This Tastes Bitter: The Taste of Self-Preservation

Those pithy sayings about the difficulties of life making us better not bitter are not meant for us bitter people, I think.  They may be meant for potentially bitter people, but more likely they’re meant for better people—to feel even better about themselves.  But I may just be bitter. 

I’d really like to be one of the better people, but in reality I think I often prefer to wallow in my misery.  Just for a while.  Just until I’m sick of myself...  I’m sick of myself. 

Perhaps my bitterness comes from a tendency to take myself too seriously instead of seeing the lighter side of disappointments with life.  Maybe I should change the tone of this whole blog and find my voice as a witty humorist who is almost 35, with no babies, no dates, no real job, no prospects and more student loan debt than I care to mention.  But somehow when I try, it comes off sounding desperate and pathetic.  Maybe that’s because I hear other voices—the ones of my contented single friends, or discontented married friends, or the better people telling me I shouldn’t be honest bitter.  Though maybe it’s just my own self-preserving voice.

I suspect self-preservation will be my downfall.  Or the reason I never quite get off the ground.  It is the reason why I’ve removed my last several blog posts, the reason I’m scared to risk, the reason I don’t love fully, and maybe even the reason I’m bitter instead of better.  It’s safer.  It’s the reason I am satisfied with a superficial self rather than my true self.  I wonder what would happen just in one year if I could live my life without self-preservation.

I can’t.  We can’t.  Not fully. We all wear fig leaves of some sort.  But I imagine.  I imagine who I could be if I didn’t hide from God and man.  Mark Sayers says this is true holiness.  “Holiness is not about pointless and impossible perfectionism.  It is about becoming the people we are meant to be.  It is the ultimate discovery of our true selves.  Each step toward holiness brings us closer to becoming who we really are.”

Being sick of myself is often the thing that makes me want to trade in some self-preservation for a taste of holiness, a taste of God’s work of restoration in me and in the world.  But then, if I did that, I might forget why I’m bitter.  

Deep Down Things

THE world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs --
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

~Gerard Manley Hopkins


I’m on a roll. Life has been going well for me lately. This isn’t a problem, per se, but I am starkly aware of my grasping desire to keep things going my way. This seems to mean living life on the surface in accordance with my safe and selfish imagination—I use work and achievement (smeared with toil) and entertainment to keep my soul at bay as it tries to come to life. I’ve been down this road before (have trod, have trod, have trod). It leads to death.

And yet, “there lives the dearest freshness deep down things.” My truer desire for something deeper and grander always returns—a desire for something better, more difficult, and more beautiful than my way.

As I was reading David Benner again yesterday morning I was struck by the truth in his words, “We will never come to prefer God’s kingdom and will to ours until we meet the Divine in this relationship of love intermixed with wonder… There would be no reason to submit our will to a tame god of our imagination. No god that is merely a projection of our deepest needs and longings is worthy of surrender of our soul. Surrendering to God’s will begins by encountering God’s grandeur. It also involves falling in love with God’s grand plan of restoration of all things. This lies at the heart of God’s will and God’s kingdom.”

This put me in mind of the Gerard Manley Hopkins poem.

May I be willing to exchange successful surface living for the grandeur of a Kingdom of restoration.  May I give up the god of my imagination for the God of wonder. Oh, morning!

Silence and Soul Cravings

I have just entered into a very busy season of life—maybe busier than any other time in my life. So, what has been on my mind lately is how discipline leads to rest. And beauty. And rightness. And all the things that feed my soul.

My tendency is to let life spin madly on and carry me away, and before I know it I don’t know who I am or where I’m going. But I need silence. And nature. And God. To remember. And discipline leads me there. Discipline (once hated as the end, now cherished as the means) allows me to pay attention to the soft, low sounds that can probe depths to awaken soul cravings. Like the sound of poetry.

I heard Mark Sayers speak recently, and as he read this poem aloud, I felt as if something that had died in me was being awakened with a gentle caress—as if something deep and beautiful and a little tragic, like my favorite novel, was coming to life. And it filled me with a new and urgent desire for silence, so I could hear more of the same.


In The World of Whispers - Cam Semmens

There is a serpent in the speakers
of my TV,
radio,
laptop,

phone.

I can hear its hiss

running beneath every

show,

song,

clip,
chat.

Thiss hissssss –
a subtle, insistent whisper:

…buy, buy,
buy an ipod, buy an MG,
buy a PC, buy an Apple
and you will be like God,
buy, buy…

And I – too late – feel the fangs
pierce the thin skin of my will.
And I can feel the venom
poisoning
every choice I make,

…buy, buy…

but I
lie as still as I can.
Still.
Still listening.
Listening
for that other whisper –
that still, small voice.

Cameron M. Semmens

Avoid Rain: Be Good?

It has taken me 33 years to learn that pain in life is a given. And even still, I have to constantly relearn it as I find myself trying to escape from anything painful or disappointing. I blame Disney, really. I think Disney movies set us up for disappointment (with the exception of The Journey of Natty Gann and The Fox and the Hound which are unnecessarily painful). We’re left to believe that if Walt Disney were in charge of the world, it would be a much happier place. But we’ve got this God guy in charge who seems to value pain as much as pleasure (if not more).

Still, I got the idea from the God-followers that I could actually avoid pain by following a simple formula: if you keep from being human, you can keep from being hurt. In other words, rain only falls on the broken so don’t be broken. Keep it all together and pain won’t knock at your door. Or, you reap what you sow, so be a good girl.

Maybe there’s some truth there (like 2%), but it sets us up with a Disney-esque purpose in life: be good, avoid pain, live happily ever after. And it contradicts the words of Christ, “He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous,” and, of course, Bono’s paraphrase, “Blessings are not just for the ones who kneel, luckily.”

The consequence of this formula, I think, is that at some point in life (I am a slow learner) we realize that very often life sucks whether we’re good or bad, and we feel we’ve been hoodwinked by the God-followers who promised that everything would work out fine. We think God didn’t hold up his part of the bargain—he must not be good like Walt Disney.

I admit, I’m disappointed with God. I didn’t get the life I wanted. And I was good. The formula failed me. So, now I keep trying to reprogram from Walt-philosophy to a philosophy that allows for my humanity and the complexity of a life with pain and pleasure and brokenness.

Blaise Pascal said, "Two things contribute to our sanctification. Pains and pleasures." Could it be that happiness and pain-avoidance are not the purpose of life? Maybe the journey of sanctification—the journey of knowing our true selves by knowing the true God—is the point. Maybe I can’t protect myself from pain (even by being good) and maybe I’m not supposed to.

"The trouble with steeling yourself against the harshness of reality is that the same steel that secures your life against being destroyed secures your life also against being opened up and transformed." Frederick Buechner

The Loss of Living Here

We lose a lot of who we are when we learn to live in this world.

We can’t fully be who we were designed to be here. We teach little ones the ways of the world, and they learn quickly which parts of who they are will not be acceptable here. A lot of it is necessary, but there’s no doubt we all get squashed in order to live here. The truly free will have a hard time here.

We all start off quirky. Some adapt better than others. Some, like me, bow to the gods of status quo and become very likeable to nearly everyone by sacrificing distinctiveness. Lately I’ve been watching my three-year-old niece, who is a lot like me in nearly every way, and wondering what I’ve lost—what she’ll lose.

She is so full of life and energy and excitement. It’s a lot to handle sometimes. So we tell her the rules of living in the world. You can’t be like that, have to be more this, less that. Granted, the manipulative and depraved nature that I know in myself comes out in her and needs to be squelched—in all of us. But so much of our original design gets lost in the fray as we learn to fit, to be accepted, to remain sane, to not get hurt, to pay our bills, to be responsible, to not annoy our aunt.

I mean, I have to tell her the rules. You know, ones like “no excited, non-stop talking before 8 am.” It’s a necessary rule (to protect us both), but I feel a little bit of who she is slipping away when her big smile fades. I don’t know how long she stands by my bed waiting for me to wake up when she stays overnight with me, but when I open my eyes that big smile is there and she’s ready to explode all of who she is on me before I’m quite awake.

But to live here, in this world, we have to tell them who they can and cannot be. We all learned it. Your animated displays of emotion are not going to work out here. The face you make when you’re thinking is going to make your life difficult. Your fondness for incessant hugging is not going to be appreciated here...

The Human World has some universal rules, but there are also different rules for different worlds. Church World. American World. Suburbia World. Disney World. Sometimes it’s hard to know which rules to follow. Which status quo am I aiming for? Weird Portlander? Or proper southerner? Nice church girl? Or unconventional revolutionary? So, we end up just trying to create an identity based on the cues we’ve been given in the world we're in.

Won’t it be beautiful when we’re all finally free of the rules of this world? Free to be who we were created to be without concern for the rules of living far from home? I am moving closer to a taste of that freedom now, but I look forward to the day when I arrive and find out who I am really. And who you are.

smokers and frauds

I often feel like a fraud. I think it comes from being human. And redeemed. Being both is tricky. It would be much less ambiguous if I was completely perfect or completely screwed up. But as it is, I am neither. Or both, really.

So sometimes, this feeling of being a fraud is valid. Sometimes I am a fraud. I pretend not to be human. Or not to be redeemed.

When I pretend not to be human, I talk about God and myself in a way that impresses church-people. I’m kind of good at it. Actually I’m really good at it. I know the right phrases, what to emphasize, what to leave out—-how to gloss over my humanity while accentuating my perfection. I’ve been trained well in the art of manipulating Christians to get applause and pats on the back. I’ve been doing it my whole life. You might even say I’m addicted to it. I’m addicted to the admiration of Christians.

As a human, I like to smoke. But I’m not a smoker. I learned long ago that smoking would not fit with my strategy of winning the approval of church-people. And since I don’t need competing addictions, I haven’t taken up smoking. Yet, the other day, I smoked a cigarette with a friend—-in front of Christians. Because of my addiction to approval, I agonized over it for a while (although, I have to admit I enjoyed the seeming scandal of it a bit too). Yet it was a step toward freedom.

Freedom looks different for different people. I’m realizing that as my sense of self and worth comes only from being accepted as a child of God, I become more free in my choices because they are based less and less on addiction to anyone else’s opinion and more on a desire to love as Christ loves-–not that our motives can ever be completely pure. So, in pursuing Christ-likeness, making my friend feel welcome and received and helping her to open up by smoking with her was a way of accomplishing that. The sin would have been giving in to my concern over the censure of other Christians.

I was well aware that my choice would not meet the approval of some, yet, I was quite certain that by sharing that moment with her, I was showing grace and hospitality. I am reassured by remembering that Christ himself scandalized the religious of his day by doing things they would have found morally compromising in order to extend grace and love (breaking the Sabbath, partying with sinners).

I've had to change my understanding of the word hypocrite. Instead of conjuring images of those who claim to be Christians, but who smoke, drink, or swear, as I grew up thinking, I now think about those of us who do not give permission for Christians to express their humanity in front of us. I am a hypocrite when I pretend not to be human at all. Then I am the fraud.

I remember when I started going to this church in Portland several years ago, Imago Dei, I thought I might have to take up smoking to get in with the Pastor. He was always hanging out with the smokers on the front steps just before the service—-probably trying to evangelize I thought. Because Christians don’t smoke.

But it was there where I first encountered people who were embracing both their humanity and their redemption. It was there where I first felt that it was safe to be a sinner, and therefore it was safe to admit my need, and therefore it was where I first truly understood the gospel of redemption. I didn’t fit in as a fraud there. There, my addiction was revealed.

So, now, I don’t want to be a fraud. I don’t want to attract frauds. I want to draw those who are open about their humanity by being open about mine. That doesn’t always mean smoking, but it does mean letting go of my need to have the admiration and approval of others—-especially those in the church. If I can be human in front of Christians and redeemed in front of non-Christians, if I can be both in front of anyone, without my addiction to approval, then maybe you won’t want to be a fraud around me, maybe I can be that safe place—where you can be human and where the gospel of redemption can unfold in your life.

On the Road to God, Self, and Transformation: Part II

Lesson Three: Get Still.
“It is by losing our self in God that we discover our true identity.” David Benner

Some months back, I came to the understanding that my transformation is not up to me. I’m still learning this one (and all of this, for that matter). I guess I’ve been under the false assumption for a long time that this spiritual process is more about what I do than what God does. Then I worry about not doing enough to move forward. But is God the first mover or am I? He is the one that begins it and He sees it through. I don’t have to answer my own prayers for transformation—He revealed the need I’m praying for in the first place! I can offer them, let go of them, and wait for Him to reveal what He wants me to do in His time. No striving or arranging on my own is necessary. He’s not going to forget what He was doing. He’s not going to let me forget for long if I stay with Him. So, I can rest as I commune with Him and let Him dredge up the muck of my soul. He’ll show me what’s next on the road to transformation, and He’ll wait until I’m ready for it. Good plan.

Of course, this does require me listening to Him. Communing with Him hasn’t come easily for me. It means I have to stop medicating myself with distractions. I’ve had to get comfortable being alone with God. I had such a difficult time “entering” His presence, or really just being aware of His presence and His voice. I’m just now remembering a poem I wrote back in March about trying to “ascend to where God is” and not being able to find Him here through the clutter of life. Then earlier this summer I remember the dread I felt going home to a quiet and empty apartment, knowing God wanted to meet me there. Just Him and me. But now I’ve come to delight in His presence. For it is there that I come discover the imago Dei that has been placed within me, and it is there that God reveals Himself and His purposes. Novem te, novem me.

On the Road to God, Self, and Transformation

“We do not find our true self by seeking it. Rather, we find it by seeking God.” David Benner

Sometimes I’m amazed at how I can miss something so essential. The lessons I have been learning in the last year seem so apparent to me now that I wonder what took me so long. Why didn’t I get it? I guess it’s because I have a tendency to view through for-your-information lenses instead of viewing for my transformation. Truth wasn’t moving from my head to my heart. Pride blinded me to my need. I was comfortable with status-quo, good but not best. The list goes on… In spite of my blind ignorance and rebellion, God has wooed me through desperation and pain so that I could finally hear His Voice and let Him reveal truth and reality. What a beautiful Voice! I’m seeing now that the pieces are taking me on a journey to know Him and to know myself. “Novem te, novem me.” –St. Augustine

I assumed I knew me. I think of me all the time. I live with me. I am my priority most of the time. I must know me. It’s funny how you can go through life assuming you know yourself, and then one day realize that the image you’ve created isn’t really you at all, but because you’ve been pretending to be that person for so long, you don’t really even know who you are. The road that leads to true knowing of self isn’t what I thought. It’s not about figuring out who you want to be. It’s not about creating an image that you want to project. It’s not about letting others tell you who you are or who you should be. It’s not even about introspection and self-improvement plans. I saw a piece of flair on Facebook that read, “Life isn’t about finding yourself. It’s about creating yourself.” But that is the surest road to a false and inauthentic self. The path God is taking me down looks a little different…

Lesson One: Get Real.
“People who are afraid to look deeply at themselves will of course be equally afraid to look deeply at God. For such persons, ideas about God provide a substitute for direct experience of God.” David Benner

So, honesty is where this journey always begins, from my perspective. I started moving forward when I started being real. I had to stop lying to myself and pretending with God (as if He doesn’t know). I wasn’t prepared to let all the ugliness that is part of me rise to the surface. But nothing can happen to transform all the hidden parts as long as they stay hidden. I wrote this poem back in January about my thoughts on this—though at the time, I had no idea God was speaking to me or taking me anywhere in particular. My fear was keeping me from being honest—that much I knew. I’d been hiding from God, myself, and anyone else who cared to look my way. I was comfortable with my false self. And I thought I was safe, but safety is a prison.

Naked
My instinct is to cover up.
My fear tells me to hide.

What if You see me as I am?
How can I let You try?

If I invite You to my bed,
I dread You may find out.

You might see through my pious gown,
You might look underneath,

and find unlovely all that’s there,
then toss me to the street.

Have I confused you with myself
and all who’ve come before?

Can I fail You and yet be Yours
and can I disappoint?

Then find your tender arms still there
not turned away in scorn?
I want to hide in Your Cocoon,
not lodged inside of mine.

But trapped within my shame, my pride
disclosure is a curse.

I need You to undo, unleash,
I need You to reverse.

Free me from this captivity,
enthrall me with your force.

Throw aside my beloved dress,
strip me down to bare

to let You see my nakedness
and let You love me there.


I don’t know when I started being vulnerable and honest with God. But the more I spoke freely to God, the easier it became—and the more He was honest with me. And it was ugly.


Lesson Two: Accept It.
“Our knowing of ourselves will remain superficial until we are willing to accept ourselves as God accepts us—fully and unconditionally, just as we are.” David Benner


Once I took my hands off my eyes, God has been faithful to reveal the depravity in me that I couldn’t see, and continues to do so daily. I’m often shocked by how blind I’ve been when my sin seems so obvious now. But accepting that I am that person is my constant ego-battle. I don’t like who I am, when it comes down to it. But when acceptance comes, freedom comes—I’m released from my safety prison and the pretend self becomes less cumbersome. For so long, I’d only embraced the sin I could spin. Receiving it all as mine now allows me to release it to God. And that allows Christ to do His transformational redeeming work in me. But it has been difficult sitting in my shame as the spotlight of God’s truth shines on me. The taste of freedom urges me forward. And I’m a little closer to knowing my true self, and knowing God. Novem te, novem me.