Over the last few weeks you’d have to hide under a rock to miss the fact that there are going’s on near Ground Zero.  I could write a long dialogue about the facts behind the hubbub and how much of it may be no more than a media frenzy to fill the polls come midterm elections, but there are plenty of brilliant scholarly bloggers already doing the same.  In fact, if you’re looking for explanations about how it’s not really a mosque or there’s already mosques there or that the war between Islam and the West is mostly fictitious, just google that stuff and back away from this post.  I’m not going to write about the “facts”, as they are.

I’m going to write about how I think that the fervor towards Ground Zero is idolatry, and that I think if God were going to become infuriated by American culture I think that patriotic idolatry could be a bigger tipping point for the great I AM than gay marriage.

I feel deeply ambivalent towards Ground Zero.  I find it to be a place of great sadness and a monument to national pain.  I find it fitting that whatever is built there is a suitable memorial to the thousands that died that day, and the many lives impacted by the tragedy.  I think it would be incredibly disrespectful to take a place of such loss and turn it into a mega-mall or monument to consumerism.  Yet, I also feel that many people take that sense of deep regard and carry it too far.  One example?  While writing the previous sentences, I had to catch myself about to type “it would be sacrilege… to build”, and I am again reminded of the language that many people use when discussing Ground Zero.

Ground Zero has been called “Hallowed” or “Sacred Ground”.  The idea of building a mosque near it is called “sacrilige” or “abuse”.  We have elevated Ground Zero in our minds far beyond the honor that seems fitting, and to a point where our regard seems to have transcended respect and tipped into idolatry.

What, exactly, is the reason that Ground Zero needs to be respected?  Is it because people lost their lives?  Because it’s a national tragedy whose scars have yet to fade with time?  Because it is a place where a great act of voilence occured, and the reverbrations there of have not quited?  Or because our Nationalistic Pride demands that good patriots elevate its status to thus prove their devotion?  Any of the excuses that could be used for showing reverence make sense to me, except the last.

Yet the language that is utilized when discussing Ground Zero seems to imply that the truth is the fact that we of patriotic tendencies have made it our own Sacred Calf.  We have set aside the “ten commandments” of our Patriotism, that is, our constitution and societal principles, in order to defend our Sacred Ground from the assault of enemy Muslims.  We defend Ground Zero not with rational arguments but with vitriolic attacks towards those who may be wholly innocent.  We practically worship Ground Zero, making it not just a monument in our minds but something bigger, something not just set apart but wholly unassailable.  Just look at the expressions on pundit’s faces as they defend it- if the volume were on mute, you’d have to assume that someone threatened to rape their mother.

The Bible is clear:  idolatry is bad.  When the Israelites again and again turn to Idols and turn away from God, God is clear about what will happen to them as a result:

Leviticus 26:30-31   I will destroy your high places, cut down your incense altars and pile your dead bodies on the lifeless forms of your idols, and I will abhor you.  I will turn your cities into ruins and lay waste your sanctuaries, and I will take no delight in the pleasing aroma of your offerings.

I shudder for the thought of what will happen to my country, a country I dearly love, if people continue to turn away from the tenets of our faith (loving the alien among us as our equal, as we were once aliens in Egypt, to paraphrase the Bible) and the principles of our country (liberty and justice for all, for one) out of patriotic idolatry.  Do I believe that God will destroy us?  No, not really.

I believe we’ll do a fine enough job of that ourselves.

My life, as it so often does, comes in waves of bitter and sweet which so quickly intermingle on the shore that I am left confounded as to how I’m meant to feel.  Specifics are hard to give on this blog, as it is very public and I am by my nature a very private person, but suffice it to say this:

It is a journey, and “journey” has a far different connotation than “stroll”.  I do not leisurely idle my way through life, smelling the roses and counting the paving stones.  There are periods of life that seem like it, but right now I’m literally trekking my way cross country carrying heavy burdens, conquering the mountains to make my garden in the desert.  (I mean that word literally in a literal way, I’m being transplanted out of the Midwest to the far eastern side of our fair country, and will be planting my figurative tent stakes in soil that is alien to these hands.)  It is a grand adventure and full of moments of grace and sweetness and what can only be Godly synchronicity, but that is not all it is.  It is heartbreaking and back breaking and at the end of the day I often find myself too exhausted to be grateful for what I know is nothing short of the mercy of an ever-loving Creator.

To put it simply:  I am so tired I often do not know how to be anything but cross, which is a shame, because I also realize that these are some of the best days of my life.

And that’s life.  We take the bitter with the sweet, we find the best days of our lives spoiled by petty annoyances like a bride who breaks down in tears because the fresh cut flowers for the bouquet are either too open or too closed, or her weird uncle Steve embarrasses her with a bridesmaid.  At the end of the day, we find it hard to separate ourselves from the divine and the mundane, we find our figurative caramel of quotidian life smeared on the chocolate of supreme happiness and while it may not feel like the dark chocolate peppermint truffle  we crave it’s still pretty damn good.

I guess what I’m trying to say, is that the next time you taste a hint of blood in your wine, don’t cry foul.  Remember that Jesus Christ himself was both the embodiment of God’s love and our human misery.  We would do well to remember that even the most resplendent of lives on this earth was not unmarred by suffering.  I believe, that in the midst of it all, Jesus probably saw some pretty beautiful sunsets and stayed up too late at some smashing parties.

What I wouldn’t give to be able to hear more of those stories, right now…

Pain is a major problem for anyone with faith.  Be it a question of their own pain and why it is necessary or another persons, or another person questioning why their pain is necessary.  All of our lives are tinted around the edges by pain, and if we’re honest with ourselves most of us resent it at some point.  Pain is a nuisance at it’s best and devastating at it’s worst.  It makes a good day have a bitter aftertaste or a bad day ruinous.  Yet the farther along I get in my own life, the more I realize how necessary pain is.  This has never been more clear than it has been since my children grew old enough to really fight.

When I say “since my kids learned how to fight” I don’t just mean verbal squabbles, although those can be noticeably painful for everyone involved.  What I’m talking about are knock-down, drag-out fistfights.  The fights usually start over something that seems completely irrational to fight about.  “I want a baby brother named Peter Parker”, my son says.  “I want a baby sister named Diana Tinkerbell”, my daughter says.  Before I can even open my mouth to point out that God is going to have to intervene miraculously for either of them to get their way (which they are confident He will, as both have prayed about it) they are on each other  like some sort of feral animals.  At that point, pain is inevitable.  They are 3 and 5 respectively, so their little fists can’t do much damage.  But they are also small and prone to falling or just kicking wildly when cornered, so based off of the places these fights normally happen (while seated at the table, on the couch, or in bed) someone is bound to get hurt.  Even if my husband and
I can gain the power of flight to get to them before things escalate, there will be time outs and the forcible holding of squirmy children in place to explain the consequences of their actions.

Someone is going to end up crying.

And here is the thing:  that’s not bad.  It’s not bad that my kids fight.  It’s good that they are developing their individual personalities, and the wholeness and bond that they once shared when younger is dissolving so that they recognize that they are two seperate people with two seperate sets of needs.  If this never happened, they would never be able to live a well adjusted life as adults.  The way in which they fight is bad, but they are kids and they have yet to realize their own capacity for causing pain.  In order for a child to learn the consequences of his or her actions,he or she has to act in the first place.

That is why pain is a necessary part of enlightenment- if there were no pain, there would be no reason to absorb life’s lessons.  We would never learn to grow or evolve.  We would contentedly breeze through our lives as if whatever we grasp today is right and good, as if our own actions are perfect because they are ours, and as if the needs of others mean nothing because there is no consequence to selfishness.

As my children realize the inevitable consequences of fighting, this temporary phase will quiet down.  They are intelligent beings who will surely recognize that no good comes out of violence.  That particular kind of pain is avoidable by ceasing the actions that cause it.  (This is what I tell myself, although my mother laughs and says that my brothers and I didn’t stop until we’d all moved out of the house.  She must be joking.)  And as we deal with our own pain, we will inevitably learn lessons as a result that lead to more enlightenment.  Whether it be the pain of a poorly chosen relationship, the pain of a sudden illness, the pain of a loved one passing, or the everyday pains that haunt each of us in the home and work place; there are valuable lessons to be learned.  We learn to recognize patterns inside ourselves that lead to destruction.  We learn to care for our bodies and treat them like the fragile gifts they are.  We learn to embrace life passionately while it is here and remember it fondly when it passes.  We learn to set aside our pain and sorrow and hold on to things that give us hope.  We learn compassion.  All of these lessons are good and necessary, and  rather than resenting the pain that leads to them we would be better served by viewing that pain as a tool.

One might read this little ponderance and say that I must have forgone my Christianity for some kind of mysticism.  Perhaps, in a way.  I would be lying if I didn’t say my respect for Buddhism sometimes colors my faith.  Yet I don’t think that is entirely what’s going on here.  After all:

Romans 5:1-5

Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.

For the time being, I have given up wishing people nice days.  I think it’s more honest to wish them a day that moves them forward on their journey- however that may be achieved.  Life doesn’t need to be “nice” to be beautiful.

I’m employed!  Starting tomorrow, I will be working for a non-profit organization that helps homeless families.  This means a lot of changes for my family- almost all of them good ones.  We’re no longer dependent on a factory income to keep our heads above water.  In Elkhart County, IN, that’s a very good thing.  My husband is now free to pursue a part-time income or go to school and be more actively present in our children’s lives.  That’s a very good thing.

There are negative things to the change, as well.  Working full time means that for the time being I’ll only be free to post on weekends.  I’ll do my best to be consistent.  Oddly enough, I think that working full time will lend more time for me to blog, as working to make up a part time income from home while job hunting was a major drain on both my time and energy level.  It’s hard to be creative under that kind of constant emotional stress.

I’m so grateful for all of the relationships I’ve gained through this blog- getting to know all of you has been such an incredible blessing.  I am a bit nostalgic for the past, for the time in my life where I could easily devote an hour of every day to this blog, to your blogs, to growing our circles of influence and trying to engage the world in a discussion.  It’s been some time since life has afforded me that, and it may be a very long time before it ever does again.  (If it ev er does again)

But despite my new work, I don’t think my work here is done.  So I’ll still be around, banging my head against the same old wall.  Maybe we can manage to put a few more cracks in it.

And, thusly, posting is erratic.  Shortly after committing to posting week-daily again, my computer went kaput.  This is coupled with daily life issues such as starting a new business venture and not knowing how long my husband’s job will last.  So I apologize, as I seem to be doing a lot lately, for being such an inconsistent blogger.  Hopefully we can get this whole thing figured out soon, because I really *miss* being present.

My call back to the church came through an interesting fulcrum:  the movie SLC Punk.

I’d been reading my Bible.  I’d been finding comfort in music, in art, in writing.  I’d been feeling stronger and stronger day by day.  But it was SLC Punk that made me want to leave the valley of my discontent for good.  For those who don’t know the story, SLC Punk is about a group of anarchists who are looking for, um, something.  The main character is the son of a banker (or lawyer, or some kind of glorified white collar grunt) who drives a nice car and eats at fancy restaurants and is adamant that he didn’t “sell out” but instead “bought in” to a bigger dream.  At the end of the movie you see the main character walking down the street in a fancy suit, saying that it’s easier to dismantle the machine from the inside.    I’d watched the movie several times before and never been as struck by that imagery as I was on one balmy summer night.  I was laying on the couch fanning myself to stay cool, hating the heat and humidity and pretty much everything about life.  I heard that line, and something inside my head clicked.  It was like a cool breeze suddenly blew through the window.  Everything was more bearable.

I’d been content, until that point, to stick to my group of likeminded friends and complain.  We’d all had similar scars and experiences, we all fed into each other’s dissatisfaction and bitterness.  We talked about wanting to fight the powers, but we never fought anything.  We never affected anything. I’m not saying that there wasn’t tremendous value in what we did for each other:  we needed each other.  We were a balm for each other.  Our unity helped us to heal.  But as long as we stayed content to lick each other’s wounds, we’d never help anyone else.  If I wanted to see the empire change, I’d have to put on my fancy suit and get inside it.

If I wanted a relevant youth ministry, I had to minister.  If I wanted a worship song without ad-lib lyrics, I’d have to write it.  If I wanted a sermon from a different part of the Bible I’d have to preach it.  If I wanted traditional leadership to be challenged, I’d have to sound the alarm.  And that wasn’t going to happen as long as I was laying on my couch watching Fight Club every Sunday morning instead of biting the bullet and reinserting myself into the Christian lifestyle.

(To be continued…)

Not the blog, but in real life!

We’re getting a proper house!  No more apartment that charges more than a mortgage payment, no more hearing people stomping around above our heads at night (unless the kids get out of bed, of course) no more sharing a yard unless we want to!

Of course, this means the most articulated thoughts I can manage read mostly like “OMG BUNNIES I FORGOT TO SORT THROUGH THE KIDS CLOTHES FOR WHAT WE NEED TO YARD SALE WHERE ARE THOSE BOXES?”

So forgive the lack of blog posting.  Just imagine something that basically reads, “compassion = good, judgment = bad, Christianity = conflicted, let’s work this out!” and you’ll have the basic gist of what I’d write anyway.

Wish me luck!

We’ll be all moved in the 25th, so I should be thinking sanely by the second week in May.