Fire & Sun

Fear has ruled me for far too long.

I suppose that that’s the burden of living in a broken world. Yet I doubt I even put up much of a fight. I simply stood and allowed the fear to numb my will and freeze my heart and erect walls of false protection—walls to protect itself, not me—which soon became an idol to strength. Then it began the dissection, separating character from intellect, heart from brain, until it was satisfied with my downcast eyes and mute mouth. I was locked in the inner recesses of my mind, unable to express my wonder and joy at the world around me.

It was a card from a high school teacher, which I’ve kept and cherished these past few years, that opened my eyes to what I have become—a shadow of myself. Looking at myself through his eyes, I was startled awake to the reality of my complacency; and, horrified, I took a shaky step back towards my boldly gracious self.

And I breathed in… and took another.

when I was a child I didn’t hear a single word you said
the things I was afraid of, they were all confined beneath my bed
the years have been long, and you have taught me well to hide away
the things that I believed in, you taught me to call them all escapes

but I know who you are now
I know you who are
I know who you are now

standing on the threshold, I saw another world beyond myself
and in my hour of weakness you were there to see my courage fail
the years have been long, and you have taught me well to sit and wait
planning without acting, instead of me becoming what I hate

’cause I know who you are now
I know you who are
I know who you are now

I have always known you, and you have always been there in my mind
but now I understand you, and I will not be part of your desires

’cause I know who I am now
and all that you’ve made of me
I know who you are now
and I’ve made you my enemy

and I know who I am now
and all who I want to be
I want to be more than
this dead wood inside of me

– The Oh Hellos

 

Paul, Jesus, and Virtue Ethics

The heart of Jesus’ ‘practical’ teachings was ‘love God, love others.’ The same is true for Paul. Neither of them was at all interested in Following the Rules. To them, The Rules got in the way of doing God’s will. Granted, Jesus was less radical in his teachings regarding The Rules than Paul; Paul takes an extremely dim view of them (and isn’t afraid to let everybody know it), whereas Jesus focuses on The Rules as Intended rather than The Rules as Written, saying, ‘Hey guys, don’t freak out on me, okay? Following Torah is really important. But don’t let your desire to do what is right get in the way of doing what is right.’

It is interesting that Paul would go so far as to want to throw Torah out. Now, his reason for doing so is understandable. The followers of Jesus’ Way movement at the time had no idea what to do with the Gentile converts. There had always been strict dividing lines between Jews and Gentiles, and the Jewish Christians were at a loss for how to incorporate their Gentile counterparts into their religious communities. It makes sense, then, that Paul would decide, after thinking about this problem, that since Christ came for Gentiles who didn’t follow The Rules, there was no reason for Jews to keep following them either.

His argumentation for why The Rules are bad isn’t systematic (since he never wrote systematic theology), and thus, it’s a bit difficult to follow at times—but what he says makes good sense. Unfortunately, it seems to me that I, along with the rest of the Church, have fallen right back into following The Rules as the main way of trying to live out my faith. Maybe it’s like what happened when Israel asked God for a king and didn’t care that it wouldn’t end well for them—all they wanted was to be subject to an absolute earthly authority.

Point being, we like being given strict commands for what to do and not do.

My faith has certainly suffered for it. Instead of being concerned with becoming the kind of person who listens first and who gives grace and who cares less about being right and more about lending a hand, I beat myself up over missing church or not reading Scripture or forgetting to pray. I am easily scandalized by my neglect of Being a Good Christian but it doesn’t seem to trouble me when I forget to follow Jesus.

In terms of how to practice faith, Christ really only gave us two guidelines. He made things really simple for us, because that’s really all we can handle. Yet somehow we’ve missed it and flipped everything on its head. We never once suspected that Christianity was a virtue ethics system. Instead, we let Following the Rules get in the way of following Jesus.

[beginnings]

with golden string
our universe was clothed in light.
pulling at the seams,
our once barren world now brims with life,
that we may fall in love
every time we open up our eyes.
I guess space, and time,
takes violent things, angry things
and makes them kind.

“we are the dust of dust.”
“we are the apple of God’s eye.”
“we are infinite as the universe we hold inside.”

“infinity times infinity.”
“infinity times infinity times infinity.”
“Infinity times infinity times infinity times infinity.”
“let there be light, let there be light, let me be right…”

the dust of dust.
we are the apple of God’s eye.
we are infinite as the universe we hold inside.

“let there be light, let there be light, let me be right.”

with golden string
our universe was brought to life,
that we may fall in love
every time we open up our eyes.

– Sleeping at Last

[light]

when we woke up
the world was figured out
beyond the beauty we’ve dreamt about.
this brilliant light is brighter than we’ve known,
without our darkness to prove it so.
still, we can’t help but to examine it,
to add our question marks to periods.
at the foot of our bed, we found an envelope…

“you are enough.”
these little words, somehow they’re changing us.
“you are enough.”
so we let our shadows fall away like dust.

when we grew up,
our shadows grew up too.
but they’re just old ghosts
that we grow attached to.
the tragic flaw is that they hide the truth

that you’re enough.
I promise you’re enough.
I promise you’re enough, I promise you.

“you are enough.”
these little words, somehow they’re changing us.
“you are enough,”
so we let our shadows fall away like dust.
“you are enough.”
these little words, somehow they’re changing us.
let it go, let it go, “you are enough.”
so we let our shadows fall away like dust.

– Sleeping at Last

[purpose]

there must be purpose here, ’cause most of us keep waking up
(don’t you think it’s pretty here)
it’s so unexpectedly predictable
so sloppily intentional
does anyone know the punchline yet

there must be rhythm here, ’cause all of us have a heartbeat
(don’t you see the music here)
inside our ribs we take an average of 60 beats a minute
a-rum-pum-pum-pum
a-rum-pum-pum-pum-pum

there must be forgiveness here, ’cause most of us have our weaknesses
(tell me what are your weaknesses)
I don’t know myself, and I’m afraid of you
I’m happiest on chemicals
the goings come, and the comings go
forgive me, I’m just an animal

there must be healing here, ’cause everybody here has been damaged
and we’ll wear it like a tattoo
every scar is a smile
to hell with the going down

there must be afterlife here, ’cause we all pray for resurrection
you see, the end comes quick as a bullet

– Cloud Cult

To Mourn

This year has involved a lot of mourning.

I have mourned the loss of friendships, the loss of different opportunities, the loss of an old normal, the loss of what I thought would be the new normal. And in the midst of all this mourning, it sometimes feels like my hopes and expectations are constantly being disappointed and that nothing will ever be as good as I imagine. It feels like there are some things that I’ll never have, things that I desperately desire for myself or for those I love and that will never be ours.

What do we do with that sense of lack? What do I do when a valued relationship ends or when I realize that something I thought would be fun and enjoyable and fulfilling is going to be a painful growing experience? What do I do when time or brokenness takes something from my hands?

Well, first, I mourn. I had a dream, a desire for something good, and for whatever reason, that dream won’t be realized. And that’s not fair. It’s not fair that the world is this way, that things are sometimes hard and that circumstances change, and that those changes tear people apart and close the doors we wish could stay open. And so it is good and appropriate to mourn the loss what could have been, what should have been.

Sometimes I’ll tell myself that yes, the world isn’t fair, so I should just get over myself and deal with it. But the thing is, there is something to be said for keeping our hearts soft. The fact that things are this way does not mean that they should be this way. And there is something very precious in valuing a thing or a person in such a way that we might be hurt.

This is not to say that I will go around falling to pieces whenever something doesn’t go my way, but what it does mean is that I will acknowledge and respect the sadness I feel for the things that are wrong. I will mourn. And then I will move forward. And as I mourn and move forward, I will cultivate a heart that is open and vulnerable.

Mourning is a refining process. Mourning breaks us down, but it also builds us up again—fragile in unexpected places, but also incredibly strong. And after we’ve lived awhile and have hoped and loved and lost, we are changed.

And so as we live, may we better learn to love, may we never lose our ability to hope, and may our hearts become both soft and strong.

While the Weeping

Life has been stormy lately. I have experienced many storms in my life, but they have been highstorms, the kind that rage wildly and then cease, that batter you and then leave behind bits of light. But now it is the Weeping, a time of continuous rain and no sun. This storm, though less violent, persistently wears away at your soul little by little until you feel numbly ineffectual. There is no awe and no stormlight. Just endless rain.

I cannot fix these problems. I cannot stop this rain. Yet I feel that I must try. How else am I to help the others in the storm?

I am waiting, but I cannot simply wait. I cannot simply hope.

But what power do I have? I am not enough. I am not enough to stop the rain. I am not enough to bring back the sun. I am not enough to make things better. I am not enough to fix this world.

And yet… there is a saying. Strength before weakness. And so what small strength I have, I will use. I can still ease the hurts of others. I can protect those who cannot protect themselves.

This I will do, as I wait and as I hope.

and after the storm
I run and run as the rains come
and I look up, I look up
on my knees and out of luck, I look up

and I won’t die alone and be left there
well, I guess I’ll just go home, oh God knows where
because death is just so full and man so small
well, I’m scared of what’s behind and what’s before

and there will come a time, you’ll see, with no more tears
and love will not break your heart but dismiss your fears
get over your hill and see what you find there
with grace in your heart and flowers was in your hair

– Mumford & Sons

Made For Love

This past weekend, I spent a morning with my nephew and niece. This whole bigger-family thing is kind of new and strange and uncomfortable still, but in spite of the uncertainty, it’s been a blessing to get to know these two kids who have found their way into my heart.

It’s funny—even though I don’t know them or their parents very well, I still love them. Maybe I originally loved my niece for the sake of her blood relation to me, and maybe I originally loved her family for her sake, but now, I love them because… well, because that’s what we’re for.

The same is true for my ‘adopted’ 3rd vanReken family. I didn’t know any of them when I came to college, but that hasn’t stopped me from taking them into my heart and making them special (and continuing to value them and be there for them even when I don’t feel like it).

Humans are relational creatures. We’re wired to love. Yes, some people—like our parents and siblings and schoolmates—are more conveniently placed in our lives than others, but there is still an element of choice involved. It might not feel that way, but even though we don’t get to choose our family, we do get to choose to love them and acknowledge the relationship. We look at them and say, ‘These people are flawed, and these people have hurt me—and will probably hurt me over and over again—but I will love them regardless, because of who they are and because of who I am.’

Marriage does this weird thing where instead of being related to someone, we make them a (hopefully) permanent part of our family. And that’s scary, because again, people are flawed. On a given day, I might not feel all that loving towards my spouse. So what happens then?

On a different level, this happens with my friends—they sometimes annoy me or don’t understand me or even hurt me deeply. But I love them anyway, because at some point along the road, I chose them and they chose me, and we made ourselves permanent fixtures in one another’s lives.

If I notice that I’m not feeling loving, I shrug my shoulders and remind myself that love is a conscious action, not a feeling. Love isn’t about a state that I happen to be in; love is about the other person. Now, that doesn’t mean that I have to be ‘nice’ to a friend even if we’re having serious problems. But what it does mean is that I don’t get to just give up when I encounter their humanity.

Love does not in any way mean ‘being nice.’

Love is gentle, yes. But it’s the kind of gentle that doesn’t let go. It’s the kind of gentle that protects fiercely. It doesn’t exist in the same superficial realm as something so pale and fickle as ‘nice.’

And though it’s what we were made to do, love is frustratingly, sleeplessly, back-breakingly difficult. Because when we look at other people, we see our own humanity reflected glaringly and unglamorously back at us. When I look at another person, I am reminded of how weak and deluded and annoying and insignificant I am—and if I am unable to accept my own flaws, I’m going to have a heck of a hard time accepting the flaws of others. More often than not, I don’t give people a chance because I find their humanity irritating. Yet in a way, those people are no different from the people I have chosen to love.

My brokenness gets in the way of my natural capacity for loving. I was made for love, yet somewhere along the way, I forgot. And the remembering process is incredibly daunting.

This is the tragedy of the fall; in forgetting how to love, we have forgotten our purpose, our identity. And in so doing, we have cut ourselves off from the rest of creation.

We are utterly, wretchedly incomplete.

In our isolation, the echoes of what once was haunt us. We feel the loss, and when we look at others, the ache of relational inadequacy fills us with fears and anxieties. ‘For if I have forgotten how to love,’ we think, ‘surely they have too.’ We are afraid, and our fear traps us behind walls of anger and anxiety and irritation and niceness.

But sometimes, people enter our lives who seem worth breaking down those walls for. And so we do; bit by careful bit, we learn to love these people until suddenly we realize that that love has become a choice—a choice of love over fear. And that choice sustains us. It gives us permission to be more ourselves—to be creatures of love.

That radical, earth-shattering choice changes us. God, how it changes us.

[journey]

through wires and waves, our voices carry.
such careful words that we can barely speak out loud.
we found an ocean when we needed land.
we drowned in words when we needed a hand.
so we plead for night, and the sun keeps on spilling light.

there’s a fine line, a fine line in between
our progress and our instability.
we can’t help ourselves but hunt for more.
a design flaw? or the olive branch that proves the shore—
the catalyst we’ve waited for.

we live and die under the thumb of fear,
as though the finish line will merely disappear
if we take one less step, even to catch our breath.

we once felt safe, like no cure was needed.
our vocabularies had no room for “defeated,”
but we grew up quick and became connoisseurs of it.

there’s a fine line, a fine line in between
our progress and our instability.
we can’t help ourselves but hunt for more.
a design flaw? or the olive branch that proves the shore—
the catalyst we’ve waited for.

– Sleeping at Last

The Space Between

Life is funny.

I think I know what’s going on, or I think some plan that I have is great, and then I’m proven wrong. I come up with grand schemes and plans and I think I know how to fix things or how to help other people fix things. But far too often, I become prideful. I survey life from my high, precarious, self-made pedestal, and I nod approvingly as I think of all the good I will do.

But the truth is, I don’t have the answers. I have only my limited perspective, my extremely narrow view. And other people, well, they’re not me.

Unfortunately, I like to think of myself as being one of those wise characters who swoops in and helps other people figure things out—and although helping others is good, I miss the mark if I’m doing it simply to fill the role of a character I want to become.

Yet, in those moments when I realize that I am not the most wise or intelligent person around, I catch a glimpse of what it was that I was missing, something that I overlooked while I was too busy being proud of myself.

And, you know, the space between where I think I am—where I want to be—and where I actually am is pretty spectacular and beautiful.

That’s where humility is learned (and re-learned), and it’s where we begin to unfurl our tender shoots, stretch towards the sun, and grow.