Last week, Penny and I traveled to Long Beach, CA for a convention I had for work. I work for myself, but distribute for a corporation and our CEO is somehow both a billionaire and a nice guy. Not sure how that works, but it meant I got to watch Jewel perform on the last night of the convention. Remember, I went to high school in the late 90's, so this was pretty sweet. Plus, my mom was back at the hotel with sleeping Penny so I got to be fully in the moment. I feel silly getting so worked up about seeing Jewel because she's not currently "a big deal", but I'm only giving you that one apology, because she was amazing. There is just something infinitely beautiful about watching someone do exactly what they should be doing with their life. It's evident not just in their obvious talent, but in how they wield their talent as this weapon of beauty that touches everyone who witnesses it. I know her 90's hits well, but I could barely sing along because she was riffing so much on her own stuff that I was blown away by her obvious musical mastery. I could rant about how untalented many current "musicians" are in comparison today, but that'll just date me even more, so let's just pretend I didn't say anything.
I think no matter where I was in my journey I would have enjoyed her performance. But in light of everything that's happening in my world right now, it was particularly poignant. Because you see, I have typically minimized the arts as something that's great for really talented, other people to do, but that I am supposed to do something "productive." I'm performance-based and that translates into more tangibly productive activities. Things like the business I was being trained to build at my convention. But lately all the artistic somethings that have welled up in my heart for many, many years are starting to overflow. I've tamped them down. I've belittled them. I've justified my various distractions. I've tried to be practical. I've judged my undeveloped abilities. I've put the spotlight on others and elevated my safer choices (ironically, this includes ministry) as the "right" choices for me.
In order to discover the hidden artist in me, I have to be willing to take risks, to learn, to create space for vulnerability. These things frighten me. As a black and white thinker, I want to label all my non-artistic activities as "bad" before I can give myself permission to do anything else with my time, my energy and my heart. But the only bad thing about anything I do to deter my own impending artistry is just that: delaying the inevitable. I just might have to release myself to this process, to begin to unpack whatever gift(s) are pressed so tightly to my guarded heart.
It's such a strange thing to know there is more waiting for you but not knowing what it is. I'm standing on the precipice of something beautiful, intense, sacred. Something that others may witness. But it's up to me to take that risk, to find out who I am fully, what I'm meant for ultimately. I've got a pretty normal life. The normal stuff has never quite been enough for me, but I've always been afraid to ask for more. I didn't want to get greedy. But what is a gift left unopened? It's a waste.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Friday, August 1, 2014
Righteous Indignation or Hatred?
I'm wrestling with something. I've always struggled to sit in my anger. I feel like I have to apologize when I'm angry. In some ways, I think this is because I'm a woman. Our culture seems to value male anger as authoritative and female anger as bitching. So I tend to repress my anger, partly because it's difficult for me to advocate for myself (see: caretaking issues) and anger tends to draw negative attention. It also does not appear "nice" which I think our evangelical culture pushes on women a lot in the name of "service".
I say these things because I am angry about something. There have been Facebook threads again this week highlighting the intensely bigoted statements of a well-known evangelical pastor, Mark Driscoll. The statements are old (10-15 years) and they are highly offensive. You may think that because they are old, he should not be held accountable for his words. But his theology is very present both in his old statements as well as in his current ministry. He's genuinely anti-women. He sees us as lesser, weak, temptresses in need of being lorded over by men. He preaches these ideas in the name of God. He's also incredibly mean about it. Feel free to read up on him. He's unapologetic.
I responded to a thread recently where a friend of mine posted this article, stating that he should not be in church leadership. As people were agreeing with her, I posted a pretty angry, name-calling agreement venting my frustration with people who follow this guy. It's more my theological grievances coming out again and it's further exacerbated by my own sexist church baggage and my long history with taking on causes (again, caretaking issues).
A man responded by saying that we were only fighting hatred with hatred and that this was sad. I felt him shaming my anger and I almost agreed with him. I have a long-standing conditioning that says when questioned about my feelings, they're probably too intense or even completely misplaced. But then I really sat in why I was angry. I was angry at the bullying that theology like Mark Driscolls fuels in church culture. I'm angry at the way this theology makes people feel about themselves, about their inherent value (or lack thereof) and most importantly to me, about how God sees them. This theology perpetuates exactly what I'm fighting: that who we are inherently is not enough, that because I'm a woman with a voice or because my friend is gay and loves God or because my husband is a tender, loving father, we are warped, wrong, less, invalid. And not just according to some extremist in Seattle but according to the God who made us!
I'm going to let you in on a secret, the conclusion I've come to in my anger. I believe my desire to advocate for the bullied, to come alongside the marginalized, to find my voice, to listen to the stories of others, is not in fact, hatred but obedience to the voice of God within me. He tells me to be brave, to speak out, to listen. I know my theology is under construction. As a perfectionist, I want an "end date" to that process, but as an earnest seeker of truth, I hope I remain under construction til the day I die. But even if I don't have a lot figured out, I've figured out that anger can be holy.
I know God doesn't need me to defend him. I know that even my fellow comrades in condemnation (according to Driscoll) don't need me to be their voice. But that outcry comes from within me. And I will not be silent.
I say these things because I am angry about something. There have been Facebook threads again this week highlighting the intensely bigoted statements of a well-known evangelical pastor, Mark Driscoll. The statements are old (10-15 years) and they are highly offensive. You may think that because they are old, he should not be held accountable for his words. But his theology is very present both in his old statements as well as in his current ministry. He's genuinely anti-women. He sees us as lesser, weak, temptresses in need of being lorded over by men. He preaches these ideas in the name of God. He's also incredibly mean about it. Feel free to read up on him. He's unapologetic.
I responded to a thread recently where a friend of mine posted this article, stating that he should not be in church leadership. As people were agreeing with her, I posted a pretty angry, name-calling agreement venting my frustration with people who follow this guy. It's more my theological grievances coming out again and it's further exacerbated by my own sexist church baggage and my long history with taking on causes (again, caretaking issues).
A man responded by saying that we were only fighting hatred with hatred and that this was sad. I felt him shaming my anger and I almost agreed with him. I have a long-standing conditioning that says when questioned about my feelings, they're probably too intense or even completely misplaced. But then I really sat in why I was angry. I was angry at the bullying that theology like Mark Driscolls fuels in church culture. I'm angry at the way this theology makes people feel about themselves, about their inherent value (or lack thereof) and most importantly to me, about how God sees them. This theology perpetuates exactly what I'm fighting: that who we are inherently is not enough, that because I'm a woman with a voice or because my friend is gay and loves God or because my husband is a tender, loving father, we are warped, wrong, less, invalid. And not just according to some extremist in Seattle but according to the God who made us!
I'm going to let you in on a secret, the conclusion I've come to in my anger. I believe my desire to advocate for the bullied, to come alongside the marginalized, to find my voice, to listen to the stories of others, is not in fact, hatred but obedience to the voice of God within me. He tells me to be brave, to speak out, to listen. I know my theology is under construction. As a perfectionist, I want an "end date" to that process, but as an earnest seeker of truth, I hope I remain under construction til the day I die. But even if I don't have a lot figured out, I've figured out that anger can be holy.
I know God doesn't need me to defend him. I know that even my fellow comrades in condemnation (according to Driscoll) don't need me to be their voice. But that outcry comes from within me. And I will not be silent.
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