Hurt

Ponder an image with me:  A man puts his left hand, palm down, on a work bench.  With his right hand, he picks up a battered old hammer.  And then he brings the hammer down, hard.   I am wondering if metal on flesh would make a sound, moments before the man lets out a wail.    He grits his teeth.  Looks at the hammer.  And then, he does it again.

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In some sense, that is what we are called to do.  Smash our hand.  Take on the pain.  Wait a moment.  And then?  Do it again.

This has been on my mind recently.  I have been in several diffferent conversations about people who have been hurt.  One is a person who I know to be incredibly open, and kind, and brave.  He was hurt, and he said, “I don’t know if I will be able to trust people again.”  Two of the others have been hurt by people in the church.  It was said about one of them, “She’s fine with God, but she is having some trouble with God’s people.”

That last sentiment, it has practically become a cliche.  But like many clichés, it has become a cliche because there is truth dwelling in it: the armies of people who describe themselves as spiritual but not religious are a manifestation of this idea, too.  Sometimes, it is easier to deal with God than God’s people.  It is certainly less painful.

There is something in us that runs from pain.  I suppose that this is generally a good thing.  We learn not to touch the hot stove, we learn not to test a knife by running our fingers over the edge, we learn not to antagonize the kid who is stronger than us and quite willing to beat us to a pulp.

And yet, we are called to transcend this.   We are called to open ourselves to pain.

Perhaps it is familiarity that dulls us to this.  But a thing that I don’t think gets as much notice as it should, is how leads us by example in this.

For now, I will leave aside the example of Jesus’ crucifiction.  Consider the Garden of Eden.  There are all kinds of remarkable things in this story.  But maybe the most remarkable?  The creator of the universe was willing to allow himself to be vulnerable to these flawed, broken, fallible little creations of His.

In some sense, on some level, it must have been a choice.  God might have kept himself above the goings-on in the Garden.  He cast aside his invulnerability in allowing himself to care for Adam and Eve in a way that is, perhaps, echoed by Jesus casting off his divinity to enter the created world.

There must be some limits to this.  We are not expected to submit ourselves to the abuse of an abuser.  I think the beginning of these limits lays in love: it is not loving to allow an abuser to abuse us.  But I think more needs to be worked out, more needs to be said, about how we find the limits of what we should be willing to sacrifice.  (As always, reader, if you have some thoughts, I would love for you to comment below)

Regardless of what those limits are, regardless of how we ought to find them… we are called to do a very unnatural thing.  We are called to be open to pain.  This open-ness to pain, this vulnerability, this is a deep and mystical thing about the way that God works in the world.

Perhaps this is the meaning of Christ being in us:  He dwells in the very deepest parts, waiting.  And when we take pain into ourselves, when we bring it to those places, he waits there, transforming it into something bigger, better, glorious, triumphant.

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jeffsdeepthoughts

The stories that speak to our soul begin at a home where things are good. Cinderella is happy with her father. The three little pigs have grown up and are ready to move on. Bilbo Baggins knows his shire. Adam and Eve walk with God in the garden. My story isn’t much different. There was a time and a place where it was so good. There was a community for me. And there was joy. We were filled with a sincere desire to do what God wanted us to do. We possessed explanations and understandings that went a certain distance. We offered security and tradition and laughter. For a lot of years, that was enough. I have this sense that it was also necessary. I have this surety, now, that it certainly wasn’t everything. There were some things that became increasingly problematic as time went by. There was a desire to package things up so very neatly. Sunday morning services were efficient and strategic. Responses to differences of opinion were premeditated. Formula began to feel more important than being real. A real desire for everybody to be one of us, but also a real sense that there is an us, and there is a them. They carried a regret that it has to be this way, but deeper than this regret was a surety that this is how it is. I began to recognize that there was a cost of admission to that group. There were people who sat at the door, collecting it. Those people wished they didn’t have to. But I guess they felt like they did have to. They let some people in, and they left others out. There was a provisional membership. My friends did possess a desire to accommodate people that are different… But it would be best for everyone concerned if they were only a little bit different. I did make many steps forward in this place. Before I went there, there were lies that I believed. Some of the things that I learned there, I still hold on to. But that place is not my home anymore. Those people are not my community anymore. There were times it was hard. I am engaged in a different community now. And I am working hard at finding a place in many different places now, embracing many different kind of families. I don’t always get it right. I am trying and I am learning and I am moving foreward. I have this sense that I am not alone in these experiences. I believe that we are tribe and we are growing. We are pilgrims, looking for a new holy land. Perhaps we won’t settle on the same spot of land. But if you’ve read this far, I am thinking that we are probably headed in the same general direction. I have begun this blog to talk about where my journey is taking me. In every space, we find people who help us along. And maybe we can get to know each other, here. We embrace ideas that provide a structure for the things we believe, and perhaps we can share these too. Maybe we can form a group, a tribe, a community, if we can figure out a way to work through the shadow of these kinds of groups, if we can bigger than the us-and-them ideas that have caused so much trouble in the past. As important as they are, I think the very nature of online interactions will lend itself to something equally powerful. I am stumbling onto these practices that my grandfathers and great grandfathers in the faith engaged in. I am learning about these attitudes and intuitions are so different than the kinds of things we call doctrine today. I don’t know about you, but I am running out of patience, and even interest, in conversations about doctrine. I hope that maybe you’ll share a little something about where your journey is taking you, and maybe our common joys and challenges might help each other along, and we might lift each other up. Thanks for doing this journey with me.

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