Thursday, May 30, 2013

Crawling out from under Jugdment

I spend a lot of time and effort constructing judgments against myself.  When I drive down the highway I make excuses for my driving decisions in my head, already constructing the (blisteringly rhetorical) arguments I'll have with other drivers after we get out of our cars.  I agonize over my EC paperwork.  I come into some meetings with excuses prepared, explanations of things I should have done differently that probably won't even be addressed at all.  Fear of failure paralyzes me from creative action.  Fear of judgment prevents me from exploring creative actions and realms of thought.

Tonight while I was sitting outside and listening to The Wailin' Jenny's during dinner, I found myself wondering what my undergraduate advisor would think of the music I listen to.  No doubt I started thinking about it after seeing a playlist of his on facebook.  He's always into some crazy music, whether Euro-rock or reggae or deathmetal or who knows what, I would never be able to keep up with the range of his tastes.  My own spectrum is very small and I'm sure seems rather rigid (See?  I'm constructing judgment against myself right now!).  In the 8th grade I was fanatically convinced that I should never listen to anything but Christian music (which meant, of course, CCM).  Neither should anyone else!  A brutal run-in with one of Eminem's more violent songs hammered in the final nails to the coffin of my own self-righteousness.  For years and years I locked myself into a small stream of music.  I've only recently started to really swim in the other waters of folk / bluegrass.  Bands like The Civil Wars, Mumford & Sons, The Head and the Heart fill my summer cookout playlists, and I'd be happy to discuss some of the religious themes that underlie their music.

Mental gymnastics, all to preserve my own sense of self-righteousness.  Do I defend myself because I have to be right?  Or do I create judgments against myself because I'm so desperate for affirmation?  Do I actively hate myself, or do I simply lack the roots to trust that anyone (Divine) really loves me?

I think the passage of scripture I find most inwardly terrifying and disturbing is meant to be comforting. Jesus describes himself in John 10 as the Good Shepherd.  He says twice, "I know my own and my own know me (v.14)" and "the sheep follow him because they know his voice (v. 4)."  The word "because" terrifies me.  Do I know what the voice of Jesus is in my life?  No, not really.  Do I seek it out in wise counsel, in prayer, in scripture?  Sure, but not often enough.  Do I hope it will come to me in worship, in song, in Eucharist?  Absolutely.  Do I feel supported by it in the voice of my friends?  Without a doubt.  But do I know it?

Both in A Million Miles in a Thousand Years and Through Painted Deserts Donald Miller speaks of the need to live in a good story.  When I'm frustrated with my job and the atmosphere there and my own inability and inexperience and the tensions of living in two cities and trying to hear and discern and follow a calling through a cloud of unknowing, I sometimes doubt the goodness of the story I'm living. Do I doubt the goodness of the author, or just the quality of the story?  Is there a way to separate the two frustrations, the two sources of doubt and pain?

I thought that my advisor would be terribly disappointed in my shallow exposure to the world of music.  One time on facebook, I mentioned finding out that one of my favorite artists had released an album I'd never known about (David Crowder's All I Can Say).  He asked what band I meant, and I, fearing judgment, never responded.  I was afraid of judgment, even though I'm well aware that David Crowder and Jon Foreman and Isaac Jorgensen & Mark Labriola II are three of the most significant theological voices in my life.  Maybe you could add Gungor.  Definitely add Andrew Peterson.  They have deep roots in my soul, perhaps watered by the (self-inflicted?) lack of other, older voices of wisdom in my life.  I was afraid one voice of wisdom in my life would find the others trite, shallow, theologically blase.  I hid.

Then in a flash I thought: who cares what he thinks?  I know the answer is still partly "I do!"  I also know the answer is "Nobody!"  These artists, these voices, these people are part of the cloud of witnesses that surrounds me, makes me who I am, strengthens and encourages me with psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs.

For a moment, just a moment, I found myself crawling out from under judgment.  It is who I am, right now.  It just is.

And it is not for me to judge.

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