Some Nights

"Well, some nights, I wish that this all would end
'Cause I could use some friends for a change." - Some Nights - fun.

There have been many benefits of working online, of isolating and staying home.  In general, I like down time, I like my garden, I've enjoyed biking.  While like most of us, I wish I could be a little more disciplined with my time, I can't really complain about the change of pace that's taken place over the past five months.  Of course I wish the cause away, but I am doing fine, or at least I thought I was doing fine.

Spending five months living in fear has taken its toll on me, throw in a bit of pre-existing social anxiety, the past five months have felt very isolating.  I flip-flop between wanting to stay at home with just my wife, to desiring social interaction.  When I want to spend time with friends, I suddenly don't know how.  All the social skills I've taught myself over the years are failing me.  I don't know if it is okay to hang out with people, I'm not sure if I want to get too close, and I don't know how they feel about getting close to me.  The people open to hanging out with others, are the ones I am more afraid of being with.  So, I don't hang out with anyone. 

We are encouraged to socialise using our phone or an app.  This is even more difficult for me.  It always has been.  So, I'm a little lonely, a little anxious.  I am so grateful for my wife who suffers with me, holds me when I am anxious, and also misses socialising with people.  We're trying to figure this out, but I'm not sure if we're getting anywhere.

The Search

**5**

Invite Jesus into your heart, my Sunday school teacher says. I do. Over and over again I do, but if I never feel a change, how can I know it worked? What does it feel like to have a grown, bearded man, robed in blue and white, living inside my heart? Is he wearing a crown of thorns when he enters in?

**11**

Give your life to Jesus, the camp speaker says. Surrender all you are. Commit your life to him. I do. Over and over again, I pray, I read the Bible. I fast. I am baptised. What does it feel like to be dead to the natural man, alive in Christ? If I don’t feel different, am I doing it wrong?

**15**

I choose my story, the Christian author says, I choose what I want in my story, and I know what I don’t want. I don’t want sin. I don’t want attractions towards women. I don’t want to be gay. I make the choice solid. I commit fully to God’s plan, not my desires. I am happy, right? I may not know who I am. I write dark poetry about being alone. I think about hurting myself, a cry for attention, but surely God is attentive to me. I don’t need, nor deserve the attention of others. If God is with me, must I feel so alone?

**18**

I’ve been promised a personal relationship with God. I seek to know this being I follow. I plan to isolate myself from others. I don’t need human relationships, I need God. I imagine sitting on the floor, hiding beneath over-the-ear headphones on my first day of Bible college. I can’t afford the headphones that I imagine, so I settle for the earphones that come with the MP3 player I buy for this purpose. I sit and observe the other students. I am not here for them. I am here to know God. As the year passes, I do meet the other students, I write about the Trinity, but God never shows up. Where is he?

**19**

At Bible camp, I watch as parents show up with a cake for their son. No one knows it is my birthday too. No one celebrates me. Surely the God who formed me, who knit me together in my mother’s womb, surely he know. That ought to be enough. I can quote the scriptures, but I cry in the basement, alone. Does God see me? Can’t he send some one my way to cheer me up?

**20**

I head to Bible college again; different school, different city, new friends. I’m still seeking for that relationship with God. I still avoid getting too involved in social aspects, but I do enjoy community with my roommates. I attend a new church, but find only performance and noise. Is God in the textbooks? The hymnal? Can he really speak directly to me?

**23**

At work I share with youth this good news that I’ve been promised. There is a loving God who can help every youth overcome every challenge. God can help in all situations. In my secret thoughts I wonder why God helps some frantic wealthy woman find her car keys, when every day there are children dying of hunger in Chad. I wonder, if he doesn’t care about the children dying across the world, why would he care about my dad, dying of cancer? Why does God help others, but never me?

**24**

And why doesn’t God comfort me after my dad passes? Why do I try so hard to be righteous, but feel so alone? I’ve memorised scriptures, I’ve written papers, I’ve prayed, but it has made no difference. I wonder if I can find comfort somewhere else. I wonder if sinful living is the path to choose. Yet, as I list vices, none of them appeal much to me. I go through Christian motions, but my heart drifts from the hope it once held. God makes no difference in my life. My belief in him isn’t what makes me a good person, so why believe in him?

**25**

I’ve given up, and yet, I am drawn back by missionaries who once again promise a relational God. They are patient with my questions, sure in their answers. I want to believe. I want to believe in the hope they offer. I want to believe there is goodness and reason in the messiness of life. I desire again for evidence of this being, count every song that pops into my head as a sign. Get baptised, the missionaries say. I do. I participate in community. I accept who I am, a little bit. For the first time say the words, I’m gay. I wonder why God still wants me to marry a man. His plans seem to work great for everyone else, but are they really what is best for me? Why can’t God have a personal plan for me?

**27**

I go on a mission to put off thoughts of marriage. I go on a mission longing to connect with the spiritual, to hear God’s voice, to heed his direction. I go on a mission hoping my commitment to serve God will earn me a personal experience with him. I go on a mission believing that God, who has so often remained silent in my life, will speak into the lives of others. I learn again to hide my sexuality, to fake spirituality, to assume my thoughts are from God. I learn how dark anxiety feels. I remember how lonely I can feel in the presence of people. I don’t give up. The weight of responsibility presses on my shoulders, but I push against it. I choose to be joyful, I find life in music. At times I journey with others, at times I fight alone. Does God ever take my side, or does he just watch from the sideline? Why, after all my effort, don’t I see miracles?

**30**

I love her. I intend just to be her friend, but I love her. More importantly, she loves me. I feel that love. We could just be friends, but I know what I want. It is not the voice of my Sunday school teacher, the voice of the camp speaker, the voice of the missionaries, nor that of any other religious leader. It is a voice from within me. Our love is tangible, and I want to give my whole self to this woman. Do I love her more than I love God, my bishop asks me. Yes, and I’ve felt her love in ways I’ve never felt the love of God. We have a very personal relationship. She cares about me and validates me in ways I only hoped God would. The choice is easy. I abandon the religion which makes me choose, and we marry. Does God rejoice with me?

**31**

We don’t hate God, and we don’t hate religion, so we choose to explore churches willing to accept our relationship. Something within me always draws me back to churches. It isn’t the music nor the sermons. It isn’t the theology which I spent years studying. As I search for God, I asked, can a community be God to me? Can a church be Jesus? I had sought tirelessly for a relationship with God, but had I missed the point when I overlooked human relationships? Perhaps to feel love from God was to feel love from people. My wife and I searched for such a community until we found a place where I can believe that God is love, because it is a community of love. A place where I can believe that God cares, because they care. A place where I can believe that God accepts me, because they accept me. So, I have found the love, compassion and acceptance of God, without any certainty that there is a divine being. Perhaps I could have found this earlier, but it wasn’t what I’d been looking for. Promises of magical intervention, lofty visions, had my eyes focused away from the Christlike love of others. How can I spread this love?

Polepole

Reaching 5895 meters above sea level, Mount Kilimanjaro is the world's tallest free-standing mountain and the highest peak in Africa.*  At the tender age of thirteen, I along with my sister and my father, set out to conquer Kili.  Eager, and with spring in our steps we began the journey, three and a half days up, one and a half down.  We carried only our day packs and were ready to run with the gazelles up the constant incline.  Our guide, however, warned us against such sprints.  His advice was simple, "polepole" - slowly.  The idea was that going slowly at a sustainable speed would be quicker than a binge and purge approach.  It's the story of the tortoise and the hare.  It worked.  Our trek was slow, but it was consistent.
Polepole.  I am often overwhelmed at how much I have to learn, how much I have to grow.  I have goals of being totally humble, completely faith-filled and perfect.  While those goals are great things to aim for, they are not achieved over night neither are they achieved sprinting.  Polepole.  I hope that every day I can become a little more humble, gain a little more faith and move closer towards perfection, but the journey is long, the destination is still far away.  What matters though is that I am on the journey, I am taking steps, no matter how polepole, in the right direction.
You might think this is a poor analogy if I tell you that I never made it to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro.  However, even in that there is a lesson to be learned.  The goal set out for us was to summit for sunrise.  My sleep, uncomfortable in a dorm of strange men and women, was cut short when I was awoken a little after one and beckoned to begin the journey heavenward.  It was dark, the steep trail lit only by our head lamps.  I was tired, grouchy.  Our goal, which had previously been hidden from us by the clouds, was now cloaked in darkness.  There was greater urgency than in the previous days.  If we were to make our goal, we had to keep going.
I couldn't keep up.  I didn't feel well.  Whether it was because of the altitude, the physical exertion or the lack of sleep, i do not know, but I felt miserable.  I begged for a break, and in the darkness I sat down.
I couldn't do it, I told them, and then I was told that I didn't have to.  I could go back to the scary dorm room filled with strange men and go back to sleep.
The choice was mine - conquer Africa's highest peak or go back to bed.  That was a big choice for little 13 year-old me.  I knew hours of hiking were still ahead.  The summit seemed to be nothing more than a fictitious promise, and surely the sunrise couldn't be that amazing.
I'm convinced I could have made it.  While altitude sickness seems to be the most honourable excuse, I think I was just tired.  Had I gotten up, taken just one step and then another, polepole I would have made it to the top.  However, my sister, rather than encouraging me along, gave me a ultimatum.  Now or never.  "Let's go, and if you can't, then you go back and let us go on."**  I went back.  I spent the night coward in a corner of the dorm room hoping and praying that the men wouldn't touch me.  So much for sleep.
My sister and my dad when on to summit the world's tallest free standing mountain while I stayed behind.
I'm thankful for the people who haven't left me behind as I journey to become more like Jesus.  I too often I'm pouty, I sit down and complain that I can't do it.  Every time I do, someone comes along and tells me to get up, to take another step, to look back at how far I've come, remember the strength I've been given thus far and to carry on.  Little by little, inch by inch, do whatever I can do, and if all I can do is sit there for a minute or two, that is better than retreating.  I love that the Gospel asks us just to do however little it is that we can.  What matters is that I am on the right path, not the speed at which I am progressing and while I want to sprint towards the goal, I can't.  It is too far away, but everyday I can learn something new, I can put into practice everything I've learned and step by step, polepole, I'll get closer to my goal.  Will I succeed?  Ultimately the choice is mine.  A choice made up of a thousand choices.  On Kili the choice was mine and this is no difference.  I'm just thankful for those who have made the choices easier, who have encouraged and supported me and reminded me that I am where I need to be.  I'm on the journey, I'm on the right path, I'm going in the right direction and that's what matters.



*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Kilimanjaro
**I feel like I should defend my sister.  She's great and we had a lot of fun together hiking up Kili.  She was also a teenager, grumpy from not getting enough sleep, and well you can't expect much patience from a 16 year-old.  She likewise has made little steps towards greater change, so when she decided that we should run 15 miles a couple years ago, and with less than a mile left I just wanted to give up, she wouldn't let me.  She encouraged me every step and told me I could do it.  It turns out that she was right, but I couldn't have done it alone.  Thanks.

On Understanding

You say you want to understand, but understanding is a lot of work.  If you knew all that was involved, would you still feel the same way?  I so desperately want to be understood.  I want to believe you, but I’m afraid.  I’m afraid I’ll be disappointed.  You’ll never understand me.  I can’t say I’ll ever understand myself, and when one thing comes to make sense to you, I’ll change.  But, I’m not sure you really want to understand me.  I’m not sure you know all that is involved.  Professionals, they’re paid to listen, but you, I feel bad taking your time.  I’ll keep buying you supper because I feel that somehow I need to give back to you.  I need to make every hour we spend together worth it for you, and I can’t believe that you’d find it worthwhile, just hanging out with me.  I love you so much, that’s why I’m so afraid.  I’m afraid that you just put up with me.  I don’t want to annoy you.  I don’t want to force you to listen to me.  I’m selfish.  I love talking about myself, I love being with you, so I’ll try not to talk about myself too much, because I’m afraid I’ll push you away.  I wish this wasn’t all about me, but like I said, I’m selfish.  I’m not sure I have anything to offer you.  Can I buy you lunch?

hugs and pushes

Sometimes I give off an impression to people that I don’t like physical touch.  I suppose that is because sometimes I don’t like physical touch, but sometimes I do, and sometimes I crave it.  I love handshakes, good solid handshakes.  I’ve never been a big fan of hugs. 

When I was a kid, a repeated piece of advice that I got from my parents when I played soccer was, “stay on your feet!”  I got this advice because I fell down a lot.  When someone from the other team would push me, even just a little, even if it was legal, I’d fall down.  I didn’t realise why at the time, but looking back I’m pretty sure I was trying to get away for their touch.  (No wonder I fell off a bridge to avoid being kissed, falling was my escape.)  I play soccer now every Sunday with a group of friends.  The thing is I don’t fall down anymore.  These guys are some of my best buddies.  I don’t mind if they push me; I push back.  I trust them. 

Thank You Strangers

Sunday was a rough day when it came to driving.
There was a lot of snow.
My car is not built for life in Canada.
So when someone cut in front of me, try as I may, I could not slow down.
CRASH!
I ended up in the snow on the side of the road.
The car I hit pulled off the road some 200 meters ahead.
I would have driven up to him, but I was stuck in the snow.
My friends and I got out of my car, and started moving the snow away with our feet.
A stranger stopped.
He listened.
And he got my car unstuck for me.
Thank you stranger!

I continued on my way.
I think I chose the wrong way.
Suddenly, in front of me was a big hill.
try as I may, my car wasn't going very fast.
Then it wasn't going at all.
My friends got out at tried to push.
It went a little ways.
I hoped I might be able to get up the rest of the hill.
I told them to get in.
Big truck, races in front of me, reverses until it is near me.
Man in truck get out, pulls out ropes, pulls me up the hill.
Thank you stranger!

I dropped my friends off.
I got stuck at their house.
They dug me out.
I went inside for tea.
Then I left.
I was driving, alone.
There was a hill.
I spoke to my car.
"You're a race car, Eustace!  You can do it!"
Then the light turned red.
I knew I had time to stop.
but then I couldn't go again.
Strangers pulled up behind me.
They got out.
They pushed.
I moved.
Thank You Strangers!

Let me sleep a little longer.

Augustine of Hippo contemplated “what evil is there not in me and my deeds; or if not in my deeds, my word; or if not in my words, my will”.  While my deeds and my words may not obviously display evil, the evil within me is not without its vices.  I have stopped my “race of virtue [which] marks the beginning of the race of evil” (Gregory of Nyssa).  The former is a marathon (not merely the race, but all the training involved); the latter a walk in the park.

In my class we discussed the word spirituality.  I have held onto the idea that spirituality is made up of divine experiences that stimulate our emotions and leave us changed.  Not only did this concept of spirituality feel very foreign to me, but it also felt like something which I was unable to obtain.  If I could not make God show up, and I couldn’t, then I could not be spiritual.  When the definition shifted to be “theology lived,” suddenly the onus was on me.  I haven’t been living my theology.  I have not been racing towards virtue, but rather I’ve fallen away “from the perfection which is attainable” (Gregory of Nyssa).  I know many of the things I could, and should do, but I have no desire to participate in these things.  Gregory of Nyssa suggests that “those who know what is good by nature desire participation in it”.  Do I believe that God is good?  Do I see the value of reading my Bible?  Do I credit any merit to prayer?  Maybe not.  Reluctantly I sat through chapel on Wednesday.  I wanted to leave.  I wanted to escape.  Recently my escape has been story writing.  I wasn’t feeling close to God, and I knew that story writing wasn’t helping me feel any closer to him, but sitting in chapel wasn’t helping either.   I know it is not all about feelings, so I started to wonder how my beliefs would act themselves out at that moment.  I couldn’t justify writing.  I couldn’t justify running.  I reckoned that if I truly believed in community that I would stay around and be open with people.  If I believed that through others God works, then maybe I could find healing.  Chapel ended.

As I walked down the hall someone approached me

“Hey Patricia, how are you?”  She asked.

“I’m okay.”  I wasn’t okay. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” and with that we parted ways.  So much for living authentically.  So much for living my theology.

Reading the works of Basil the Great reinforces my theology of community.  I cannot go through life alone for we “require the help of one another”.  So frequently, however, I am unwilling to accept that help.  I am selfish, not seeing my gifts as “common possessions” of the community.  I also do not see the gifts of other in this way.  I feel bad being a burden to anyone.  While I may be willing to help someone carry their burden (as long as it is not too heavy and the journey not too far), I carry mine alone.

I do not know why I fear community when it is a gift from God.

I do not know why I escape to story writing when Christ alone is my refuge.

I do not know why I look to the blogosphere to fill my desires when I know that “the longing for Jesus is always underneath our every desire” (Michael Yaconelli, Messy Spirituality).

Though my brain is stuffed with knowledge I am not a spiritual being.  Over and over I fail to live my theology.  I do not know why.  With Augustine I ask “why [do] I find so much delight in doing this”?  When I believe that God is the “true and highest Sweetness”, “by what passion, then, [am] I animated” to do evil?  How easy it is to say that I will suffer with my Lord, but when the suffering is not glorious, when it is simply denying myself of my cravings, how quickly I am to give way.  While I have spoken now mostly of my deeds, often it is my evil will which threatens my theology.  My rebellious desires seek “nothing from the shameful deed but shame itself”.  How harsh are Augustine’s words, and yet how deeply they struck me as true.  “My sole gratification” is in the thought of “my own sin” and there is not much holding my back.   With Augustine I want to say to God “Presently; see, presently.  Leave me alone for a little while” and then I want to fall back into a deep sleep, and not walk up until the interesting dream is over and my responsibilities are left undone for so long that I cannot go back and do them.  Though I want to give myself fully to God eventually, I am “bound by the iron chain of my own will”. My current desires will only make this chain stronger, rather than fight against it.  Maybe I don’t live my theology because I don’t really believe it.  I know the right things to believe.  It is easy to say that God is love, but hard to live in such a way that would proclaim I believed it.  Who is this “sweeter than all pleasure” and how can I know him if not through my “flesh and blood”?

The Compound

I stole some ideas from my friend, and from a dream he had, and then I wrote this short story.  Enjoy:

The concrete walls were high and unyielding as if they were trying to keep people out, so I was surprised when I met two friendly men in white shirts with orange ties.  They looked to be barely 20, yet they were clean shaven, and presented themselves in such a way that I would have thought them to be much older.

With warmth in his eyes, the shorter one stepped forward and shook my hand “Hello and welcome.” He said with enthusiasm that could make one think we were newly acquainted long lost friends.  I was taken aback, intrigued.  I listened intently as he went on. “We are Recruiters for The Family of Purity.  I am Advisor Johnson and this is Advisor Peterson.”  With that introduction, the taller man stepped forward and shook my hand.  I wondered at what these young men, barely older than me, had accomplished to become Advisors.  I wondered what The Family of Purity really was, and if could I become part of it?

I was shocked when Advisor Peterson offered me a tour of looming compound that stood behind him.  Eagerly I took him up on the offer.  They unlocked the heavy doors to let me in.  There I saw a multitude.  Men, woman and children, all dressed alike in orange jumpsuits.  All seemingly with a task at hand, yet they stopped to greet me with a welcoming handshake and a smile.  Momentarily I noticed that I stood out.  Dressed casually in a t-shirt and shorts, it was obvious that I was not one of The Family.  I observed their interactions with each other.  Like a family they called each other by their names, or simply just brother, or sister or father. 

As I was taking this all in, and shaking the hands of those who approached me, the loneliness and emptiness of my life hit me.  Before me was family, a chance to belong and find meaning in my life.  I wondered what they would require of me, but I was willing to give almost anything.

Advisor Johnson broke into my thoughts.  “The Family of Purity exists so the all men might find happiness on this earth, and in the life to come.”  His words were a melody to my ear.  His song continued when he added “We believe that you can be happy, like the people here, if you follow simple commandments.  It is our hope that you give yourself to The Compound, because only in this Family can you find joy.”

“How can I do that?”  I shook with anticipation.

“I have The Pamphlet which you can read, and I trust as you read it that you will feel the goodness of The Compound and long to be part of it.”  As he said this he pulled a 24 page mini-book out of his pocket and handed it to me.  I was taken out of the moment as I lost myself inside the pages.  He was right.  This had to be good.  How could something with so much unity, with so much love, be anything but good?

When I was finishing the second page Advisor Peterson interrupted my thoughts.  “You’ll have plenty of time to study The Pamphlet later.  For now, come, let us show you further into the compound.”

I was torn.  I desired to continue to read the words of The Pamphlet, the words of life, but I also wanted to see more of the compound.  Slowly I found the strength to but The Pamphlet away and give the Recruiters my full attention.

I followed them in awe as I took in my surrounding.  The bright orange jumpsuits stood out against the muted walls.  As we walked towards the centre of the compound, we passed through a hallway.  On either side the grey walls were lined with men and woman in jumpsuits.  Their arms and legs were chained, bolted into the walls.

“This is a beautiful sight” Advisor Johnson said confidently to me, but I didn’t see the beauty.  These humans were chained; they were trapped.  How could anyone think the suppression of another was a beautiful thing?  Then I looked upon their faces.  They didn’t look miserable.  In fact, they were smiling, even laughing at times.  Advisor Johnson continued, “These men and women know about the evils of society, and have chosen to stay away from anything evil.  They are so committed to The Family that they are willing to give their life.  They have no desire to break free from the chains that entangle them.”

I wouldn’t have been able to believe The Advisor if I hadn’t seen the faces of The Family Members.  When I looked at the glitter in their eyes and the smile on their faces I knew that they would have it no other way.  We passed into the core of The Compound.  Here, both men and woman were in cells.  They looked out from between the bars as we passed through.  There was a solemn air about the place, and we spoke not a word as we hurried through.  Once out on the other side, Advisor Peterson explained what I had just seen.

“Those are the weakest Members of our Family.  Though they desire purity, if allowed any freedom, they fail to obtain it.  Still we love them, so we do all we can to enable them to live the purity they desire.  Inside the cells they face no temptation.  They are safe from the dangers of this world and the dangers of one’s self.” 

“This really is a family” I said amazed at how much they cared for each other.

“”Yes,” replied Advisor Johnson, “And it is a family of which we invite you to be a part.”

“What must I do?” I inquired eagerly.

“We invite you to prepare yourself to be born into the Family of Purity as soon as possible.”

“And how do I prepare?”  I was ready to do anything.

“You must show yourself that you are committed to The Plan of Purity.”  Advisor Peterson counselled “for the next week you must live to the standards of purity as are outlined in The Pamphlet.  Come with us, we will show you what we have in place to help you.”

We walked towards the exit of The Compound.  I noticed for the first time, armed guards standing at the doorway.  They were not concerning themselves with the people walking into The Compound.  They were watching those inside, and I wondered if they’d let us leave.  One of the guards took a step towards me.  I froze in terror momentarily until I saw the large smile on his face.  He offered me a handshake and introduced himself.  I walked into the blazing sun with The Recruiters.  I hadn’t remembered the sun being so hot that morning.

Along the outside of building there stretched an iron rod.  I hadn’t noticed it on my way in.  Advisor Peterson pulled out handcuffs from his pocket.

“What’s this about?” I asked.

“We want to help you to stay committed to The Plan of Purity.  We invite you to handcuff yourself to this rod so that you do not give into any temptations and, in so doing, forsake purity.  We hope that in a week’s time when we come back that we find you pure and ready to be born into our Family”

I took the cuffs and sighed deeply.  Slowly, but deliberately I attached one of the cuffs to the rod and the other to my wrist. 

“I believe you,” I told the recruiters as they went on their way.

“And we believe in you.” They replied.

Then I pulled out The Pamphlet, excited and ready to learn about The Family of Purity.

Hope for Hazel

She told us about the preacher who had come to the jail.

He was from the first non-hypocritical Church she had ever encountered

He had a real story

About real things.

He was passionate

He had been hurt.

He cried as he spoke.

As he remembered his trial.

His dad, a drunk beating his mom,

Beating him.

And then his life turned around

And now he is a preacher.

She told me that she wanted to go to his church on Sunday

For because of him, she thought, for the first time, that maybe, maybe there was hope.

Maybe there was hope for her in the midst of all she had gone through.

Since he had been able to change so much,

Maybe she could change too.

Community

I love Moses! I love the story of God meeting with Moses. I’ve wished that I could have just a bit of what Moses had when he went up on the mountain and spoke with God for forty days. I have often thought to have an experience anything like that of Moses’ I would have I needed to spend time in silence and solitude. I still think those are great things, but I have been trying to understand what is meant by a “personal relationship with God”. I don’t think that it is a phrase that occurs in the scriptures anywhere, and I’ve been wondering if it leads me to have false expectations about how God should be interacting with me. I was flipping through my Bible with this question in mind, and bouncing some Ideas off of a friend. The letters in the New Testament are written to whole churches, so when it is written “you are the temple of God”, it means that we are the temple of God. That blows my mind. We were talking about how it seems that we should relate to God as a community. (Does that happen in church? Or do we all just relate to God individually while happening to be in the same place?) I thought if we are to relate to God as a community, maybe he will relate to us when we are in community. I wondered if that was true. My friend mentioned the letters to the churches in Revelation; they are to churches, not individuals. I find that to be interesting. I then thought about Moses. In Exodus 19 God has a message for his people, the commandments. He gathers them all together so that as a community they hear from God.

“Then Moses led the people out of the camp to meet with God, and they stood at the foot of the mountain. Mount Sinai was covered with smoke, because the LORD descended on it in fire. The smoke billowed up from it like smoke from a furnace, and the whole mountain trembled violently. As the sound of the trumpet grew louder and louder, Moses spoke and the voice of God answered him.” (Ex 19:17-19)

I wonder what it was like to be among the Israelites that day?

“When the people saw the thunder and lightning and heard the trumpet and saw the mountain in smoke, they trembled with fear. They stayed at a distance and said to Moses, “Speak to us yourself and we will listen. But do not have God speak to us or we will die.”

Moses said to the people, “Do not be afraid. God has come to test you, so that the fear of God will be with you to keep you from sinning.”

The people remained at a distance, while Moses approached the thick darkness where God was.” (Ex 20:18-21)

In the end the Israelites back off, and Moses alone approaches God, but I can’t help but wonder if God desires to meet with us in community. I wonder if we’d be ready for that. I think it is time for me to focus on my communal relationship with God.

R.I.P Occuplaza, long live OCCUPY!

Every now and then I would hear about Occupy, but never really enough to fully understand it. My favourite way to learn about people is from the people themselves, so I had the desire to go down and talk with the people who were camping out. But, I kept putting it off. Then I read that the court had ordered them out by Friday at 2pm. I did not get down to the Occupy Camp until Thursday night. I took my tent and headed down. I thought that would be the best way to understand what was going on. I wasn’t sure what they stood for, but I believed that they had a right to say it, and that was enough to get me to go a support them.
I had no idea what would happen once I got there. I turned out that they had a plan in mind; plan of creative resistance, a plan to leave the plaza, but not without pointing out the injustice of their silencing. I met people I will never forget; people who have chosen community over comfort.
It was an honour to be a part of their last night at the Plaza, but counter to the media portrayal, this was not their last stand. Occupy lives on. There was such a community created at the camp that ridding the plaza of tents far from disbands the group. “The occupation was in-tents”, but it will continue even when the tents are gone. I believe that is party why the Occupiers could leave peacefully, and even before their eviction. They knew that it was far from the end, as one of the signs read: “ideas can’t be evicted”.
I had conversations with occupiers that I will never forget. One guy felt like history was just repeated itself, but it would not give us any better results this time around. He spoke about how things were rather similar in the Roman Empire. The Roman Empire got me thinking about Jesus. Would he be part of an Occupy Revolution?
Jesus brought his own kingdom, so he didn’t need to transform the one that existed. Rather he invited people to join his movement. But it was a movement that contains many of the values of the Occupy movement; the values of community, sharing, equality, and justice over the “Justice System”.
There were a couple of Jesus stories that came to mind over the night:
I was reminded of the creative resistance of which Jesus spoke in Matthew 5: “You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’ But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.” (to understand how this is creative resistance, it helps to understand the culture a bit better. This could help http://dustinfjames.wordpress.com/category/nonviolent-resistance/ I didn't fully read what was said on this site, but I think he's got the idea)
A conversation with a business man who couldn’t grasp the concept of Occupy made me think of the parable from Luke 12: “A man in a crowd said to Jesus, "Teacher, tell my brother to give me my share of what our father left us when he died."
Jesus answered, "Who gave me the right to settle arguments between you and your brother?"
Then he said to the crowd, "Don't be greedy! Owning a lot of things won't make your life safe."
So Jesus told them this story:
A rich man's farm produced a big crop, and he said to himself, "What can I do? I don't have a place large enough to store everything."
Later, he said, "Now I know what I'll do. I'll tear down my barns and build bigger ones, where I can store all my grain and other goods. Then I'll say to myself, `You have stored up enough good things to last for years to come. Live it up! Eat, drink, and enjoy yourself.' "
But God said to him, "You fool! Tonight you will die. Then who will get what you have stored up?"
"This is what happens to people who store up everything for themselves, but are poor in the sight of God."
And I thought about the teachings of John the Baptist “And he would answer and say to them, "The man who has two tunics is to share with him who has none; and he who has food is to do likewise."” And the other John “If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?”
I am happy with what Occupy did. Their signs and the art left on the plaza speak their message loudly (though I would say it is being distorted by the media), and they are far from disappearing.