Why is sadness a bad thing? Should we all always allineate with the herd? Fish find fluid fine to breathe, That is their reality; their particular world. What if sadness is mine? The air that circulates in my lungs; The Oxygen coursing through my veins Bringing life to the cells that structure this frame? Who are you, Happy Person, to judge my reality?
Yes, tears stand ready to serve me at a drop of the hat. And, yes, my throat tightens and constricts when I gaze at you. What makes that any different than the derision that you Hold for me that erupts in guffaws and laughter?
No! You don’t get to judge my world. But, I will hold yours responsible for the Hurt; the damage and destruction that your Unreasoning judgment has wrought on me And those who limp through this existence Like I do.
My sadness is my crown and You cannot take it from me.
While it may be true that the Sun will come up today somewhere, a shadow remains over my heart. I can’t see what’s casting that shadow.
The darkness is palpable. A chill has settled over the verdant fields of my soul. The bright colors of green, yellow, and red have become monochromatic; gray and dull.
Where are the birds that skitter in the bright, blue sky? Their songs expressing joy and gaiety in far better language than 240 characters allow.
Have the deer lost their ability to bound over the hills and through the vales that texture my dreamscape? It seems so.
But, as I approach retirement sometime next year, I’ve spent considerable time in self-reflection. I search within to see if there actually has been any purpose to this life of mine.
I find little there.
Yeah, I followed the path that stretched before me. A path, by the way, that was mapped and defined by minds and wills other than my own. I have had my shares of humanity’s ubiquitous ‘Ups and Downs.’ Clearly, nothing out of the ordinary. I experienced many things that others have not. Some good; some not so much. Overall, my time walking this life has been functional, yet nondescript.
I have not had to struggle like so many in the world. Creature comforts have been available to me. I don’t need to walk 5 miles to a common well in order to have water to drink. There are several taps in my house that readily deliver that life sustaining liquid. Nor, am I required to sit and beg or dive into dumpsters for food. My local Mega Mart has everything that I could possibly want or need to satisfy the grumbling in my gut. Clothes, shelter, family…all of the things that seem to define the so-called American Dream have materialized before me.
So, what do I lack? For I must lack something.
In all of my travels and experiences I have never truly experienced happiness.
Maybe, happiness is simply overrated. I was told many years ago that as a Christ follower I should have something called ‘Joy.’ They said that happiness is nothing but a counterfeit version of Joy. We should not seek that at all.
But, when in every waking moment it feels like I have a Dementor from the world of Harry Potter sitting on my shoulder, well, something is amiss.
People I talk to about this don’t understand. They look at the stuff I have and the things that I’ve experienced and tell me that I should be glad.
Yet, the emptiness, the sadness remain.
“See a doctor and get some medication because what you describe sounds like simple depression that can easily be treated.”
Nope. Been there; done that. Medication doesn’t help. It only flattens my emotions until I feel nothing at all. Better to feel pain than everlasting numbness.
“Jesus is the answer to all of your problems.”
I’m sorry to say that’s simply not true. Contrary to what so many in the fundagelical world say, there is no God Shaped hole in us that only Jesus can fill. But, there does seem to be something that is missing. But, God isn’t it.
“Eat, drink, and be merry,” Qoheleth encourages. For what else is there for humanity to enjoy? Well, I can do one of those three things. Drinking is off the table because, well, I’m a recovering alcoholic and that wouldn’t be a good thing. Be merry? Well, that’s kind of the point of this post. Being merry eludes me.
Now, before anyone decides that I must be broken and that you are the one person in the world appointed to fix me.
Don’t. Please.
I’m not broken.
Sad? Yes.
Lonely? Ok.
Unsatisfied? Definitely.
But, this is how I feel. And, yes, feelings matter.
I have no intention of throwing in the towel and surrendering to despair. I also have no intention of lying to myself about my own reality.
Yesterday I shared a post by Carl McColman entitled “The Contemplative Life in Three Easy Steps.” I mentioned how I shared his perspective on prayer as it may evolve over time. From a simply legalistic view to a more unitive, contemplative view.
My own prayer and faith keep me on my toes. What I thought was simple yesterday has today become more involved. And, in some cases tossed on the trash pile. Such is the way faith and faithfulness works. It’s not static or one size fits all. I’m thankful for that. At the same time, I wish that it wasn’t so. I think it would be much easier if the faith once given and accepted would remain as it is. Yeah, people should grow and mature. But, the Faith? Nope. It should be bedrock and unmovable.
It appears, though, that God has a sense of humor. God gets Divine Jollies by tossing curveballs at us. What we thought and believed yesterday no longer applies. The things that we ignored or rationalized by saying that believing is seeing, rather than seeing is believing are acceptable for children and infants. Not so much for mature adults. It’s sad that so many adults don’t understand that. But, that’s a topic for another post.
Over the last several years I have struggled with faith. Especially, as it was described to me in the Evangelical churches I was a part of. In fact, after I left the last church in 2012 I had difficulty even walking into any church. Church PTSD is a real thing. Even today there are certain churches that I become severely anxious walking into.
That said, I have begun to understand a bit better where some of these folks are coming from. While there are wide gaps in our understanding of theology, God, the Bible, etc., there is also a kinship that cannot be denied. With any sibling relationship there are bound to be rivalries. Familial disagreements and arguments will flair up. Some of them will most assuredly be difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile. That’s the reality of things.
Is that the way things should be? Perhaps not. But, it is the easiest way.
It’s easy for me to look at people like Robert Jeffress, Jerry Falwell, Jr., or Sarah Sanders. These are people that it’s very easy for me to dislike and regard in a poor light. After all, everything that they seem to say looks like it’s contrary to the “clear teaching of Scripture.” That’s funny, because I’m usually the first one to say that there is no such thing. The Scriptures are multifaceted. There really is no one, clear way to understand all of it.
So, I’m left with choices. I can make the easy choice and simply dismiss these people as dismally misguided. Even as heretics! And, I can provide a sound Biblical basis for that pronouncement. I could even find justification by pointing the many, many victims of the toxic theology that sometimes comes from these folks.
I could also choose to not go there. I can choose to accept that we are not all at the same point on our journeys. We may not even be on the same path! If we are, however, trying our best to walk where God desires us each to walk, then we are still fellow travelers. Maybe even siblings.
There’s a lot more that I may unpack about this. One blog post isn’t a statement of faith. Nor, can it be comprehensive in scope.
If you would like to share a bit of your story, please use the comments. And, be sure to select Subscribe in the sidebar to receive notifications about future posts.
At my age it seems like no big deal. One year looks pretty much
like the last and the last.
However, during the last bit of 2018 my heart began to move in a
new and different direction. I’m not sure what that even means. Perhaps, I’ll share some of it
as I see it more clearly.
Until then, though, I want to share something from Fr Thomas
Merton. Merton was a Trappist monk who lived at the Cistercian monastery at
Gethsemani, KY. His writings are golden for those of us called to a more
contemplative path toward faith. Here is how he recorded a personal epiphany.
This is something that more of us would do well to consider and embrace.
“In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all these people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness, of spurious self-isolation in a special world. . . .
This sense of liberation from an illusory difference was such a relief and such a joy to me that I almost laughed out loud. . . . I have the immense joy of being man, a member of a race in which God Himself became incarnate. As if the sorrows and stupidities of the human condition could overwhelm me, now that I realize what we all are. And if only everybody could realize this! But it cannot be explained. There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun.
Then it was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts, the depths of their hearts where neither sin nor desire nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality, the person that each one is in God’s eyes. If only they could all see themselves as they really are. If only we could see each other that way all the time. There would be no more war, no more hatred, no more cruelty, no more greed. . . . But this cannot be seen, only believed and ‘understood’ by a peculiar gift.”
This past week was hard. I wrote and posted some pretty harsh words. The topics engender my ire and stoke my passion. Injustice and hatred have always been triggers for me. The issues that I wrote about are absolutely links in chains that bind many, many people. I would love to see those links broken, lying on the ground in pieces. So, I write about them hoping that my words may enlighten and encourage others who struggle, as I have. There are other links and other chains, though, that are just as binding. These are ones that bind us to a particular path in life. They hold us fast to iron fixtures that are fastened to the cold, stone of dungeon prisons. We all have them. They are made up of the expectations that we, and others, have piled on us over the years. The lost or missed opportunities to pursue our dreams are the bolts that secure the chain. Words that may have been meant to guide, yet became the shackles that have held us fast, unable to move. When I was young I remember wanting to make things that people liked. I drew pictures. I made up songs and dances. I was a kid! And, kids do these things as expressions of what they are learning. We all wanted our productions, our ‘art,’ to be accepted. How many of us who drew a picture that our mom or dad just gushed praise on said, “Here! Wait! I’ll do another one!” Then we ran off to our paper and crayons and instantly produced another masterpiece. Just walk into any American home today where young children live and take a look at the refrigerator. Most will have all kinds of magnets that secure the work of a budding Renoir or, maybe better, a young Picasso. “Here! Look what I made!” We grow older, but the desire to create things that please oneself and others is still there. We just choose other ways of expressing that creativity. For me, it was music. I was blessed, (cursed?), to grow up when rock was young. Bands like The Beatles and Jan & Dean were popping up all over. Folk music was at the pinnacle of its popularity. I remember standing in our living room with The New Christy Minstrels playing “Green, Green” on our mono record player while holding a tennis racket like a guitar. Yep! The beginnings of air guitar right there. My parents thought that I might like learning how to play the real thing. So, at 9 years old, I was presented with my first instrument. I don’t remember the brand. I just remember that it was a big old acoustic with a warped neck. I couldn’t even press the string to the fretboard past the third fret. But, it was mine! My dad signed me up for lessons at a local music store. “Gardner’s Academy of Music.” My teacher was the owner. King Gardner. He was an older guy, thinning hair and a mustache. After taking lessons for a while it became apparent that the instrument I had was woefully inadequate. So, my dad parted with $80 to buy me a red sunburst Harmony Rocket. Wow! My first electric guitar! King also sold us the small Danelectro amp that we used in his studio. I was set. Watch out world! Here I come! I joined my first band when I was 12. We knew, I don’t know, about 8 songs. But, that was enough to play parties and some dances. And, if nothing else, we were loud! I continued to play and learn. At one point I spent about 8 hours everyday practicing. I walked around thinking guitar and playing air guitar. My dad used to chide me, “What? Are you afflicted? One hand waving in the air and the other scratching your navel.” Soon, though, reality began to set in. At least for those people who knew better. My parents began to press me toward learning something that I could actually make a “real” living at. Aunts and Uncles soon joined that chorus. I had to listen. They were older and wiser that I was. “You can have it as a hobby, of course. But, you’ll never make a living doing that.” Ok. I kept playing in small bands on weekends. It was fun, I guess. But, the joy of discovery and forging a new path in the Unknown was gone. What had once been a fiery passion had now been tamed. As B. B. King once sang, “The Thrill is Gone.” Of course, his song was about a relationship between two people. It was still fitting for me, though. A link was forged. The chain made longer…heavier. I share this because I think that we all have similar experiences. We find something that fires our passions. We find joy, love, acceptance, and accomplishment. Then, someone comes along and says, “Well, that’s real nice and all. But, it’s not real.” Or, “That thing will never fly, Orville.” Over years we listen to these voices. Many times, perhaps most, it’s our own voice telling us these things. We become so conditioned to what’s right or acceptable that we learn that language and speak it to ourselves. I don’t know. I’m just rambling. Maybe, it’s the time of year. Maybe, it’s the time of life. They say we can never go back. And, they’re right. But, maybe we can start something new. Maybe there’s still hope for that child who was so full of wonder and delight to poke an impish face around that corner and say,
I grew up in a small neighborhood. My street had 3 houses on it and what seemed like miles and miles of woods. At one end of the street was Lake Rd. Cars, trucks, and busses flew up and down that thoroughfare. My parents made sure that I understood that any attempted crossing of that barrier would result in my instant death. At the other end of the street were cliffs that led down to Lake Erie. Again, my ever-loving parents put the fear of God into me. Jesus may have walked on water, but I surely could not.
There was another street next to ours. It had a lot of small cottages on it. Apparently, the street had been a resort of sorts for folks from the Big City, Cleveland, to come to on summer weekends to get away from it all.
Living in one of those cottages was a family whose roots were in West Virginia. At that time there were 5 people in the family. Dad, Mom, and 3 little girls. I remember spending time there playing with them. The oldest was 5. She was something about her that made her special to 6 year old me. If I had to describe it, I was madly in love with her. (At least as a 6 year old could understand that!) She had braces on her legs and couldn’t walk well. I had no idea what caused that. And, I didn’t really care. All I did care about was making her laugh. And she did laugh! She was a very happy child who brightened by soul.
One day I went there and she was gone. I didn’t know for sure where she went. I do remember one time driving with my parents and passing a local hospital. My mom pointed at it told me that my friend had gone there. Later, they told me she had died. Six year old me really had no idea what that meant. After all, when our dog suddenly disappeared my parents told me that she had gone to live on someone’s farm. For all I knew, my young friend had simply gone to live somewhere that she could be cared for.
At the end of that street there was one of the few non-cottages. It was a fairly large house. The family that lived there had 4 kids, 2 boys and 2 girls. To get to their house I had to follow a path through the woods that grew next to my house. We were roughly the same age, give or take a couple years. I remember that their youngest daughter was my first real crush. Yep! Seven years old and madly in love! Ah…those were good times! I became friends with one of the boys. They had an old camper that the two of us used to climb up on and then jump off of holding on to an umbrella that we were sure would be just as good as a parachute. It’s a wonder that we didn’t break our legs…or our necks. Inside their house they had an old pump organ. It was one of those instruments that you had to pump pedals in order to build up air that would generate sound. My friend knew part of one song. But, he may as well have been a virtuoso to me. It was at his house that I learned the time honored practice of making prank phone calls. You know, “Hello! Is your refrigerator running? It is? Well, you better run and catch it!” Ha ha ha! We would also have carnivals at my house. All of us kids would hang in my back yard and devise carny games and side-show acts. My friend liked to be the ‘Man with a Thousand Shirts.’ He would put on six or seven t-shirts and act like he was at the doctor’s. His brother played the doctor. When he was told to take off his shirt he did. But, of course there was another one under it. For a bunch of 1st to 4th graders in the early 1960s this was great fun!
Eventually, all of my friends moved away and we drifted apart.
It was odd, though, that over the years we all came to embrace religion. And, we all came to it in its Evangelical form. My friends who had the daughter who had passed when she was 5 were devout Baptists. When I came to faith in my teens the Mom was glad and made sure to tell me that she had been praying for me. She was a super lady and I loved her deeply. Sadly for us, she has passed on to her Glory. My other friend who wore too many shirts went on to become a pastor. We have been able to reconnect through social media.
For anyone who knows me they realize that I no longer hold to the Evangelical way of following Jesus. Perhaps because I wasn’t born and raised in that tradition I had a different perspective. I came from a rock-n-roll rebel background. I am wont to say that “I once was a Hippie, then I was a Reagan Republican. Now, I’m a Hippie again.” That whole Reagan thing came about because of the Evangelical crowd I was a part of at that time. I remember in 1980 hanging a sign in my area at work that read, “Vote Republican for a Change.” The only reason that I felt that way, besides the conservative religious folks I hung with, was the single issue of abortion. Evangelicals changed the way they thought about that in the late 70s. Jerry Falwell, Sr. and his Moral Majority grabbed hold of that and so did the Republican Party. Since then, sadly, Evangelicals and Republicans have been together between the sheets doing the Monkey dance. I think that we are seeing the progeny of that coupling in our politics today. It’s not pretty.
So, I and my friend have grown apart when it comes to a certain way of religious practice and our politics. Yet, we still follow each other on Facebook. I think that we could sit together and laugh and drink coffee while reminiscing about those days way back when. Yes, we will not agree on a lot of things. But I am finding that if people put their minds to the task of trying NOT to be divisive and to respect the other’s opinion there can be healthy relationships.
People grow. People change. And, people are strengthened by diversity. Relationships come and go. Still, I find it refreshing that after so many years and such divergent paths, I can still find a kindred spirit to share with on the journey.
I’m sitting at my desk. It’s 4:15 A.M. My diffuser is sending a cool mist smelling of Pumpkin Spice into the air.
One week ago I was preparing to take a road trip with my wife to Albany, NY. I had promised myself that I was going to take a break from the news, social media, and any distractions that may compete for my time. The current political state of the U.S. and the chaos that seems to reign in Washington, D.C. and the news media was eating at my soul.
I needed a break.
And, I needed it NOW!
I’m pleased to say that I was successful at turning things off. I turned of both television and computer. I spent a lot of time reading and taking care of some odds-n-ends that required my attention at home. A couple new door knobs on bedrooms, lawn cut and outdoor furniture stowed away for another year. You know, odds-n-ends.
Now, here it is a week later. My blood pressure is good. Well, that’s mostly due to the medication. But, laying low for a week helped I’m sure.
Did I have any great revelation while away?
No, not really.
However, I am going to make a couple changes for my own well-being. You see, I tried very hard to know what’s going on in the world. I listened to as much as I could from many conflicting sources. I didn’t want to spend all of my time in an echo chamber only hearing one side of a story in order to continually feed and reinforce any biases. And, I do hope to continue to listen to everyone that I can. There are some, though, that I must let go of.
Today I am going to go through my social media feeds and weed out many voices. These are voices that I truly love to listen to. But, they are voices that I don’t really need to hear. So, I will bid them fond farewell. I am going to restructure my Twitter feed. If I can’t do that in a satisfactory manner, I’m gonna ditch it all together. I intend to leave other media alone. For now.
I have a calling. Part of that is to write. Part is to listen, study, and think. (Some say that I do that too deeply. Oh, well.) I’ve got to focus on that more. Especially, the writing part. Not only here, but in other ways as well.
So, am I refreshed from my time away? No, not really. I’m still leaving in about an hour and a half to go back to work. Life moves forward without pause. It cares not a whit whether I’m feeling bright eyed and bushy tailed. But, I was able to draw my focus back a bit. Hopefully, that will be enough for now.
I know that I’ve not been posting much recently. I have been busy with other projects.
I have mostly been focused on studying the Gospels. That study has consumed what little time I have for personal endeavors, like this blog. The study, however, is providing fodder for future postings. So, what goes around will come around eventually.
I’m writing now, however, to say that I am taking a few days to disconnect as much as possible.
Between work, the online communities that I’m a part of, and and the constant chaos presented both online and in the news cycle I am burned out and suffering no small amount of anxiety.
So, taking a breather is in order.
I hope to take a road trip to clear my heart and my head. Once I post this I’m shutting down my computer and closing my commentaries and Greek grammars. I will be leaving my cell plugged into its charger in my office. It will not accompany me.
I will take my journal and my wife only.
Hopefully, I’ll be able to spend time in prayer and contemplation.
I need to chill and recharge.
So, until I get back, May any who read this be Blessed!
