Compassion is a Trait of the Penitent, Not the Perfect

Note: this article was inspired by a challenge issued to write a story around the opening words in this article, which was culled from a Facebook post I've made. It's probably not what the individual was looking for, and I'll still try in that direction, but it's what first came to mind:I am actually more self aware than you realize. I'm deeply flawed and imperfect. I get it. And in examining those weaknesses, those flaws, I've come to understand even more about the nature of compassion.

See, I live in a "grace only" world, and, while I champion the doctrine, I don't quite feel it. Grace is a wonderful thing, it's a marvelous thing, but it is not the end of the story. I know and I trust that God has given me a clean slate, that the ledger when I stand before Him will be free of blemish, free of mark.

But that does not erase the marks from the ledgers of the people I've wronged through my life. They will walk through life bearing the marks of my past transgressions, and those marks are not so easily erased.

How woefully tragic, how heartbreaking, if the mistakes I have made are the very marks that keep them from the cross.

I have often stood in the middle of a group of people, in deep pain, in deep heartache, wondering why nobody around me could see it. It bugged me for an awful lot of years.

And then it hit me: I see that pain in others. Someone who has not seen that pain is less likely to see it in others. Someone who has never lived homeless or very close to it will not recognize the defeated shuffle of someone who has tried to hitchhike for hours, only to ultimately resign themselves to the 30 mile hike to the next town. Someone who has never known hunger will not understand when confronted with the look of hunger from another. It is much, much easier to see the need in others when we've had that need ourselves.

So what truly sparks compassion is an aching in our own hearts and souls. A need to express ourselves in reaching out to heal others. Compassion, then, is a trait of the penitent, not the perfect.

I cannot go backwards along the path that I have taken to get to this point. I can only go forwards. And it is quite possible that some of the people whom I have wronged in the past will never come before me again. And so the only response I can muster is to minister in the people I meet to the wrongs inflicted on them by others and hope that somewhere along the path is another likeminded Samaritan ministering to those whom I have wronged.

And this is where things get muddy, because many of my "grace only" friends would call that teaching salvation by works. But I would contend nothing is further from the truth. For I am in no way under the illusion that those works factor in any way into my own salvation; I am laboring on in the hopes they may factor in the salvation of another.

And that, really, is all that any of us can do.

What People Who Don't Come From a Dysfunctional Family Don't Understand

As the past weekend ground to a close, I received news that an aunt of mine had passed away. Yesterday, I was given funeral service times, and although I am unable to attend, it brought painfully back to mind the fact that I live a different existence; one that not everyone understands.

See, like most of my family, I didn't know this aunt at all. I have met her in the past, but I was a child and only remember being pressed into throngs of people who loomed much larger than my hobbit sized body. When I stretch for a visual image, I bring up a memory bank of several, but wouldn't really be able to eliminate more than one or two of those faces from being possibly hers.

It seems almost selfish to say that I look at large families at friendly gatherings, and I'm a little jealous. The companionship they enjoy has not been a significant part of my existence, and it tweaks a little part of me.

Now, in the interest of full disclosure, and not wanting to elicit a pity party, I must honestly confess that some part of the fault of that was mine. My in laws had some of those gatherings, and seeking greener pastures, I chose to leave the area my wife considers home and move on. For the brief time I actually saw it, I didn't genuinely appreciate it.

But as I've grown older I think of things I wish I'd known. Cousins that I wish I was able to join with in sharing some of the joys and heartaches of parenting, aunts and uncles I wish I could mine for their wisdom and life experiences. But the road I've walked didn't lead in that direction, and so we spend holidays trying to make the holidays better for others who don't have one. That certainly brings with it its own share of happiness, but it also reminds me that there is a whole realm of "normal" that I will never truly understand.

And as my family gathers to my aunt's funeral and prepares her for her final burial, I find myself without the grief that I should feel. If, by some chance I were able to go, I would be in the most horrifying situation imaginable for me: in the midst of a roomful of strangers, all with families, that I should know but don't.

I am eternally grateful for the family that I do have; it's far more than I ever expected or deserved. But I also, at times, find myself wishing that I understood just what it means to be "normal".

Reflections of an Outcast.

Please forgive the seeming randomness and spontaneity of this. I started blogging to feel less alone, and in some ways, it helps. Just a chance to share thoughts with the world is a better answer than the hollow void that predated the Internet.

For virtually all of my adult life, I have pleaded with the world in every way I know how, and searched for a place to truly fit. For the companionship, the closeness that people around me take for granted, but which has always eluded me. I've been the outsider, hanging just close enough to hear the words, the giggles, the memories, but just far enough that it is a foreign world, one that never will genuinely be mine.

I am interjecting again because in this crazy world, people tend to interpret. I am not in any way, shape or form suggesting any harm to myself or others, I am merely sharing these feelings in the hope they may offer some comfort to someone else who sees themselves in them. Please don't suggest that I "seek help", as that is a vagary that doesn't truly exist; if you aren't offering the rope, then you've no business suggesting I call out to someone else to throw me a line!

I am not suggesting the problem lies with those around me; the problem is well and truly mine. But in weighing the options available to me, I find myself trapped in a very tight little corner. My wife and children inherit my status, as I've never been able to form the kind of friendships that have given them that normalcy, and thus they suffer. I have, over the years, contemplated leaving as I abandoned the idea of suicide long ago, not for the loss it would bring me, but for the hurt and pain that my family would inherit. I may deserve the constant pain of loneliness; my family does not.

My cynicism towards the church is because I long ago thought that answer was in the church, and I reached for it. I thirsted for it. I went to church with the faithfulness of a dedicated, devoted disciple. But it was not there. I longed for someone to "bear my burdens", and tried to bear the burdens of others to show them what was needed. But there was no one to lift the load. I tried to invite people over, to share with the community, to just belong in giving, but again, isolation, loneliness.

I even contemplated the possibility that maybe I did have some kind of mental instability, but no instability, just loneliness. I went through a lot of anger, a lot of bitterness, but that left a long time ago. There's no anger, no bitterness, just aloneness.

It would be wrong to say I've rejected God; nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, the ONLY comfort I have found in all of this is God. If not for the comfort of God, I honestly, truly would not be here to give this monologue that will echo back to me off of the empty walls.

The only comfort, the only light in this darkness, though, that I have ever experienced was in ministering to those who are in an equally dark place. But I also discovered years ago that despite the plea of declining numbers in ministry, professional ministry is limited to those who have the kinds of connections that I have never been able to form. And lay ministers are not even respected as ministers; unless your tax status is tied to a minister, you are not a minister.

I could go on about how this contradicts Scripture, but at this point even I am tired of beating dead horses.

In closing this article, I would like to say that unless you have read EVERY word, please be silent. Unless you are willing to actually recognize and assist with filling the void in a Christian way, please move on. I've had enough of the harsh and bitter critics and those who answer with well meaning platitudes; if you don't have a true answer and one I haven't tried a thousand times before, this message is probably not for you, and that is completely OK. I've searched the Bible for answers, I've prayed, and I established a relationship with Christ a very long time ago. And that relationship is one of the few things of value that I have left in this world, beyond my family.

I am grateful for those who have found a place where they belong. In forty four years of trying, I still haven't found mine. And I am seriously hoping for an end to wandering in the desert sometime soon.

I love each and every person that I have in my life, even if we've never connected, but I think it's time I figure out how to embrace the loneliness and get comfortable in the darkness. It's the only constant.

Confessions of a Pest

One of the hardest, most compelling aspects of my personality is, frankly: I'm a pest.

Thing is, I know I'm a pest. It bugs me, and it is one of the major reasons I work to avoid social settings. But it's also, in my opinion, one of the most indicting aspects of our passive-aggressive society.

See, we expect for people to arrive to us whole. I'm not pointing fingers here; I am probably the worst at it. We don't expect broken people, we don't expect people who tend to follow rabbit trail after rabbit trail to get to a point they actually have, and we really don't tend to like people who tend to be clingy because they have a preciously small group of friends and tend in social settings to gravitate very closely to the ones they trust.

I try to be self aware, and occasionally I catch myself, but it's usually about the time someone's eyes glaze over and they respond with dismissive grunts in lieu of meaningful conversation, but by then, unfortunately, it's too late. There aren't a lot of opportunities for do overs.

But don't get me wrong; I'm not meaning this post to be some sort of rant or pity party. And I certainly don't see it as something deserving of pity; it is immensely helpful to me. See, I may be a pest, but I'm not the only one. And yes, like everyone else, I get frustrated by other pests.

But because I am one, I try to meet others with a dose of understanding. I don't have a high batting average in that regard, honestly, but I AM trying.

And while I'm trying to veer away from the more cynical side I expressed when I began this blog, I do have to say that one of the things that has made relationships within the body of Christ difficult is that I came to Christ with some VERY starry eyed expectations, only to find them more lacking than not. It has taken me awhile, though, to come to the grips with the fact that if I want people to accept my brokenness, I need to do a better job accepting theirs.

I truly think this is a massive failing, not only of the church, but of society in general. Because, to tell you the truth, I haven't found nonChristians any more accepting than Christians in that regard. I hear people talk about their mentors; I've never really had the luxury of having one. In fact, I really haven't had the luxury of having genuinely sane parents, and I don't really know the ones I do have all that well. So the places where people generally adopt these social mores have really been lacking for me more often than not.

But the one thing I ask of those who know I am a pest is honesty. And patience. I may be a pest, but I'm also probably the most loyal friend you will ever have because of it.

I don't know what the solution is; for me the temptation is towards isolation, but I try to avoid it because I've been there, and that doesn't help. And it certainly doesn't make things easier for my family. But I do know that if I can't figure out the solution for myself, maybe in being open I can help someone else find their own solution.

Coming to Grips With a Silent Ministry

I'm at that age where ghosts of my past keep popping up where I least expect them, reminding me of what could have been, and a little bit of the journey I expected to take when I was younger.

The journey since has been nothing like that. As a young convert to Christianity, I sincerely believed I was meant for ministry. To me that meant being a pastor somewhere, or a missionary; really, anywhere God wanted me.

And I started off with that in mind. I went briefly to a small Baptist Bible College, but was struck by the inherent hypocrisy of a school that did not allow students to attend movies, but said nothing when the students would gather together in their homes and watch the same movies. It's more likely than anything that the college was just not a good fit for me, but I really didn't see any other option at the time.

And then I moved back home for a span of three years, continuing my college experience, but being stifled by the intricacies of the student loan system. A technicality made it a monumental hurdle to get financial aid until I was 24, and I was unwilling to jump those hurdles.

Then came family. It wasn't long until I was a parent, and put that on the backseat at a number of low to mediocre paying jobs, putting in long hours. All that became important in that stage in life was holding through to the next paycheck.

Then a series of steps led to where I am now, finished with a degree, but not really in the direction I had once considered, and with the thoughts of "ministry" I had when I was younger all but over. In sum total, my "career" in the pulpit lasted all of three sermons as part of a group of people who filled in for a rural Oklahoma church. The disappointment of never being able to launch in something that was very dear to me, something to which I have always believed that I was called, left me bitter. And it didn't help that I was watching as many of the churches I saw were completely being swallowed up by a materialism and secularism that were certainly not Christ's intent.

But gradually, time has led me to understand that ministry is not confined to the face in the pulpit; that there are a lot of ministers out there that nobody will ever see, and that for reasons not completely known to me (although I know some of them), that just might be God's direction for me. That maybe, just maybe, the marks I leave on those around me won't be seen until after I'm gone. And that, while I may never preach another sermon from a pulpit in my life, that doesn't mean that I'm not preaching through my actions.

I don't feel comfortable sharing the opportunities that have opened up for me lately. I don't feel it's right. But it's my prayer that somehow my life can steer more over time towards Kingdom work than the tedious work often needed to sustain ourselves in this life.

But what I've had to come to grips with is the fact those opportunities have always been there, they just come without applause.

And I'm OK with that.

Reflections at Year's End

I haven't yet read the conclusions of Ryan Bell's "A Year Without God". But I have appreciated all of his posts throughout the year. They have challenged me, angered me, inspired me. I have found much solace in his skilled presentation and intellectual honesty in asking some of the questions we would often rather avoid.

Mr. Bell, if you ever read this, I thank you. And if you ever happen by a certain burg in Northeastern New Mexico, the coffee's on me.

I wanted to write these reflections prior to reading Bell's, because I want them to be free of the color I might find in his. I admittedly have not read many of these atheist/humanist authors, and have little interest in doing so, but that doesn't mean that I don't find validity in it.

So, introduction aside, here are my year end thoughts, jumbled as they may be:

The first verse of the Bible begins, "In the beginning, God...". Proceeding through 807,361 words in 66 books of the canonical Scriptures, it ends with "The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen". (Rev. 22:21).

In the beginning, God... In the end, grace. Something to think about, and something that has had deep and profound meaning through the year, as I watched some people dear to me struggle with some difficult, life altering realities that I will not discuss in depth here because it is simply too soon.

This was a very, intensely painful year for me. But then growth often is. I have shed a lot of tears in the past 360 days, and as the year winds down, I find myself wondering if the current quiet is a genuine peace or merely the calm before the storm. I found myself withdrawing increasingly inside myself because of genuinely feeling that I lacked a strong support group.

And through it all I found comfort in the words of Mr. Bell. Not because I agreed with some of the explorations that he made, but because I highly respect anyone who is willing to step so far outside their comfort zone in order to examine who they personally are. For everything I endured, I am sure it paled in comparison to some of his struggles. And, sadly, it showed some of the inadequacies of "traditional" evangelicalism.

And it was in that climate that I felt compelled to renounce evangelicalism. When I saw, for a second year in a row, the media centered on the shooting of an unarmed person of color, it called into question whether there was anything left worth redeeming in today's church. I've long struggled within around the conflict between the evangelical gospel and the social gospel, which gets you branded a liberal, a communist, or worse. And in the course of renouncing evangelicalism, I had to question whether I was, indeed, renouncing the church.

But there was something in that: Christ loves the church enough that He gave himself for her. That means, for better or worse, my struggle is not against the church, no matter how imperfect she may be.

In the beginning, God. In the end, grace.

Personally, this was the year that I realized that any aspirations to the American middle class are gone. That I can't pour enough money into my education to make that happen, and that it's done. And that I should learn to be comfortable with what I have, because it likely will not improve much.

After much bitterness, I'm surprisingly OK with that. Of course it helps that, in addition to my small income streams elsewhere, I am doing something I truly, genuinely enjoy.

This has been a truly special year on many fronts. I will post more between now and year's end, but cannot help going back to the discovery above: in the beginning, God... In the end, grace.

Feeling Alone In All of This

I have a few people who have seen articles I've posted here, but not the whole story. It's like walking into the middle of a movie, sometimes you see the bitter, but you don't see what led to that point.

I am at the moment feeling angry, frustrated, and exhausted. And it is very much at the heart of why I feel the church has let me down. It's not a matter of me having unrealistic expectations of the church, these expectations are very realistic.

But let me be clear in saying they're not the "pastor's" job. More than a few people play a part. Building friendships within the church is part of the disciple making process.

Anyway, I had to reveal some information to my daughter that was very painful to discuss. For her privacy I am not going to be terribly specific. But the last time we had this discussion, it cost me six months' time with my daughter, including her senior track season, and all of the other senior activities. I will never have those back.

Through this all, I had no support. I did not have a single friend outside the family to turn to. People made assumptions about my character, and hers, that were untrue. They never TOLD us, though, they just made horrible sweeping assumptions.

When I needed backup it wasn't there. When I needed the guidance of wise counsel, it was similarly absent. Nothing there to help me. I was on my own.

To pretend this is the way the church was meant to be is to pretend that much of the Scripture doesn't exist. Parenting, especially through the teenage and adult years, is exceedingly difficult, and backup is needed. Eyes and ears help as well.

I feel right now that we're in a better place, a good fellowship working to be responsive to all of this, and I am and will attempt to be patient. But healing is much more easily accomplished when everyone acknowledges their role. This is something I have had to navigate on my own, and with the judgment and stares of others to accompany it.

I know that we as a church can do better. And I pray that conviction comes to the churches that need to fill the gaps. I know that the last year has certainly changed my viewpoint substantially and for the better, and as a result at this point I am not bitter, just exhausted.

And similarly determined to help make sure that other people don't feel the same way.

Recently I was discussing the parable of the Good Samaritan with a friend, and he disagreed with my analysis, saying "are you bleeding and lying by the side of the road?"

I didn't think then to answer, but am answering now: No, but not long ago I was. And I was passed by more times than I should have been.