If not fire insurance, then why?

Here's the thing about following Jesus. It's hard. It's not about being nice. It's not even about being good. People are often very nice, and very good, without loving or caring about Jesus at all. Following Jesus was never meant to teach us to be nice. It's meant to teach us to die.

And who in their right mind wants that?

But here's why I try to follow anyway: (It's a bit of a story, but bear with me....)
Over 30 years ago, Marty and I were living in a farmhouse outside a very small town in southern Indiana. We didn't have garbage pickup; we had to run our garbage down the country road to a rather secluded clearing that had a bunch of industrial-sized dumpsters in it. One day in December, when I took a load of garbage out there at noon, I got grabbed from behind.

I'm not sure why I survived the rape. The guy had me pinned to the ground and was choking me, and I was really, really sure I was going to die. But all of a sudden, the guy took his hands from my throat, told me, "Don't move," got up, got in his car and drove away.

I didn't move. I couldn't, at first--because it took a while for me to realize that I was going to live after all. In the time between my being able to breathe again, and my being able to move again, I had one of those rare, incredibly intense God-moments. It felt almost like a vision that I was just short of actually seeing.

What I felt/knew was this: God was with me. And the God with me was God on the cross--Christ. Christ was weeping--as profusely and desperately as I was. The sky was clear, but in my memory I feel what seemed like rain on my face.

And Christ was female.

That last bit really threw me. I'd never heard of anything like that, and I thought it was so weird I didn't tell anyone about it for four years.

But even though I didn't understand the whole female-Christ thing immediately, I realized one truth right away: God understood what I had been through. I wasn't going to have to try to explain to an omnipotent, omniscient, undying, never-suffering, almighty male God what it feels like to be a woman who has been raped. Because somehow, when Jesus died on that cross, that omnipotent God found out exactly how it feels. On the cross, God died every single death that every single one of us dies. Physical, emotional, spiritual, whether brought upon us by our own sin or by others--God enters every place we die. God understands why we feel the rage we do. God even knows what it feels like to be in that place where you're screaming, "God, how the hell could you go and abandon me like this??"

God died/dies everyplace we do, because God doesn't want us to be alone. Ever. God loves us that much.

It's ridiculous. No wonder Jesus sweat blood at the mere thought.

But here's the thing. As soon as I experienced this, I knew I would be ok. I knew I would somehow heal from this experience--and not in terms of that God-awful "scarred-for-life" crap we survivors hear way too often. I knew that someday (down the road, yeah, but someday) I would be whole. Since Jesus was with me in my dying, I would be with him in his living. Full, complete, abundant living.

To me, this is what the cross is really about--God loving us so much that God is willing to be with us in our dying, because if God is with us we will live. So God is willing to go even where it hurts like hell (a phrase I use because that's exactly what I mean), so that we will know there is no darkness we can enter where the God of life cannot be found.

That is some serious love. It's so deep, and so powerful, that it changes things. It turns darkness to light, and death to life. I know for a fact that this is true.

I want the courage to love like that. I want the courage to be able to walk with other people who are hurting, and scared, and dying, and not run from them. I want the courage to stay with them, even when I can't fix their pain or take it away, so they will know that they're not alone, and they're loved, and they matter so much that someone is willing to feel their pain, and their dying. (There are limits to this, of course. I'm not talking about absorbing or accepting the pain of being abused, for example, because that doesn't heal the abuser or the victim.)

I believe that when we find the strength to face suffering and death, when we choose to stay present with people, they experience the love of Christ, and they begin to understand what resurrection really means. Which is, instead of taking all that pain and death and using it to inflict more pain on someone else, they will find themselves healed and restored and en-couraged enough to return love instead of rage back into the world.

We don't have to do this. Just like Jesus didn't have to die for us. And it's not easy to love like this; it takes courage. I find that courage in Jesus. And that's why I try to follow him.

So about that blog title....

I have an adult daughter. She's awesome--smart and strong and very cool, in my opinion. She's dating a really nice guy. I'm glad about that.

Because I've wondered, in the past, what I would do if she started dating someone who wasn't nice--who was, you know, scary. The kind of guy who would tell her that his love for her was undying, who would offer to do anything and everything for her, who would promise he'd never abandon her, who would claim his love was so deep and profound and unending that if she ever left him he would come after her and set her on fire and burn her alive because he could never ever tolerate the idea of her loving someone else.

Actually, I know what I'd do. I'd tell her to run like hell.

So why are Christians so confused when people don't want anything to do with our faith?  Too many people out there still think Christianity is merely "If you don't love Jesus, God will burn you in hell forever. And there's no escaping it." Of course people are gonna run. If it's crazy for a human, it's crazy for God. Even omnipotence can't turn "psychopath" into "righteous."

Problem is, too many of us Christians get stuck if you ask us why we are Christian. We can't come up with anything more profound than, "Because I want to go to heaven when I die." For people outside the faith, that pretty much equals "God will burn me in hell if I don't." Basically, we're saying "loving" Jesus is our insurance that God won't track us down and set us on fire.

C'mon, Christians, be honest: This is not a compelling reason to love God. It may be a compelling reason to fear God. But it is not a reason for love. Ever. And in my bible, the main thing God seeks from us is Love. (Yes, God also desires respect and awe--you know, honesty in acknowledging the fact that God is God and we're not. But not fear--not in the cringing/ducking/hiding sense.)

So we've got to come up with a better explanation of why we're Christian. And yeah, I think there are a lot of good reasons for following Jesus. Much better ones than fire insurance.

More on that next week.

Day 2 of meaningless sacrifice

So I'm well into my second Tuesday of fasting. I've decided that I'll go from whenever I finish my dessert snack on Monday (I know--you're not supposed to eat late. I do it anyway.) until breakfast on Wednesday, without taking anything other than water, black coffee, or tea (no honey). This is Day/Week 2.


Last week I realized pretty quickly how much mental energy I spent on "I'm-not-eating-I'm-fasting." Making the sacrifice had the deeply spiritual effect of turning me even more into myself--great. I wasn't that uncomfortable, or unusually hungry, or particularly tired. I didn't even get a headache, which really surprised me. The most noticeable thing was the fact that my strength training that night really, really sucked. But wow, did I spend a lot of time aware of the fact that I was fasting.


Which also made me realize how much energy I actually spend on what I want. (Note I did not say, "what I need.") I was forced to acknowledge that I spend a lot of emotional/spiritual energy on things that are, when you get down to it, expressions of my privilege. Heck, even deciding to fast for 33 hours a week is a mark of privilege--because it's a choice. Which goes a fair way to undercutting any sense of self-righteousness one might be tempted to indulge in. How can you get self-righteous over privilege? (Yeah, I know. Lots of folks are actually pretty good at it.) Millions of people on this earth work really, really hard and still don't get to eat. Famine, drought, war, low wages--there's no real reason why others suffer those realities and I don't.


I don't see this spiritual practice as really addressing those injustices, of course. The bigger picture obviously requires a more corporate solution, and that's a whole 'nother level of confession/offering/practice (not exclusive of this one). But for now, regarding my particular and individual spiritual practice of fasting, what I see before me over these next several weeks is learning to lay down some self-absorption. I'm wondering if, with practice and some mindfulness, I can spend less energy thinking about the fact that I'm fasting/hungry, and be more mindful of what's around me and what I'm doing in spite of unfulfilled personal desires. Actually forget about the fact that I'm fasting and be more mindful of God. (The point seems rather obvious, doesn't it?) I'm thinking I might get better at this with--you know--practice.

I'm practicing meaningless, empty, ritualized sacrifice for Lent.

For several years now, I've heard people talking about their decisions not to give up anything for Lent. Instead of making some "meaningless sacrifice," they say, they're going to add something meaningful.


I get that. Watching people pass up drinking Coke in the high school cafeteria, making the extreme sacrifice of drinking Mountain Dew instead, never made much sense to me either. But lately the whole "I'm going to add something meaningful" thing has started to bother me as much as the idea of giving up Coke for Mountain Dew.


I've had to sit with this discomfort for a couple of years before I figured out what was getting under my skin. It's this: I still succumb to the mass-market-media-message-massage that I can have it all! I really want to believe that I shouldn't ever have to actually give anything up. I should just be able to add and add and add, accumulating stuff and practices and piety without ever having to slip backwards. This is the American Dream--Never Lose Anything that's good. Whatever you do for Lent should only add to your sense of spirituality, self-worth, self-meaning.


For years, I approached Lent as a way of adding value to my life--sort of a second run at failed New Year's resolutions, to be honest. I'd take on a discipline of exercise, or self-care, or prayer to get myself grounded in a greater sense of peace. "Give up something you know God doesn't want in your life," I'd say. So I'd "give up" making bad choices about diet or working out. Like I said--Lent as Resolution Redux.


In effect, I used Lent as a way of doing what I actually wanted to do all along. I never considered that there might be value in doing something I don't want to do. 


So. This Lent I'm fasting. Once a week, for an entire day. From the time I go to bed, throughout the next day, until I wake up for breakfast on the following day. For somewhere in the area of 32 hours, I will drink water or coffee or tea. No milk, no honey, no calories. 


Why am I doing this? Because I really, really don't want to. I'm not doing it because I think it will be good for me. I'm not doing it so I can brag about what a great spiritual practice I'm following. I don't know if it will be great at all. At this point, I am nearly at the end of my first day of fasting. I don't like it. I have had no spiritual breakthroughs. I don't know what the benefit will be. (Yes, I will make a contribution to the World Hunger Appeal. But I would have done that anyway.)


The thing is, though, that God repeatedly calls people to turn to God in repentance, with fasting. I know I need repentance. I don't know that I need fasting. But God says to. And I realize that I have, way too often, pretty much demanded that God justify to me what God calls for. Explain to me why it's good that I'm hungry and cranky and uncomforable, God. Because unless there's a good reason for it, I'm not interested. And I'll be the judge of what makes for a good reason, thank Your Divine Self very much.


I guess, when it comes down to it, I'm just trying to practice obedience that I don't understand the reason for. Opening a door for God to show me something I don't already know. I'll let you know how it goes.