Simplicity vs Clutter

(originally journaled Jan 8 2017)

I'm feeling overwhelmed by "clutter" ... so much stuff I truly don't need or even want. My life feels cluttered.

I want simplicity: " ... the arrangement of life around a few consistent purposes, explicitly excluding what is not necessary to human well-being." (Willard)

I'm afraid this constant drive I have to learn, learn, learn, teach, teach, teach, write, write, write, discuss, discuss, discuss, reason, reason, reason—may be driven to a large degree by my fear of dementia. Every time I forget a word I begin to panic (and then I really can't remember it).

Oh dear God, I want peace. And I don't think peace comes with dementia. My mom was such a peaceful person (in You, I'm sure), and then the dementia took her peace away. She became worried and upset as she realized what was happening. She did some bizarre things she would never have done before. Yet at the end, the nurses on the dementia ward commented on how very peaceful she was in her last days. No fear. No worry. Sweetness and gentleness (like she used to be).

But generally, so far as I can see (I spent several years visiting my mom in dementia care units, and so I saw plenty of it), dementia does not seem to be a peaceful state, at least until the patient doesn't seem to know anyone or anything anymore. (And even then, some become more and more unpeaceful... Maybe they're people who never learned to trust You? Or?).

Is it all right to ask You this: Where are You when dementia takes over? Are You still present? Are people with dementia aware deep within of Your presence?

And what about people with serious mental illness? Children born with serious issues who never develop mentally or spend their lives in bodies that don't function? People who never did anything wrong to "deserve" it?

I get (mostly) that what You think is worthwhile and important is way different from what we think. But I feel like time is just rushing by and my life is so busy-busy and cluttered, yet with all my effort I'm not doing anything truly worthwhile for myself or my family or anyone else—even for You. I see so many failings on my part.

Oh! But just now I am experiencing a deep sense You are pleased with me even if I can't see anything particularly worthwhile. Peace in the midst of my self-induced storm. You really do love me, don't You? Amazing grace. Thank you.

Stories I've Bought Into?

(originally journaled August 5, 2017)

(And now, a year and a half later, too much of this is still true. Truly, it is time for change!)

My brain is going all over the place. Scattered. Lack of focus.

Maybe I really do need to do that DIY MFA (https://diymfa.com/) with lots of reading—and writing. Maybe I do long for my dream of intentional community where I could be the granny teacher/facilitator/intellectual/thinker.

Is it all right to dream? Or is it greedy? Or foolish? Or self-centred?

I happened to listen to an interview on CBC Radio with Harold Johnson, author of "Firewater: How Alcohol Is Killing My People (and Yours)." He said we believe stories. That's why they are so powerful. But if a story is casting us as victims (or other negative things) we need to change the story. We need to make a new story and believe it and act on it.

I think that is right. He talked about "the drunk Indian" story but I think it is also true about other stories we tell ourselves. Or stories others have told us about ourselves and have accepted.

Personally, I think that is why I feel so tired, exhausted, sort of depressed these days: I am believing stories like:

- I am old. (Is 62 really too old to start something fresh and new? Nah ... right?)

- I am likely going to have dementia since my mom and both her sisters have died from it, so it seems like it might be hereditary (but her brother is in his eighties and is still an active lawyer, so what about that?) (and all the girls' dementias were different types, from different causes). And every time I have a little "forgetful moment" (peoples' names, occasional words), I panic and think, "Oh no, it's already happening, so there's no point, no hope in starting something new."

- I can't afford to start something fresh and new because we've always been on the edge financially, and hubby is on disability, and we don't have a big pension to look forward to (and anyway, getting rich ... or even too comfortable ... is potentially dangerous, sinful, isn't it? I seem to recall hearing that little sermon many times back in the day).

- I never got a chance to get my PhD because I made "choices" (bad ones, apparently) so I don't deserve to be a specialist or an expert or whatever. (And anyway, that's not a Christian woman's place in the world, is it? Another sermon I heard a lot back in the day...)

- I'm tired of "obeying" other people, doing what they think is best for me, but all my life I've been obedient (yeah, submissive) to people in "authority" because that is what women (and especially Christian women) are supposed to do? Yep, I'm feeling really rebellious about that sermon...

- I'm kind of "stuck" with tutoring and editing because they make me enough money to pay the bills ... even though I want to do less of them and more writing.

- When I look at all the writing out there in the big wide world, I tell myself I have nothing truly significant to write about, and I'm really not that smart ... and even if I am smart (I must have been a wee bit smart since I was in the gifted program in school, and completed university in fewer years than normally expected, right?) ... anyway, even if I am relatively smart, I should be humble and not let on ... (yes, another oft-heard sermon).

Right. Those are stories I have bought into. Those are stories I want to toss.

I've been doing what I believe. But I don't want to believe those stories anymore.

I want to create new stories. Positive stories. It's time! Now!

Dare I? I so, so, so want to!

Lord? Please!

Longing for Deeper Belief and Deeper Following

(originally journaled February 1, 2017)

Part of my prayers over the past year, in the "launching out into the deep" part, have been for a renewal of hope for eternity in God's kingdom. I don't know how I lost that so much ... listening to people who believe here and now is the kingdom (or for whom at least the present is the emphasis and the future is ignored); listening to others who scoff at the evangelical twentieth century (and further back) emphasis on the "ABC's of salvation" and "giving your heart to Jesus" to get fire insurance ... or maybe just my general questioning and doubts about almost everything except for Your ultimate existence, maybe from some of my "friends" but also maybe from my own deep discouragement I've gone through (and maybe YOU allowed it to allow me, in the end, to long for You most of all).

But whatever--at some point as I read that prayer over and over, I started longing for deeper belief and deeper following, living in You.

I longed for a renewed understanding, appreciation for, yes, need for, Your blood ... and then You pointed me to that writing about "Will I stand in God's house by night ... and become united with Him in His suffering..."

And then the other morning I awoke humming, "Mercy there was great and grace was free, Pardon there was multiplied to me, There my burdened soul found liberty, at Calvary." And I have added both of those to my prayers. And this morning I woke humming, "What a day that will be when my Jesus I will see..." and I'll be adding that to my prayers, too.

Maybe a couple weeks ago, a Facebook activity was posted in which snatches of lyrics from 15 old hymns were listed, and the player was to choose (from 3 choices each), the name of each hymn. I haven't heard or sung any of those songs for years, and yet I got 15/15. I posted it and all kinds of other people, even those who no longer consider themselves Christians, were also getting 15/15 based on childhood memories ... people now in their fifties, sixties, and seventies. Time to start listening to, and/or reading, those old hymns again. For sure, a treasure stored in our hearts and minds, if only we are willing to have You reopen them for us. Thank You!

Inerrancy, Doubts, and Faith

I’ve been talking to S. about our struggles with the Bible—especially as taking it as “inerrant truth.” Both she and I struggle with that “faith” in the Bible stories as precise, historical truth. I think of how I accepted them without question as a child and passed them on that way. But later they have become a real source of questioning, even of doubt, for me--and also for some of those to whom I taught the stories as historical fact.

Yet I also suffer from “guilt” for even questioning my “faith” in the stories as presented. And for wondering if God really did tell the Israelites, for example, to kill every living person and animals, and other things like that. I find myself wondering if they interpreted their understanding of God and his ways through the dominant tribalistic cultural ways of their time (don’t we still do the same)? And if so, what does that say about the “inerrant truth” of scripture? 

I see God revealing Himself overall (and especially through Jesus), but at the same time, I wonder how much in the Bible is man’s understanding and interpretation? I wonder what the Bible would sound like and focus on if it were written today—even by faithful, well-meaning, knowledgeable Christians who are doing their best to serve God and to love and follow and believe in Jesus? How might people a hundred or thousand years from now look back at the books we have written in our era about “what God has told me.” 

For that matter, we often look askance at interpretations by present Christian people we admire generally but have a hard time believing God really told them this or that. In fact, I have had plenty of doubts, looking back (sometimes not too far—or even presently) at things I’ve been pretty sure He’s been “telling” or “directing” me (including things I've written in this blog. I've thought of going through and removing some things--but the blog is a "Journey" as the title says, and those things are part of it). Things that seemed right in the moment, but it didn't take long for me to have second thoughts. 

How oh how do we possibly know and understand these "matters of faith"? I really do think we truly still, even with all our knowledge and theology, “see through a glass darkly”—and yes, will continue to do so until we “see face to face.” 

Off Track and Welcome Back

(originally journaled May 20, 2018)

Yesterday a friend posted on Facebook, wondering if it's possible to return to Jesus without having to deal with church. I responded, sharing a few of my own fears (such as being afraid I won't be accepted after I've "denied" God to some degree ... embarrassed about what people might say ... fear of maybe having to go to church and/or do other things I don't want to or am afraid of).

Lord, Your will be done ... and please forgive my denials. Please? You know I still worry about that a lot even though it's pretty apparent You called me back--a miracle in itself. And You know, too, that I sometimes have moments when I wonder if You are real--when I'm not having any "emotional experiences" and I'm still being influenced by the walking away times... and I know the enemy is trying to pull me back. Though I'm pretty sure I never did reach a time when I really didn't believe. Well, I know it's an "intellectual wondering" as deep inside I've always known You are with me, always have been. You don't let your children go, do You? (Unless they really want to, I guess...).

Been thinking a lot lately about that Chuck Girard song from back when I was a teen:

Welcome back to the things that you once believed in/ Welcome back to what you knew was right from the start/ ... I know that you thought you could turn your back/ ... But I can see that you know better now/ ... and I'm so happy now to welcome you back/ Sometimes you just don't know what you're missing/ Til you leave it for awhile/ Welcome back to Jesus.

I've found myself wondering, lately, where I got so off-track for so long. And why? But maybe it was a stripping kind of time, pulling away from parts of my faith that were extras, padding--that were blocking me from seeing You. Which is maybe why I'm nervous about picking up things like church.

I don't want to do things because I "should" but only because I believe and love you (even though it is still hard sometimes to know if I even do that ... It seems like that is the hardest part).

It's easier to "do things" that "show love" than to actually bare one's heart and be vulnerable and actually love. I don't like to be hurt. And I like to be intellectual because it feels safer. And it's easier to accept, too, because it can be proved. And I'm a bit skittish about things that can't be proved (like when I took an Apologetics course, and it seemed like so many things they tried to prove weren't provable in a dry, scientific way, and it just seemed like grasping at straws).

Faith is a hard thing because we can't see it, quantify it--and can't feel it emotionally, a lot of the time. Yet ... You've always been here with me. I've never doubted You (though I have doubted, and still do sometimes, the theology and theory of it).

 

 

The Possibilities of Prayer

Attending traditional Anglican services and using the Book of Common Prayer there, as well as personal use of "The Divine Hours" (Phyllis Tickle) and "Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals") (S. Claiborne et al), and recent exploration of Centering Prayer (see Cynthia Bourgeault), leaves me with the feeling that in the tradition I was raised in we missed out to some degree on the possibilities of prayer.

We prayed a lot--at home we had "grace" before meals, daily "family worship" in which each of us, even small children, were expected to take a turn praying, individual daily devotions, lots of scripture memorizations, and extemporaneous, individually created prayers whenever circumstances called for it--illness, setting out on a road trip, praying before guests left, upcoming events, financial needs, and so on.

At church, we had a fairly lengthy prayer (by the minister, usually) in each service, opening prayers for special events or services, and of course, mid-week prayer meeting when everyone could pray in turn (or sometimes individually yet all at once), kneeling by the pews.

At school, we all repeated the Lord's prayer and listened to a scripture each morning, at least until it got phased out when I was in grade 9 or so, when we were on "shift system" and there just wasn't enough time in a 4 hour school day to include "extras." Soon enough, schools stopped doing morning prayers altogether.

Overall (excepting school prayers), the emphasis in the evangelical tradition I was raised in was on personal requests--for health, safety, finances, guidance. But we didn't often use Scripture as a prayer or guide, other than the Lord's Prayer and sometimes scripture in prayerful hymns or choruses, through which I suppose we felt we were covering "praise" and "seeking God" and "worshipping." Very occasionally, we would have a "responsive reading" from the back of the hymnal, a leftover from our denomination's Wesleyan and Anglican roots, I imagine. There was a simple liturgy of prayers, about once a month, for communion, spoken by the minister.

We didn't, so far as I know, draw upon other traditional prayers passed down through the church ages, nor did we use any of the creeds. I was 12 years old when I first heard of the Apostle's Creed, which we had to memorize for a badge in our church's children's club. No context, no use of it in our services, so I just memorized it and got my badge, with no idea where it came from or understanding of its significance. Oddly enough, I didn't think to ask anyone about it; mind you, I don't think we did a lot of "asking" about things like that. 

There were some prayers in the denomination's "Book of Discipline" in the section on rituals such as infant dedication, baptism, and so on--but again, these were read by the minister and were not in that sense congregational/ participatory.

In a sense, the hymns we sang (and we sang many) were our congregational prayers. And worthy ones, at that. Happy and joyous, deep and repentant, even militant (which at that time no one questioned). The hymn book was our "liturgy" I think, along with our informal but quite religiously followed "order of service" as laid out in the weekly bulletin. In fact, I didn't know what a liturgy was until I was at least in my late teens; I'd heard the word kind of whispered in "tut-tut" discussions of how "those mainline churches, and Catholics" worshipped. At any rate, I wonder if maybe when we gave up hymns and hymn books, for the most part, and replaced them with "worship choruses" on overhead projectors, if we really did lose an important part of our worship--in fact, our liturgy, though we'd never have called it that.

I have a copy of the hymnal of that denomination, which says of "The Role of a Hymnal":

The faith and life of the church have always found expression and reinforcement through its hymnody....

The hymnal teaches and inspires. It expresses faith, hope, and love. It voices our experience and aspiration. It is a way to share. It is a rich source of biblical theology. It is where we join with the saints of other centuries in a common expression of joy, praise, and worship. It is a force for unity. It is a stimulus to Christian action and evangelism. It leads us to God and to men. The combination of lyric and melody fastens truth upon the inner man.

Sounds rather like a description of liturgical books like "The Book of Common Prayer," doesn't it--although I still wish we'd had more participatory focus on scripture reading and congregational prayers. More emphasis on the "deep things" of common/ congregational worship. Still, I'm glad to have discovered some of those possibilities of prayer now, even if it's been a long journey to get here.

 

Afraid ... of church

Recently (for the past few months) I've been attending an Anglican church (early Sunday morning service; traditional liturgy) and I'm longing to be a "part of the family" ... and yet at the same time, I'm afraid.

The people are lovely and caring. I love the liturgy. The interim minister (who is Lutheran) is friendly and a good preacher. The church building is beautiful in an old-timey traditional way. What's to be afraid of, you might wonder?

It's not this particular gathering of the church I'm afraid of. I'm realizing more and more how deeply my heart was broken a number of years ago when two churches in a row, which I attended with full-heartedness, both dissolved into bitterness and anger and terrible disunity, and one ended up closing down completely. To this day I cannot understand how such a thing could happen, how a family with God as their Father and Christ as their elder brother could tear into each other with such rancour. And I don't think I could bear to go through something like that again. Probably it didn't help that at the same time I was dealing with my mom's dementia, and then both my parents' deaths within a year and a half and most of my children growing up and leaving home in that time period and so on, but out of all those things, the most heart-breaking to me was the acrimony among members of Christ's body. How, oh how, can that happen?

I have been part of a very small house church gathering in the intervening years, and I do love those people and I'm so grateful they accepted me as part of their family at a time when I was in so much pain. But I miss the sense of being part of the family of God across the world and through time--and I have been finding that in the Anglican communion. But oh my goodness--what if something happened and they split at the seams, too? Is it even possible to find a group of believers that really are in unity and will stay that way? How could it be that those who believe in Jesus could descend into such grievous disunity and pain? I don't understand. And yes, I'm afraid.

God, lead me, please.