All you who are weary and heavily burdened

"Sometimes the most urgent thing you can possibly do is take a complete rest." -- Ashleigh Brilliant

The unappealing vegetables

Mark Tidd of Webster, New York, describes an experience from his college days:

An old man showed up at the back door of the house we were renting. Opening the door a few inches, we saw his eyes were glassy and his furrowed face glistened with silver stubble. He clutched a wicker basket holding a few unappealing vegetables. He bid us good morning and offered his produce for sale. We were uneasy enough that we made a quick purchase to alleviate both our pity and our fear.

To our chagrin, he returned the next week, introducing himself as Mr. Roth, the man who lived in the shack down the road. As our fears subsided, we got close enough to realize it wasn't alcohol but cataracts that marbleized his eyes. On subsequent visits, he would shuffle in, wearing two mismatched right shoes, and pull out a harmonica. With glazed eyes set on a future glory, he'd puff out old gospel tunes between conversations about vegetables and religion.

On one visit, he exclaimed, "God is so good! I came out of my shack this morning and found a bag full of shoes and clothing on my porch."

"That's wonderful, Mr. Roth!" we said. "We're happy for you."

"You know what's even more wonderful?" he asked. "Just yesterday I met some people that could really use them."

Your faith has made you well

I decided to attend a charismatic pentecostal church on Sunday night. I'm not sure what drove me to go there (perhaps God led me!), but I was bored, and I always pass the church on my way home from work, so why not?

It was a rather interesting service. I thought the music was exceptionally good, and I even sang along to several of the old hymns (hell, I teared up during "How Great Thou Art"). On the flip-side, the speaker was a 20-something youth pastor with lots of passion, very little theological training, and a deep desire to seem cool and relevant (note to pastors everywhere: mentioning Facebook and Twitter during your sermon doesn't make you cool; it makes you a douchebag). By the 15-minute mark, I was playing BrickBreaker on my BlackBerry (notice how I just referenced my BlackBerry? How cool does that make me?).

Anyways, towards the end of his rambling, seemingly pointless rant, the hip youth pastor decided to have an altar call.

"If anyone needs healing tonight, come forward and be touched by the Lord! If anyone needs their circumstances changed, come forward and be touched by the Lord! If anyone needs Jesus in their life, come forward and be touched by the Lord!"

I love altar calls. Watching an ego-driven pastor invite his poor, unsuspecting audience to "make a public decision for Jesus" so that he can see the impact of his contrived, emotionally manipulative words is truly a sight to behold. And here it was, happening before my very eyes!

"Come to the altar! For restoration! For change! For healing! Yes, God wants to heal you! God can heal you! God will heal you!"

There was lots of yelling, and lots of people were crying, and I felt a mixture of fear, confusion, and embarrassment.

And then I saw them. A young married couple I hadn't spoken to in almost a decade. Old acquiantances. People I used to eat with, pray with, and minister with.

I noticed the husband first. He looked pretty much the same: young, strong, attractive. A beautiful, full head of hair. He was always such a joyful man, always so vibrant and full of life. But something had changed. Something wasn't right. Gone was the excited smile, the childlike exuberance, the sense of wonder. My old friend looked like a man on the brink of nervous breakdown. His face was downcast. His cheeks were tear-stained and red. His eyes... shut.

Moments later, I caught a glimpse of his wife. She was tinier than I remembered, much frailer. And she was completely bald.

Cancer is such an awful fucking thing.

The young woman stood up, slowly made her way to the front of the church, and was instantly surrounded by people who began to pray for her. They lifted their voices upward, almost in unison, begging God for divine intervention, pleading for a miracle.

They commanded it, in Jesus' name.

--

Eventually, the service came to an end. I wandered over to the husband, and we shared an embrace.

"It's been too long," he said. "I hope you're doing well."

A moment passed.

"She doesn't have very much time left."

Hesitant faith

"Those who believe that they believe in God, but without passion in their hearts, without anguish in mind, without uncertainty, without doubt, without an element of despair even in their consolation, believe in the God idea, not God himself." -- Miguel de Unamuno

This generation shall not pass away

A friend of mine is convinced that by the middle of the century, fundamentalist Christianity in North America will be on the brink of extinction.

I couldn't agree more.

The reasons for this are plentiful, and the warning signs are obvious: Young people are increasingly rejecting the outdated faith of their parents. Science is continually teaching us new things about the origins of the universe. Sane, rational human beings are looking at their homosexual friends and neighbors and wondering, "Why, exactly, am I supposed to be afraid of these people?" The list goes on.

People are no longer willing to accept a belief system that discriminates against others, that imprisons the soul. Anyone who takes an honest look at the superiority claims of fundamentalist Christianity has no choice but to reject the religion. If the options are "accept Scripture as inerrant" or "don't accept it at all", most people will choose to not accept it at all. A third option -- "accept Scripture as a product of spiritual men trying to understand the world via myth" -- is hardly ever discussed.

This is my struggle, and the struggle of millions of others. We have come to realize that, despite all the good it accomplishes, fundamentalist Christianity teaches an entirely prejudiced and bigoted approach to life. We have come to realize that the notion of a loving God who mercilessly tortures people for following the wrong version of him is absolutely preposterous.

For some, it's a liberating revelation, a reason to celebrate and reject religion altogether. For others, the discovery is heartwrenching. Many of us still want to believe in an Almighty Creator. We still want to follow the Christ Ideal. We want to be part of a faith community that is inclusive and honest and true. We want to sing spiritual songs and psalms and hymns, to explore prayer and silence and meditation. We want to find common ground with Muslims and Buddhists and atheists and New Age practitioners. We want to grow in love and compassion and kindness. We want to experience a Sacred Romance.

And it pains us to see how how fundamentalist Christians -- the modern day Pharisees -- are murdering God, all over again.

Fatigue

"The most exhausting thing in life is being insincere." -- Anne Morrow Lindbergh

And puts the glory out to hide

I watched a fairly remarkable lightning display from the balcony of my apartment last night.

Thunderstorms have always brought me a deep measure of joy and gladness. As a young child, I would cuddle up next to my parents in front of the big window in our living room whenever a major weather system blew in from the west. I'd watch the fire bolts dance across the night sky, full of awe and wonder and innocence. Dad would wrap his arms around me and cover my ears for the inevitable thunder crash and mom would just smile and laugh. She'd say, "it's getting pretty late, we really should get to bed", but dad and I would put up a fight and beg for one more minute, one more jagged illumination on the horizon.

Life can be hard, and lonely, and painful. Over the past few years, I've become increasingly cynical and jaded towards religion, society, and people in general. Since starting this blog two months ago, I've experienced a profound sense of isolation and brokenness in my personal life, and this feeling has intensified in recent weeks. My posts have been sarcastic, demeaning, and in many instances, angry.

Nothing really changed last night. I still feel confused and frustrated and lost. I still think fundamentalist Christians are insane. I still doubt God. But for a few fleeting moments, I recaptured that childhood sense of awe and wonder and innocence. For a few fleeting moments, I felt like a young boy, sitting on his father's lap, laughing at the beauty of creation. For a few fleeting moments, it was well with my soul.