What Happened to Decency?

Tonight I got kicked out of a Christian Facebook group.  Man was it a good time!  Some chump admin was arrogantly coming down hard on people for using the word "Easter" instead of "Resurrection Sunday", even making a rule that the word would NOT be allowed on the group's page (yes, he used all caps... very totalitarian, don't you think?).  A perfect target for my venting.

It's been a tough week.  Our furnace died, so I dropped resources intended for a car on replacing it (we've been in the house only four months!).  Then the weekend came and I spent it vomiting, having picked up some bug.  Monday brought frustration as an unreasonable person caused me much trouble at work, refusing to accept a tiny inconvenience that would save me from a large conundrum.  Then today the Jeep left me stranded for hours.  The pump was primed.  And I let off some steam.

What happened to decency?  What happened to "love your neighbor", that second command Christ emphasized so readily?  Why are people jerks?  Not one passerby asked me if I was okay the entire time I was stranded.  Not one.

We live in a world where a good chunk of the population is ready to elect a president who calls people fat pigs.  Why doesn't that bother people?

I pick up litter.  And hitchhikers.  And spirits.  I am often regarded as some kind of odd outsider for these practices.  Why?

I let that Facebook admin have it; I was a bit harsh.  I sarcastically told him Jesus would certainly be giving him a gold star for his efforts to cleanse the sinful world of the word "Easter".  I corrected his grammar.  I blatantly opposed him when he claimed the Holy Spirit had led him to his war on "Easter".  I called him an arrogant ass.  And he was.

But maybe our answer is right there: I mistreated this man because he had mistreated others and because I was exhausted and because his post was asinine.  But Jesus didn't call us to love our nice neighbors, just our neighbors.  This man behaved foolishly, and certainly his priorities are ridiculously out of sync with Scripture, but Jesus did not qualify His command, giving us a loophole to skip by the ass clowns of society.  On the contrary.

What happened to decency?  Maybe I should start with a look at myself.  After all, my comments were not exactly loving.  And I really enjoyed giving them.  A previous mentor once told me that I would know if I had a servant's heart by my reaction when others treat me like a servant.  I could have done decently better.

The Struggle is Real

I struggle at my faith. I do not struggle at belief, I find it completely logical that a miracle kicked off this whole show, and giving credit for that spark to the God of the Bible requires a smaller violation of scientific reasoning than the other oddball theories posited. I believe. I also find the Bible to be a credible volume of works that has stood the test of time and the firing squad of criticism of all calibers. So my faith struggle is not one of belief VS disbelief. It's what comes from that belief that I struggle with; the impact belief has on my actions.

I struggle at my faith; and most of the time I feel alone in this.

I struggle to read my Bible. I find that when most Christians say this they really mean, "I do not read my Bible at all and I feel guilty about it." That is not my reality. I read the Bible. I probably read the Bible more often and more studiously than the majority of people I know. But I struggle to do so. It simply does not come easily to me. Sometimes I give myself consequences if I do not get a few chapters in, like refusing to turn in an important document at work if I haven't done my study, or not having a bite of food until I've dined on The Bread (Christianese for Scripture). I do it, frequently, but I struggle to do it.

I struggle to respect people. My theology is that all people are created in God's image and therefore are deserving of my due regard. I'm also to be a tireless servant of all, a humble grace-giver and loving helper. Two days ago a woman passed me on the shoulder of a residential road at great speed then slammed on her breaks at the next intersection so hard that she missed the turn, reversed as I was approaching, then made her turn while non-verbally communicating her displeasure at my existence. I called her an ass hat. Yesterday I was at Dunkin' buying my cuppa, I walked out to find a vehicle parked so far over the yellow line that I could not walk between it and my Jeep. I waited. Then, finally, went inside to politely inquire of the lady who owned the vehicle. She told me, in gruff and exasperated tones, that she was getting her coffee ready and that I would just have to wait patiently. I did not harbor goodwill in my heart as I said, "Apology accepted, I'll be waiting outside." In my department there is a heavy atmosphere of fear of pending cuts and raised expectations. It's near cut-throat sometimes. I repeatedly look like a fool when I rely on others to deliver what I've sold only to learn they've let down yet another client because they did not take the time to make a real effort at collaboration and customer service. I get pompous and superior as I make my displeasure known, then put in yet another twelve hour shift to "just do it myself". Then I apologize. Again. Because I'm supposed to respect people. But I struggle to.

I struggle to be pure. I avoid driving certain routes when I'm able because of the billboards that I can't seem to divert my eyes from. I awkwardly insist on making long drives for work on my own, not with my female sales partner. I duck out of inappropriate conversations with the manufacturing guys I often sell to. I can't watch Dancing with the Stars, Top Model, some of the Transformers series, almost any James Bond movie, or anything at all with Salma Hayek, or Salma Hayek's name being mentioned in the credits, or a poster of Salma Hayek in the movie, or an actor who played in a movie with Salma Hayek that I saw and so reminds me of that movie with Salma Hayek in it. No Salma. You're more like, Salmonella, you're gross and weird and undesirable and come from raw chicken. Leave me alone. All this struggle, and still I fail.

I struggle to go to church sometimes. I love my church. I love to worship. I teach every Sunday. I have great friends at church. But I go there and I feel like not many people are struggling. As if there are two groups of people: those who obey every Gospel-related message with neither hesitation nor difficulty, who pray freely and hit all the right notes during the songs. And the other group, most known to the outside world, who attend for some reason or other, but whose Facebook albums reflect repeated drunken attempts at being Selma or being royal A-holes. I don't fit in the second group because I struggle to live out my faith. I don't fit in the first group because I struggle to live out my faith. I offend the second group when I cite my faith and excuse myself from their revelry. I offend the first group when I admit that I called that lady an ass hat. Gets a little lonely.

I struggle to pray. I pray a lot. Not just daily, more like hourly. I pray before meals, and before meetings, and occasionally before I speak. Or write. I know Jesus. I acknowledge His ever-presence. So, naturally, I talk to Him. But when my life gets crazy and I'm closing on a house and launching a business and picking up the slack for the two vacant positions on my team and volunteering at youth group and teaching a class at the college and teaching Sunday school and serving on committees and applying for a grant and closing a statewide deal, it becomes less natural, like remembering to turn off the lights when leaving a burning building. I do it, but I struggle to do it.

I struggle at my faith. I feel alone in this. I'm certain that I am not, but who can tell the heart anything? Sometimes I wonder if this is all wrong, that the freedom that is the byproduct of faith is being missed somehow in my wrestling. I don't believe so; I have freedom today in knowing my destiny and freedom tomorrow from the sin that provokes the struggle. I do get tired, though. Sometimes I lose joy. The struggle may not be the idyllic Christian life, but it is authentic, or, as the meme goes, the struggle is real.

Mud

Facebook told me that three years ago today I was standing in the mud in Iowa. A Youth Pastor, I had been preparing an annual event involving knee-deep muck and impressionable middle school students. A recipe for messy success. That was three months after our family tragedy, and around the time my internal darkness was blacker than the mud I was mixing. Dirty. Smelly. Probably containing traces of wasteful byproduct. If our internal condition were externally manifested I might have seen the irony in the muck; maybe someone else would have noticed, too.

The event went off without a hitch. Eighty or so preteens left dirtier than they came, many with intentions of returning the next week to see about cleaning up their souls. It was our smoothest year yet, both in the consistency of the mud and in the execution of the event. Eight painful months later I surrendered to my condition, confessed my failings, and reached out for help, ready to be free of the filth of that summer.

I did not spend today making mud. Today I played kickball and got sunburned. We've now been in Northwest Indiana more than two years. In that time I've come to recognize that rain cannot create mud without dirt already being present. I've cleaned up old patches. I've undergone the sweet and effective solvent that is grace. I am no longer a pastor, and the vast majority of relationships from Iowa were shed when my dirt came to the surface. Along the way Janet and I have opened ourselves to new friendships, relationships planted in what is now a healthier soil. Not everything is sparkling clean, but we're moving in the right direction. Some of those friendships are taking root; we're not as lonely anymore. Today in the park our family played with other families. I stood in the sun, not in the mud.