Boots and Bibles

"Lord, Makes Us Lovesick and Homesick" - Yuletide Intermission

They ambled into their palace of crystal, rested, but not content. In fact, a look of disillusion and frustration lay upon their faces; upon their lord and leader these concerns rested most heavily. For unknown æons, they had toiled to serve and protect. In recent years, as the wars and ravages that had defined their retainers’ lives moved further and further into history, they began providing baubles and amusements. Despite the well-being of their constituency, they came back from their annual respite more troubled than before.

They assembled in the great hall, as was their custom, and waited for their lord to alight the steps to his dais. The flickering lights of crystals and fey created an aura of dazzling brilliance, which they, the elves, basked and thrived in. They saw their leader climb up, aches seeming to run through his ageless body, and finally he turned and spoke:

“My friends, my compatriots; we can no longer continue in this charade, nor is it safe for those whom we serve to continue in theirs. For long whiles we have watched as their strength and dignity have dissipated. Under better circumstances, we would today discuss how we might meet their demands in this coming year, but those days are come swiftly to an end. Discontent brews. The fineries we provide have cost too much in necessities – and lives. This cannot go on.”

“What do you intend we do then, milord?” shouted a voice from the crowd. “Ever have we served and delighted our masters, whether fortune allowed them their pleasantries or no. What else shall we do?”

“We can go back,” their lord said. “We can return to them iron and strength, we can forge anew the alliance that we had upon a time, and restate the pledge wherein we vowed to serve one another. War brews on the edge of their kingdoms, and we can swear aid to them once more!”

Many in the crowd nodded and smiled. Their lord felt relieved that his counsel had proven wise in their esteem. Quickly, they descended into the long abandoned smithies, delved back into the mines, and they sang as they went, letting the magic that had lain dormant in their voices cascade over their works.

The lord sat back on his throne and smiled approvingly as he tossed his great scarlet robes aside. Once again he and his proud host felt a purpose in the old alliance. He gazed longingly over the armour that he’d worn as he fought barbaric hosts in bygone eras. What would stop those with whom he held alliance from becoming no better than those wretched demons, he wondered. Whatever it was, he determined, the elves would draw their line now.

With that, he withdrew scrolls from his archives, and began checking over long lists of names.

...

Cooper and Michelle ran downstairs at seven in the morning, their hearts racing, their minds leaping, all the excitement of the day pressing down upon them; it was Christmas.

Their parents groggily sauntered after, and in a croaked harsh voice, their father warned them not to open any presents until they had their camera out. The children impatiently obeyed, but kept their eyes on the strange shapes and tantalising boxes hid under the tree.

Mom and dad came in with the camera, and the children both began asking if they could open their presents with the kind of exuberance only children possess.

“All right, one at a time,” their mother instructed, “and make sure you don’t open any presents for the wrong person!”

Cooper went in first to grab a box that looked suspiciously similar to the Rock Band displays he’d seen at Toys ‘R Us. He tore through the blue and green wrapping with a grin across his face. He stopped suddenly as a chill of disappointment shook him. The box was not for Rock Band or even Guitar Hero III. It was made of a thin, silvery wood, but still sturdy. It was decorated quite unlike anything he’d seen before, and had the shapes of a leaves engraved upon the top of the box.

Cooper was not alone in his surprise. His sister and parents both looked on in dismay as he opened the lid to the box and inside found a glistening coat of mail; shining more brilliantly than any sort of steel he’d seen before. Jewels covered various seams in the rings, and a leather belt and scabbard lay in the box underneath the hauberk.

“Honey, this isn’t what we asked Santa to get us this year,” the mother whispered into the father’s ear.

“At least it’s not coal!”

The children opened up their other boxes to find daggers, longswords, a bow and arrow set, jewelled rings and ornate broaches; all of them beaming with mystical power. What they did not find were the new Bratz dolls, Call of Duty 4, paintball guns, or Rock Band. The children gave little thought to this however, and soon they retreated to the backyard to practise hefting, swinging and shooting their heavenly gifts.

Around the globe in Europe, the Americas, and Japan, children and parents were awakening to a similar experience. Not for a century had so much coal been put into stockings, and retailers noted that the usual channels for distributing their goods had dried up. That year, the elves who usually shopped at their Lord Santa’s behest had not visited the stores; Santa ignored the lists sent to him from bratty children and their irresponsible parents. Even as they sent cheques and cash to his fortress beneath Polaris, Santa ignored them. The elves, subsequently, were more than delighted. It had not been since the Third Age that they had experienced the thrill of smithing and crafting. Once more they took up the hammer and pumped the billows.

“Christmas shall no longer be the harbinger of oppression and laziness that is has been in the past,” Santa declared as he flew over houses on Christmas Eve. “This year we return to steel and strength, we gird ourselves with elven metal and ready our children for the onslaught of Melkor’s forces!

“This Christmas, we honour our great alliance. Those who will not stand for justice and righteousness shall not take part in this effort; those who will stand shall also receive the most glorious workings of elder craft that the world has seen in four ages of the Earth!

“Peace on Earth, goodwill toward man, merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!” he yelled, with few who heard him understanding his words. When they awoke, however, it suddenly became clear. The elves had reclaimed their holiday.

"Lord, Make Us Lovesick and Homesick" - Part 2

So I need to figure out something: when did church services go from being a glorious affirmation of everything I stood for and believed in, to what they are now?  Because I haven't really been able to put my finger on this phenomenon for such a long time, it's hard to say.  I became acutely aware of the issue mid-last Spring, but I can see in my memories that it had haunted me long before.  It was there as I walked out frustrated from boring services, as I failed to connect to the people around me, as resentment grew in my heart towards those I felt were robbing me of my spiritual authority and derailing Underground Church's mission...

Yeah, that's probably when it all started to set in.  In the wake of the 2005 disaster concert at Tompkins Square Park, something happened that seriously hit my heart, and drained me of the confidence I felt in my office.  It put a wedge between me and God, but where did the wedge come from?  Was it the resentment itself?  Was it the sheer pressure of going to school, running a church, having no means of financial support, and then finding out subsequent to this that people I'd placed my trust in were, in fact, not trustworthy?  Was it the distance I felt from my spiritual leaders?  At this point it's worth noting that while many depended on me (in at least some sense) for pastoral guidance, I felt miles away from anyone that could lead or help me.  The people with whom I had formed my companionship were my spiritual peers – not a bad thing except that I was completely at a loss when it came to mentorship and guidance from someone significantly wiser than me.  At that juncture it was exactly what I needed.

Home...  I longed for home at that point.  Not a physical place of residence but a metaphysical state where I could find guidance, experience God, and feel respected once more.  It continues to cloud my thoughts and expectations.  As I consider my feelings (or lack thereof) regarding church, I keep coming back to this desire for "home."  Yes, I know I won't ever be home until our Lord returns or my gangly body has turned into worm-feed.  Bear with me for a moment though as I reflect on the fact that some places have felt like home and drew me about as close as I can imagine to the True Home, the eternal one, the one that we all, in our heart of hearts, long for.

Underground Church was home for me, even though I was the one providing the guidance and not receiving it, but that was a part of how it worked.  I felt as though I were living up to my calling and gifting when I got to speak, teach, lead, guide, serve – even though it's moot whether I did any of those things well at all.  I don't know that Underground Church felt continued to feel like home to me after autumn of 2005 though.  That's when the rifts slowly began showing themselves.  Circumstances sowed the seeds of doubt concerning my own calling and position at that time.  I was not hearing God's voice then, or perhaps I was and just not liking everything He said.  Or finding it too repetitive.  Or...  whatever.  But as I reflect on when church started becoming a joyless routine, I see it coincide with losing that "home" here in New York.

I had another home too.  It was a little place in Hurst, TX; one of the myriad strip-mall worship centres in the area (and on Pipeline Road, it was one of over a dozen churches in a few blocks!)  However, that little place had destiny.  It had power, community, openness and the very fire of God burned the passion in the souls of those who went there.  Without fail it served as a place for spiritual refreshment and fine-tuning.  It's where I learned to hear God's voice; it's where I learned to love the Bible.  I experienced the Holy Spirit's power in worship there like I had only a few times before – and I had this experience regularly.  God gave me guidance and chutzpah.  It was from there that He called me out, and wisely did I shed those tears when He called me...

Homesick.  I always think about the word in reference to that church.  I don't know how many people understand it.  For crying out loud, I don't even understand it.  Since Underground Church went down though, I just assumed I'd have no home any more, here or anywhere.  Shame taught that for me to show my face after failing so horribly at my mission would be disgraceful.  At the time I needed a home the most, it seemed all but cut off from me.  But what if it wasn't?  What if I was wrong?

If I could go back there, would it help where I stand right now?

"Lord, Make Us Lovesick and Homesick" - Part 1

Church is not the same to me.

For just over a year now, perhaps much longer than that, gathering with believers to worship the Almighty has felt like a hollow, dull experience.  There are nice people, certainly, good times of reflection, and words form the Lord that I have needed to hear, but Sunday mornings (or Monday nights^*) have not been the high-points of my week for quite a while.  In fact, it's been getting worse.

I've noted a phenomenon wherein I get up after far too little sleep, go to church, sing, socialise, and then head home without feeling any affect in my soul whatsoever.  At times, I even feel despondent and depressed.  I go to church, worship God, and then feel worse afterwards than I did at the onset.  It isn't a problem I used to have, that's for certain.  In the past I could go to services in a variety or liturgies with a whole plethora of theologies, cultures and attitudes in the mix, and still come away with a feeling of God's goodness and love.  Somehow this has slipped away.

I haven't stopped going to church, nor will I any time soon because I know the value of duty.  I know God is there, that I have had troubles of late, and that the last thing I need to do is cut myself off from fellowship with believers.  I know where that road leads.  I've seen others take it before.  I will not do that. 

Yet, at the same time, I find the internal incentive I once had for going to church dwindle more and more every Sunday.  I want to feel connected to people, but they always seem just out my heart's grasp.  I want to learn and be challenged by God's word, but the messages sound so often like things I've heard before – at best – or they sound like things that I must categorically reject because of my own understanding of the Bible and its teachings^{^}.  Most of all, I want to feel God.  I want to experience Him, not just at times of solemn and solitary meditation, but together, with friends and fellow believers.  I want to be led into His presence, to dive back into His depths, to cry on people's shoulders and break through those walls we all put up and reach intimacy with Him and all those who follow Him.  But it doesn’t happen.

This last thing – the numinous experience of God – I believe is upon what all other issues I have with church hinge.  When I feel closer to God, I can overlook a sermon that doesn't cross its theological t's and dot its informational i's.  When I'm closer to God, I feel by reason closer to the people, and I feel like I can connect; like I really have something deep I can share with everyone else.  When I draw closer to God in a church service, I do not leave feeling depressed and upset; instead I feel invigorated and edified, confirmed in all I hold true, and like I have the energy to face whatever may come at me through the week.  It gives me the focus to centre my devotional times and prayer life.  It gives me the perspective to let things that do not matter pass away, while allowing me concentrate on the things that do.  It gives me life and heart.  The experience of God Himself, the Spirit of the Holy One, this is what I want most of all from church, and after this, everything else slides into the right place.

In light of all this, the question becomes one of "Why?"  Why don't I feel God at church – is it because the church sucks, or is it just me?  I can honestly say that the churches my wife and I frequent are wonderful places, filled with beautiful, caring and earnest individuals who believe in the Gospel and have let it transform their lives.  Graffiti, New Life, St. George's, Redeemer – they have amazing people, great worship, and solid teaching.  I on the other hand have been slack in my devotional times, bitter and angry from all that's happened in the past year, and I'm never too fond of getting up in the mornings.  Ever.  Especially a weekend morning.  Whoever thought it was a good idea to hold church services before 1:00 in the afternoon should be given a savage kicking, even if they're already dead – but enough focusing on that.  It seems fairly evident that if I'm having trouble finding God in a church service, it's probably not the people holding the service's fault.

That is not a happy conclusion to arrive at.

---

*-Underground Church, NYC usually met on Monday nights for worship and Bible study.  This was the highpoint of my week for years, but we'll talk about this more in the next entry.

^-That more people don't run screaming from some of the bunk teachings being spewed out from pulpits across the Western world shows just how little most people know about the Bible, and to compound the matter, the people upon whom most rely in order to learn the Bible are often the ones spewing the bunk doctrines.  It's a vicious cycle.

"Lord, Makes Us Lovesick and Homesick" - Introduction

"Merry Christmas, Austin!"

I spun around and saw him there, August Wahnsinger, in the flesh.

"Do you mean that?" I asked.  "Or do you mean, 'Happy materialistic, consumer frenzying, disgusting, blasphemous Holidays?"

"No, I mean that," he responded.  "Merry Christmas."

I smiled.  "Well, what brings you here to my abode, back to New York City?  Did you find the hobbits you were going after in New Zealand?"

"No, just a bunch of short, hairy, overweight men who turned out mostly to be members of New Zealand's Teamster union."

"Okay, so that was a flop.  Did you get any pictures of Tolkien from the news conference he had?  I found it quite the revelation that the Lord Aragorn..."

"No, none of that.  No pictures."

"Are you parents okay, then?  Did they return to the Pleiades cluster?"

"No, no.  Mom and dad are fine and are orbiting just outside the asteroid belt.  Austin – I'm here because we need to talk."

I stared at him suspiciously.

"As the fictional manifestation of that psychotic nature, which you claim to have such a fondness for through your infamous moniker, you have some explaining to do."

I looked away, back at the computer, somewhat guiltily.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" I exclaimed.

"Yes you do.  Yes you do.  You said some very mean things the other day.  Mean things about people who do care about you."

I turned back to August and stared him in the eyes.  It's very intimidating staring the personification of all your dementia in the eyes, namely because they sort of drift from side to side and it becomes a terrible strain after a while; you start wondering how long you can keep it up.

"What on Earth or Andovan are you talking about, August?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about.  Some comments you left on a blog.  The description of certain people as 'wank-bastards'?"

"Oh, that!" I laughed nervously.  "Don't be ridiculous.  It was only intended for who it was intended for..."

"But it didn't stop there, Austin.  You assumed things about what people thought about you."

I sat back in my chair and took a deep breath.  "Okay, well, what about it?  Did I really have reason to assume anything otherwise?"

"Actually, you had plenty of reasons."

I rubbed my temples.  "All right, so I said some regrettable things in the heat of passion.  I've never responded well to gossip, this is a commonly known matter, so what's all this really about?"

"Austin, when you go flying off the handle as you so often do – you dirty rotten sinner – it's a sign that you're not all the way in control of yourself, yes?"

I nodded.

"And when you're not all the way in control of yourself, you might be considered mad, right?"

"Right."

"So I put it to you that when you go mad in such a manner, anything you say or do necessarily reflects on me, the narrative symbol of your madness."

I hesitated for a little while before conceding his point.  "Yes," I said, "I suppose you're right."

"Now when you hurt people who you had no intentions of hurting, and open yourself up for some well-deserved righteous indignation in the process, I'm going to have to say, Mr. Williams, I do not appreciate this kind of character assassination one bit."

"But August, I wasn't trying to say anything against..."

"Shut it!"

"What?"

"I'm not done yet.  I know you've been through a lot of pain lately.  I know for about a year and some time now, you've been seriously depressed, going through what many theologians term a 'Dark Night of the Soul.'  But you've also reocognised signs that you might be coming out of it, yes?"

I scratched the back of my neck.  "Well, I've certainly been hoping so.  But that's the thing about dark nights, as it were, you can't really just 'will' yourself out of them."

"Right," said August, "but there are things you can do to make them worse.  But don't worry!  Sometimes these are things that need to happen."

"Bloody hell, August.  You came here to tell me how messed up my feelings are?  To remind me about how 'hurt people hurt people' and all that?  I could figure that out for myself!"

"No, no, no," August chided.  "It's just that I want to see you crazy again, okay Austin?  I want to see you become a madman again.  I want you to hear voices, shout from rooftops, and go absolutely berzerk praising unseen Deity-figures."

I looked aside and stared at the ordination certificate hanging on my wall.  I thought about all the people praying for me, all the people giving words of encouragement as I came to build that Underground Church thing.  I thought about how it all turned to rubbish, all the shame I felt for myself; all the shame I felt everyone else had, or should have had.

"Austin," he began again, "did you ever stop to think that they never stopped loving you and praying for you?  Did you think they'd just let you fall away like that?  You know them better."

A tear welled up in the corner of my eye.

"You're fifteen-hundred miles away, and worlds apart.  What more could they have done for you?"

I breathed more heavily.  I fought against the cries welling up inside.

"You miss them.  You know it."

As I sniffed back the wells of regret threatening to spill over my face, I noted in a thick voice "For the embodiment of my insanity, you sure are reasonable as a math-formula."

"Reason can lead to madness when it takes the right course, mate.  Don't be too surprised."

My darling wife Brit walked into the room and asked "Who was that?  What was that?"

"What was what, sweetie?" I responded.

"I heard you talking with someone."

I looked at where August was just a second ago, and saw nothing.  He beamed himself back up to the mothership, I guessed.

"It was nothing, geliebte.  Just figuring some stuff out."

"You all right?  It looks like you've been crying."

I laughed.  "What are you talking about?  I don't cry!"

"Just like you're not ticklish."

I kept silent.

"I need you to get the tray down for the fish."

"Aye, no problem, sweetie."

I got up from the computer and helped get ready for dinner.  On the screen, I left open a message I'd received from an old friend.  It had given me much to think about and consider.  I knew I was at a point where I needed to confront what had haunted me – the ghosts in my chapel, so to speak.

As I cooked dinner, I found myself humming an old, sacred tune to myself over and over again.

Zeal... for Your house...

Shower-Time Theology #1: Keeping Clean vs. Keeping in Touch

I've noticed something that might just be too much information for the rest of you, but has proven quite insightful in my own course of self-analysis.  While some people sing in the shower, or do other odd things^*, I find that my favourite shower past-time is thinking.  I have some of my clearest and profoundest thoughts while I'm barely awake and trying to cleanse and awaken myself simultaneously with that wonderful invention known as the shower.

Half of the blog entries I've come up with are the result of something milling around my mind as I stood there, bleary-eyed, trying to get cleaned up and ready for work.  There are studies in extant to back up the personal anecdotes about how a good night's sleep helps fuel the creative engines of the mind.  I'm also certain that if a good eight hours of solid rest lubricates your brain for top performance, then certainly the average of five to six hours I get on a weeknight helps a little, right?  Then maybe, on top of that, the morning shower acts as a sort of catalyst to energise my brain with all that latent potential not fully realised by the meagre amount of sleep I get^~.

Well, whatever the case, I do a lot of thinking in the shower, and this represents the first in an indefinite series of blogposts directly inspired (and rightfully attributed to) the morning rituals I utilise to combat sleep deprivation.

For your reading enjoyment and spiritual enlightenment, I now give you Shower-Time Theology!

---

I spend a lot of time wrestling with the issues of my involvement in culture.  For most Christians – American Christians at least – this doesn't come up as a problem too terribly often.  However, most American Christians aren't involved in the skinhead subculture either, and or for that matter the hardcore punk and deathmetal subcultures to which I have also subscribed at different points.  Anyway, within the skinhead scene, there are a few things that should stand out as fairly obvious things a practising, biblically motivated believer should avoid, such as binge drinking, combativeness that borders on bloodlust, fascist tendencies, sexual promiscuity, etc.  Now, none of these things (even the "fascist tendencies" bit, contrary to popular/tabloid opinion) represent anything that is inherent to one's cultural identity as a skinhead.  Toned down a bit, none of these things would be necessarily sinful either, that is to say, having a drink is not the same as binge drinking, patriotism is not the same thing as fascism, and sexual encounters with one's spouse are not the same thing as fornication. 

All the same, the temptation towards some of these aspects of the culture still remain strong; at times I find myself trying to "rationalise" an involvement in violent gang or hooligan activity that has often times defined the skinhead culture.  I find myself disturbingly fascinated with certain aspects of fascist thought (very ironic considering my professed political allegiances, or lack thereof.)  However, I understand that regardless of my cultural standing, there are things that the Bible tells me I should not do, and I must recognise that God's will supersedes any participation I may have in being a skinhead.

Now, how do I draw that line?  How do I become "all things to all people", on one hand, and yet keep "light and dark" separated?  Namely, I was thinking about my last post where I take such a strong stand against "dragging Christ into your muck", and pondering how I reconcile the need to keep Christ as Christ with the need to also be true to the unique values of the cultural identity that God set me into, and also through which I reach out to other who are not believers.  For example, do I drag Christ into my muck when I go slam-dancing?  Am I using Jesus as my enabler when I have a beer at the Arsenal game, or listen to a band like Condemned 84 for the fun of it?  The difference between slogging on Christ and letting Christ inform your actions within a culture is subtle, but noteworthy.  To illustrate, I shall propose a hypothetical scenario.

Being all things to all people:

You go out and have a few drinks with your friend, and you talk about God.

Dragging Christ into your filth:

Getting sloshed with friends, bedding down with someone you hardly know, and then inviting them to church the next morning.

Y'see now, that's the thing.  In the Christian life, there are givens regarding behaviour.  Drunkenness and promiscuity are pretty much unilaterally condemned.  Using these things to draw people to God is hypocritical and wrong.  But meeting with someone on a certain level, say, having a few moderate drinks to discuss the Gospel, that really isn't an issue.  Yes, the debate rages all the same on whether drinking is or isn't a sin^{^}, but I'll simply put my argument to say that people who don't drink are rarely accused of being winebibbers, cf. Matthew 11:19., and that if He can get away with communicating with people on this level, then His followers most certainly can as well.

But how about more complicated matters?  In the skinhead scene, a lot of things stick out as negatives, but what about our culture as a whole?  Most Evangelicals have little problem accepting that fornication, fighting and boozing are probably not very good things to engage in as a follower of Christ, but what about supporting wars?  What about confronting the culture of greed and materialism?  The Bible, especially the New Testament and Jesus Himself, is pretty harsh when it comes to the subjects of unjust or unprecedented acts of violence, and is even harsher when it comes to things like usury – which C.S. Lewis notes as a principle upon which our very economic system and way of life rests.  I find it hard to believe that people spreading a Gospel talking about how economic prosperity is ours by right, or that our military actions as a "Christian" nation are de facto justified by our place in God's sovereignty have really spent time wrestling with the issues of their cultural identity versus what the Bible says.  It's one thing for me to recognise that football violence isn't a very Christian activity to engage in, but what about military violence?  Obviously, the kid who's into gangsta' rap shouldn't steal or deal drugs like his culture often encourages him to, but should he not also get rid of the bling, or at least wrestle with why he wears it and glamorises it?

As Americans and Christians there is no reason for us to give up one cultural inheritance in favour of another.  That's precisely why the "Judaisers" of Galatians were so chided by Paul – they were trying to make people leave behind their own cultural identity to become ensconced in the Jewish national identity, something the God of all peoples would not want to do.  However, we are still called to quit off from the cultural trappings that are sinful.  Could not imperialist military policies be one such thing?  Might the polarisation into "blue" and "red" camps be another, or how about the Evangelical obsession with materialism and wealth?

It's easy for me to see the problems in my culture because it does veer off from the mainstream culture so profoundly.  Except in certain parts of the Southeast, the tendencies of being a skinhead rarely coincide with the tendencies of the "typical" American.  Does this excuse the typical American from repenting?  Does this excuse them from looking at the Bible and seeing how their culture measures up to it?  Of course not.  Here, I shall refer to Richard Niebuhr's seminal work Christ and Culture, as well as the philosophy of Kanzo Uchimura and say that no culture need be destroyed for the sake of the Gospel, but it does need to be converted and, where necessary, corrected.  I take up this task every time I lace up my boots.  But just because a culture is labelled "Christian" as ours here in the West, and in America in particular, does not mean it is a Christian culture, or that it there are not corrections left to be made.

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*-Yes, I'm sure we can imagine all sorts of strange things people might do in the shower, but for the sake of prudence I'm not going to even try to come up with an exhaustive list, and I would discourage any of you from trying to do so at the same time.

~-I also realise that in some people's minds five-to-six hours is a good night of sleep.  Well, none of you happen to be me and it also just so happens that when I don't get at least eight hours of sleep, I find that my motor functions and higher reasoning to be at least a little garbled.  If you can get by on a regular diet of five hours of sleep, then congratulations!  You are a far superior human being than I!  In my own case, however, I know I need a hell of a lot more sleep than I get, and it also helps if I get to wake up after 9:30 in the morning too.

^-At least here in the United States it does, much to our embarrassment in the eyes of worldwide Christians who can recognise the difference between moderation and drunkenness, and who do not feel the need to ban something wholesale because a few individuals have a propensity to abuse it – all the while alcohol is used throughout the Bible, and often times in a positive manner.  For an informed analysis of the Bible and alcohol, please see Daniel Whitfield's treatment of the topic here.