writing is tough

Writing is more work than you would think.

Take this post, for example. I’m writing it because I’ve only posted once this week and I really need to be posting more often than that. This blog serves a double function for me. It is, first and foremost, a place for me to speak frankly about faith. But it is also a venue for me to get in some writing practice. (Yep, you’re always reading a first draft here at disciple 13. Lucky you. This one, incidentally, is a doozie.)

See, I’m an aspiring writer. I hear, or read, rather, that aspiring writers have to write. That’s what Anne Lamont says, and she’s written books and stuff (stuff being articles and other stuff), so she seems to know what she’s talking about. Or writing about as the case may be. Anyway, she says that you have to write and you have to write often, whether or not you feel like it. So at the moment I’m writing because I think I should be, not so much because I have a soapbox or an agenda or even a point.

Not encouraging to you, the reader, I know, but you've come this far and it's a short post. You're pot-committed now. Might as well see it through.

Basically, this post is about writing when you don’t feel like writing because that’s how I feel now. I know—doesn’t make much sense. On top of that, this probably isn’t even “good writing”, but it is writing and I sat down not wanting to write but determined to write anyway. And here you are reading, so you can’t argue that I did not write something. Clearly I did. In that sense, this post is a raving success.

Unfortunately, not much of a point is being made here, so in that sense, this post is pretty worthless. To you, anyway. To me it is a post of victorious dedication, having risen above my own laziness and complacency and having found the inner fortitude to pound away 400 words or so, even though I’d just as soon log off and go to bed.

In summation: this post took work, though you’d never know it. It’s not worth much to you, but worth something to me. Unfortunately, the value can’t really be shared by you as it is valuable only to me because I'm the author. You might find slight value or inspiration in it if you’re a writer yourself, but only limited value as this isn’t a terribly inspirational piece, due largely to the fact that this is a perfect example of mediocre writing.

But it is writing. And writing is tough.

the waiting

“Waiting to understand the heart’s desire, one is waiting to become heart-free and heart-whole. One is waiting to be purified of desperation and despair. The waiting itself is already the beginning…”

—From The Reasons of the Heart by John S Dunne

And yet, the waiting seems to me the hardest part.

Here I sit, wanting God to move, waiting for God to move, fighting my own impatience and trying to believe, trying to understand that this period of waiting, this is God in action. I am being molded by this. I am being changed even now, purified, transformed, shaped.

Of course, that does little to quiet my soul when I think of all the ways God could be improving my situation. Sometimes I think of how easy it would be for him to just move and change things—and I wonder why he doesn’t. Given his power, why not just fix certain elements of my life?

But Dunne says “the waiting is the beginning.” God is already at work, just not in the manner I would choose. Boy, that’s becoming a familiar feeling!

my prayer too

“O Lord, who else or what else can I desire but you? You are my Lord, Lord of my heart, mind and soul. You know me through and through. In and through you all that is finds its origin and goal. You embrace all that exists and care for it with divine love and compassion. Why, then, do I keep expecting happiness and satisfaction outside of you? Why do I keep relating to you as one of my many relationships, instead of my only relationship, in which all other ones are grounded? Why do I keep looking for popularity, respect from others, success, acclaim, and sensual pleasures? Why, Lord, is it so hard for me to make you the only one? Why do I keep hesitating to surrender myself totally to you?

“Help me, O Lord, to let my old self die, to let die the thousand big and small ways in which I am still building up my false self and trying to cling to my false desires. Let me be reborn in you and see through you the world in the right way, so that all my actions, words and thoughts can become a hymn of praise to you.

“I need your loving grace to travel this hard road that leads to the death of my old self and to a new life in and for you. I know and trust that this is the road to freedom.

“Lord, dispel my mistrust and help me become a trusting friend. Amen.”

—From A Cry for Mercy by Henri JM Nouwen

complex faith

God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam

and the mountains quake with their surging.

—Psalm 46:1-3

I hate too-simple statements of faith. God is good and trustworthy, yes, and we can go forward into life believing that he will take care of us because he will, but the manner in which he cares for his people is not all sunshine and smiley faces and roses.

What I like about those three verses from Psalm 46 (above) is that they embrace the reality that we will experience times of trouble. There is no promise in this passage that God will remove trouble from us or that a faithful person will experience no difficulty. Instead, God’s promise is to be with us in the storm, even the storms that threaten to rip our world apart.

It is this promise, the promise of his presence, that I find myself clinging to. It does not solve all of my problems or even make my problems less severe. (Sometimes, rather, hoping in him seems to raise more questions than it answers). But that is the way of it—and that is the only way to seek him.

Simple faith is undone easily. Relationship with God is no simple thing. Complex faith will make your head spin and leave you, at times, crying or screaming even as you insist that you do believe. This is the faith of prophets. This is the faith Jesus had. This is the faith God calls us to. A faith that is complex and includes (rather than “solves”) the problem of suffering.

don't lose hope

Don’t lose hope, my friend told me.

But I don’t even know what to hope for anymore!

That's the hardest time to hope, he replied, when you don’t know what to hope for. But that’s also when you’re forced to place greater faith in God because you have to hope in him instead of a preferred outcome. Don’t lose hope—put your hope in God.

thoughts on suffering

Lately I’ve been thinking about suffering, wondering what role it plays in faith. Suffering is such a subjective word. I have said, more than once in the last six months, that I was suffering because some things were happening that I did not care for. People were hateful toward me, saying things about me that were not true and even confronting me face-to-face and informing me that I am not a good person. Is that suffering?

Dictionary.com defines the verb “suffer” in the following way: “(1) To feel pain or distress; sustain loss, injury, harm, or punishment. (2) To tolerate or endure evil, injury, pain, or death.”

My experience checks out with the above definition of suffering, though I will say again that suffering is an incredibly subjective thing. I could honestly say that I have suffered and I could also say that Jesus suffered on the cross; however, I cannot honestly say that I have suffered as Jesus suffered on the cross. Yes, people said mean things to him, too, but he was dying at the time. I just had to move and find another job. Not really comparable.

What intrigues me about all of this is: first, the fact that suffering is subjective. It can mean so many different things to different people in different contexts. Second, the fact that God uses suffering. (I’m not going to delve into a theological defense of this statement, though I believe a solid argument could definitely be made. Just go with me on this one.) And last, I am amazed at what is accomplished through suffering.

The last few months have been, for me and my wife, difficult. But this difficulty has kept me coming back to God again and again. I have prayed and praised, I have looked for him in his word and started blogging about him again. I have felt acutely the need for him, and this is largely because I am confused right now and feel in need of something bigger than I can grasp.

Pain has drawn me to him who is peace. Injury has prompted me to seek out the healer. My own feelings of hopelessness have lead to toward the source of all hope.

Funny how things work.

consecration

I attended a church this past weekend that a friend of mine regularly attends. My friend has experienced a profound change in his life since hooking up with this church, so I am convinced that there are good things happening there. However, I am also confused by the content of the sermon we heard.

The minister, who I’ve heard before and been impressed with in the past, was talking about living a “consecrated life.” By this he meant a life set apart, a life devoted to God. He explained his meaning, focusing on a passage from Joshua in which the Israelite people consecrate themselves, and then went on to answer the all important question: why? Why consecrate yourself to God?

His answer disturbs me.

He said we consecrate ourselves to God because in doing so, we make ourselves available to all of God’s rich blessings. If we don’t devote ourselves we will miss out on so much that God has to offer. A full and rewarding life is waiting. Jesus has already suffered the pain, he said. We just have to answer his call.

In other words, he said that we devote our lives to God because we get something out of it—“blessings”. He spoke several times about a full life and about the “wealth” God wants to lead us into, but didn’t once mention the fact that devotion to God produces a deep relationship with him.

See, I think that’s the reason we devote ourselves. I think it’s all about relationship. And frankly, that’s good, because a lot of people who are devoted to God don’t live “rich” lives otherwise. They don’t seem to be inheriting the literal earth. But to come into a real and meaningful relationship with the God of the universe, now that’s something valuable. That’s something worth consecrating yourself for.

That’s also an explanation of consecration that places the value primarily on God, himself, rather than on what God can give you. For reasons I don’t know or understand, God “blesses” some with a lot and denies others. But he makes himself available to all—at least, that’s my meager understanding of him. This means that what truly matters, the real riches that are to be found in exploring the depths of relationship with him, this is well within the grasp of everyone and well worth consecrating yourself for. Worth living for. Worth dying for.

I haven’t told my friend I feel this way, though, because I fear he will take offense. He’s really into this church and it’s doing him a lot of good right now, in as much as I can tell, so I’m trying to not be critical. It’s not a church that I feel drawn to, but that’s okay. And I have confidence, not in his church, but in God, that he will continue to interact with my friend and guide him in the right way.

That’s what I hope for—for him and for me.