The Internet Monk on Christless Preaching

"At the moment that preacher stood up, one person in that room needed desperately to hear the hope that is mine in Jesus. Despair stalks me. Satan and life dominating sins war against my soul. Religion, motivation, church, music, the pretense of piety, the rituals of synergistic schemes of salvation- all offer me nothing. Christians have failed me. Institutional religion mocks me. Friends do not know me.

Give me Jesus, give me Jesus, one soul cries.

Can someone sing “In The Cross of Christ I Glory” as I turn my back and walk away from this kind of religion? I’m looking for the one who, when asked for a great life, said sell all you have and come follow me to the cross."

Check out the full article.

My thoughts: This is the kind of metacognition we ought to engage in. Where is the separation of Christ and everything else in your life? Where should you put the scalpel; what is cultural, personal, and then who is Christ and how does He truly relate to you?

For me, theological thought, my cultural ideals of piety, and the importance of friends, while all good in a way, can intermingle with how I act out Christ. I place them in the same pile, forgetting that culture, friends, and theological theories are passive and in ways transient. Christ, however, is unchanging. He is the one constant, God's plan of salvation for those who trust Him. To allow my relationship with Him to be marred by my own conventions instead of allowing those to be purified by Him, is a sin, and I thank God I have His mercy.

beautiful rain in spring, only the hills may bring

Today began so... unproductive. I skipped class, paced about the apartment, practiced on my turntables a little bit (I finally got them hooked up and can live out my small dream of becoming a house music DJ), played some dulcimer, and ate macaroni and cheese... and ice-cream. I also did something that I won't go into in this public forum, but am ashamed about. This was on top of, or in spite of rather, the massive amount of schoolwork I need to have done by next Monday. All of my classes are wrapping up, and thanks to my procrastinating genius, I am now in a mad rush to finish all of my big projects.

As the afternoon wore on, I sat in front of my computer and compulsively checked facebook (did you know I even try to change the TV to facebook? I am a sick individual)instead of beginning my comparative developmental case study paper and Powerpoint. So, as any good son would do, I called my mother for advice:

"MOM! I'm just sitting here and I CANNOT for the life of me do my work! I've put it all off and now I'm stuck..."
"well... what do you want me to do about it?"
"I just need your advice, what should I do?"
"...Have you been outside today?"
"Nooo...."
"Maybe you should try that- get outside, maybe get some coffee- get a change of scenery,"
"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.... I guess I'm just frustrated that I lack any form of foresight and now I'm in this predicament."
"Yes I know, darling..." she says in the tone letting me know she has warned me of this every day for the past 20 years.

So I followed my mom's advice, and went outside. I grabbed my school supplies and hopped in my beat up Nissan 240sx. I decided to go to the neighborhood Southwood, since it has wonderful hills on which to longboard. They are long, fast, and wide. I expected a good experience, but was completely surprised; God had intended something much more elegant for me. I arrived at 5:30pm, and was somewhat concerned that the rain would prevent me from longboarding. However, I found an easy, decently long, and dry, hill next to a mystical and unexpected cow pasture (perhaps its unexpectedness made it mystical). Flying down hills instantly became secondary to this new and spectacular sight. The overcast sky and barely damp ground made everything alive, vibrant, and engrossing. The cows ran briskly and congregated next to a large and serene lake, the surface of which was broken only by a cormorant neck poking above the water. A majestic oak reflected off the glassy gray surface. It was quite and windy; everything was relaxed, and it was as if I walked by a stranger, recumbent and asleep, and she is beautiful and unknown, yet her closed eyes warmly invite me, mouth agape, to marvel in her beauty. I want to say something to her, to thank her for grace, yet I dare not touch her, my hand stops and returns to my side, lest I disturb her perfection. Instead, my mind and heart go to their rightful place, and praise God for his evergreen mercies. I am unworthy, filthy. But God has found it fit to Love me, sacrificing Himself so we may be at peace; God and Man. And like a stranger, she is soon gone, yet the thought and mystery of her remain, and until I seen another like her, that is sufficient.

The rest of the day was beautiful, I met some interesting people at Lake Ella: a digeridoist, a massage therapist, an out-of-towner, a support staffer for the Art Department, his 19-month old son who insisted I make a toy merry-go-round spin and spin for him. It was lovely, and anything lovely is a blessing, and blessings come from God, so I thank Him with a reflective smile and glad heart for this very interesting day.


Oh, and I got some work done too.

Ejecting the Material

Uneventful eves breed the greatest depth of wisdom.

On this one, we lay and discuss the Truth, usefulness, meaning, and the surgical measures of God to, as I read, "Grow a flower out of manure."

A man longs for adventure, finds it in the pillows of dollars, a rain of assets. He purchases obscene houses, unnecessary vehicles, and parachutes. Or, material excess becomes the burden to shed, the block to all reality, attempts are made to unbutton the dress shirt and pull off the tie, quickly throw off the loafers, and in this the man's adventure is initiated. He runs to and fro, dodging intimacy and good will- The man thinks Truth lies on the bottom or on the top- and like a precipitous sinkhole and a tall tree, each path has a fatal outcome. Both relish in extremities of materialism; in fighting it, the one becomes entangled in it. Only when one extrapolates the essence of Life, that is, Christ, from one's love or hate, or ambivalence, towards materialism, is one then truly free from its vice grip. So money is nothing and poverty is nothing, and the life of the middle class is nothing, but Christ is everything. For when one realizes one's total insufficiency, Christ becomes the only image of Truth.

walking till my feet ache

I went to Border's bookstore today after I had finished a couple of
hours of in-school observation for my art education classes, and I was
a little depressed by what I saw. It wasn't anything out of the
ordinary, nothing hugely controversial, but it got to me nonetheless.
There was this particular periodical on the magazine rack that caught
my eye; "The Real Jesus" was printed boldly on the front, with a
traditional oil painting of... I was going to say of our Savior, but
it's not like anyone actually sat down and drew his portrait, is it?
But yes, this pictorial representation of what we think Jesus looked
like, or whatever. Anyway, I found myself wondering, "The real Jesus?
Don't we already know this? Can't we be content with the Jesus we have.
I'd say He's pretty much alright as it stands." I became annoyed as I
read. And what annoyed me I think is that the words on the page, the
pictures, the titles, just seemed like the words of a giant, wheezing,
windbag. Like a whoopee cushion. A whoopee cushion in print, screaming
at me from a bookshelf.

I decided to move over to the Christian section. In these moments of mine, these times of cynicism, skepticism,and overall hardness of heart, I do not want to look at the
"Christian Inspiration" type books. I find the idea vacuous and superficial, and perhaps this is true even outside my weak emotional state, but perhaps the thoughts just come more easily that way. I'm not saying these are necessarily bad for everyone; maybe somebody can get joy out of books with titles like, "Be A Better You in 7 Steps" or "Life is a Merry-go-round with Jesus!" or some such nonsense. To be frankly honest, I think my life would be far easier and happier without Christ.

Does this mean I dislike Jesus? Sometimes I do. Why? Because He goes against everything my flesh wants. Do you dislike your parents? They give you masses of love and affection, if they're any good, but that never stopped anyone from sneaking out of the house to throw rocks at a fence or whatever kids do. God prods me to do things that I just don't want to do. God chastises and corrects, so yes, there are times when I don't appreciate that. But then I suck it up and get over it. But I don't hate Jesus.

I don't hate, but love Him for a few reasons. But first, I want to clarify what I mean when I say "I'd be happier without Christ." I view happiness as a state of
blissful ignorance, a mental position of freedom from care and concern.
Generally, I don't get this from Jesus. What I get from Jesus is an
acute awareness of my idiocy, an understanding of the absolutely ridiculous
amount of evil and deceit in this world, and my inability to do
anything at all to stop it. But I also have something else entirely,
which is Jesus Himself; I have the meaning of Life, and Life itself.
Does this make me happy? No, it makes me joyful. It sustains me, and at times does far more than that. At the least it is a slow drip-drop of gasoline into my fuel cell, and at the most, it is a practical hydrant of wet, gassy Love that cannot help but get all over everyone.

I doubt that sounds appealing, but that's what I understand a walk with Christ to be: uncomfortable, hard, depressing, joyful.

CS Lewis once said:

"I didn't go to religion to make me happy. I always knew a bottle of Port would do that. If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don't recommend Christianity."

Amen.

questions for a good day

This is a journal entry from January 2, 2007:

Today was a good day overall. I had spaghetti for lunch, and got into the
Word for a bit as well. I read Mark, where Jesus raises the girl from
the dead, and I think how crazy that is, and how I so badly want to see
stuff like that. Just some more incentive to continue in the Lord. I
watched some Scrubs also, which is a funny show, but the cynicism gets
to me. I went and picked up my mother from her school, and that was
pretty fun. I tried doing the dishes without complaining when she
asked, and was mostly successful. I really want to be more patient with
her and my dad as well, because if any earthly beings deserve my love
and respect, it is them. In a way I wish I had more time here in Jacksonville
,just to chill with them, but I do want to return to Tallahassee.I feel my heart settling in
there, with the town and people. It is hard having people you love in
different places, but I suppose your heart must be where your body is.
Ah, no this is not true... your heart must be in heaven, in eternity.
If your heart is set on what is eternal, it can be at once with
everyone, everywhere.I pray I may have an eternal
perspective. This place is not my home.

As I read this now, over a year later, some questions present themselves. Am I too easily pleased? Is a nice bowl of spaghetti all it takes, and is that all I'm willing to strive for? But then isn't striving bad, pointless? If I love Tallahassee, why do I not show her my love; where is my service? What is the nature of "self improvement"? Is it waiting for the Lord only, or is it participatory, and if it is a combination, what is the balance?

What are your thoughts?

climbing the ladder

I was just thinking today about a former co-worker at a job I held last summer waiting at an "upscale" Chinese restaurant (think Ted's Montana Grill, but trendy and from Canton... and without the buffalo). We called him Roy, mostly because that is his name. He was a Christian, in the Pentacostal vein, so there was a lot of Benny Hinn and general TBN watching on his part. During my stint at Jade's Bistro, I was feeling dissatisfied with my Christianity, that is, as my status as a "little Christ," so I looked at this guy's life and wondered what he was doing differently, because to me he seemed to really believe what he was talking about, and to be excited about it. The most obvious difference was that he payed attention to guys like Benny Hinn and... whoever.

So I did too.

Big mistake. I know people have gone on and on about these folks, so I won't do that here, but what I will say is, get your spiritual food from a trustworthy source, like the Bible for instance, or get morsels from a friend whose life you are familiar with. Trying to understand TV's favorite miracle-healer left me thinking I must be an unfaithful person if I can't free people of physical ailment or be freed from it myself, because I thought, "These guys are so ON FIRE. They are so DEDICATED. They must know exactly what they're doing. Besides, Benny Hinn says if you bring an accusation against him, God will smite you, so yeah, he must be the real deal."
The mindset I only partially developed, thank God, was deleterious in that it focused on how other people related to God, not to mention that what was being planted in my mind was spattered with bad theology, and generally felt dishonest. So for a time, and I think I still struggle with this, I gave my faith to some guy on basic cable. I gave my faith to Pat Robertson and Christian books, and to religious literature and pseudo-religious websites.

I understand that behind all those books and TV personalities are real people, hopefully trying to follow Christ in truth and integrity, so I'm not going to rail on them right now. What I will harp on is my foolish trust in what they say, in their own theology and experience. Maybe there's nothing wrong with what what they believe, but I think there is something deeply wrong when I tried (and try) to make what they have my own. I have my own breath for a reason, for a purpose, and to forfeit that to some mortal life is not only impractical, but it is also sacrilege. It was a selfish striving to be better for the sake of being better.

But I cannot be any more now than what I can be.

Think of this concept in education. There is an developemental theory called the "zone of proximal developement," which says that at any given stage of developement, there is physically and mentally only a limit to what a person can understand. For instance, if you give a four-year-old a piece of paper and a crayon, and show him a Rembrandt, or heck, even if you show him a drawing a six-year-old did, he is simply not going to be able to copy that drawing, no matter how hard he tries. His brain and his muscles are just not capable; it's not in him. In order to teach that child, or any child, the teacher must reinforce what he already knows, and then reach just a le-e-tle bit higher. The child can grab on to the next rung of the ladder, then the next, and then the next, but that's all he can do. Maybe it will be more of a stretch sometimes, and maybe sometimes it will seem like the rungs come down to meet him. It is all part of learning.

And this is the way it is with spirituality and spiritual growth. God builds those in Christ in the way that He knows is best, and if that means I can't understand certain spiritual truths or have all the faith I want, well there's a good reason for that. It's out of my "zone of proximal developement." What that reason is specifically though, I can't pretend to know, but I do know God provides me with grace through Christ, and that ought to be enough for right now. I guess my point is to keep climbing the ladder, but don't be afraid if those hands and arms seem enduringly wrapped around your current crossbar.



There was another point I wanted to make, and it was really my original point. I remember standing at the Jade's Bistro half-bar, and watching TBN or something on the flatscreen with Roy, and Benny Hinn was on. Roy said:

"You know, Benny Hinn, he's really got the anointing, he's got that anointing. When he was a young man, God he really grabbed a hold of his heart, so he just hungered he hungered for the word of God. He just had to get it. He worked at a ice-cream place and he would just read his Bible there, his face in the book, just handing people their ice-cream, without even looking at them. Boy, he paid the price all right, he read that Bible eight hours a day. He has the anointing, yes, but he payed the price."

And early this morning as I recalled what he said, I thought:

"That has got to be one of the most rediculous things I've ever heard. He paid the price? What price? He got to read a book he thoroughly enjoyed? That is no price to pay! Guys from the beginning, the Apostles, like Peter, Paul, and Stephen. And Jesus! Those guys payed the price. They died for faith, they died for men's souls. They didn't just read a lot. So the next time I or anyone else thinks they or their loved one is paying some sort of price for what they believe, they ought to think of the countless Christians who lost their lives for the love of God and for man. When I have been scourged and died, when I have been humiliated and mentally abused, then I still have no right to complain. And there are people who were joyful when this stuff came upon them, because of the hope they had in Jesus. The world was unworthy of people with such faith.

And you know, I think that's where the last rung of the ladder is."


abrotherisborn.

welcome

Wow, it has been a very long time since I've looked at this blog, since I posted the pictures that populate this blog about two years ago. Honestly, I cannot help but simper with nostalgia and sadness and irony as I peruse these old stills (which are in the yarchive, if you're interested), these portraits of unique moments in time, never to be repeated. One friend in these has moved on, down to South Florida, and I don't see or talk to him anymore, and another friend I see very often, yet am no longer friends with. Yet another I am friends with, but never see. In fact, most of the people in these photographs are far removed from my life nowadays.

That's odd.

I remember having these feelings of closeness and excitement that I shared with them, this joy of being in college, finally, of being free. And now much of it has simply... gone. Oh well. Perhaps a lot of the friendships I had at the beginning of college were superficial in the first place. In a perfect world, in the kingdom of heaven, would we all be friends? Is it our selfishness that stops us from true intimacy with our fellow man? Probably that has a lot to do with it, but sometimes people just grow apart I guess, by no particular malice prepense- nothing more to it than an evolution of self, and changing of station. As some song probably says, "Life goes on."

At any rate, I suppose I just want to introduce this blog. I want to say, "This is absolutely the only unique contribution I can make to this rediculous planet: My Life. And hopefully you can see something is this momentary painting that you empathize with, something that speaks for you, something that can pray for you. I hope it inspires you to think with your heart. I hope it bears a brother for you."

And I hope you paint on this canvas, too.



abrotherisborn.