From where that pavement is...

"...'cause there's no parachute that they can make for this

'cause I put my pain, my heart, my soul, my faith in this..."

My spiritual infancy brimmed with missionary zeal. Every faithful Christian should eventually find their way to missions and ministry. Christians who simply gave financial support and prayed were just ducking the hard work.

Did anyone ever say as much? No, not once.
Was this the overwhelming impression that I was left with? Yes, I and very many others.

As adamant as these zealots might have been in saying that there was no two-tier Christendom, they never realized that their works and words created such a world. They scoffed and laughed at the charismatics who segregate the faithful into those who've spoken in tongues and those who haven't, but they then frowned on those who elected to pursue a dream apart from third-world countries or clerical collars.

Two tiers? No, never. It's just that some people love God more and some not so much. Not being in ministry meant you either didn't love God or you didn't love people.

Unacceptable hypocrisy.

God cannot be God of all creation and God of only those who are in ministry.

Creation, so great and so wide and God's name is writ large over it all. And yet, I believed, I followed those who would confine Christendom to church walls, literal and otherwise. The otherwise refers to the begrudging concession that Christ may be loved outside a church building. But a discomfort plagues them if the love is not covered in crosses, soft lighting and tearful conversion stories.

But now, day by day, the glowing upswell in me burns brighter. I know where I'm going. For so much of my life, I feared that my teachers were right and that God was a petty Asian bureaucrat who wanted to lock me inside a church. No, far more powerful, far more gentle than I could have imagined, he beckons me towards a life I was trained to believe could never be mine.

There has never been a moment of greater rebellion and greater obedience for me. Throwing my hat in the ring, I'm going to be a writer. An echo from years past rings in my heart "If you won't take a chance on this, what will you take a chance on?" I'm not going to write for Christian media. I don't have the stomach for trying to be awkward and impish, skirting family-unfriendly realities. Screw that stupid shit. It's not going to be for academia as if I cared about impressing them and acquiring for myself their distinctions and honors anymore. I won't have a big organization to hide me. My parents taught me that security lay in size. There is no security in size. There's only security in the hollow of God's hand. And I believe that's exactly where I am. Throw away so many of the beliefs I've been taught, so many of the doctrines that finger-wagging reverend faces have instilled in me. Throw away the fears, the false needs, the empty materialism. Throw away the useless practices that no longer serve me. Rebel, reject and return to the naked freedom of knowing that God wants you to be yourself.

Today Is Practice For Tomorrow

An action becomes a practice. Practice becomes a habit. A habit becomes a life.
Today is practice for tomorrow.

My mother was a chef in AIG's cafeteria for about 20 years. In those years, she brought home leftovers beyond what our family might've afforded otherwise. Mountains of filet mignon, cornucopias of cutlets, pounds of pork chops, and the like. I loved them all. I remember many a time sneaking downstairs for another slice of filet mignon.

The taste wasn't the same but my appetite for burgers, pizza, fries, pies and fried chicken continued to grow like a tumor of the soul. In high school, I was well over 200. In college, 300.

A small action led to a life and quite nearly, the end of a life.

It's not easy to treat a cancer of the soul.

I had to summon up a lot of willpower to decide to spend my money on a salad that was the cost of a Popeye's meal and a Chinese lunch box combined. It's just green rabbit food! Why's it more expensive!? But I did. And I yearned for golden fields of chicken skin, rivers of black bean sauce.

Actions become practices. Practices become habits. Habits become lives.

I ate salad one day. And then another. And now I can't imagine ever going back to a fast food restaurant. If I were driving on a road, I might grab a banana and a bottle of water from a rest stop instead of a burger. Habits become lives but lives change.

I find myself holding onto this truth these days as I'm excising another tumor.

A lot of my blogs draw a lot of questions. "Stan, are you talking about me in that post?" No, I'm far too self-absorbed to think about others. I'm talking about myself, to myself. When I talk about hating a life watching TV, watching American Idol, eating potato chips, I'm trying to apply chemotherapy to myself. I want to change. More than anything else, I want to change.

For decades, I believed a painting on a mirror was my reflection. The oils have dried and chips are falling. I'm beginning to see myself. But it's not someone I recognize. Why should I recognize him? I'm getting to know him for the first time.

I can't go back to watching TV. I can't stay at a job where I have to wait for assignments. I can't ever settle for good enough. Maybe it's enough for someone else to have a safe job at a big company and wait for the weekend, but that's dishonest living for me. I don't want to spend 40 hours a week hiding my values because I'm too scared to step out on a limb. I don't want to spend any more time watching TV or movies or doing things to kill time. I'm dying.

From the moment I was born, I began my journey to death. I can't stop and linger here on the couch with you. If you think this means I believe I'm too good for you, I'm too haughty or I'm just an arrogant asshat, I'm sorry you think so. I don't have enough time for more explanation than what I'm now giving. I know how I want to die. Do I know if I'm going to get it? Not a clue. I do know what it'll take for me to die happy. If you had a choice between stuffing your coffin with regrets or treasured memories, what would you choose?

If I spent my life serving in church ministries up to my ear, chained to a desk job, welded to a couch, or around restaurant tables talking about gadgets... I simply do not love anyone enough to fill the grave with that many sorrows.

Actions become practices. Practices become habits and habits become lives.

Writing this blog post memorializes an action I took nearly 3 years ago. I refuse to live somebody else's life, by somebody else's values. I sought my own and found a remarkable parity with God's values. It has been a slow realization that I'm where God wants me to be. I just do not care if no one else is doing this. (For the record, I think there are a few who do something similar. I think that of all of them, I am the one most sensitive to criticism.) I don't know what the path will look like 2 or 3 steps down the road. It's like running through twilit Peruvian jungles with a flickering headlamp. The future is vague, and the present is just clear enough so stay in the present.

And at the end of all these presents I look forward to the life I will have left behind.

The Cost of Opportunity, the Price of Achieving Your Life

"Choose your future. Choose life. I chose not to chose life. I chose something else."

Dan wrote today that choosing any particular choice simultaneously means choosing not to take an infinite number of other choices. Because I am typing now, I am not swimming, not running, not biking. And this is true. I wrote this and spoke this a number of times. We all have 24 hours in a day. No one has more. No one has less.

There are choices we make that, no matter how we juggle or how we strive, forbid other choices. In my life, I've chosen to explore widely. This precludes me in many ways from investing as deep as possible. I chose to study philosophy, feminism, post-modernism, other religions and mystery cults -- and more than that, I chose to take them more seriously, and in my opinion, honestly -- than a great number of Christians. When a radical French lesbian writes something, I pay attention and believe she has something worth listening to, worth considering as if it were true... something worth my sincere and deep effort. I do not, like nearly every Christian I have ever met, write her off as a faggot French who's just mad because she can't get a man with her hairy armpits and crazy hair. I myself feel a great deal of shame when I recognize that those who don't say that to her forebear out of cowardice and those that would say this to her, do it out of contempt. And I, together with them, are always assumed to be displays of Christian love. I am ashamed.

I've gained a lot from this stance. Because I've chosen to adopt this stance I've made some deep friendships and read some deep works. Second-wave feminism has subtly changed my views on the dignity and worth of women. I haven't been exposed to much third-wave feminism but I think there's a lot I can learn there too.

And at what price does this come? I think I've alienated a few friends along the way. Let's widen the scope beyond feminism and speak of any worldviews for a moment. I have a friend and one-time mentor who refuses to read the Koran because he believes that exposure to this ink and paper is a gateway to spiritual attack. Because of this he's never picked up Derrida, Lacan and the other writers that bore me greatly. Because of this he has no dialogue with others. Only monologues. Because of this, his evangelism is limited to lecturing others.

Another cost is companionship on this journey. I wanted to explore. And I did. And what exploration means is that you've left the safe world of the known, the agreed-upon and ventured into the world of the unknown and debated. A ship cannot be in both the open sea and the sheltered bay. Is there anyone else who does what I do, thinks what I think? I don't know of any. It's part of why I have this blog. In many ways, it's a distress call. Someone please let me know I'm not the only one here out in the unknown.

But you know what? The costs are small. The returns are great. We all must choose, but the wisest choice is to choose yourself. Or to be more theologically precise, choose to be who God made you to be. I used to read my Bible much, much more. There was a time, I read it 2.5 times in the same year while leading multiple bible studies and participating in 2 distinct fellowships and extracurriculars. This year I might only finish 1/8th of it and halve my "fellowship" time. But I truly believe I function better this way.

Scripture reading is often draws dietary metaphors. And as well it should because man doesn't live on bread alone but on every word that proceeds from the mouth of God. But just as a person would harm themself by eating nothing at all, a person would do cause themself injury by overeating. Look at America's waistline and try to contradict me. We all have 24 hours a day. How much of it would you devote to Scripture? If you slept 8, and spent another hour eating, would 15 hours of reading lead to a more spiritual life? A more vibrant life? A more God-honoring life?

What if it were 8 hours? 4 hours? 2 hours? 15 minutes? Less than daily?

May I humbly submit that we have to find that answer ourselves? I know how many of you read. I know that my blog doesn't have a lot of readers because most people who start at the top never make it this far down the page. I know that I don't keep you in suspense like Lost, have the drama of the Bachelor (who some of you didn't swim with me to watch) [oh hell, like they would read this] nor the competition of American Idol. So when you spend 15 minutes "with the Lord" every morning, what does that amount to? When you listen to the Bible in your car, do you really gain anything out of it or does it quickly become background noise to a life of Jesus fish bumper stickers, Christian t-shirts and praise nights?

The same goes with every other choice we make. It takes experimentation to understand the proportions which honor God the most, honor the lives he has given us the most.

I find the Christian community, and Christian culture as I've lived through it to be so disgustingly cowardly and afraid of experimentation. Why are pastors so afraid of liberating their congregations from the READ EVERY DAY mantra? What does an absent-minded 15 minutes get them? Triathletes don't train every day and they bring more zeal, determination and enthusiasm to their regimen than most Christians do and yet many of them live with more joy, passion and excitement. We're under spiritual attack, yes, but how do we know that we've not already succumbed to it? How can we be so sure that this slavish attachment to tradition isn't itself the attack?

Does that itself stimulate growth? I've seen a committed student learn more in a week than a church-goer who has mailed it in for decades. Worse, the church-goer never made the little he knew, his own. He only had the stale regurgitations of his teachers. Yet, they've read as close to every day as one could hope for! There has to be a better way.

I thought so. So I experimented. Went through some dark times, went through some good times. I found out certain things about myself, about God, how we relate and how I move through the world around me. I used to like the Puritans. They taught me a lot but I like them a lot less now. They're far too melodramatic and the emotions strike me as overwrought. I used to value ancient Christianity but I realized I did that because of its novelty value. It just made me cool (in a select crowd). It's not really for me. People in suits garner a lot less respect once I learned how to wear one right. They're just people to me now. And more than anything else, I learned never to compromise truth for harmony. Never ever betray the integrity of your life. If not being competitive makes you feel like you're suffocating in a soft world, then fight for your life. I learned this when I sold my soul for what I once thought was unattainable, and since then have discovered it be so easy to attain as to feel embarassed at the past. I tried to be soft. I tried to be a normal guy. I tried to blend in and adopt another face to be accepted. And paid for it by being wounded like I never thought I could be. So above all, never trade your integrity for anything. And to keep your integrity, you must choose in a way that propels you towards your telos.

When you make choices, choose in a way that gets you closer towards your goal. Don't choose in a way that gets people to stop bothering you about something. A half-hearted choice brings you closer to nothing but the end of your life.