[+/-] About Camp

I'm very mindful of the fact that I'll be a counselor at a Bible Camp in a week. How terrifying. Let's review my dossier.

- I don't know what I believe about the Bible, nor do I read it very often.
- I'm confused and frustrated by prayer. I rarely pray.
- I tend to be angry with God.
- I tend to be depressed.
- I'm disillusioned with a broad spectrum of Christian catchphrases, buzzwords and doctrines.
- I think a lot of our theology is illogical.
- I can't come up with a good reason why I'm a Christian.

So would you put me in charge of the spiritual wellbeing of ten kids for a week?
Seriously, if this isn't bothering you, it's bothering me. I signed up for camp months ago, trusting that I'd have a few things worked out by then. Now I've got about a week, and I'm worse of now then I was then. I don't even know if I could fake it.
I picture myself sitting in a circle of boys on the first night giving them "the gospel". I'd have to do it in the dark. I'll cringe at every cliche. Every promise and assertion will leave a bad taste in my mouth. Any profession of faith will plunge me into a secret, cynical gloom. I'll go to the staff meeting in the morning and tell them that little Billy accepted Jesus and they'll say that's wonderful and join with the rejoicing of the angels in heaven, and I'll feel sick. I'll have sold out. I'll have become a salesman for Jesus - Charles Finney, but without any passion or conviction behind my smooth methods. I'll have become one of those who preach out of "selfish ambition", only seeking the easy way, only wishing to drift through life with a fish on my bumper and a void in my soul. Paul says "at least the gospel is being preached", and I suppose the Holy Spirit can work despite my insincerity, but where does that leave me?
I've built my life on honesty. I want to present an honest picture of myself. I want people to say of me "He doesn't have it all together, he's not perfect, but you can trust him. You can put your life in his hands. He's dependable, he's transparent, he's real." I'm trying to become a bad liar. I don't like playing games that involve deception because I don't want to get good at it, and I don't want people to remember that time when I fooled them all, weaving a masterful deception that won and abused their trust. Even in a game.
You can imagine my distress, then, at being faced with such a great pressure to fake it. I tried to be upfront with the camp people about who I am and what my struggles are, but a lot has changed (for the worse) since then, and maybe I didn't make myself clear to begin with.
A lot can change in a week - this gives me faint hope that things will work themselves out before I go off to camp, and I won't have to lie. But I don't really think it will happen. God apparently disagrees with me about when would be a good time to make himself known to me, but I think any time in the next seven days would be great.
I'm thinking about what my evangelism will look like. The traditional approach would look something like this:
"God loves you and sent his son to die for you and pay the penalty for your sins. If you accept his salvation you will be cleansed and redeemed and freed from slavery to sin. The Holy Spirit will live inside you and support and convict and guide you. As a Christian, you need to pray without ceasing and listen for God's voice and read the Bible, because it is the inerrant, inspired word of God. And if you have doubts about Christianity, don't worry! We live in the age of apologetics, where God has seen fit to supplement his scriptures with a lot of good books by Biologists and Reporters who will show you that all the evidence is clearly on our side." (Sorry about that last bit. Terribly cynical and probably a bit immature. I couldn't resist.)
It's crazy the things that make me squirm these days. I recently heard a camp guy tell me about a time where he found a boy crying outside the dining hall because all the campers didn't like him and his counselor didn't care about him, and I forget what else. So he told him that he could have a friend who'll always be there for him, and I think the kid became a Christian. This is just so exasperating to me. What are you really promising this kid? Or, since this is such a common sales pitch, perhaps I should say what are we promising the world? What's the meaning behind all these metaphors? Try making a list of everything that you can guarantee - categorically and without qualification - to anyone who chooses to become a Christian. Here's what I came up with:

-You will go to heaven, not hell

Ok, that's not much of a list, but it is one pretty good reason to be a Christian (assuming it's all true and so forth). So based on this list, here's what my evangelism would look like:
"Some day you will die, and if you're not a Christian, you'll go to hell. If you are a Christian, you will go to heaven. That's it. Which would you prefer?"
The snag is that this sounds a lot like "turn or burn", which is not considered a very fair or ethical method of evangelism. I have mixed feelings - part of me says "well, that's all you've got. If you're selling fire insurance, I guess you've got to talk about fire." But the other part says "man, can you sink any lower than this - to scare little kids into converting?"
My favorite radio commercial for a while was for a home security system. The guy says "we don't use scare tactics - that's just not the way we do business", then proceeds to describe the horror of returning home to a smashed window and a looted house. Hey alarm guy, you can't have it both ways! You can't say "Buy our stuff because we don't use scary advertising, and because if you don't the bad guys will get you." So that's the dilemma - how do you tell kids "Jesus will save you from hell" without being a manipulative jerk? Maybe it can't be done. But what does that leave?
"Ok kids, I'm a Christian. I think it's a good thing to be. Some Christians say that God lives inside them and talks to them and comforts them, but I've never experienced that. My favorite part is that it gives me a lot of great people to talk to, but I think I just got lucky there, because a lot of people feel rejected and ignored by other Christians. If your wondering if the whole thing is true, I can't really help you. You can convince yourself it is if all you read is CS Lewis and Lee Strobel, but what's the point of that? All I can say is that This is not a particularly stupid thing to believe, and I don't know of anything better. If you're wondering about the Bible, parts of it are quite good. Just stay away from the boring stuff, and don't put too much weight on the Old Testament, and be careful about interpretation, because after all, it's a translation of a 2000 year old book and you really don't understand the cultural context. And yes, there may be errors in there, but on the whole, it's quite good. Honestly, there are better books out there. I know Mere Christianity has done more for me than Leviticus ever did. But you probably shouldn't tell the director I said that. All in all, I think being a Christian is a good thing. I recommend it to all of you."
Ouch. If I was being really open and honest with these kids, that's about what I'd be saying. I suppose the only other method is avoidance:
"Hi, I'm your counselor. I'm here to be a good role model and hang out with you. If you have questions about ethics or want to know the fine points of orthodox theology, I'm your man. I also have a reasonable knowledge of Biblical events and Church history. If you have any questions regarding salvation they should be directed to the speaker or, well, anyone other than me, because, um... Evangelism isn't my spiritual gift. Or something."
Ouch again.
So I really don't know what to do. I guess God knows what to do, and I guess he'll do it, but in the mean time, it's kind of stressful for me.

[+/-] Life After God

I'm just a man, standing in front of God, asking him to love me.

(Oh look, I'm still harping on this. It must get annoying.) If you're not familiar, I'm alluding to the movie Notting Hill. I'm thinking that it didn't really matter that the British guy loved the actress when he let her walk out the door of his shop. He loved her, but that really didn't help her at all because he wouldn't tell her he loved her. (Uh oh, I'm giving away the ending of the movie. At least I stopped before I told you that they live happily ever after. Shoot! I've totally ruined the chick flick!)
So God loves me. This is good. But it's not too helpful when he won't communicate with me or show me that he loves me.
Man, why am I writing this? You'll just say "But he does show you. He died for you and sends you sunsets and friends to show that love." And I'll just say "No, that's not enough. I want him. Girls want their boyfriends to send them flowers, but they're not just looking for a contract that entitles them to free flowers every week, they're looking for companionship and relationship and love. Who did you like better - your rich uncle in Texas who never visited but sent you lots of cash at Christmas, or the uncle who came over and read you stories and played lego with you? I don't want God's gifts - I want him." But we've been through this before. It never really changes. Maybe it'll end some day, if God says "Fine Jacob, I had a better plan for you, but you're doing me no good being miserable here. You can have it your way." I wonder what that event would look like? Maybe it would be me being "slain in the Spirit". Maybe it would be me getting smushed by a truck.
I'm feeling restless because I can't figure myself out. If you asked me how I'm feeling right now I don't think I could tell you. I'm not sure if I'm still depressed or just really bla. I'm not sure if I'm being childish in clinging to my longings and pain. I'm not sure if I'm doing what God wants or not. I guess I'm just muddling through.
I've been really struck recently by how absent God is from our lives. There are exceptions - people who say they have real interaction with God - but most of us really have no good reason to either believe in God or not.
There's a scene in the movie Signs that I love, were Graham (Mel) is talking to his brother. I found the script on the net, so I'm going to share it with you.

GRAHAM
What you have to decide is what
kind of person you are? Are you
the type who believes in miracles
and looks for signs or are you the
kind who believes, things just
happen by chance?

Beat. Merrill is deep in thought.

MERRILL
I was at this party once. I'm on a
couch with Sara Mckinney. She was
just sitting there, looking
beautiful and staring at me. I go
to lean in and kiss her and I
realize I have gum in my mouth. I
turn and take out the gum. Stuff
it in my paper cup next to the sofa
and turn around. Sara Mckinney
throws up all over herself.
(beat)
I knew the second it happened. It
was a miracle. I could have been
kissing her when she threw up.
That would have scarred me for
life. I may never have recovered.

Merrill looks at the TV screen. Beat.

MERRILL
I'm a miracle man. Those lights
are a miracle.

Graham smiles.

GRAHAM
(whispers)
There you go.

Beat.

MERRILL
(whispers)
So which type are you?

Beat.

GRAHAM
(whispers)
Do you feel comforted?

MERRILL
(whispers)
Yes.

GRAHAM
(whispers)
What does it matter then?

The two of them turn back to the silent screen of the
television. It's a long beat before Graham speaks.

GRAHAM
(whispers)
Do you know what Colleen's last
words were before they killed her?

Beat. Merrill turns and stares quietly at his brother.

GRAHAM
(whispers)
She said, "See", and then her eyes
glazed a bit and she said... "Tell
Merrill to swing away."

Merrill's mouth opens a bit. Graham turns and chuckles at
his expression.

GRAHAM
(whispers)
Do you know why she said that?

Merrill nods, "No."

GRAHAM
(whispers)
Because the nerve endings in her
brain were firing as she died, and
some random memory of us at one of
your baseball games popped into her
head.
(beat)
There is no one watching out for us
Merrill. We're all on our own.

I think this scene is brilliant. Of course, they ruin it at the end by showing how everything works together for a purpose, but for just a moment they capture the essence of this world we live in. Maybe you believe in providence because you were miraculously saved from being barfed on. Maybe you don't because a loved one died. If I'd been in charge of this movie I would have ended it right here, because in real life, you don't get to see the end result. In real life you die, and then maybe you get to find out if you were right or not.
You and I live in a world of longing and confusion. We're not whole. Everyone's searching for something, but no one knows what it is. A lot of people think it's God. Of these people, many are Christians. Some of these say they've found God, and they're content and whole. Some of them I believe; some I don't. Some, I think, believe what they say, but maybe some day they'll realize that it wasn't true, and they've been lying to themselves all along. I think that's me.
A couple of songs I've found really express what I'm feeling these days. The first is "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" by U2.

I have climbed highest mountain
I have run through the fields
Only to be with you
Only to be with you

I have run
I have crawled
I have scaled these city walls
These city walls
Only to be with you

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for

I have kissed honey lips
Felt the healing in her fingertips
It burned like fire
This burning desire

I have spoke with the tongue of angels
I have held the hand of a devil
It was warm in the night
I was cold as a stone

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for

I believe in the kingdom come
Then all the colors will bleed into one
Bleed into one
Well yes I'm still running

You broke the bonds and you
Loosed the chains
Carried the cross
Of my shame
Of my shame
You know I believed it

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for...

The second is "I'm Open" by Pearl Jam.

a man lies in his bed in a room with no door
he waits hoping for a presence, something, anything to enter
after spending half his life searching, he still felt as blank
as the ceiling at which he's staring
he's alive, but feels absolutely nothing
so, is he?
when he was six he believed that the moon overhead followed him
by nine he had deciphered the illusion, trading magic for fact
no tradebacks...
so this is what it's like to be an adult
if he only knew now what he knew then...
i'm open
i'm open
come in
come in
come in
come in
i'm open
i'm open
come in
come in
come in
come in
lying sideways atop crumpled sheets and no covers
he decides to dream...
dream up a new self for himself

I'm somewhere I've never been before. I've never heard of this place. I'm still a Christian - I'm not denying my faith - but I'm not satisfied with it. And I'm not satisfied with my relationships with other people. I'm not satisfied with pleasure, or with pain. I've tried isolation, I've tried community, I've tried legalism and liberalism. I've tried the Bible and prayer and worship and fasting. I've tried loving and hating, giving and taking, hoping and despairing. Nothing satisfies.

"Meaningless! Meaningless!" says the Teacher. "Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless."

[+/-] Pain

I sometimes wonder why I think the things I do. What's my motivation? When is it all just a lie created to facilitate indulgence in some particular emotion or attract someone's attention? I don't know. If there's one thing I've realized from spending a fair amount of time analyzing my motivations it's that I never have totally pure motives for anything. I pray and worship and long for God partially because I just want to be with him, partially because I want to do my best for him and believe this is a good step, and partially because I know it won't work, and I'll be able to say that I did my best and people will think I'm a good Christian. I pick fights with God and ask "tough questions" partially because it's a natural and necessary part of my spiritual growth, partially out of habit, and maybe partially because it seems to earn admiration from other people. And so on.
So when I write these blog things and tell you about my struggles and frustrations, I often wonder if it's a responsible thing to do, or if I'm just taking advantage of whatever caused you to be interested in my thoughts to burden you with my personal problems and hog your time, sympathy, and prayers. I think I am, to a degree, but of course part of me has nobler goals. (And a part of me just really cries out for attention and connection and support. I think that's legitimate, as long as I'm honest about it.) Of course I can't go on without saying again that I want just as desperately to love and support you. If you're reading this you're probably either someone who I care deeply about or someone I don't know as well as I'd like and really want to love and support. I say as often as I can without becoming cheap and cliché that I don't want anyone I know to ever feel like they have no one to talk to. There's nothing you could do that would honor and please me more than to depend on me. We all need somebody to lean on.
So, backing up a little, I'd like to talk a bit about psychological stuff. As I said, I often question why I do this whole struggling with God thing, and of course, there's more than one reason. Just the way I'm wired, I seem to have problems achieving "child-like faith". Indeed, I'm not entirely sure I'd want to be able to believe everything without questioning. But I try to be as aware as possible of why I do the things I do. It's good to be able to recognize, say, that I'm angry with someone not because of anything they've done, but because I'm tired and stressed. I've alluded to the idea of indulging in emotions - I think I do this a lot. I can be fairly emotional when I choose to be - I can weep in a worship service, I can be miserable over a girl, I can feel strong or weak, and I can get very angry with God. There is a rather curious thing about me (though I have a suspicion it's quite common). I like pain.
I like the taste of blood. I like seeing myself bleed. I saw a warrior in a movie once who had a gash on his forehead and streaks of dry blood all down his face, and I thought it looked incredibly cool. That image has always stuck in my mind, and acquired some peculiar kind of significance. I don't know why I mention this specifically, because I can't explain it.
Anyway, I have a fairly typical (I think) male attitude towards gory movies. Seeing pain and brutal death provokes a strange mixture of revulsion and intoxication, so that I can sometimes weep at the sight of a character's agony and sometimes laugh. The movie Gladiator is incredibly interesting to me, because I'm horrified that the people at the coliseum could actually be entertained by this kind of perverse slaughter, and yet I myself (and presumably many other people) are still willing to pay to see it. Sure, the movie's not real, but what about reality TV shows? Ok, so they're not totally "real" either, but there is still some incredible attraction for us to seeing real people experience real pain. People eat worms on Fear Factor or have their hearts broken on the Bachelor, and we take some strange pleasure in the fact that these are real people degrading themselves for our amusement. Perhaps I'll be better equipped to analyze this after taking some psychology or something. For now, I realize that I'm digressing once again, and must try to come back to my point.
I like pain. There's something about the music of Evanescence that really appeals to me. I feel like I can relate to it somehow, even though I've never experienced most of the romantic sorrow that seems to be the inspiration for their music. "My Immortal" particularly strikes a chord with me.

these wounds won't seem to heal
this pain is just too real
there's just too much that time cannot erase.

I don't know what it is about those words that captivates me. I've really never felt anything much like what this song expresses. I've tried to make it about my frustration with God, but it just doesn't line up. I think it's just the idea of irreversible loss that grabs me. The idea that there could be a sorrow that never entirely leaves; deep scars that never wholly mend.
I had a dream. In my dream I encountered a creature - a girl - who had been horribly abused and disfigured. The image was so terrible that I jolted awake. I soon went back to sleep and forgot her, but the memory came back to me in a flash (as my dreams sometimes do) a couple days later. I could describe her vividly, but I don't think I should - some horrors should not be shared. It is enough to say that she was mutilated and ruined - heart, soul, body and mind. All her humanity had been wrung out of her and she was utterly beyond my help. She could not understand love or compassion, cringing at my touch and gazing at me in helpless, senseless terror. It was absolutely heart-rending.
And yet there's something mysteriously attractive in this.
For many years I dreamed of being a martyr. Of course I didn't think this through (I was younger then) but it seemed like an easy way to impress God. I now realize that there are no easy ways to impress God (unlike other people) and anyway, dying for something - at least for me - wouldn't be that big a deal. Much harder to live for God than to die for him.
The hard thing about living for God is knowing what to do. There are these incredibly powerful verses that I latch onto about suffering for God, but they seem so far removed from anything in my life. Like Luke 9:23 "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me." That's a very powerful metaphor, but I don't understand how it relates to me. Acts 9:16 is one of my favorites. God in a vision appears to Ananias and tells him to go to Saul, the greatest enemy of the Church, because he is chosen by God. Ananias argues, but gives in when God says "I will show him how much he must suffer for my name." If you're going to do great things for God, it seems you have to suffer greatly.
Of course, this is all written to persecuted people. To be a Christian at that time was to suffer. These days, we don't know what suffering means. We can't relate to what our Holy Perfect Word of God says because our position is so radically different from that of the original recipients. There isn't a lot in the New Testament that speaks to wealthy, secure, pious religious people. Though something like Matthew 23 may be applicable. (Look it up.)
It's not easy being a fanatical Christian with no cross. I often bemoan the lack of suffering in my life, even praying that God would send me hardships. (Generally this seems to work - in that my life takes a turn for the worse - but never quite in the way I'd intended.) I sometimes wonder if all my doubts and problems with God are just a desperate attempt to stir up some suffering.
Pain has more benefits than spiritual growth - it also kind of feels good. Johnny Cash really connects with me here.

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel.
I focus on the pain,
The only thing that's real

Generally I'd rather feel pain than feel nothing. Pain is very real. If you can't find meaning in your life, pain is a good substitute. There is something noble about suffering. People will notice you, care for you and listen to you if you've experienced pain. "Life is pain, Highness." If you're not hurting, maybe you're not living.
I think to some degree I'm a pain junkie. I've never cut myself, but I think I'd like to. I have to watch myself. I know it's not a good thing to do, but I think I'd like it.
It's been years since I last had a cut lip. I remember that blood tastes good.
I have a theory about people who suffered in the Bible. Or it might be more accurate to say that I had a theory, which I now disagree with. Somewhere along the line - maybe when I read "Jesus Freaks" - I developed this idea that God numbs the pain of people who suffer for him. Like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednigo, who were supposed to be burned alive, but walked out unharmed. I had the idea that when Paul was beaten and whipped and stoned that it was almost a surreal experience, where God supernaturally turned off his nerves so that he could stand there and take it, praising God the whole time. But somewhere along the line I started to wonder if I was mistaken.
What if Paul felt every lash that was layed on his back, screaming and writhing in a pool of his own blood, his back torn apart and his brain overwhelmed by the inexplicable pain? What if he felt ever rock that struck him until he was knocked unconscious, bruised and bleeding, an inch from death? What if he boar every trail - all the hunger and cold and agony and shame - on his own shoulders, and the only help God offered was to give him the strength not to give up? What if God made an example of Paul not of his power to rise above physical suffering but to endure anything for his sake? That's a big difference.
I've always liked the story of Elijah out-running the king's chariot. I've run a little bit of cross country in my life, and every race made me curse myself for my foolishness in volunteering for this misery. When I run a long distance it hurts my lungs and my legs in ways that I've never managed to enjoy. But wouldn't it be cool to be able to run like Elijah did - feeling no pain, only the inexhaustible power of God coursing through his body, propelling him faster than any man has ever run?
But what if that's not how it was? What if Elijah was running out of fear and desperation, struggling to take just one more step with his body screaming and his lungs on fire. What if the miracle was simply to keep him teetering on the threshold of exhaustion, always feeling that he could go no further, yet finding the strength for one more step, one more step... What if that's what it's like to be the recipient of the power of God - to be not a cup that overflows but just a jar of oil that somehow never quite runs out? Not to be rescued from Room 101 but to be given the strength to stand firm even as your fear overwhelms you and the rats gnaw through your flesh? This is my theory of what the abundant life looks like.
But I'm a long way from there. I'm not much more than a depressed, confused, wretched little Christian who argues and fumes at God.
I'm very weak. I'm writing, in fact, in a moment of particular weakness. Perhaps I shouldn't be writing this at all. Perhaps this is one of those things that just shouldn't be said on the internet. But hear I am, saying it.
I can't do this. It's a good idea, but I don't have the strength to pull it off. I can't walk away from God or from my longing for him. I have a feeling that this is a critical point - that if I give in now and go back to my longing I may never be able to get out. (Quite possible, of course, that I just need to go to bed and not worry about it.) It's all I can do to hold on right now. Who knows how much longer I can last before I break down and call out to him. I'll cry out to God and be answered by the darkness. I'll pour out my pretty words and my ugly heart and I'll yearn for him and be weak again, and it will do me no good.
Pain is not so bad, really. I can live on it for a while, and sometimes I need to. When my hope is gone, all I have to live for is my pain.

[+/-] Everything old is new again

Someone once told me that evangelism is just one beggar telling another where he found food.

Apparently there are people in Haiti who are too poor to buy food to eat, so they buy and eat pieces of pottery, because it's cheaper. The pottery expands in their stomachs and makes them feel full, but offers no nutrition.

Somehow these two thoughts have become linked in my mind. Maybe I think that the claims we make when we tell people about Jesus are false. We talk about having a personal relationship with him and having the Holy Spirit living inside you. We talk about peace and joy, and how people may let you down but God never will. Maybe I feel like a beggar who's realized that the food he's been given is nothing but broken pots, and it feels good for a while but it doesn't really help me, and I'm dying from lack of nutrition.
A friend of mine recently asked me if I think it's possible for us to be truly content and satisfied on earth. I've been thinking about it - I'm not sure I'm confident to point at wealthy, successful people and say that their really not content (how could I know?) but I think that if we dig deep in ourselves we find that the longing for God is the deepest and strongest one we have, and it can never be satisfied in this life. We can swallow any kind of pottery - success, pleasure, human relationships, even Christianity - but we can never truly satisfy this need. It is with this thought in mind that I am turning from both my hopeless pursuit of God and my Christianity and attempting to take the edge off my hunger by working on my relationships with others.
Before I go on I must explain some of that last statement. I think I've talked enough about giving up on pursuing relationship with God, and I've touched on my turning away from what I call Christianity, but in order not to worry you (should you be inclined to worry) more than necessary, I should explain again what I mean. I don't mean that I am not a Christian any more. I don't mean that I am rejecting any of the absolute core beliefs of Christianity. I mean that I've lost faith in my idea that being a good Christian can satisfy me. Whatever "having a personal relationship with Jesus Christ" means, it doesn't satisfy me. The worship songs and the way that we view the Bible as a magical connection with God doesn't satisfy me. So now I'm turning to what I love most in life - meaningful interaction with other people - knowing that ultimately it will not satisfy me, but hoping that it will be the best thing I can do.
I was sitting on a bus today and thinking about how I would feel if I were dying. I imagined myself lying on the floor with blood flowing out of some fatal wound, looking up at the stricken faces around me. How would I feel? What would I say? I realized that I would probably feel an intense sense of regret and loss. I've reached a point in my life (a long time coming) where even in my most miserable times I'd rather remain living than die - even die in a heroic manner inspiring love and admiration. I thought about what I'd say to my friends as they gathered around me, and I think it would be something like "I never got to love people the way I wanted to. I'm dying now and it's too late, but I want you to go out and love people for me."

I like to ask people why they're Christians. It always catches them off guard, and it's a good way to start a real conversation. Often people will turn the question back on me. My set answer (in brief) is that I need God. I'm not strong enough to face the world on my own; I have to believe that someone is loving me and watching out for me.
I suddenly realized yesterday that maybe this isn't true any more. If I'm not pursuing God anymore (in fact I'm almost consciously moving away from him) and making other people my hope and my goal, why do I need God? Maybe I don't.
I'll have to tell you the story of my realization that I'm dependent on God. It goes back to the last time I asked myself why I'm a Christian and had trouble finding an answer, mere months ago. I suppose I should go back even further and tell you all the reasons I've ever been a Christian.
Being raised in a Christian home, I was originally a Christian because my Parents were Christians and the mini-culture around me was mostly Christian, and I wasn't able to think for myself. At a certain age this started to change, and I wanted to believe for some reason other than my Parent's influence. (But I still really wanted to believe.) At this point (actually, it was a very gradual process, starting maybe in Elementary School, and ending in High School) I found comfort in apologetics. I liked knowing that somewhere there were smart people who believed what I did and could back it up with convincing evidence. I liked to feel superior to non-Christians because I had accepted the truth and they were ignoring it. I actually thought (because I wanted to) that Christianity was the rational thing to believe, and if anyone could just get rid of their prejudices and look at it objectively (ironic laugh) they'd see that this was clearly the truth. And then I went to Bible School.
Without going into a lot of detail, Bible School allowed me to look deeper at the Bible and the stuff I said I believed, and it really shook my smug pseudo-intellectual faith. It really bothered me to see what seem to be clear-cut contradictions in the Bible and logical absurdities in theology. I was forced to conclude that Christianity wasn't as bullet-proof as I thought, and this inevitably made me wonder why I was a Christian. (I still really wanted to be.) I struggled to come up with something, even going so far as to say "what's stopping me from walking away from this right now?" I realized that deep down I just believe in God - whether as a result of him being hammered into my head all my life or of some mysterious need that all humans have (I think some of both) - and I'm dependent on him. I'm a fearful, weak person and I need to believe God's watching over me for my own peace of mind. I also read The Pilgrim's Regress by C S Lewis at this point, and it caused me to realize that I needed to be fair about my dependence on God. Since I've built all my security on my faith in God, rejecting that faith must also mean rejecting that security. I would have to survive on my own strength, or live in apprehension and fear. I never feel quite comfortable saying this next part, but I decided that if (as I sometimes felt) I was trying to make up this loving God in my own imagination and if (as I sometimes felt) my imagination was not up to the task, I think I could at least manage to imagine some demons. I'm not sure if that was coherent or not, so I'll try to rephrase it: I suspect that as a naturally fearful person, I would be overwhelmed by my fears if I couldn't depend on God, and would perhaps imagine (if it were not actually true) that I was being tormented by demons. This would inevitably drive me back to dependence on God. So all roads lead back to God, I just have to choose whether to go through hell first or not. At least, that's the theory.
Now I'm starting to wonder if I really do need my belief in God. To some extent, it's an academic question, because I still want to be a Christian, and I suspect I'll just twist anything that come my way to contrive some new reason to believe this stuff. But what I've got right now, I really don't like.
I think that honestly, I'm a Christian right now because it's easier to be one. First of all, as I've mentioned, I want this to be true. But also, I really don't want to tell my parents and my friends that I'm not a Christian any more. And then there's this double-edged sword, my volunteer work. I'm a volunteer in more than one Christian organization that I would not want to leave. I'm lined up - depended on - to work at a bunch of camps this summer. I would hate to give that up, and yet I could not continue to do these things if I rejected Christianity. Frankly, I'm not entirely comfortable doing these things and being in some ways responsible for other people's spiritual life even in my current state. I'm pretty good at doing the things Christians should do, but I have trouble believing the things we should believe. I don't even know if I want to counsel little kids with my present struggles, but somehow the people running the camps seem to want me. Anyway, I've come to the uncomfortable conclusion that I'm currently a Christian because my family and friends are, and it's the easiest thing to be. If you think that makes me unfit to serve, so be it. I will accept the consequences of my actions and I will not lie to myself or others to make my life easier. Respond if you see fit.
So I guess I've come full circle. I'm a Christian again for the worst possible reason - because it's the simplest thing to do.
Getting back to this idea of focusing on loving people - it's not easy. Like anything, it's an agonizingly slow process to change for the better. I see a dozen times over the past few days where I should have been doing something to spend time with other people, but I didn't, because I'm lazy and self-centered. I guess I'm interested in reaping the benefits of having deep relationships with people, but I loose interest if I have to do a bunch of stuff to get there. Hm, I think I'm loosing interest in talking about this.
I remember that I was going to talk about my fears, and how they might be affected by not believing in God. I'm wondering if I could really not handle living without God. I'm wondering which would be worse - to turn away from God and go through hell and come crawling back to him, or to turn away and realize that I don't need him and can make it on my own? I think I would be willing to face any kind of pain and torment if only to solidify my faith and my need for God, but I'm afraid that I'd realize somehow that it's all unnecessary and live the rest of my life strong and self-secure, but without hope. I kind of want to be "handed over to Satan" and whatever that may entail if only to be bound tight to God by my need for him, but how terrible would it be if nothing happened? I'm afraid to challenge what I believe, because I'm afraid it wouldn't stand up, and then I'd be totally without hope. What a wretch I am. Afraid of the truth! I don't like people who are afraid of what they might find out. "So screw your courage to the sticking point".
Maybe not. I guess I write this so that people will respond and say "Ok, that's not really a good idea because..." but I don't really expect that anyone will give me a convincing reason.

It's strange that my "spiritual life" changes so quickly. It was just a few months ago that I wrestled through this same question, "Why am I a Christian?", and found a good (if not entirely satisfying) answer. Now it's obsolete. I seem to be doomed to struggle and doubt forever. I am frustrated, and I'm going to bed.

[+/-] Laura, I love you

Dearest Laura,

Well, here I am again. I've wrote so many of these letters to you. I've sat here in this shop so many days, thinking of you. I don't know if you realize how much you mean to me, how much you're the focus of my mind and heart, the purpose of everything I do. I miss you so much - that's the problem, Laura.

I don't know how to say this. These letters are always a little painful to write, but this is the worst one yet. And I intend it to be the last.

Laura, I've made it my goal over these past few years to think about you always and write you as often as I can. I'm sure you can guess how much you mean to me by the volume and content of my letters. I think I've achieved my goal - I think I've made you all I care about - but I think it was a mistake. Everything I see reminds me of you - the flowers, the sky, the songs on the radio. But every time I'm reminded of you, I'm reminded that you're far away, that you've been gone so long, and that I'll probably not see you again for many more years. I used to think that writing you would help. I know you read and treasure my letters, and I thought that this way of communicating with you would ease my longings, but I was wrong. All they do is make me yearn to be with you, to hold you, to kiss you, to see your face and hear your voice. And that's why I can't do this any more.

This is the great, defining truth of my life: I long to be with you, but I can't. This is the source of my sorrow - this unquenchable yearning that I've always had, but that I've willfully fed and encouraged by dwelling on you. Laura, I love you, but I can't do this any more.

But the letters aren't the only problem, it's my whole life. If I were to forget you I'd have to destroy everything around me. I'd have to stop coming to this shop. I'd have to cut myself off from all our mutual friends. I'd have to destroy that book you gave me. I'd have to move.

Oh Laura, I can't do this. I was writing this letter to say goodbye. I've thought it all out and this longing for you is killing me; it must stop. But I don't have the strength to rip myself away. You're too deep in my heart, Laura. Even if I was strong enough to face the consequences of forgetting you, I could never do it. I know one day you'll come back to me and we'll be married - bound together forever - but I'm already bound to you. I'm bound by something stronger than any vows or any feelings or effort of the will. I'm bound by this deep, defining truth: I need you.

Laura I can't go on like this, but I must. I can't live without you, I can only exist. My need for you is beyond desperation - it's plain necessity. Laura can you understand what you mean to me? I'd rather be dead than be without you. I find no pleasure in anything. Everything I love only reminds me of you. Oh Laura.

And here am I again, writing you another letter, not so different from any of the others I've written. In a minute I'll get up and leave and continue my life of longing. Laura come back to me. I need you. Laura I love you more than words can say. More than my mind can comprehend or my heart can feel. I'm dying a slow death without you. I'm wasting away from the soul out. Laura, come back and love me. Please.

With inexpressible longing,

Jacob.

I use these kinds of parables sometimes to help me work through my thoughts. When I got the idea to write this letter it was to be a breaking-up kind of letter. But when I got to the point where I'd say goodbye I realized it was totally unrealistic. The bonds are too strong for me; I can't imagine anything that could break them. Basically, what the letter says is that I've created in myself this overpowering, unquenchable longing, and it's the source of so much heartache and despair. I've been through so many cycles of renewed longing and redoubled discouragement that I can easily see where I am at this moment, and I can't see myself ever getting out of this rut. But I have to keep trying.

My idea was that it might be good for me to just stop thinking about God and cut myself off from everything that encourages my longing. First of all, I'd have to stop "writing letters" (praying). That might not be hard. I'm already so discouraged with prayer that it wouldn't be a hard habit to break. I'd have to get away from all these worship songs that stir my emotions and promise great intimacy with God. This would be harder, because it would mean not going to church. Aside from the impossibility of doing this while under my parent's roof, it grates hard against everything I've been brought up with and presently believe. But the worst thing is that I'd have to cut myself off from all my friends. I couldn't do that. If I had no God and no friends I don't know what I'd live for. Anyway, I don't think they'd let me.

Nevertheless, I need to take some decisive action here. I need to do something to break out of this destructive cycle.

I don't know if there's anyone out there who would counsel me to stop praying. (What a horrifying idea!) But maybe I can change the nature of my prayers. Maybe if I prayed more to the Almighty Elohim than to Jesus my lover I could get away from this expectation of interaction that prayer always seems to create in me. (And then invariably crush, leading to frustration and confusion.) I can't easily stop going to Church, but maybe I could stop going to worship services. That would be tough because I love worship songs (I think mainly for the emotional high I can produce) but too many of them only encourage these crazy longings. And I can't get away from my friends (nor would I ever want to) but I can tell them this:

If you're one of those who would encourage me to pursue a personal relationship with God, be very careful. Consider the effects of your words. I'd give absolutely anything to experience tangible closeness with God, but I'm also so discouraged that I have a hard time believing that your new idea will be the one that works. If you're going to tell me to keep at it, you'd better have a clear understanding of how significant that is to me. If you're going to tell your friend that he should continue to pursue his life-long dream, you'd better not be doing it to make him feel good. Do not toy with my soul. Let me say again that I would do anything to have a relationship with God. If you would encourage me in that, you'd better be prepared to do anything to help me. (I do not exaggerate.) And you'd better be so close to God yourself that you have absolute confidence that he'll do what you ask of him. If you can do that, I will put my trust in you and place the wellbeing of my heart and soul in your hands. And if you fail me I will be deeply hurt. If you are not willing to accept these terms, do not venture to encourage me. You will me no good.

The other mind-set says that we shouldn't be focused on achieving closeness with God at all. Rather, we should be seeking to serve him better. I think I agree with this in my mind, but my heart is easily swayed. But I think I'm ready to actively move towards this way of life. I've often said that the greatest way God speaks to me is through other people. If you know me you'll know that I dislike small-talk and large groups and social activities, and that I quite literally live for meaningful one-on-one conversations. I'm thinking that this can't be bad, because it creates a love for other people. Allow me to wax eloquent.

You, my friend, my fellow human being, are the closest thing to God I'll ever know on this earth. We're all in this together. We all wrestle with this same fundamental problem: we need God, but we can't access him. So let's support each other. Let's love and serve and relate to each other. Let's shift our focus from religion and church and even God and focus on each other. (That sounds scary. I don't know if I'm effectively communicating what I want to say or not. Help me work this out.)

I've realized that I'll never be close to God. (Failing something miraculous and entirely unexpected.) The desire of my heart will never be fulfilled in this life. Weep with me. Come alongside me, let us mourn together for this great unquenchable longing and unmeatable need. And then let us focus on each other.