead of heading back to see them, which made Seattle feel a little closer to home.

Grandma

I felt led to write and to continue to remember last weekend, to remember my grandma who passed away last weekend, to remember everything about who she was and what she represented in our family.

Matthew came up with the idea of writing down memories of Grandma for my mom, and I was writing at the airport on the way to Louisville. I just started writing 'I remember' at the start of each sentence, and with each sentence came more and more stories and scenes, and all of a sudden my heart was swelling and the tears came. My mind entered back to the house, the kitchen and the living room, and the yard, and the trees and the street. I was struck how much I remembered that house, the trips in the summer, the place where I grew to know all my cousins, the place where family grew in each of us to hold so much importance.

And then, the same family all met again at Grandma's funeral. And I continue to think about that service, and looking across the pews and seeing every one of us in tears. And there is something about that moment that feels holy, and it feels like the greatest honor we could give her. And at the time it was all we wanted to do. I could see how much we all wanted to grieve, how much we wanted that space to be able to do so, to allow our hearts to take over, and allow us to honor everything she was. There is nothing worse than the pretense of being ok when all you want to to is grieve, and I am thankful that we could grieve, and hope we can for a long time and to have that be ok.

I am reminded of the importance of remembering, how in remembering my heart grows soft, how longing for what was inevitably causes me to then long more and more for what will come.

We Painted!

Finally! Knocked it out in about 4 hours. The color turned out so well (called Ryegrass). And the room looks sweet. We made some changes to it, and cleaned all the areas under the couches and such that have not been moved and cleaned for quite awhile, so we all feel like brand new. Good to have a little something different before the upcoming year begins next week.

Narcissistic Illusion

Some reflections on narcissism...

An emaciated soul
Is one that has run for so long on narcissistic illusions
That it can do nothing but vomit up any piece of reality and wholeness
One that resigns and sacrifices any fragile self left for the comfort of illusion
One that sacrifices any life left in place of the controllable, mundane, and ordinary

There is no sorrow, for illusions cannot be grieved
In place is the high tower of narcissism
Where no other soul can get near
Looking down everything is small, the size of this life, the size of this self

Its perfection ends up simply being the case because of its utter minute being
It knows not life, but instead what it means to be so safe as to be nothing
In attempting to hold onto something it has essentially become nothing

And the sheer madness of it all, what is so infuriating
Is its perfection in illusion that provides the appearance of such grandiosity, such supposed wholeness, which could not be farther from the truth
The madness is the irony - a perfection so attained that it has finally attained nothingness


I wrote out those words, and what hit me was the continual reference to perfection, and the paradox that comes out of having something so together that you essentially have nothing. There is something about anomaly and imperfection creating more life and not less. Yet how often in relationships I want to be something else, something not human, hold onto narcissism, and consequently end up living a small, pretentious, and mundane existence. The more I desire to not be human, the closer I get to be nothing at all.

Reminded on Living

I came across this writing the other night, a section of a book on Jim Elliott, a missionary who died and left us with a number of beautifully written journals. The one that always stuck out to me the most I read again last night. I am always moved by his passion. As the veil is lifted here at school and I see so many things that have been hidden, in a strange way I find myself wanting to be my own God. A miserable way to live. Especially when I am reminded of the passion of a heart that is caught up in delight with the real thing. Here's a bit of his passion. What a glorious way to live.

"Because, O God, from Thee comes all, because from Thine own mouth has entered us the power to breathe, from Thee the sea of air in which we swim and the unknown nothingness that stays it over us with unseen bands; because Thou gavest us from the heart of love so tender, mind so wise and hand so strong, Salvation; because Thou art Beginning, God, I worship Thee.









Because Thou art the end of every way, the goal of man; because to Thee shall come of every people respect and praise; their emissaries find Thy throne their destiny; because Ethiopia shall stretch out her hands to Thee, babes sing Thy praise; because Thine altar gives to sparrows shelter, sinners peace, and devils fury; because 'to Thee shall all flesh come,' because Thou art Omega, praise."

Dust

Coming into the local coffee shop, opening up my laptop, usually the first thing I notice is it's covered with dust. It doesn't seem dirty in my place. Something about the lighting, the atmosphere of a new place, provides the right illumination for me to see how dirty it really is.

Experiencing this the other day, right away I related it to my interaction with people. I can be going through the entire day, week, month, doing my best to not be seen. Then, at the right time, that person chooses to bring the right amount of light to step into my world, inevitably naming the things I don't want to name myself.

The person I experience this exposure with the most; my counselor (he does his job well, not always a fun thing...) The image I have is back in elementary school where we'd make the little volcanos erupt. The drop of baking soda into the mixture ignites the reaction. And I feel like I can't step into that office and sit on that couch without there being some inevitable reaction.

It is really more what he doesn't do than what he does. Usually I am doing everything I can to keep from being the one that casts that light, never wanting to create that awkward confrontation. He is there, speaking into what he sees and feels, not hiding, not blaming, just there. So often I feel like I have to be doing so much, but I see more how it's what I let myself not do that is needed - if I want to expose or be exposed - if I want to cast that light. A big if. It cuts, but the cut somehow brings life. And that is a blessed wounding. Blessed are the wounds of a friend.

Updates, Comments

The first thing to mention is a phenomenal Patty Griffin show. I think she mesmerized everyone with her stage presence and her strikingly powerful voice.

Well one of the highlights for me was nearly running into Dave Matthews on the way to the bathroom (small bladder finally paying off). He gave me a smile and I probably reciprocated with a confused, stupor-ish look. He ambled away with a very pronounced limp, and that was that.

As for other notes, I watched Peaceful Warrior this weekend, a movie that held some eerily similar views that the program here at MHGS has. Nick Nolte played this guy named Socrates, who consistently strummed off one liners of considerable depth and meaning. I think my favorite was the idea that a true warrior is one who knows how to sit in 100% vulnerability. Paradox, things never staying the same, and fully experiencing the here and now were a few more of the themes.

I also watched Freedom Writers. It was well done with a great, true story that seemed fitting for me in taking the Multicultural class I'm in. I've been reading this book on the history of multicultural america, and it is rediculous. It is so hard to read, because it is the truth about our country. Whites who conquered and viciously abused anyone who got in their way, naming their actions as the 'destiny of God.' Starting with Native Americans, then African Americans, Chinese, Japanese, Irish...the book is very weighty, and even saying that seems so trivial. So many stories that are worthy to be grieved over for centuries. How to even approach this?

I guess my two cents about what's going on in class that I don't like is when we (me and my caucasion classmates) try to defend our own racism today, when we want to give ourselves a voice instead of sitting in the discomfort of being wrong. Even when people say they are angry at the racism today, that just kind of erks me because in a sense then, we are attempting to say the right thing, and be the right ones in class, who aren't racist, who just need someone to hear us and know why we act this way or that. I think bottom line, we just need to sit in being wrong for a little bit at least, and know what it feels like to be the wrong ones for once - what any other race has to experience every day.

Carolina

"I had a dream last night, stood beneath an orange sky, with my brother and my sister standing by..."




The whole fam got together at our rustic cottage in the smoky mountains of north carolina. I think it was the most active week I've had in quite awhile, a good break from sitting on my butt in class, reading, or writing. They stocked the river soon after we got there, Matthew and I pulled out 7 trout each in a couple hours the first time down there. We were pretty good at forming somewhat of a schedule, a good set of rituals, each involving either playing or eating. Often started the morning out at the coffee shop, then got ready to head down to the river for fishing or tubing or volleyball. After dinner was back into town for ice cream, then came back to the cottage for a fire, listening to ray lamontagne, passin' back a couple beers. That's a pretty dang good routine if you ask me.

This was the first time being with the fam since the counseling program really shook things up in me. Interesting how seeing things in a way made me feel more distant, more removed, things not as I so often perceived them to be. What appeared in the past to be connection was really distance. However, ironically, this entering into reality, this seeing the distance, actually makes way for more connection. Seems like sometimes you have to get farther away to get closer.

Just one paradox after the other if you ask me...

Vashon

I'm about done with my time on Vashon Island, after two months spending time with a kid with bipolar disorder. It has been fun, and hard, and then not so hard....at least a lot easier than most of the autistic and behaviorally challenged kids I've spent time with this year. That is in large part due to the context I get to spend time with him on an island, on a large piece of land that surrounds his house, including a bunch of chickens, goats, cows, and turkeys (I forgot how much I like animals). After tutoring (which is the hard part emotionally during the day), the second half of the day involves planting on their small farm, water balloon fights, airsoft guns, forts, and painting among others. I also really enjoy riding the ferry over there every day. I will really miss this place. And most importantly, I'll really miss this kid (have to be ambiguous for the case) who I've just really started to get to know. Both in our connection when we laugh and play and in the recognition of his despair and hopelessness; the tough times when I get a glimpse into the war going on inside. Again, that's probably all I can say legally, but I am thankful for the time and sad it will end.

I Love Summer

Looks like I've found my home for the summer: the beach at Golden Gardens. After our hip-hop class we got something to eat and headed over to the soft sand and surreal views. I don't think I could ask for much more than sand volleyball on the water with sun setting on the mountains as a backdrop. I guess waves and warmer water would be even more of a bonus, but this more than works for me, and spending my whole weekend there was a telling of the many times to come this summer.
(Though I have to say that I have not tried Alki beach, located on the other side of the Puget Sound, which instead of the mountains, has the Seattle skyline as the backdrop.)

Portland Revisited

Another weekend in Portland. Eden played a show at the Hawthorne Theatre, a great place close to Mandi and Kathy's where we stayed.

On the way down we ended up talking a lot about the Object Relations book we're reading (grad student nerds), but it really led to some amazing conversation, which will probably make it to another blog...invaluable to be discussing this stuff as we're going through it. I am grateful to have friends to really be able to do that, who are as excited to talk about this stuff as I am, who don't just want to coast through this program. Could not be any more different than undergrad for me.

We grilled some burgers and had some drinks before Eden played (btw it's spring and I need a grill) and then after the concert we came back and grilled some more.

For sure the biggest laugh came on the way back, where we ended up at a fairly confusing stoplight/train track. Long story short, we ended up somewhere in the middle of where we were supposed to stop and the train tracks. Red lights blinking, I looked up to see the train gates directly above, descending quickly. We all froze as they landed on top of the car. Lynn backed up as the antenna held one of the gates, eventually letting go, flinging the gate back and forth. The train passed and we went on our way. A little scary how close we got to the train, but also probably the most I've laughed in a long time.

In a Nutshell part 2

Thought I'd give a short summary of what the past trimester has been for me. Instead of the string of statements I set out last time, I wanted to share what has been the highlight for me, my practicum II class (for those of you that don't know it's where we counsel each other). Right from the beginning there was something special about the group of 10 people.

So amazing to really feel like you were cared for, like people really wanted to see you, and that set up the possibility for each of us to risk enough to actually allow something greater than ourselves to happen. It was a taste of true community, and whenever that happens you are always left thinking how sweet that is and how little it happens in everyday life. Even thinking about it now, remembering, it feels to die for. Evokes so much longing.

It was culminated in our last meeting, where we each brought in something reflecting our experience with each other. I decided to write something of a poem. When it was my turn, I looked down at the poem, and I was struck by the depth of the words in front of me. They were so weighty. So packed with experience and meaning. I tried to speak them but could not. Instead came the tears. Eventually I got going, and slowly made it through, pausing often with each swell of emotion. I felt so vulnerable, so exposed. Though that did not feel like shame; instead I felt so much strength in speaking and naming the beauty held in each sentence, in each story, in each person. I was claiming the beauty I saw. Speaking into life and not allowing shame to come in and snatch that life away from me. To be given the space to speak and name the beauty of what we had was, as I said above, to die for.

I thought I'd share a bit of the poem, though only the beginning and the end due to confidentiality of posting online - the middle section highlights each of the individual experiences of the group. In place of the middle section I thought I'd put a picture that seemed to symbolize to me the beauty that comes out of wide open spaces. When we allow the space for each other to truly show up, when we don't let shame come in and take away our glory, something beautiful happens. I call the picture 'unashamed sky.'


"Those who function out of fear, seek security. Those who function out of trust and risk, seek freedom." - William Hurt
We came seeking freedom, and grew to know the great cost that freedom calls forth. Risk, trust, tender tears, harsh tears, fierceness, feistiness, much space, little space, familiar safe camps, unfamiliar darkness, eyes closed, hands held out, risk, and more risk....

...We speak on behalf of freedom. Freedom to risk that we may utter the words of our true selves. For to speak the true words of our heart is to speak the words of God. We have seen glimpses of each of our hearts, we have seen the true words, and they hold the treasures of the Kingdom.

Portland

A couple pics from the trip down to portland where I stayed with my friends Mandi and Kathy, to add to Justin's post. Good times. The way down we got to be one of the first to hear Eden's new CD coming out soon. The highlight though had to be when Eden and Justin and I were sleeping the family room, and in the middle of the night, pitch black, I wake up to hear Justin reciting something that had a little taste of our faith, hope, and love and marriage and family classes. It was something the like of "The family, not my loss, but their glory." Even in his sleep J trying to grow glory.

The pics...Justin wearing Eden's cardigan (I forget how that transpired), me testing out a few drinks, and Justin with his leftovers contained within a sword made out of aluminum. It was good to get away. Hopefully next time it will be to the mountains.

More Quotations...

"Every woman is in some way searching for or running away from her beauty and every man is looking for or avoiding his strength. Why? In some deep place within, we remember what we were made to be, we carry with us the memory of gods, image-bearers walking in the Garden. So why do we flee our essence? As hard as it may be for us to see our sin, it is far harder still for us to remember our glory." - Brent Curtis

I feel like it is far easier for me not to think of the glory you hold in who you are, because then I don't have to be disappointed when our engagement with each other is much less than glorious. When I really don't like who you are, it is much easier to say that you don't hold much value than to take responsibility for the ways we have disconnected. Contempt for you is so much easier than mourning what has not happened.

To truly know and believe in the glory you hold calls me to pursue that part of you, to love you in a way that calls both of us out of our hiding, where we have to decide whether to show our face or not.

How many times I have written off and been written off by others as uninteresting or inconsequential. To feel the depth of glory in every human being calls me to continue to pursue you, because I know that underneath my assumptions of who you are there is so much more. There is enough beauty and creativity and sweetness and strength in your heart to deeply move and shake mine. How hard is it to know that when we don't like each other! Assumptions are much easier to live in than glory.

And it is far easier to think of what is than what we were made to be.

Liminal Spaces in Time

"If thou dost more rely upon thine own reason or industry, than upon that power which brings thee into the presence of Christ, it will be long before thou become enlightened; for God will have us perfectly subject unto him, that being inflamed with his love, we may transcend the narrow limits of human reason." Thomas Kempis

I came across this reading the other day and it evoked these thoughts in me. Thinking of counseling, I was reminded that despite my attempts to get the right words out there, I do not reason with someone's soul, I engage it with my own. It is in knowledge and reason that we know of time and limits, and it is in love that we know of eternity held in a moment, of expanses of depth and meaning and beauty that transcend any reason or formula. We were made for those moments, those liminal places, where the boundaries between what is now and what will be are blurred. It is in those liminal places where the kingdom is as here as it can be. And still not quite yet.

Risky Worship

"Even the most courageous among us only rarely has the courage for that which he really knows." - Nietzsche

In Isaiah 30:9-11, the people ask the prophet for illusions. They want to hear 'pleasant things', things that will make them feel nice. They don't want to hear the truth. They want lies. They ask for pretense.

And that is me. Because I know that if I really were to let myself express the deeply hidden, tender wounds of my heart, I would most likely weep uncontrollably - and if I really let myself go, I would probably destroy the very room I am in. I got to experience a bit of that feeling of truth this past week, and it felt like grace to have someone say he would vouch for me in my desire to throw a chair through the wall. That my story is worth more than a room was new to me.

It is even more new for me to hear that God would call that worship. I'd much rather take the easier route of worship and sing songs on Sunday than take the risk of valuing my story enough to actually let it affect me, and those things (or people) around me.

Severe Rush of Life

Self-portrait

It doesn’t interest me if there is one God
Or many gods.
I want to know if you belong or feel
Abandoned.
If you know despair or can see it in others.
I want to know
If you are prepared to live in the world
With its harsh need
To change you. If you can look back
With firm eyes
Saying this is where I stand. I want to know
If you know
How to melt into that fierce heat of living
Falling toward
The center of your longing. I want to know
If you are willing
To live, day by day, with the consequence of love
And the bitter
Unwanted passion of your sure defeat.

I have been told, in that fierce embrace, even the gods speak of God.

-David Whyte
From Fire In the Earth

Can I speak of a God who creates a love that He cannot even control? Can I know a God who allows His own self to not know, to wait, expectantly sit, and let His creation experience the beautiful and dreadful tenacity of love? In that moment, even the gods speak of God. Where God takes a deep breath and experiences the severe rush of life.

If this is not the case, can God not be moved?

Caleb

This weekend at class we got into some good niece and nephew moments, and I brought up one of my favorite ones I had heard of from my nephew Caleb, the coolest 3 year old around, a little miniature, uninhibited version of my older brother.

Caleb came out of the bathroom with no clothes on, flailing around, shouting, "mommy, mommy, look at my penis! It's huge! My penis is huge!"

Raw, uncut Caleb right there. How cool is it to see the freedom in pronouncing whatever it is he is excited about. How cool is that and how sucky is it when shame comes in. I think I have some serious envy in that freedom of self-expression. He cracks me up so much. So joyful to see his face light up, his playful side completely illuminated. I delight in his foolishness. How much I wish I could delight in my own foolishness.









What a stud.

Rich

More and more I see how it is in the surprise, and not formulation, where life's richest experiences lay. How often is it that in the conversation where you really see the other person, it is not formulated by control, but in the letting go to let yourself be who you are. In the risk of allowing yourself to really be seen, to really be known, and to have someone delight in that presence - that feels like really living.

I believe that it is in the idiosyncrasies where we fall in love, the little things that can only come from the whole of who we are - it had always been that look that could've only been hers when she had my heart. Sitting with close friends, it is not the topic of conversation, but simply the people you are with. And it is not in the joke, but the ensuing laugh that can only be yours that makes the moment.

It is surprise, it is the grace that comes in not because of what you have done, but what you have allowed there to be. Strange how it feels like grace for me to actually allow myself to enter into conversations with people who will simply enjoy the part of me that is really me. And those relationships feel like grace, because they are so rich, and they have so much life.

My Inner World

True freedom for me has everything to do with my ability to believe in the fact that I am worth it to be free.

Triple Door

A couple weeks late, but thought I'd still post the night with Joshua Radin and Schuyler Fisk. A good show at an amazing venue (The Triple Door). I have already introduced my appreciation of his music in a previous blog (Creative Perfection) so no need to go any further. Though I see why he tends toward the whisper in his songs. He does not have the range with his voice to amaze in his live shows, but still put on a good performance.

The Word

"Thus to speak a true word is to transform the world." - Paulo Freire

How crazy is it when words have such meaning, yet they cannot penetrate, they cannot incite, they cannot reach your guts. And then in that moment, in that right time, they carry the weight of the world in their utterance.

I am beginning to see the difference between that which is simply verbalism, and that which is the spoken word that enters into the soul of the other. To speak the latter is to 'transform the world.'

It is the difference between actually living in the world or simply watching it go by, the difference between actually seeing someone or being surrounded by strangers. The true word, if we will take the risk, if we will choose to show up and speak it, will transform our worlds.

Dying to Live and Living to Die

A head on encounter with my own self in the past several weeks has led me into what seems like a paradoxical locus, a place where once again two apparently opposing ideas must be embraced at the same time.

The one side is where I find myself in practicum, the side that continually looks into the heart of my own self, the part of me that is truly me. I thought I knew who that was. But as my facilitator breaks down the paradigms that have clouded my own perception of me, I have begun to see the very raw parts of who I am.

Over the years of people pleasing and worrying about what others think and say, by conforming to what I ‘should’ do instead of what I desire to do, I have forfeited my own voice and lost my own self. This loss of self has often been compounded in the Christian realm, where I am even more susceptible to be led into areas of conformity and comparison. Even more than that, Christ calls us to ‘die to ourselves,’ and this phrase can be used to create a context where there is so much ‘God’ that there is no real place for a person. God’s will can become so infused in our thinking that we believe that this transcendent, mysterious God is all we are, yet forget that getting to our true, personal sense of volition and desire is exactly where God is.

Sitting in my counseling session last week, I was asked how I felt, and I responded in all honesty that I really did not know. For the life of me I couldn’t put a name to my feelings, because I wasn’t feeling anything. The next question was why I was not feeling anything, and then I realized again that I had been so conscientious to follow the lead of the instructor, so careful to please him and do what he would think is ‘right,’ my own self was lost and all of my feelings with it. I was lost. I was caught in the idea that a good Christian is kind and makes sure that no one gets upset. My own version of dying to my self often leaves others trying to communicate to a robot.

What do I do with the fact that I am to continually die to my self as Christ calls me to do, and at the same time fight for my own volition, my desire, my wants and my needs? This seems to be the locus, the place where dying and living are fused together in contradiction.

How do I carry both of these at the same time? I think the first step is to deconstruct my own paradigms of what dying to my self and what it really means to live. It is not a weak, self-pitying, indifferent disposition that forfeits my side. And at the same time, truly living is not a pompous, selfish greed that takes whenever it wants. It is so easy to polarize, to end up on one side, and so testing to sit in the tension of both living and dying. But knowing where we have formed our conceptions of each side is a place to start, and that seems to be where I am sitting right now.

Broken Beer Bottles

After the last set of marriage and family therapy intensives last week, I left in between feelings of doubt and excitement. Dan Allender, in his customary dramatic manner, spoke often of the hostile environment marriage counseling produces. He likens it to two arenas: a mud wrestling match or a bar brawl. “Have you ever been in a context where someone is trying to take a bottle that they just consumed and split your head open? Have you ever been hit in the face? Have you ever been knocked down? Have you ever been kicked in the stomach? Again, these are metaphors. Maybe.”

Good Lord. This is not what I signed up for. I picture myself in control, the couple attentive, amicable and agreeing. Dan makes me feel like I better bring a bullet proof vest to work everyday. Maybe I should’ve stuck with engineering. Math problems are much easier to solve than human beings.

To compound what feels like a monumental task is the fact that I would characterize myself as a ‘nice boy.’ This is part of a typology we have used in class, where a nice boy steers away from confrontation, one who will often agree to avoid conflict. Where does a nice boy fit into a bar brawl?

This is what I was left with, holding both a discouraged and excited self at the same time. Yet while I have a lot of work to do, and while I may be a ‘nice boy,’ I know there is a drive and passion that dismisses me from that same label. And Dan has reminded me of the call to step out of safety and into war.

I am reminded that Christianity is not an escape to a peaceful heaven, but a call to engage in the horrific injustices of this world. You will have to fight and lose terribly, get bloody and angry and suffer and scream at God, and actually feel something for this world, rather than pose an indifferent smile. How often I want to forget this. How often I want to turn down the knob of reality. How often I want to escape into a 'spiritual' place, yet I forget that my flesh and blood is spiritual, and we are called to engage in the flesh and blood of life.

Room for Glory

I am obviously entrenched here at Mars Hill in the study of psychology. It is incredibly interesting and so valuable for me to engage in, to really get a better picture of my own self, why I do the things I do, my motives, etc. It has uncovered a great deal (though I have only scratched the surface I’m sure), and I think anyone really going into ministry, whether a pastor or a counselor, should know more deeply who they are, to be attuned to the entire operating system that is continuously in flux below what we know as consciousness.

However, amidst all of the psychology, all of the explanations of life, I still feel there’s much space and mystery in me that cannot be explained by science and psychology. Psychology does not fully encompass and portray the complexity of the human condition. Psychology does not define me as well as Christianity. I do not come alive by psychology – I come alive when I experience the spirit of Christ. Why after spending so much time in the books, reading about who I am, do I never get the feeling, the rush of life and confidence about who I am as I do when I feel moved by the spirit of God in worship? Last semester, in my counseling sessions, I would often try to bring much of what I have learned in class, psychological principles, etc, to my time. While that would help, it would not compare to the presence I would bring when I felt moved by the Spirit, when I really felt like I was walking with the Lord. My facilitator would be taken aback by this presence, very noticeable and different.

Quantum physics seems to reveal this same mystery that traditional science and psychology cannot explain. Much of psychology wants to be able to explain every action by a causal relationship down to the biological event that takes place. They want to reduce every emotion and movement to the root, which they say starts with the neurons that fire in your brain, bringing a chain of biological reactions that lead to your action. This is what you would call a reductionistic approach, where all explanations of life and consciousness are reduced to the operations of the 3 pound chunk of brain tissue in your head.

And here is where quantum physics is revealing something different. They are finding that the further one tries to go down the scale of physical reality, the less material there appears to be. In fact, the farther we reach into the minute space of quantum physics, the more reality seems to consist of nonmaterial information. Instead of something physical, there is space and mystery, more pure potential for matter or energy or something of the like but they are not sure what. (What the Bleep Do We Know attempts to explain this)

Thus the mind is being revealed as something that is greater than the sum of the parts that support it. The whole – that being human life and consciousness – is more than the sum of all the biological parts that make up the human body. There is mystery, there is room for the spirit, for that which is greater, to dream up a world outside of that which is caused by neural firings.

So the point of this, for me, is to again by humbled by my own endeavor to learn all that psychology attempts to explain about my own self. There is more than me knowing everything. Information only gets me so far. I can gain all the knowledge in the world, yet this same knowledge will be my downfall, for I will be too arrogant to be able to simply engage in a genuine way that will really create transformation in the other person. There is learning, and then there is being. Psychology focuses more on the knowing, and the gospel focuses on the spirit, the attitude, the engagement and presence. The learning focuses on reductions, which is helpful and needed, but can be rather anemic, fairly dull, tedious. Being, on the other hand, is rich and beautiful. It is art. It is life. It is greater than fact. Being leaves room for Glory. And Glory is the richest life has to offer. And if we have hearts to engage in this spirit of being, we can then see the Glory that exists, the Glory that is pulsating out of all that is. This picture reveals both Glory and information. But it encapsulates life much better by the sum of the colors and objects laced together as a whole, than what any of them reveal on their own. As a whole, this picture reveals Glory. It is packed with expression of that which is greater than itself.

May we have eyes to see Glory, may we see through the lens of being, of wholeness, may our spirit bring a greater presence than what we know. Instead of simply talking with each other and exchanging information, may we engage in a way of being with one another that reveals the Glory of God. May our hearts have much room for Glory.

Classes

I thought I'd share to those outside of the school the new classes of the semester.

Practicum II - where we counsel one another and have the rest of our group watch. The best word to describe the experience was spoken by a classmate during our orientation: nauseating. It is intense enough to counsel someone, let alone having an entire group analyze you as you do it. We also meet outside of class to counsel each other on our own, and meet with a staff person to be counseled. That's a lot of counseling...(i think about 6 hours a week)

Marriage and Family Therapy - We get Dan Allender again, and the first set of intensives last week were good, though didn't quite have the punch that Faith, hope and love did for me. Still very good though. The first paper this week is on gender, God's design on this, specifically applying it to marriage. Definitely a difficult topic today, as we saw last semester with the people against fundamentalism attempting to protest against some of Mark Driscoll's comments on women.

Impact of Abuse - I'm pretty interested in this class, where for the first time I will really start to get a picture and engage in the harsh realities of domestic violence in the world, its affects and how to care for so many who have experienced the devastating consequences. Sexual violence, oppression, racism; all topics that cry out for one of the key themes of the Gospel, which is justice.

History of Therapeutic Perspectives - I don't know much about this yet, it just looks like it covers the major counseling theories and the men and women who formed them. Lots of psychology.

Celtic Spirituality - a one credit 'spiritual formation' elective that I needed to take that meets just one weekend. Interesting but probably least excited about this one.

Thin Blue Lines

I have been moved to express my two hour experience of church this morning. And once again, as has been the case every time I sit down to write - the onerous task of transferring experience into words on a page, providing the reader a little bit of the fullness of what happened. The joy and art of words and language...attempted again today.

In the midst of what I have described before as death in this deconstruction here at Mars Hill, this morning I found myself worshipping in the midst of life and what I know to be true. My certainty was found in these moments, within a spirit lifted so high I felt all but a thin line between me and heaven. Lost in the moment, my body open to move and sway wherever it pleases. Where I was given the full sense of what it means to be a man. Where I was given the fullness of what it means to feel.

All of this centered on words bellowing out by those around me, singing,
“All my delight is found in you Jesus.”

The power of those words in that room - ineffable yet indelibly formed into my memory.

There may have to be doubt for there to be faith, but there is also a certainty in His presence. How can one argue with a heart that is made fully alive?