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.

Unconsciousness as Intimacy

My wife and I had a mini-road trip over the weekend, getting a chance to see two sets of friends.  First we stayed with a friend of mine from YDS in South Carolina.  We got lost on the way and didn't make it to their house until late, but it was so wonderful that it didn't matter.  We stayed up and talked with them until after midnight, sharing stories and laughing and enjoying the fellowship that is rare without a set of shared experiences in the background of the present.  We've stayed with them overnight once before, and it was equally wonderful.  The wife put words to one of my own thoughts over breakfast the next morning: "It's really nice to have people stay with you because it's just a different way to hang out than when you just come for a little bit and are gone the next day."

Sleeping together creates intimacy.  Whether it's in the same bed, under the same roof, or even under the same stars on a camping trip (which I really want to do with my youth group this summer), sleeping together and waking up together must be a kind of liminal experience.  Whether it is because you enter into a new kind of trust with someone when you are willing / forced to be unconscious around them or simply because they were there in the night and are there again in the morning, you're sharing something (that I think is) extremely special.  My two best friends from college are both guys that I lived with, guys whom I visited and spent the night at their house.  Even my roommates that I'm not in close contact with now... I shared something with them I didn't have with other friends at college.  And some of the most treasured friends of my heart are the ones I spent entire summers with on a ministry team.

I remember, actually, being secretly terrified of one of my friends that I spent two summers with on a ministry team.  It became increasingly difficult for me to understand that they probably knew me better in so many fundamental ways than anyone else.  She had seen me in an endless number of situations where there was no pretense in my being, when I had no chance of trying to control the way that other people interacted with me, whether that was jumping up and down in worship or crying my eyes out or playing soccer.  Then we got in the same van with all those other people and kept on driving.  Our friendship grew, over time, and even though we were never extremely close, but I was aware that she had insight into my identity (or at least I felt she did) that no one else shared.  And I was afraid.  I was still learning to trust that people actually liked me, the real me down at my core.  The unconscious me.

On Trinity Sunday, a day when everyone should be preaching, teaching, and learning about perichoresis (without every using the word, for heaven's sake!), maybe my sermon would have been that the church should experiment more with road trips and slumber parties.

Smart Phones. Dumb Questions.

I can't sleep.  It's 2:30 a.m. on a school night.

I hardly think that I'm weary with the pain of Jacob's wrestling, but my mind is definitely not at peace.

I've needed wanted needed a new phone practically since I got the one I have now, the first Christmas after I got married.  I got a refurbished phone from the dealer.  From day one, it turned itself on and off repeatedly at will until I had one bar of battery left.  For the first year it would only do it if I wasn't using it.  Since then, it's done it whether I've been sending or reading a text, setting my alarm (usually primary function #1 of my phone), or even a couple times when I have been having a conversation on it.  I should have sent it back during the warranty period, but I never did.  I couldn't exercise the initiative.

My dad at Christmas noticed it and we had a conversation about me ordering a new phone, now that I've had the same phone for quite some time.

To add in some of my internal dilemma, I've said repeatedly that I don't even want a smartphone.  I don't want my e-mail access 24/7.  I didn't even really want a cell phone in the first place.  I got one only because I was going to school so far from where my parents lived and needed a way to stay in touch with them.

So when my dad asked me the other night if I still wanted a new phone (yes, I know, Christmas was a while ago), I automatically got out on the website to see what upgrades I could get for free.  I was surprised to note that there were actually more non-smartphone options than there were when I got the phone I have now.  However, I noticed I could get an iPhone upgrade for free.

I more or less jumped at the chance.  The only hesitation that preceded any action on my part was that we really can't afford to pay for a data plan.  I called my dad and he said don't worry about it, so of course as soon as I got home I got online and had it shipped here.

But in my sleepless state, I'm having second thoughts.  First of all, if I were a government and I wanted to have 1984 / Fahrenheit 451 levels of control over people, wouldn't smartphones be the best way to do it?  I mean, never mind that Google is actually destroying any notion of privacy as we know it, and has been for years.  The internet itself, facebook, whatever, it's all tracking our data.  I was just remarking the other day that I can't imagine political smear campaigns ten years from now, when all you have to do to "dig up dirt" on someone is spend ten minutes surfing through facebook photos.  Yikes.

I know, I know, it sounds a little conspiracy-ish.  I can't help it.

I also wonder: is Thoreau still Thoreau if he has a smartphone?

If I have a smartphone, will I become a consumer of nature, of experience, rather than someone who merely exists?  Will I I always be plugged in (like how I'm writing this lengthy rambling attempt to come to closure online instead of paper)?

The other thing bothering me is essentially this question: Am I really so desperate to conform?  Do I talk a big game (saying I don't want a smartphone) to justify the fact that I can't afford to be like everyone else, but then abandon all my swagger at the first chance to join the crowd?  Do I want to conform, or do I want to be different?  How badly do I want to be just like everyone else, to have nice things like everyone else, to fall at the altar of Apple?

Why do I feel differently about getting an iPhone than I do about my long held plans to get an iPad this summer, or to use frequently the iPod touch I've had for a year and half?  I even said to my wife that having an iPhone eliminates the need for me to get a new iPod touch, which is something she and I have both talked about.  Is having a smartphone really so different than having both an iPod and a non-smartphone anyway?

Growing up in a holiness tradition, I heard NON-stop about the importance of being "set apart."  God has called me to be a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation.   I must and shall live a pure, set apart and holy life.  Non-Chrisians should look at me and see something different and be attracted by my way of life to the God who makes me holy; that's what St. Francis's quote about preaching the gospel without using words means, duh.  "Holiness, holiness is what I long for."

What is a Christian approach to living with technology?  Is there a "Christian" approach to technology?  Should there be?  How different do I have to be?  Does being different mean avoiding what everyone else is doing?  Can I do what everyone else is doing and just do it differently, with a different mindset and different attitudes and different emphases?  I want to make some comment about Wendell Berry here, but never having read more than two of his poems I can't.  But I wish I could.

Is this a matter of faith?  Is this a matter of my identity, of the way that I mark myself out as different from everyone else?  Or is it the weary ramblings brought on by party-food dinner and too much end of the year stress?  I'm not sure how important to let all of this be.  Part of me wants to cancel the order.  Part of me knows I could do that and return it at any time, especially to downgrade.  Part of me is already upset with myself for being so impulsive, the same part of me that remembers a meeting with a psychologist who recommended that I be more impulsive because she could tell right away how cautious I am, who much I need to approve of what I do before I do it.  Do I need more time to think about this?  Would I even come to a different conclusion?  Part of me can't believe I didn't talk all this out with my wife before I acted and ordered it.  I feel judged by her... which says far more about me than it does her.  I feel judged a lot, internally; probably because I unconsciously play the role of judge in most of my everyday life.  I think that my small differences from other people make me a better person.  How arrogant, how ridiculous is that?

Almighty God, to whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid; Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love you and worthily magnify your holy name, through Christ our Lord.  Amen.

Cincinnatus

In CPE, I was shocked when our supervisor looked at me during a group supervision and said that I was exercising my leadership in the group.  I hadn't thought about doing that, nor had it been one of my goals.  I actually had trouble seeing what she meant until she (and the rest of the group) pointed out that I was the one who started daily Noonday prayer for our cohort and invited everyone to join in, I was the one who suggested that we go out for drinks after Super(vision) Tuesdays, I was the one making sure we ate lunches together.  Those things seemed like common sense to me.  Even deeper, I was doing those things because I wanted and needed the community support.  I'm afraid of being lonely.  But while I was thinking about making sure my own needs were being met, others were seeing me exercise leadership.

My friend Otis hammered away at me, over and over, that more than anything else I needed to work on my own sense of "inner authority."  I got frustrated with him at the time, and still bristle a little bit thinking about it.  I'd rather work behind the scenes, most of the time, on important things.  I'm afraid of public failure.  I'm more comfortable tweaking and adjusting other people's ideas than creating the vision.  I'm happy to pursue goals that someone else has set rather than dream up my own.  It happened a lot in Episcopal Evangelism Network meetings; I was often quiet for much of the meeting, while conversation and different opinions escalated and divisions threatened to slow our meetings to a halt.  When anger started to appear in the room, I would simply raise my hand and wait for someone to call on me.  I'm afraid, usually, of direct conflict.  I'm working on it.  But patiently waiting for the group to allow me to speak, waiting to make sure my own voice would be heard, others were seeing me exercise leadership.

An ancient Roman legend tells the story of Rome beset by her enemies, besieged within her own walls, facing certain defeat from the barbarian horde.  And a lonely farmer, Cincinnatus, came to the head of the military and led the Roman army to victory and the city to a new peace.  When he did, he eschewed power and returned to his farm.

In an effort to meet my own needs as an EC (Special Education) teacher, I'm exercising leadership again.  Only this time, I recognize it.  I'm putting my own personality, perspective and time into fixing a problem that has been systemic and pervasive and persistent within Teach For America: the lack of training that EC Corps Members have received before reaching the classroom.  I pitched the idea to an ENC big-wig, and a friend joined up with me and we're writing out own plan for training materials.  We're hoping to write our first presentation on the basics of Individualized Education Plans next week.  We've sent out our ideas to other EC CMs, and they have given us great feedback and been really excited that we've initiated things.

I have to confess: I like having the control.  I freaked out a little bit (internally) when a document I had created circulated without me knowing it.  I got feedback as a result from people I didn't know personally, which was extremely helpful.  I'm afraid that someone else could do it better than I could.  Scratch that; I know there are several people who could do it much better than I could.

But I'm exercising leadership.  I'm finding my own sense of inner authority, at least a little bit.  And I like it.

I'm trying to hold the reins loosely, to collaborate, to welcome other voices and follow different directions.  I'm making sure I'm not the only one working on this and that I have a partner at all times... which is good, because the friend I am working with is much more practical about actionable steps than I am.  I need that.  I'm learning about new ways of exercising leadership.

But I can't help wondering, as I enjoy this semi-public position of leadership that I know I am exercising: should I, like Cincinnatus, avoid seeking out this leadership and power?  How will I know when the job that I initiated is done?

How fitting, to start with failure

Veni Creator Spiritus
Mentes tuorum visita.

Come mid-November, I struggle to find traction in my spiritual life.  The church year leaves me high and dry, with the great festivals either tantalizingly close but not yet present or too far in the past to provide me any vitality.  When we haven't reached thanksgiving yet I can't wade into Advent and prepare for Christmas... and Pentecost and Easter seem to have vanished long ago.  It's been a perpetually dry season for me.  Dryness is so necessary for a healthy life cycle it comes out good, in the end, but that doesn't make it any easier.

Because I'm so terribly vain, I think I could succeed in lots of different PhD programs.  Probably one of my few ideas worth any merit, however, would be to do one in a field I have no real training in: ethics. I think that a book on "The Ethics of the Fruits of the Spirit" would be entirely fascinating, challenging, and wholly appealing to a broad swath of Christian traditions, if properly packaged.

"The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.  Against such things there is no law."  I suppose I really should say goodness; but I've long felt that the fruit most lacking in my life is self-control.

In this season of Pentecost (and I'm trying to think of it as the season of Pentecost, not the season after Pentecost and certainly not Ordinary Time; no wonder I'm so burnt out by the end of it.  No wonder high liturgical churches suffer, in Pentecostal eyes, from a lack of the freedom of the Spirit.) my BHAG (that's big, hairy audacious goal) is this: to write every day.