The guy was talking about areas, maybe territory. He said that they should come with the group, and the kids said no, they were going home. Then the guy informed them that if they didn’t come, they wouldn’t be under his protection. Something might happen to them.

It’s not like I thought it would be easy. It’s one thing for me to know that, and another to feel it in my gut. I’m praying for guidance as we walk through this. Praying for the loving path to become clear.

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly. (From The Gospel According to Matthew, chapter 11)

This isn’t the message I get from much of the Christian world. But wow! Isn’t it beautiful?

There’s nothing to fear in this message. If you’re paying attention to ideas that are heavy or ill-fitting, if a path fills your heart with loathing or dread, what you’re seeing isn’t God. God is love.

You’re welcome.

:)

So, now I’m remembering James losing sleep over another man’s death. Last may, a homeless man was brutally murdered, and our town is small enough and quiet enough for that to be shocking. For the folk who live outside, it was extra shocking. For James, it was deeply disturbing. That slaying happened in a nearby park, closer to the river. I didn’t know the man who was killed that night, Herbert Bishop. Mr. Bishop wasn’t part of the circle of associations I’d made, but his death brought out fear for everybody who slept outside, without protective walls, doors, and locks.

The gloom of those fears persisted a long time through that cold Spring. Among the many who were upset, I’d say James was the most upset. For one thing, on that night he’d been sleeping close enough to be awakened by the sounds of the fatal blows. That rhythmic pounding had puzzled him. In the morning he figured out what he must have been listening to.

Because he’d been so close to the scene, James was interviewed by police, and he was close to others who were interviewed in that investigation. He tired of that fast. He became suspicious. He was afraid to sleep. He would nap a little during the day when friends could watch over him, then he’d stay awake all night, vigilant over his nighttime companion. As the weeks drew on the accumulated effects of lack of rest and distrustful bickering became worse. These fell, of course, on top of the effects of daily drunkenness.

Eventually, the pervasive fear faded. The heat of summer, arrests of suspects in Bishop’s murder, and changes in who-hangs-out-with-who created a new version of normalcy. James wasn’t so perpetually on edge as he had been. Now there were days where his spirits were high and he joked and played.

All of the sudden, it’s James who lies dead among us. Memories of James force themselves on me, an incongruous collection of reckless and cautious actions. James was afraid that he might die in something like the manner he did actually die. Yet James was also fearless when it came to many things that I tend to fear.

Living closer to James has strengthened my confidence that fear does not help. His fears did not keep him safe. My fears are not keeping me safe. Fear does not let us assure our safety—not individually, not collectively. Fear may be important, but it isn’t important in the way it seems important when we are fearful. Fear is for letting go.

With a new killer “on the loose” around here, there’s plenty of fear stirred up. I’ve my own share of it. This time perhaps that fear will not linger so. Perhaps this time I’ll be better able to remind others that love can cast out fear.

Living without those friends turned out to be harder than Len thought. Living in a sobriety house was sure nice for its amenities—bed, shower, roof, internet—but it meant that Len had to be around people he didn’t know, people who seemed to only be interested in hassling him to comply with the AA program. Len said he didn’t get anything out of the 12-step meetings. People in those meetings kept saying that AA had made the difference, but Len couldn’t hear anything about how it made that difference.

And, anyway, the difference between drunk and sober wasn’t something he entirely liked. Not only was he no longer not getting the continual stream of personal contact that he had around the park, not only was he no longer taking part in a party every day, he had lots of time to think. His mind was clear. He could remember things better. Len didn’t like that, actually. And instead of sleeping when he passed out from downing too many Sidewalk Slams, he slept sober. So he would dream, and his dreams were bad.

Len won’t tell us what he doesn’t want to remember. He won’t tell us what wakes him up, screaming, in the middle of the night. But he has admitted that his tough-guy act is, well, an act. He’s had the presence of mind to tell us that the hard thing he hasn’t been able to do, so far, is face himself.

Today Len walked away from the sobriety shelter that had given him his first shot at “home” under a roof in I don’t know how many years. Angela and I had braced for the likelihood of this, but it was still hard to watch. He’d been there less than two weeks. He’d overcome several tough days. He didn’t overcome today.

Len chose to leave. He chose to drink and get stoned. He told us he’s torn between what he thinks is best and what he feels he wants. He told us today he decided to get drunk, but tomorrow will be different. I am sad when I think of what tomorrow will likely be for Len, but I also hold out hope. I don’t exactly hope that Len will turn away from intoxication. Instead, I hope Len will give up on evasion. If he keeps trying to stop drinking because he’s trying to evade its terrible effects, the results won’t be pretty.

Can he turn away from evasiveness? Can I? Can you? I hear the message of Jesus as this: It is possible for every heart to change in this way, the power to create such a change is divine, and the opportunity is always immediately present.

There are words that Christians use that make up a sort of code. These words are supposed to be the “correct” translation of certain words in Greek or Hebrew. But if a word has no meaning outside the Christian context, then it isn’t really a translation at all.

Some people think that when you translate, you just find the word that’s an exact match for the original word, and you’re set. Sometimes that’s true… for example, shoe, in English, is pretty equivalent to zapato in spanish. But often, it’s not true. Often, there are lots of words to chose from, or words have connotations (or sub-meanings) that make the translation strange.

Here’s an example. How do you translate the word “farm” to chinese? I don’t know the answer, but I do know that if you did translate the word, a chinese speaker wouldn’t picture what we picture when they heard the word. They might picture rice paddies, where we picture rows of corn. See what I mean?

The word “repent” has been used since somebody decided it was the right word in the 1600s. And maybe then, it was. But the word “repent” doesn’t actually mean anything in English, except for in the context of Christianity. So how can anyone claim to know what it means?

But, there’s good news. (Fancy that! Good News!) Bible scholars tell us that the word that’s been translated “Repent” in the New Testament actually means “change what you’re doing.” (And nowhere does it say “or burn.”)

Wow. Imagine that. Jesus, our loving Brother and Spark of the Divine Fire actually said “Change what you’re doing, if you want things to not suck so much.” Turn your heart toward the light that I’m showing you, so that you won’t live in hell.

He tells us that there’s a light to turn toward, and that we can embrace that light. How awesome is that? That’s what I call good news.

Oh, and by the way. You know that scary word “sin”? What if it meant “make a mistake”? “Miss the mark”? … More good news. It does!

More about not fearing the Bible

Jay Bakker gave a sweet sermon on this the topic of “repent”. If this topic intrigues you, you could also check out Velvet Elvis, by Rob Bell. He’s pretty good at explaining how the Bible, far from saying hateful, terrifying things, actually brings a beautiful, hopeful, loving message.

“f**k human trafficking.” — Eugene Cho

My sons and I were talking about “dirty words” recently, and someone mentioned that we don’t say the f-word in public. Of course, the littlest one said “Why?” I told him that some people are scared of that word, and they get upset when they hear it. Again, “Why?”

“We don’t know why,” I told him, “but we don’t want to scare them, right?”

It made sense to me at the time, but later, one of the older ones gave me something to think about.

“Actually, my friends are more afraid of people who refuse to say ‘fuck’ than of people who say it.”

I’d never really thought of it that way, but it sure makes sense. Because what are we saying when the f-word is conspicuously absent from our speech? Are we being pious? Setting a “good example”? Demonstrating that we’re better?

What about adults who use the word around other adults, but try to give kids the impression they would never do such a thing?

“Ever notice the look of terror on somebody’s face when they swear in front of a pastor?” — Ken Loyd

What message does it send if my friends who live outside have to clean up their language to speak to me, or to feel “good enough” for me… or for God?

I have experienced what Ken is talking about, and I realized that the only way to get around it was to stop being so damn prissy. It worked. My friends are much more willing to share with me now that I use language that feels normal and common to them (and to me, really).

“Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness’ before men, to be seen by them.” — Jesus

What does it say to God when we cuss in private, but speak carefully in public? Do we think God doesn’t hear us at home, or wherever we feel “safe” saying “fuck”? Isn’t this what our Brother advises against? Putting on a show to appear holy in public?

“I think we get caught in this idea of pleasing God rather than trusting God. And I think once you learn to trust God, it’s a lot easier to please God.” — Jay Bakker

I think as parents (and as pastors) our job/joy is to reflect God’s love and grace as best we can. I want my kids (and the people who look to me for pastor-stuff) to trust me not to judge them, to trust me to hear what’s really alive in them. Why? Because I think trusting me can help them trust God.

I don’t want them to present a different face to me than they present to other people. I don’t want them to lie to me, or pretend to be something they’re not. I want real connection, and that’s why, when it’s called for, I say “fuck.”

What about you? Do you ever say “fuck”? When? If you don’t, why not?

Instead, for those of you who have asked “what happened”, I’m going to paste below an edited chat-log from when I described it to a friend. (Insightful commentary will have to wait until later :P)

–

We were in the park with our friends, and a guy walked up. I got a very creepy feeling from him, like he was really dangerous. Or like he didn’t see me as a person. He said a few words, and spoke to the guy I was talking to, who knew him. As he walked away, the guy said he was a psychopath, which had been my thoughts exactly.

Later, he approached me, and brushed his hand on my cheek. I moved it away and said “please don’t touch me” and he became angry. Well, petulant, not (apparently) violent.

But then Tracy decided to engage with him, you know–heart-of-now style. He did a lot of things to manipulate Tracy, and in the interests of grace and surrender and real connection, Tracy chose to be manipulated. He made lots of hinted threats, and Tracy told me he was going to give the guy a ride.

I was really uneasy, but trying to trust Tracy, trust God, trust love… then my intuition took over and I asked the guy I’d been talking to (a friend who also lives outside, but I trust, and is not so attached to nonviolence as we are…)

I asked him to come along, and he agreed. The psychopath guy didn’t like that. We didn’t make it to the car… Tracy stood on the sidewalk and talked with him for a long time. During that time, the guy pushed down on pressure points and told Tracy he could kill him. He also put his hands firmly around Tracy’s neck. It was very weird, because Tracy was trying to be present with him, and stay attentive. The guy talked aout how much he suffers and how alone he is, and how much he needed to hurt someone.

I stood nearby with L. (the friend) and didn’t realize what was happening.

Tracy was very shaken afterward, and talked like a person who’d been raped.

He wanted to show compassion to this guy (his name is C—-) and he did, really.
But C—- is very very broken.

And this has given me an opportunity to look closely at what it means to be wiling to turn the other cheek, to lay down your life for someone, for love, for God.

I had a lot of thoughts in the hours afterward. What does non-opposition look like? Am I serious about being a pacifist? Surely this isn’t what You meant! Maybe I should consider packing a gun in the park. Oh, God, how do I make this right?

It’s a learning-edge, and I’m grateful for it. But wow, is it hard.