So, I took a break from blogging.
It is not that I had nothing to say, a
rarity in my life. In fact, I have a
number of pieces just needing editing before I publish.
I hit a point in my faith that made
inaction a reasonable, um, course of action.
To be honest, I wondered if I wanted anything to do with
Christianity. I love Jesus, but
collectively we are a bunch of idiots.
At the same time, I felt the ever present Christ wanting to claim more
of my life. – Those of you who think that surrendering your life to Christ is
as simple as muttering a prayer after listening to a compelling sermon are in
for a surprise. And coincidentally,
there was wondering if I wanted anything to do with God at all.
My questioning of God began one night as I
was getting ready for bed. For whatever
reason my mind offered up the idea that Wanna could spend eternity in hell. I am not that put off by the idea that I
might be eternally damned, but the idea of Wanna being subjected to torment for
simply making the wrong decision is distressing.
I know that I can be violent, and vengeful. I do not think that I could be as violent as
either creating or tolerating hell. I do
know that I am not callous enough to worship a God who would be content with
the suffering of his creation for all eternity.
Sunday mornings became more challenging –
do I lay in bed cuddling Wanna with hopes of getting lucky or do I go to a
place with some people that I like and others that I find kind of
questionable? Do I spend that time
spinning the wheels on my bicycle, or spend another ninety minutes sitting? After all, Pastor Dan uploads his sermons to
the internet – I could catch what he says at a later date.
Added to this was seeing my fellow
Christians selectively using the bible to justify being assholes. The entire aspect of the graceless
condemnation of others, and the lack of humility as we insist others live up to
an invented moral code began to disgust me.
All in all, the walk of faith became the
trudge of belief. Thus, my belief that it
was the hand of God that had led me to this point. The challenge was not whether to believe – I am
not sure how much of that is by choice.
For me it is like saying I have stopped believing I have a brother, or a
wife, or a kid, or that there are M&M peanuts. It is really a question of participation.
It became difficult to write and to
publish. I do not know if I have the
where-with-all to expound upon something that I have great misgivings about. I had walked into a period of spiritual
questing – where I had more questions than answers. I have a sneaking suspicion that Christ, God,
the Holy Spirit either separately or together colluded for this to happen. Which is one of the reasons why I do love
God.
I grew up in a family that was moderately
fucked up. Dysfunctional is a concept
that I am not sure about. How to family
got by was to not talk about the violence in the family, not to confront
it. When what we did as a family was
discussed it was met with hostility and violence in an effort to end the
discussion. What I have been left with
is conversations with my brother, decades later, of what happened. That wasn’t love, that was survival.
It has been my experience that a life of
faith does not lead to silence, uncomfortable or otherwise. It does not skirt issues – it meets them head
on, gently, lovingly, and patiently.
My faith is not simply a one way path where
I honour, love and obey God, while he sits there taking it all in. I don’t think God seeks simple
compliance. It is a matter of working
out my salvation.
While I am back to writing, I am still in a
place of questioning.
The other day I made comment to my pastor
that I wanted the simplified version of faith.
You the one, where there is exceeding confidence that you are right and
everyone else is wrong, and that you are the good son, or daughter, loving and
obedient. And as much as that comment
was made tongue-in-cheek I do want that simplicity. But Pastor Dan made comment that we are not
called to such.
