Sunday, February 8, 2009
Suspension
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I went to church twice this weekend. I know - bad idea. I could write and whine and criticize about a lot of things, but I'll try to distill into a few paragraphs what has been plaguing me for about a year now.
The concept of Christian religion demands resolution, requires confirmed belief, invites the partaker to rest, to arrive, to be at peace. But my soul is continually in upheaval, and my questions, fears and my faith have not arrived at a point of resolution - but I think I'm still ok.
I heard a lot of testimonies this weekend. One service had an aspect in it that was really cool and really powerful. Various people from the church came out with a cardboard box that had a bad situation or a sin on one side, and then they flipped it over and the other side had the positive testimony that God had "fixed" the situation. It was moving; it was encouraging; it was effective. But it also sent the subliminal message that every Christian, although they may have problems, also must find answers - or there is something wrong with them.
So what of the Christian who is still searching? What of the believer who is loosing faith, loosing hope, and exploring doubt? What of the invalid who isn't healed? What of the marriage that ends in divorce? What of the sex addict who still thinks women are hot? What of "JESUS" isn't a magic word, a slap-it-on bandaid, and patch for any and every wound?
One phrase Peter Rollins threw out last week is still ringing in my head: God isn't the patch that we slap on to make everything alright - he is the wound that has cut us deep.
When I was sitting in church this weekend, I heard the message that whatever problem I may have right now - financial, physical, spiritual, sexual - is at its core a problem with Jesus and a problem Jesus can fix. And I heard that the problem must be fixed.
But I am still broken - and my life is still broken. So I live suspended between doubt and faith; between sickness and healing; between rupture and restoration. I look forward to and hope for and seek a resolution, but the dissonance has heightened my awareness of life. Of what it means to be human. Of what it means to say that God loves me - unconditionally.
I went to church twice this weekend. I know - bad idea. I could write and whine and criticize about a lot of things, but I'll try to distill into a few paragraphs what has been plaguing me for about a year now.
The concept of Christian religion demands resolution, requires confirmed belief, invites the partaker to rest, to arrive, to be at peace. But my soul is continually in upheaval, and my questions, fears and my faith have not arrived at a point of resolution - but I think I'm still ok.
I heard a lot of testimonies this weekend. One service had an aspect in it that was really cool and really powerful. Various people from the church came out with a cardboard box that had a bad situation or a sin on one side, and then they flipped it over and the other side had the positive testimony that God had "fixed" the situation. It was moving; it was encouraging; it was effective. But it also sent the subliminal message that every Christian, although they may have problems, also must find answers - or there is something wrong with them.
So what of the Christian who is still searching? What of the believer who is loosing faith, loosing hope, and exploring doubt? What of the invalid who isn't healed? What of the marriage that ends in divorce? What of the sex addict who still thinks women are hot? What of "JESUS" isn't a magic word, a slap-it-on bandaid, and patch for any and every wound?
One phrase Peter Rollins threw out last week is still ringing in my head: God isn't the patch that we slap on to make everything alright - he is the wound that has cut us deep.
When I was sitting in church this weekend, I heard the message that whatever problem I may have right now - financial, physical, spiritual, sexual - is at its core a problem with Jesus and a problem Jesus can fix. And I heard that the problem must be fixed.
But I am still broken - and my life is still broken. So I live suspended between doubt and faith; between sickness and healing; between rupture and restoration. I look forward to and hope for and seek a resolution, but the dissonance has heightened my awareness of life. Of what it means to be human. Of what it means to say that God loves me - unconditionally.
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