I don’t wanna believe that all of the above is true.
But I could be persuaded if you were to give me proof.
So why don’t you come over Thursday, maybe we can talk it through.
As if some new information were possible to comprehend or introduce.

And after all, you and I are nothing more than foregone conclusions.

And you were too busy steering the conversation toward the Lord
to hear the voice of the Spirit, begging you to shut the fuck up.
You thought, it must be the devil, tryin to make you go astray.
And besides, it could not have been the Lord because you don’t believe he talks that way.

And after all, you and I are nothing more than foregone conclusions.

Too close to call, yet we’re still so tightly wound around our foregone conclusions.

Yeah we’re nothing more than foregone conclusions.

On the very same album, the next song is The Fleecing:

Deep green hills whose shoulders fade, into the gray tall wet grass.
Whose flesh makes fools of grazing sheep, whose fleecing makes a fool of me.

And who shall I blame for this sweet and heavy trouble?
For every stupid struggle?
I don’t know.
I could buy you a drink.
I could tell you all about it.
I could tell you why I doubt it, and why I still believe.

But I can’t say it like I sing it.
And I can’t sing it like I think it.
And I can’t think it like I feel it.
And I don’t feel a thing.
Oh no – I don’t feel a thing.

And who shall I blame for this sweet and heavy trouble?
For every stupid struggle?
I don’t know.
I could buy you a drink.
I could tell you all about it.
I could tell you why I doubt it, and why I still believe it.
And why I need it.
And what the pharisees don’t see.

And we’d have more drinks. We’d speak of so many things.
But I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.

Somehow these two songs, taken together, do a great job of encapsulating “where I am” right now, at least this morning. I’ve written somewhat frequently recently of my struggles with depression, anxiety, and the related weight gain, etc. I know that I do much, much better when I quit focusing on my struggles and instead pour my energy into loving and serving others, and certainly there is opportunity in my life for that. I know, too, how very blessed (comparatively) I am, and I yearn to never take those blessings for granted.

Nevertheless, still I struggle, and it doesn’t seem to be getting any better. I could go on about this, but for now I think I’ll let David speak for me through one more song, his Secret of the Easy Yoke from Pedro’s debut album:

i could hear the church bells ringing
they pealed aloud your praise
the member’s faces were smiling
with their hands outstretched to shake
it’s true they did not move me
my heart was hard and tired
their perfect fire annoyed me
i could not find you anywhere
could someone please tell me the story
of sinners ransomed from the fall
i still have never seen you, and somedays
i don’t love you at all

the devoted were SELLING bracelets
to remind them why they came
some concrete motivation
when the abstract could not do the same
but if all that’s left is duty, i’m falling on my sword
at least then, i would not serve an unseen distant lord

could someone please tell me the story
of sinners ransomed from the fall
i still have never seen you, and somedays
i don’t love you at all
if this only a test
i hope that i’m passing, cuz i’m losing steam
but i still want to trust you

peace be still (x3)

At an athletics championship in Glasgow, a visitor watching the 440 yard final in which Liddell was a long way behind the leaders at the start of the last lap (of a 220 yard track) remarked to a Glasgow native that Liddell would be hard put to win the race. The Glaswegian merely replied, “His head’s no’ back yet.” Liddell then threw his head back and with mouth wide open caught and passed his opponents to win the race.

Liddell ran “from the heart,” and lived his life that way too. When his head went back it was as if his physical heart literally impelled him forward, but I’ll say a little more about “the Flying Scotsman” later.

Aside from a very eventful two mile run with Back On My Feet last Friday, I haven’t run since my first half marathon two weekends ago. I desperately need to get back out there, for my body’s sake and I think especially for my mind’s sake. Last Friday’s run was so eventful because I fell for the first time ever on a run. It was dark and we were running through a construction zone and I just misstepped, I think. I know my form isn’t great and sometimes I think there’s something wrong with my stride because I can feel my feet come together in mid stride occasionally. Whenever that happens my immediate thought it that this could make me fall and I need to figure out why I do this. I’m not sure that’s what happened this time, but whatever the cause, I fell- hard. I knew I had scraped my knees and knuckles a little bit and also my face, but I popped up and asked those I was running with if it was bad. I heard that I “had a little blood” and didn’t think too much of it as I said, “okay, well let’s go” as we finished our run. When I got back in the car, I got a look at it, and well, it was bad. I had pretty bad road rash above my right eye and also from the eye all the way back to my ear. A “goose-egg” developed and that area around the eye stayed swollen for several days as a black eye developed. My knees were nicely cut up such that they hurt even now, five days later, whenever I bend them due to the tension on the scabs. My hands are still healing too. I remember thinking not long before it happened that I had yet to fall when running; so perhaps I was due. At least I’ve got that out of the way now. Anyway, this is how I looked just after the run (as some of you may have seen on Facebook):

So I haven’t been running much the past couple of weeks, at first because of the half marathon recovery and then because of my fall. I’ve also been feeling quite a bit more depressed again. Lord knows (as do some of you, my few dear readers) I’ve been depressed (albeit “mildly”) for most of my life, but basically since early fall it’s felt a bit worse than it used to. There are numerous contributing factors, which I’ll recap in no particular order. My exercise and weight loss journey has been incredible, even euphoric. My “high” on this journey naturally coincided with my lowest weight, on my birthday last summer when I weighed in after a run (minus all the fluid lost on that run) at 150. That was a perfect 100 pounds below my 250 when I started losing in July of 2009 (so I lost the 100 in less than a year) and a full 110 pounds below my highest weight ever. In short, it felt great. By the grace of God this weight loss had been achieved through lots of (and progressively more) running and a similarly increasing focus on my diet. I started out by cutting out the sugary treats I so love- candy/chocolate, cake, ice cream, especially donuts, etc. I then started looking at portions and cut out the massive plate-fuls (and the massive plates) and seconds. Along the way I started really reducing calories by taking only yogurt and a couple of pieces of fruit for lunch to work and using gum to “tide me over” when I thought I wanted to eat. Eventually I found Spark People and started tracking every single calorie I ate, aiming to keep my intake between 1500 and 1800 calories in order to stay in that weight loss zone. All of this worked great. I lost the weight for sure, but like so, so very many others before I’ve learned the hard way that this wasn’t sustainable.

My transition into trying to maintain that weight worked for a short time, but once I started working again in the fall of last year, and once that job proved to be extremely hard, stressful, and challenging for all the wrong reasons, my diet and exercise both tanked. For one thing, I now have to get up at 4am most mornings if I really want to get a run in before work, which is often necessary due to circumstances usually conspiring against me to make it hard to get a run in after work. Likewise, things have simply been tough whether it was work-related stress and drama, or family-related stress and drama, or ever challenging finances, etc. So this “perfect storm” creates a vicious cycle. I exercise less because I lack the time or energy to do so. This stresses me out, and life itself continues to really stress me out; so I cope by eating all those sweets I swore off of for a while. I do so compulsively and more often than I’d care to admit I even binge eat. A frequent binge for confession’s sake features a stop at Starbucks on the way home for a 400 calorie specialty drink and a 600 calorie piece of “bread,” followed by another stop for 700 calories worth of Krispy Kreme donuts or a 600 calorie McFlurry. I admit this with much shame and guilt, but do so openly to illustrate my point: it’s not at all “rational” behavior. It’s compulsive behavior likely fueled by an addiction, and it’s a great contributing factor to (and self-perpetuating factor in) my depression. This behavior, as I just indicated, depresses me even further making it harder then to get out of bed at 4am to exercise, and the whole process starts over. This has contributed to a near 40 pound weight gain since that low weight of 150.

Along the way I’ve tried several things to get me motivated again. I signed up for a half marathon a full four months before I was to run it. At that point I had only ever run in a handful of 5k’s; so this was a big deal for me. I thought having that big goal- a reason to run besides needing to lose weight (again!)- would help me to get out there and run every day (whatever it took to do so) and enable me to find a way to incorporate this (running) into my life regardless of whatever else was going on. This was partially successful as I saw my mileage increase a fair bit, especially in December and then again in March (the month of the race), but between the two it dipped quite a bit again and there were even weeks when I hardly ran at all. In the meantime I discovered Back On My Feet, an organization that I love, believe in, and feel privileged to be a part of. Those morning runs with the folks at the shelter are very powerfully motivating to me, but even that has proven insufficient some mornings to get me out of bed when I need to be. This depression, I fear, is the real deal, and when I blogged about it some recently I described the circumstances by which the counselor I was seeing at the time confirmed it as such. Unfortunately, as I said above the cycle it creates is so very, very vicious, as it has proven to be powerfully reinforcing:



The good news is that by the grace of God I did (mostly) run that half marathon. It was an incredible experience. It was hard, as I hadn’t trained adequately and had to walk a lot more of it than I would have liked, but I’m eager to do it again and to do it correctly (with proper training). In fact, there’s a Four Seasons Half Marathon Challenge that I plan to sign up for as soon as I can. Interestingly, as I think about the depression I’m dealing with today, I wonder if I haven’t been experiencing something of a “let down” after doing the half. It was a big goal. I did it (more or less). Now what?

The last time I wrote about all this, I indicated that I tended to be an “all or nothing” kind of guy and that (in addition to depression) I was really battling a food addiction due to the compulsive nature of it at times and the binge eating that at times accompanied this compulsion. Interestingly, a study was just released that states that food can activate the same areas in the brain as cocaine. Here’s one of the many recent articles about it. This obviously lends credence to the notion of treating an eating disorder perhaps such as the one I’ve described as a real addiction, and perhaps will give those judgmental types out there a bit more compassion. It remains to be seen, though, whether I really can handle the sweets that give me such problems (some salty things too) in moderation, as would be the ideal. As I said before, you don’t ask an alcoholic to enjoy a beer every now and then, because it only takes one to start a binge. I fear that I’m the same way, and wherever that neurochemical  “switch” is that allowed me to refuse those sweets altogether when I was doing so well before, I need to find it again and find a way to turn it  “off.” Then I need to destroy it.

I’ve also said before that I think I have an addictive personality. In some ways I’m grateful that food is my issue and that I’ve never had much interest in alcohol or any interest in drugs or nicotine, as I can easily see myself becoming captive to them. I indulge in my vices in part and at first in order to cope and deal with pain. Insidiously, the more I do so, the more my body adapts (in all kinds of negative ways) and comes to demand that “high” that the indulgence brings. That’s when the addiction takes hold, but the behavior starts with the pain that led to the indulgence in the first place, which is why I say I suspect I have an “addictive” personality. In any case, I have said that I hope to pursue running, fitness, and health with the same fervor; that is, in almost addicting fashion, and there are brief periods when I’ve approached this (and I certainly still hope for it). I believe that giving your all can be healthy, such as in the pursuit of Christ, or in a marriage, or even when going all out in a race. I’d like to fully give myself to those things that feed my soul though, rather than indulging my worst impulses destructively. I’ve also spoken before about being in some sort of “arrested development” due to various factors in my upbringing, and I still think there’s something to this idea. Even now Kirsten and I work to teach Samuel how to make good choices by (hopefully) allowing him to actually make them and to suffer whatever consequences come with them. We obviously limit his choices now, but our job is to allow him more and more freedom in his choices, praying all the way that he makes good ones, so that he knows what will happen in the hopefully few instances that he makes bad ones. This is the only way he will learn.

More and more, though, I suspect that I have not really learned the lessons of my bad choices, and this is evident in the fact that I keep giving myself opportunity to do so (because I keep making the same bad choices). I suppose then that I can only hope that I finally start learning from my bad choices as well as my 6 year old does from his. In the meantime, pray that I channel my energy constructively. Depression can be awfully expensive and hard to treat, but it can be done cheaply and with great benefit to oneself and others simply by focusing on the needs and hurts of others for a change. Every time I have opportunity to meet others in the place of their suffering and pain I’m reminded of just how small my own problems really are. I need such reminders a lot more often. So I’m reminded yet again of Eric Lidell. His story as depicted in Chariots of Fire is compelling and inspiring, and by all accounts in “real life” he was no different. In fact, he might have been even more inspiring in real life. He certainly gave his all, for God, to the people of China, and in every race he ever ran- head thrown back and all. I pray to know God’s glory when I run too, and to feel it as well each time I eat. Toward that end, I’ve come up with a little mantra to help me with both: “No wasted miles/miles make champions.” I don’t want to “waste” miles by overeating, and I know that if I want to be a runner I must, well, run. I may never win a footrace (my Dad was shocked that you get a medal “just for finishing” a half-marathon; obviously he’s never run one), but I’m still determined to “run with perseverance the race marked out for me” described in Hebrews 12. The Message puts it this way:

Do you see what this means—all these pioneers who blazed the way, all these veterans cheering us on? It means we’d better get on with it. Strip down, start running—and never quit! No extra spiritual fat, no parasitic sins. Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we’re in. Study how he did it. Because he never lost sight of where he was headed—that exhilarating finish in and with God—he could put up with anything along the way: Cross, shame, whatever. And now he’s there, in the place of honor, right alongside God. When you find yourselves flagging in your faith, go over that story again, item by item, that long litany of hostility he plowed through. That will shoot adrenaline into your souls!

Lord, let it be so as my feet pound the pavement every day, as my body is nourished appropriately with food, and as my soul presses on for the love that awaits us all. Amen.

Jesus takes up his cross, and bids us do the same. A stranger in his own land, we too are foreign to those who bend the knee to the state, market, party, or even their own voices and vices. Accused by the powers of a crime he didn’t commit, we who would follow him are accused also- of too much orthodoxy or too little, too many good works and often not enough, too much activism yet too little impact. He picks up the instrument of his own death: not a trinket, not a bauble, not a point of contention regarding its symbolic meaning, but a syringe full of poison, a hangman’s noose, the electric chair he’ll strap himself into. He knows what his fate will be, and embraces it, knowing it is the only way to save us- not from him, but from ourselves, from our own merciless self-condemnation.

I didn’t start out drinking it every day by any means. I was more of a “social (coffee) drinker.” I wasn’t especially fond of the taste; so like my mother, I usually added cream and sugar, which I guess will make anything taste good. Anyway, I began to drink coffee more and more, especially with my friend and mentor David, with whom I had breakfast once a week for nearly two years. Even that was a long time ago, though, and it’s been over the past decade or so that I’ve really been relying on coffee daily. Studies have shown that habitual coffee drinkers over time have their natural energy and alertness so dulled that their caffeine “fix” serves only to bring them back up to the level that most people who don’t depend on caffeine exist at naturally. I hope that’s true, because I’m done with it, for good. Coffee isn’t nicotine, but I don’t simply drink coffee. I’ve been sucked into the whole milieu, and I’ve downed (much more than) my share of mochas and lattes and special holiday beverages and the like, and I’ve probably spent a small fortune over the past decade paying for it all (as is true for those who need a daily nicotine fix), with the insufficient funds and more than ample waistline to prove it.

So, as of today, I’m done. I’ve been getting more healthy over the past couple of years (in fits and starts). I went from a max weight ever of 260 down to about 150 on my birthday last year (though my weight loss started at about 250; so it was only 100 pounds that I lost). The weight loss began when I took up running in July of 2009, and along the way I began eating better too. Unfortunately, I’ve experienced a bit of the proverbial diet “yo-yo” as I’ve crept back up to nearly 190 in the past few months, but I’m confident that I’m now headed back in the right direction. After passing a not insignificant kidney stone this past fall, I switched from regular coffee to drinking mostly decaf since caffeine is a diuretic and dehydration is one of the causes of kidney stones. Still, even decaf, as I’ve been learning, isn’t that great for me, and my “coffee” (read: “fancy sugar and calorie laden coffee beverages”) consumption is connected to some larger issues I’ve been avoiding for too long.

The truth is that I’m a compulsive eater. This isn’t my only compulsive behavior, but I won’t get into that here. Like my mother, I’ve used food over the years to dull my pain by activating pleasure centers in the brain. I always feel terrible after a binge, and it lead to some health problems for me over time. More generally, I think I have an addictive personality. I’ve been accused of being an “all or nothing” kind of guy, and for good reason. This may be some form of arrested development relating to my mother’s abuse of me as a child, but I digress. In any case, I’ve been doing the “all” for a while as it relates to food as of late (with the recent weight gain to show for it), and now I’m cycling back into the “nothing.”

You might suggest that I should grow up, that learning to enjoy things in moderation is the ideal I should aspire to, even/especially in regard to sweets, etc. In response to this I’d probably say that you’re right, but the fact of the matter is that I simply don’t care. No one encourages an alcoholic to drink in moderation, and that is the approach I think I need to take with this. I simply don’t do well with sweets, and so I need to steer clear of them. I read somewhere once that if you (ab)use food to cope with pain, you’ll never stop doing so until you address the pain. I know I need to continue to do this too. This will continue to be a lifelong journey, and the fact is I’ve already come a good distance down this path. It’s clear, though, that I have much, much further to go. I still have a lot of pain and anger, and it seems as if at every turn there are new reasons to be hurt or angry. As I’ve said, I know I need to continue to address all of those issues, but I hope I’ve learned enough to begin responding a bit differently to them. I pray that my heart will grow big enough to love the one who hurts me and find the love, peace, and justice in the circumstances that make me angry. I pray that these things will not victimize me but motivate me to keep running the race, to keep “fighting the good fight” (nonviolently, of course).

In the meantime, all the sweets, all the desserts, and yes- all the coffee- has got to go. I was inspired when I came across Blood: Water Mission and the 40 Days of Water Challenge, and I knew it was the right thing to do. Throwing money at a problem won’t solve it, I know; nor does participating in the ever more trendy custom of “giving up something for Lent” (read a great post about this here; apparently Eugene Cho and I had a similar idea) necessarily make me a better follower of Jesus, especially as I publicize my “sacrifice.” Still, drinking only water enables me to value it again, to remember how essential it is to life and participate with my brothers and sisters around the world who likewise only drink it- and can scarcely get enough of it. Speaking of scarcity, drinking only water also reminds me of the coming world water crisis and my need to do more to be part of the solution, starting by avoiding bottled water as much as possible. Of course, it will also be good for me as I hopefully drink enough to replace what I lose by running and cleanse my body.

So I’m really excited for Lent this year. I’m eager to give up sweets and sweetened beverages, and I’m intent on doing so for good (that is, for life). It’s better for me, and it’s better for the world. It puts me in solidarity with those who have so little, and such solidarity is sorely needed. This is a deeply spiritual act because it’s my contention that getting fat (as I was for so long and am again bordering on now) is a spiritual matter. How can I and so many “Americans” get overweight and obese while so much of the world starves? How blind do we have to be to not see that there is a direct correlation between the two, however complicated it all may be? If only I would (literally) consume less and encourage others to do likewise, more would be available to those who have nothing, so long as we work hard and intensely to see that they receive what they need. This is my call, one of the many reasons that keeps me up late and has me rising early each day. I may have to do so without coffee anymore, but my water and the early morning will remind me of the many who also keep long hours, not because they want to but because their destitute circumstances dictate that they have to. May they and I labor together.

Dear Friends,

The other day I met a young woman whose entire life was built around her identity as an urban minister, and whose entire life was in shambles.  She was burned out from her work and, in the aftermath of a failed romance, suddenly aware that most of her other relationships were unhealthy as well.  The more we talked about her path and the key decisions she had made along the way, the more evident it became that something was deeply wrong.

At first I thought it might be some combination of the usual suspects:  religious legalism, a broken home, an addiction of some kind, clinical depression, or a history of abuse.  But as our conversation wore on, and each of those possibilities was ruled out, I began to suspect a different kind of wrongness.  Eventually, I asked.  This may sound strange, I began, given what you do for a living, but I want you to think very carefully before you respond:  At the core of your being, do you really believe that the personal God you’ve been serving even exists?

She looked up from the patch of floor between her feet, maybe to make sure she had heard me right or maybe to see if it was a trick question.  In any case, she held my eye as she shook her head.  No, she said quietly, I don’t think I do.  After a moment of silence, she asked a question of her own:  That’s pretty sad, isn’t it?

It was all I could do to keep the grin off my face as I answered her.  Actually, I said, that’s the most hopeful thing you’ve said all day.

I wasn’t out to undermine that young woman, of course.  The reason I was happy was that the root problem of her faith—of her whole life, really—was one I knew we could work around.  You see, two days out of three I don’t believe in a personal God either.

I used to think my lack of credulity had mostly to do with living in this ghetto, but over the years I’ve discovered that you don’t need to be surrounded by ignorance and brokenness to begin wondering about the likelihood of a benevolent, all-knowing, all-powerful creator.  You don’t need to be a bad person, either, or a stupid one for that matter.  In fact, many of the best and brightest people I know find it difficult, if not impossible, to believe that Someone is actually listening to their prayers.

Honestly, I think whichever psalmist wrote “Only a fool says in his heart that there is no God” must have been an arrogant fool himself, unless he was simply fronting like the rest of us.  Or, better yet, unless he was misquoted.  Perhaps what he really said is that only a fool hopes in his heart that there is no God.  In that case, you and I may be doubters, but we are no fools.

Regardless, it seems to me that what we hope for is ultimately more important than what we believe, anyway, partly because our hopes better reflect our true selves, and partly because those hopes so often determine what we believe in the end.  That is good news for those of us who often doubt the existence of a good and loving God.  Why, after all, would we even notice those doubts, let alone lament or defend them, if we weren’t so deeply attracted to their object in the first place?

Certainly my young woman friend (let’s call her Marian) is attracted to the possibility of such a God.  Indeed, as she puts it, she is “absolutely desperate” to remain a believer.  Beyond her understandable fears of losing her job, alienating her family and friends, and perhaps going to hell if it turns out she’s wrong, Marian is desperate because she is virtually addicted to the everyday experience of living by faith.  She’s hooked on the comforting routines of discipleship, on the easy camaraderie of spiritual fellowship, on the purpose and identity she draws from openly following Jesus.  Also, on a more existential level, she’s terrified of being alone and adrift in an uncaring Universe, with no meaning but that which she can fashion for herself.  Really, she needs the assurance she’s on a divine mission like a junkie needs a fix.  I can relate, of course.  I’m a faith addict, too.

It isn’t just that, like Marian, I’m already so deeply invested in the idea of God.  It’s that the idea itself is so utterly fabulous.  Whether or not you believe in a good and loving God who can and will redeem everything and everyone in the end, you have to admit that a God like that beats the pants off all the alternative possibilities, including all those lesser Gods whose so-called grace depends on everything from theological orthodoxy to luck of the draw.  Which is all the idea of God needs to do, as far as I am concerned: Beat the pants off all the other possibilities.

Now I know there are folks who claim they can empirically prove not only the existence of God, but also quite a few particularities about his character and expectations, but I don’t know anyone who takes those folks very seriously.  Even my fundamentalist friends will admit that such things are matters of faith.  What they won’t admit, generally speaking, is why exactly they put their faith in the existence of this or that particular God.  Then again, born as most of us are into overwhelming currents of familial and cultural rituals and assumptions, I doubt they had much choice.  That kind of directional leap of faith is the unique burden—and the unique opportunity—of the true non-believer.

When I say “directional leap of faith,” by the way, I don’t mean choosing what you actually believe.  Nobody gets to do that, unfortunately, just like nobody gets to choose who they are attracted to, or what they are afraid of, or if they like strawberry ice cream.  Faith is a feeling, after all, and, like it or not, you don’t get to choose your feelings.  All you get to choose is how you respond to them—what you say, where you place yourself, who you watch and listen to, when you start or stop trying to do the right thing.  What you do get to choose, in other words, is how you live.

Until proven otherwise, I choose to live as though what I (and Marian, and maybe you) desperately hope to be true actually is just that.  I can’t prove anything, but I reckon that if there was a good and loving God, that God would want me to love people—especially poor or broken people—so that’s what I’m trying to do.  I figure that God wouldn’t want me to hurt myself with drugs or alcohol, so I don’t.  I wish pornography and junk food were equally easy for me to refuse, but at least I am disappointed with myself when I succumb to their false promises, because I feel certain that the God I hope for would be disappointed, too.

Here at last is my point: I believe that living by faith—even on those days you don’t believe in God—is the best life possible, for Marian, for me, for you, or for anyone.  You might call this my version of Pascal’s Wager, except that Pascal’s argument for taking the leap was centered on his fear of eternal damnation, and mine has nothing to do with that.  My best argument for choosing to live by faith is the happiness and meaning that choice gives me right here and now.  A good and loving God in the process of utterly redeeming every soul in the universe may not be the most obvious of existential possibilities, but it is certainly the most beautiful of the bunch, and even more certainly the only one I deem worthy of my devotion.

And here is my good news: The more I live by faith, the more strongly I suspect that my faith is not in vain, even here in Walnut Hills.  I pray that happens for you, too, wherever you are.

Your friend,

Bart

This is my response:

On the Walnut Hills Fellowship website (linked above), it alludes to folks who “enjoy Bart’s monthly letters.” Well, I not only enjoy them, I read them fervently, clinging to the absurd possibility that the faith he still hopes for is somehow big enough for me too. So one can imagine my relief in reading this month’s letter.  You see, I think over the years I’ve become a lot like “Marian,” except in addition to the spiritual/existential dilemma “Marian” and I have in common, I also have abuse, dysfunction, mental health issues, and addiction in my family and personal history. Anyway, one of the many things Bart said over the years that has stuck with me is a question he once posed. He said that unlike some folks in ministry he’s less interested in why folks initially became a Christian and more so in why they are still one. I realize now that the purpose of that question probably had as much to do with his own search for an answer to it as it did with his desire to challenge his hearers to search for an answer to it for themselves. Nonetheless, I mention it because I find my own journey toward an answer to this question has brought me to some unexpected, and unexpectedly troubling, places.

Like many kids immersed in the evangelical civil religious sub-culture, I think initially I “followed Jesus” for the same reason that fish swim, and I probably gave it as much thought as fish give to water. Over time, and especially as I grew up too fast in the abusive, though “Christian” home of my youth, I came to believe (in hindsight) that I could “rely” on God in the absence of reliable parents, and this is why I chose to follow Him then. I think this “answer” worked pretty well for me until my Kingdomworks experience, after which it- and most of my other “answers”- fell apart. After a summer of intense urban ministry “in the ghetto,” Bart had predicted that we Kingdomworks summer interns would face culture shock upon our return to our normal lives, especially those of us finding ourselves immersed again in the “Christian bubble,” and this was most certainly the case. In my case at the time this “bubble” was represented by the affluent, pastoral, mostly white campus of the “Christian” college I attended. Of course one consequence of that culture shock was that I began to “question everything,” including why I would follow a God who could allow and apparently condone such suffering as that I had witnessed that summer in Philly and previously in my own life.

In some ways I don’t think I’ve ever adequately resolved that question, and I don’t know that I really expect to. When I got married and moved to Philly the following year, my wife and I became part of Circle of Hope (upon Bart’s recommendation, for which I am still grateful), and being immersed in such an incredible community of young God-activists who were doing so much to really “be the Church” and foment a revolution of love, peace, and hope seemed to make “the problem of pain-“ both mine and that of the world- fade into the background. During those heady days I might have said I followed Jesus still because I met him every day in the faces of those with whom I was having a “life together” as the Church, and therefore “I could do no other.” Pain still popped up from time to time, though, including when my abusive mother and loving father-in-law died within a day of each other, prompting our move to MN. Once in the Twin Cities, however, we found another faith community that was life-giving and subversive of the powers that be- House of Mercy. Hence, buoyed again by community, I found myself largely able to keep following Jesus, or at least I tried to.

It was during those years in MN that I went to seminary and was confronted with my experience of that troubling adage “you lose your faith by degrees.” I knew this to be a pejorative statement that I resented since education was something I aspired to and spent much of my early adult life pursuing, but I understand why some people say it. House of Mercy was great for helping me to see that “doubt is not the enemy of faith but its partner,” and seminary was great for helping me to see that there were a lot more reasons to doubt than I had ever previously imagined. I count myself very fortunate, though, to have had one professor who not only exposed all of the problems with the Bible but also suggested that those problems were only problems if you expected the Bible to do things it wasn’t meant to, like be inerrant or answer modern science questions. If instead you asked more appropriate question(s) of the Bible, like “what is it for?” you would get some pretty nifty answers. When I considered what the Bible was for, I came to believe that it’s for you and me; it’s the story of God’s wooing of humanity through the ages, and its purpose is to point to Jesus- nothing more, nothing less. Better still, I came to understand that the Bible was even more effective when I quit asking it questions and interpreting it all the time and would instead submit to its interpretation of me and my life, and I have another seminary prof. to thank for that.

Still, after seminary was over we moved back to Philly to be part of Circle of Hope again, and I framed this move by saying, “It’s time to believe again.” The pain of the parent deaths and their aftermath and the many reasons not to believe that seminary made me aware of had brought me to a place of near non-belief. I wouldn’t have said that I wasn’t a Christian anymore, but if you asked me why I probably couldn’t have given you a good answer. We went back to Philly in the hope of finding one. Once there, I was immersed again in that ever-growing community of young people doing all those great things in the city for God, and so the pain and all the troubling questions seemed to recede again as we(the community) focused on our life together serving those around us and growing God’s kingdom. It took another near tragic event (the four month premature birth of my son) and my (in hindsight) unrealistic expectations for how the community should respond to it- that is, how they should love us best in the midst of it- to bring all the pain back to the surface and confront me again with the question of why I should keep struggling to follow Jesus after all.

In the wake of all that- motivated by our pain- we chose to run away, no doubt short-circuiting what might have been an incredible tale of grace, reconciliation, and redemption had we stuck it out in Philly and as a part of Circle of Hope.  Instead, we moved to Ohio in order to experience first-hand another cliché, “you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.” We bought a house and sojourned there for about four years where we encountered a couple of pretty cool faith communities that we liked for different reasons but both of which we struggled to fully connect with. In those days, if you asked me why I still followed Jesus I probably would have struggled to speak at all. Had I been able to, I might have said something like:

Honestly, I’m not sure that I am following Jesus, though I still desperately want to. I think doing so is less about what you believe or give intellectual assent to and more about who you believe and how you live- who your neighbors are, how well you know them, what kind of job you have, how diverse your friends are, how much of your time and money you spend pursuing the American dream-or not, and so on. I think following Jesus into this kind of a life is impossible to do alone, and around here I haven’t found many folks who would want to be part of such a life.

Obviously, we felt pretty isolated, and in some ways, we still do. We’ve since uprooted ourselves again and left our house behind in Ohio in order to move to Texas due to my father’s terminal cancer diagnosis. There was and is a lot of baggage and a pretty big dysfunctional mess that all of the rest of my family of origin were/are still mired in here; nonetheless I felt compelled to return after having been gone for close to 17 years because I desperately needed/wanted to do my best to help and otherwise “be present” to and for my Dad.

We made this latest move, though, with some hope. To our great surprise, we had found online some pretty cool faith communities here in TX and we thought we might connect with one that would help us to keep choosing Jesus, despite the ever growing list of reasons not to. The actual experience of being around some of those communities and in- or at least on the periphery- of one of them has been disheartening, though. I know of course that whatever faults these communities may have, my “problem” with them is, well, my problem. It’s a function of my unrealistic, uncommunicated expectations (as is always the case).

You see, I want it all. I want an in-your-face Jesus that can be spoken of in practical and tangible ways, like He’s in the trenches with us as we join Him in the family business of reconciling the world. I want a “real” Jesus who’s with me and my community as we work hard at loving people, serving the poor, subverting the powers-that-be, etc. I want this kind of a Jesus; nay, I need this kind of a Jesus because whatever faith I have is built on the hope/belief that this is just the kind of Jesus we have (and yes, I’m hyper aware that this kind of “concrete God talk” has been a real problem for some of my critics over the years, but I digress). In any case, over time I had come to assert that I trusted the Bible not to be perfect and answer all my questions like some kind of ouija board or “magic 8 ball,” but rather to reliably point to Jesus and be “useful for instruction, reproof…” and the like. The foundation of my faith, then, was Jesus- not the Bible. However, this again necessitated a real Jesus that could be pointed to and experienced (if only vicariously), and for that I needed a vibrant community that was really “being the Church” in truly profound and inspiring ways, the kind of community that I had only ever really known in Philly with Circle of Hope. I want/need this kind of a Jesus- embodied in that kind of a community- to be both Savior and Lord. I need the “truth” of the story to still be somehow true, to still be “good news” for me and for us all, especially the “least of these.”

I feel this need for the “truth” to still be “true” so desperately no doubt because deep down I fear that it is not, which is not to say that for all the scientific, logical, historical, sociological, and linguistic reasons I fear there is no God. For whatever reason, that’s never been a path I’ve had much interest in going down. No, I fear instead that God doesn’t give a damn, that He’s asleep or bored or watching reruns instead of saving the world, or to be honest- saving me from all the crap I seem to face every day. In writing this, naturally I realize what a selfish bastard I am, and I know my real problem is simply me, not God, after all. For all these reasons, then, perhaps I’m just the kind of fool that Bart spoke of, the kind who in some way hopes there is no God. I would hope for such a thing not because I would want to live in such a world, for truly nothing could be further from the truth (in fact, confronted with the possibility of such a world I would find myself in utter despair, and as I just said, I’ve never had much interest in heading down that road). Conversely, I may hope there is no God because I’m so damn angry at Him, because the “problem of pain” (mine and the world’s) seems like such an intractable one.

Nonetheless, like Bart described, I’m an addict. I keep going back to faith, to my surety “of what I hope for,” because I can’t help myself. It frustrates and enrages me, but I can’t seem to give it up.  I can’t quit God even when He seems to have quit me- and the world. This makes me no saint, and I hope this is so because somehow despite all appearances to the contrary God hasn’t given up on me after all. That is, I hope my inability to let Him go signifies both my ignorance of all God is doing that for whatever reason I’m unable to see and the reality that I’m not after all the grasper but the grasped. I can’t let go of Him because He’s never let go of me, and I can’t see Him for the same reason that a fish can’t “see” water (if after all it is in Him that I “live and move and have my being”).

In the meantime, I yearn for a community that not only “gets it”- that is, one that “gets” deconstruction/ postmodernity- but that is also really “doing it”- that is, earnestly trying to live as if “Jesus really meant” all those things He said about loving and serving the poor and building a kingdom that is not of this world. Of course, you can’t have a kingdom without a king, and that may be why there’s this stubborn, dogged part of me that says if I’m going to do this- if I’m going to keep following Jesus in spite of it all- I have to be “all in.” If He’s going to be worthy of my devotion, of my life, then He’s got to be, well, worthy. I need a “Savior” AND a “Lord,” whatever problems such language may raise for some.

As another mentor said long ago, “Christianity may merely be the best worldview I’ve found, but I still believe in the Resurrection, and that makes it something more.” I think deconstruction is vital and necessary and terribly important, but it is a means to an end, not an end. Eventually one reaches a point where you have to start building something again, and I think I’m long, long past that point. For all the Bible’s faults and problems and the hermeneutical milieu one has to navigate just to arrive at something called a “Christian” faith, I still want such a faith. Jesus matters terribly to me, and not merely as an example or guide or teacher, but again as Lord and Savior. I need to be a part of folks with whom I’m “on a mission” to love/serve the poor and thereby grow God’s kingdom by “being the Church” together in truly meaningful and profound ways.  And I want all of that right here in the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex. Is that too much to ask?

Postscript: I should add this. Obviously, I want and yearn for much from the kind of “community” I keep talking about, and there’s a lot of baggage associated with my experience of such a community during our two stints with Circle of Hope in Philly. I spoke above of my uncommunicated expectations being problematic both for me and everyone on whom I project them. So it is with great thanks that I post this link to something Rod White, one of Circle of Hope’s pastors, recently wrote. In it he alludes to such expectations for community and the possibility of experiencing emptiness “as a friendly place,” for it just may be that we meet God there. I pray and desperately hope that he’s right, for I sure feel empty, and I sure want to meet God (again). Lord, let it be so.

Sir Robin I may or may not be, but I came across this today. It’s an article in Runner’s World about Peter Sagal. First of all, his NPR show- Wait, Wait Don’t Tell Me- is one of my favorites. If you’ve never listened to it, do yourself a favor and do so. You won’t regret it. I also learned after I started running that he’s a runner too, and a good one (a Boston qualifier with a good time to boot). What I didn’t know is that he started running for reasons similar to my own, which I’ll get into later (mine aren’t identical, but definitely related). Anyway, it’s a great piece about him, and it reminded me of the one at the end of this post from the Dallas Morning News (also linked here).

I can also relate to Rick’s story, with the compulsive eating of sweets (especially ice cream) and all. I didn’t lose 300 pounds like he did. It was only about 110 in my case from my peak of 260 to my lowest on my 35th birthday (this past June) after a long run when I clocked in at 150. Still, his story really resonates with me, even to the point of experiencing what I guess both he and Peter and so many other dieters speak of, that is, the infamous diet “yo-yo.” Today, as I write this, I weigh much closer to 200 (still under, though, thanks be to God) than I do 150, giving me the unenviable task of dropping back down pretty quickly, hopefully in time for the half marathon I’m supposed to be training to run in a mere 45 days(!)…

So I guess that all brings me to this: as this final link points out, if you know someone (like me) who is struggling to train for a marathon or just to fully integrate a running/fit lifestyle, please ask us how it’s going. Encourage us if you get a chance and help keep us accountable. As you might imagine, it’s damn hard work, in my case requiring me to rise most days around 4 am so that I can get in the required training miles (and I hate running in the dark) before a full day of work, commuting, caring for Samuel and getting him in bed on days when Kirsten is at work, etc. As the article puts it:

So next time you know someone training for a marathon, don’t wait until the big day to congratulate them. Ask how their training is going — which, by the way, is a guaranteed conversation starter with a runner of any distance. Encourage them. Support them. And know that even non-superheroes like you and I can run a marathon.

Likewise, if you know someone who is now dieting or who struggles with weight (like me), ask us how that’s going too. If it’s going well, we’ll be eager to share. If not, though we might be inclined to hide it (until our body won’t allow us to anymore), doing so will only make it worse, and hopefully deep down we know that. In my case, I eat compulsively not only because I like the taste of the poison I pick (though who among us doesn’t at least at some level enjoy our vices?) but in order to mask or dull my pain. Of course, as I was recently reminded, I’ll never learn not to use/abuse food anymore until I learn a little more about that pain.

It’s frustrating and ironic, as after all the years of writing and therapy and cell groups and the like (and now running!) I think I ought to know my own pain pretty well. It’s a well-tread story, right? I grew up in an abusive, though “Christian,” home (my mother was the abuser and you can read all about it here, here, and perhaps especially here). So what gives? What am I still running from (no pun intended)? What is it I still don’t know about myself? Obviously, I’ve faced a lot in my life- from the abusive upbringing to the parent deaths to taking in the surviving parents to Samuel’s birth (and all that surrounded it) to our struggles in OH to uprooting ourselves to get here to TX due to my Dad’s cancer, and on and on the list goes. If I want to be depressed about something, I’ve got plenty to pick from, recognizing always that as a middle class white male in the U.S. I’m among the richest and most privileged people ever to walk the face of the earth. Still, by the grace of God and through various experiences in loving community I’ve been fairly resilient- or better said- I’ve experienced more than my fair share of grace. Sadly, it took writing those words just now for me to realize/remember that (again- that grace is what’s it’s all about). I’ve been hurt a lot, sure, but maybe it’s time to finally stop analyzing and categorizing and quantifying my pain because even if I could quantify it whatever suffering I’ve known will never come close to comparing to the grace I’ve been blessed with. I may not fully “know” that quite yet, but long ago I resolved that I may do no better in the Christian life than to spend it plumbing the depths of God’s great love for me, and it’s time I started living like that again.

In the meantime, I’ll run and swear off the sweets again. I may still be running away from my past and the pain and the fat abused kid who got made fun of in my “Christian” elementary, middle, and high school. But I KNOW that’s what I’m doing and even as I work my ass off to get fit, lose weight, and train for the half marathon, I’m also working damn hard to make a transition to start running toward something too. And eventually maybe I’ll run solely with my face forward rather than constantly peering over my shoulder. Some day I’ll run with head held high as I picture before me the future God has for me and do my best to enjoy the NOW of it all along the way. Until then, if you see me, ask me about my diet and running and encourage me if you feel like it because I sure could use it.

Oh, and I would be greatly remiss if I didn’t mention Back on My Feet. I discovered them about a week ago and have been so excited to connect with them and join up, as this gives me a reason to not just stop looking back and finally face forward as I run, but to finally stop thinking about myself and let God use me to extend to others some of that grace I’ve been so fortunate to receive. If you run or want to or even just care about justice at all, please, please check out Back on My Feet. You’ll be glad you did.

Below is that Dallas Morning News article, which I’ve copied for your perusal since they’ve erected a paywall for much of their content now.

Photo: RON HEFLIN/Special Contributor

Rick Salewske has found daily exercise and an almost fervent stance are the keys to maintaining his size.

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By DARLA ATLAS / Special Contributor to The Dallas Morning News

Published 30 November 2010 01:07 AM

Rick Salewske hasn’t tasted ice cream in 10 years.

Until October 2000, the treat had been his favorite source of comfort, and he often overindulged.

“I’d always have ice cream at night,” says Salewske, 48. “Those Nutty Buddy bars – I’d have four of those. Or I’d go to Braum’s, where they have the hot-fudge triple sundae. Sometimes I’d go to the store at midnight just to get my ice cream.”

Back then, Salewske was a different person in mind and body. He weighed 538 pounds and was almost defiant about it: “I’d think, ‘I’m a good person. I love my parents, I don’t do drugs. I support myself. Why do I have to change?’ “It took an intervention of sorts, followed by unwavering dedication, to lose 300 pounds, which he’s kept off for eight years. While his weight has fluctuated by 30 or 40 pounds now and then, Salewske sees himself not only as a weight-loss success story, but a weight-maintenance winner as well.

For Salewske, a production scheduler at ClarkWestern Building Systems in Dallas, going back to his unhealthy self isn’t an option.

“I can’t believe there are people out there who lose 300 pounds and gain it right back,” he says.

He’d be surprised. Maintaining a weight loss – be it 50 or 200 pounds – is a challenge many aren’t up for, says Dr. Edward Livingston, director of the bariatric surgery program at UT-Southwestern Medical Center.

After all the work it takes to lose the pounds, why do people regain?

“One way it happens is that we sort of slide off the wagon slowly,” Livingston says. “One cookie becomes two and then three, and then it’s the whole bag. The other thing I’ve seen happen is that there’s a life event, and the person just gives up and gets depressed.” Salewske, who weighed 538 pounds 10 years ago, was almost defiant about it. ” onclick=”return clickedImage(this);” onmouseover=” this.style.cursor=’hand’” src=”/sharedcontent/dws/img/v3/11-30-2010.NGD_30RICK1.1.GKI2U1DU6.1.jpg”> Family Photo Salewske, who weighed 538 pounds 10 years ago, was almost defiant about it.

They begin eating – which, unfortunately, helps for a moment.

“Food activates the same pleasure centers in your brain as some drugs do,” he says.

‘The Biggest Loser’

Even losing weight in the limelight doesn’t guarantee keeping it off. At the end of every season of The Biggest Loser, victorious contestants are seen pumping their newly toned arms as confetti falls around them. Check back a year later, and several have ballooned back to their former sizes.

“It’s strictly a willpower issue,” Livingston says. “If you’ve got the willpower, you can do it.”

Salewske has enough of that and then some, but he didn’t in 1981, when he moved from Michigan to Dallas and ate out of loneliness. By the time he drove home for Christmas in 1999, his family was distraught by what he was doing to himself.

“My parents sat me down and told me, ‘Your sisters were crying last night. They think you’re going to die,’ ” he recalls.

By 2000, Salewske had a 66-inch waist and wore 6X shirts. He turned down a job back in Michigan, which he’d landed sight unseen, because of his weight.

The CEO at his job in Texas was grateful he’d turned down the other position, but he was also worried about Salewske’s health.

He said, ‘Rick, I want you to work for me for the next 20 years. But if you don’t lose the weight, you’re not going to be around for 20 years. Go find a program, and we’ll support you,’ ” he recalls.

That led Salewske to the Cooper Aerobics Center, which helped transform his eating and exercise habits. By 2003, he’d lost 300 pounds, was named Cooper’s Man of the Year, appeared on The Oprah Winfrey Show and in People magazine, and married his wife, Kelley, with whom he now has two sons. Success was his.

That success could easily have been fleeting.

“I haven’t been perfect, believe me,” he says of the fluctuations. Earlier this year, for example, he’d started making late-night trips for fast food again, and he’d find himself snacking on the kids’ potato chips.

“I got on the scale in March of this year and weighed 284 pounds, which was probably the heaviest I’ve been since I lost the 300 pounds,” he says. “I go, ‘Man, this has got to stop.’ “

After quitting the junk food again, he dropped back to 245 pounds. As for exercise, Salewske works it in every day by going to the gym or jogging around his neighborhood.

Salewske takes an almost fervent stance on maintaining his size.

“In our lives, so many things can be taken away from us,” he says. “We could lose our house, our jobs, money in the stock market. If you lose the weight and stay committed and feel good about yourself, nobody can ever take that away from you. Nobody’s going to put that 300 pounds back on you.”

Except, of course, the person who lost it in the first place. To formerly overweight folks like himself, Salewske has some not-so-fun maintenance advice.

“If we’re the type of people that gain 50, 60, 100, 200, 300 pounds, that’s who we are,” he says. “It’s kind of like being an alcoholic. You always have to watch it.”

Ditch the falsehoods

Which means giving up the excuses or little mind games that lead to backsliding. Among them:

•It’s OK to have a cookie here and there.

“I don’t think so,” Salewske says, “because before you know it, it’s been a week, two weeks, and you’ve had a cookie every night. Now you have to break that habit again.”

•Life is too short to deny yourself all of its pleasures.

“I’ve never known anyone who hasn’t lost a lot of weight who isn’t much happier,” Livingston says.

“They feel better and they’re more energetic. So it’s a tradeoff.”

•After the weight-loss goal is reached, it’s fine to have a “cheat meal.” Or a whole cheat day, even.

“If you believe you should have a cheat day, then you believe you need those bad foods to get through,” Salewske says. “That’s just like an alcoholic saying, ‘Hey, I can go three months without drinking, but I deserve one day when I can drink!’ “

Livingston agrees that “if you cheat once, it’s hard to stop cheating. Your brain just seeks that holiday day.”

•Once the weight is lost through a plan such as the Atkins Diet, it’s fine to gradually go back to normal eating.

Livingston calls such diets – along with contests such as The Biggest Loser – unnatural programs for weight loss. “After a while, you get tired of it and regain the weight. You need to make a lifestyle change you can live with, and live with forever.”

•Weight-loss surgery prevents people from putting the weight back on.

Wrong, Livingston says. “With bariatric surgery, lots of people are completely unmotivated and think surgery will fix the problem. They gain it back.”

At the other end of the spectrum are weight-loss winners such as Salewske, who work at it every day.

“You get used to saying, ‘You know what? Maybe I can go the rest of my life without ever eating a doughnut,’ ” he says. Or ice cream, even. Salewske is confident that Nutty Buddys and Dove bars are forever part of his past.

“Ice cream was really, really bad for me,” he says, recalling the hold it had on him and his life. “I haven’t had it, and I won’t. And it’s OK. I don’t need it.”

Darla Atlas is a Fort Worth freelance writer.

Thus began quite a journey for Shane and other like-minded Jesus-followers that I’ve had the privilege of observing up close from time to time and occasionally emulating. Two years after the events above Shane and some of those friends moved permanently into an impoverished neighborhood in Philly just blocks from St. Edward’s, where they founded The Simple Way as an alternative, intentional community. Their vision, as I understand it, was simply to find Jesus in the “abandoned places of Empire” by living with those they felt called to love and serve, not as outsiders but as neighbors and friends. They understood that they had as much to learn as anyone else, that they were as much in need of rescue from the trappings of wealth and privilege as their new neighbors were from the hardships of poverty and disenfranchisement. To quote a phrase I heard from a like-minded pastor in Akron, Ohio: “If you’ve come here to save me, don’t bother; but if you’ve come here because you understand that your salvation is wrapped up in mine, then let us labor together.”

The Simple Way has been around now for a dozen years and has undergone much transformation during that time. Community members have come and gone. Numerous generative undertakings have been initiated by The Simple Way and/or Shane, including cataloging a network of like communities, starting an alternative, “relational” tithing endeavor, and finally launching a magazine. Most importantly, though, The Simple Way has “simply” been a presence in Kensington, their neighborhood, an enclave of love, good will, and practical help toward those around them. They host an annual toy drive for neighborhood kids. They’ve mentored some of those same kids. When their house was part of a fire on the block they helped their neighbors recover and put a park where the house once stood, which was obviously a welcome green space in what is otherwise often a stark urban landscape (The Simple Way moved down the street, I believe).In fact, they’ve taken on so many “good works” that they’ve had to now differentiate between the community itself (now called The Potter Street Community) and all that good stuff they’re doing (which has retained The Simple Way name).

Through all of this, Shane has undergone much transformation too. He went to Calcutta and served with Mother Teresa before her death. He went to Iraq with Christian Peacemaker Teams and saw the horror of war and “collateral damage” firsthand. He studied at Princeton some and did an internship at the mothership of all mega-“churches,” Willow Creek in Chicago. One of the most prophetic things Shane and The Simple Way have done occurred after they were given a $10,000 gift. They decided to highlight the injustice and inequality in the “American” economy by literally dropping the money- all of it, in cash- on the steps of Wall Street for anyone to pick up (after strategically inviting folks who were desperately in need of it). You can read about this modern day Jubilee here. And then a few years ago, Shane wrote The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical, which might be described as the seminal event in his sudden launch to something akin to celebrity status. Since then, Jesus for President and a number of other books have followed, along with numerous speaking engagements and appearances on CNN and Fox, to name a few.

This somewhat accidental stardom notwithstanding, I really resonate with not just Shane’s writings but his lifestyle and the simple question that seems to drive so much of what he does, namely, “What if Jesus really meant it?” That is, what if Jesus really meant that his ministry was about “good news for the poor, freedom for prisoners, recovery of sight for the blind, and setting the oppressed free?” Furthermore, what if Jesus really meant it when he more than suggested that God’s judgment would center not on how you voted or whether you “went to church,” but rather on if you” fed the hungry, gave the thirsty drink, invited in strangers, clothed the naked, and visited those who were sick or in prison?” Shane’s life and ministry, in my view, has been about the struggle to answer these questions well by doing those things- and recognizing that it is impossible to do so alone. In other words, intentional- radical, even- community is necessary. For example, Shane knows, as do many others, that where your t-shirt is purchased and, more importantly, made, is a justice issue. So with a modicum of skill courtesy of his east Tennessee upbringing, Shane simply makes his own clothes. In one interview he talked about it his way:

Laughing, Shane explained, “I love making my clothes! My mom taught me; we sew together almost liturgically every Christmas the clothes for the next year.” He shared that he caught the vision while living in Calcutta in a village of people with leprosy. Since they were completely cut off from the rest of society, they had to make their own clothes and shoes, grow their own food and be a fully self-sustaining community. Shane found himself mesmerized with the way of life that they had created, a new society in the shell of the old. Shane explained that in Gandhi’s movement making one’s own clothing was a sign of resistance against British rule. The central symbol of the independence movement was the spinning wheel and one could recognize those who were part of it by their homespun clothing, whether poor or in Parliament. Shane also looked at the dark side of the global economy, such as the use of sweatshop labor. When he was younger, he would protest by being part of the counterculture, but he realized that the counterculture can be marketed too (like getting ripped jeans from Hot Topic). Shane said, “More powerful than a counterculture is to create a new culture.”

So as I’ve said, this type of life “in the way of Jesus” really resonates with me. In fact, it’s something that I aspire to, recognizing again that I cannot do it alone. A life of truly radical discipleship, one that of necessity requires “swimming upstream” against so much of what makes us up “American” culture, is obviously hard. Our entire culture conspires to keep us thinking we need more stuff- more consumer electronic goods or running gear (lately) in my case, or more clothes or cable channels or high-definition pixels to watch them on or toys or lattes or truly-God-only-knows-whatever-else for most of my friends and neighbors.

Our culture conspires to keep us isolated as we drive our individual cars on crowded (but isolating) roads into our individual, cookie-cutter garages. It conspires to keep us alone-even-when-we’re-together as we furiously type on phones or turn up the tunes on our Ipods in packed shopping centers or big box retail stores. Speaking of such stores, our culture seems to prize homogeneity greatly, as Starbucks, McDonald’s, Best Buy, and Linens-n-Things are the same whether they’re in Topeka or Toledo. The food is the same, the products are the same, and the buildings are the same. They’re all the same, of course, because mass production is cheap and profit is always the “bottom line.” Sadly, this sameness dulls our imaginations and lulls us into conformity, whether we realize it or not. We’re turned into consumeristic automatons who do as our overlords bid without even knowing we have them. We even resort to mimicking this individualistic, consumptive lifestyle as we “shop” for churches, “consume” religion, and exchange brand-name goods and services in the “Christian ghetto.”

Into this void come folks like Shane as prophets, voices crying in the wilderness, calling us to do better, to be more, to stand up and fight (non-violently, of course)! When I look at The Simple Way and other such communities, and the congregational communities that give life to and support them like Circle of Hope, I am inspired. I begin to realize that I don’t need more things, or more Facebook friends, or even more books (though this realization has yet to translate into action, as my growing library attests to). I need more life. I need more folks around me who will partner with me to do this hard work. I need community, for my family and I can’t “opt out” of the American dream (of mindless consumption and lifelong debt) by ourselves. We need folks around us to encourage us to do the “right thing” and “hold us accountable” when we don’t. We need folks around us with whom to share resources and things so that we have more- more time to devote to love and service, more money to share with those who truly lack the basic necessities, etc.

We were a part of such a community once when we lived in Philly ourselves and were a part of Circle of Hope (and so “knew,” or at least were around, Shane). It’s during our second stint there that we actually tried- and failed miserably at- living “in community.” But as I’ve written recently, we take responsibility for that failure and I at least am not dissuaded from aspiring to try again. I yearn to do so because I recognize that my/our salvation- not just from my personal “sins” but from the corporate (and Corporate) sin of consumerism, greed, gluttony, and envy, among many others- is wrapped up in the salvation of others, those who would be my partners and co-conspirators in this way of Jesus.

So, I’m excited for this book release party tonight. Liturgy is the “work of the people,” and I’ve come to greatly appreciate it over the years. I’m thankful for the chance to give words to the faith I aspire to when I don’t have them. I’m grateful for the opportunity to utter the very same words that so many others will utter and have uttered through the centuries, to be part of that “great cloud of witnesses.” I believe in the idea of “faking it ‘til you make it,” even/especially in regard to faith, and I’ve written about that in recent posts too. Liturgy helps me do that, and I greatly appreciate the efforts of Shane, et al, in collecting/writing these prayers. I’m excited too that folks from the church community we’ve connected with in Oak Cliff since our return to D/FW are hosting the party, and I’m perhaps even more excited that there will be folks there who are unconnected to Church in the Cliff as well, folks who may be drawn to Shane and his lifestyle for reasons similar to mine (or at least I hope so).

I must admit, though, that the fact that some Church in the Cliff folks are hosting this event is something that I’m wary of too, because as inclusive as the book may be, I know that the lack of LGBT inclusive language is a real issue for some. There’s simply no getting around that. I don’t know exactly why this is the case (why the language isn’t inclusive), but it is. As the book is a collection of prayers/liturgy, it’s mostly silent on this “issue,” as is the Bible itself with a few notable exceptions. In that regard, it’s probably better than the Bible because there’s nothing in the book (that I know of) that could be taken as distinctly anti-gay. The book does have a few “occasional prayers” at the end, including one for married folks that refers to “man and woman” and another for single or celibate folks, but nothing specifically for LGBT folks. This, of course, could be read as a slight at best or as exclusionary at worst, but I’d like to contend that you have to read/interpret it that way. There’s a bit of projection involved, I suspect.

I’ll only go so far as to say that I suspect this because of course I’m not gay- I get included in the prayer for married folks; so it’s easy for me to sit in my place of inclusion and talk about my “suspicions.” The Bible itself may or may not speak to the modern practice of homosexuality in a few notable verses, but otherwise seems silent on the matter, as it is silent on many other modern issues. I don’t really want to re-hash that debate here, though. Let me speak instead of my own journey regarding this. I used to see homosexuality as an “issue” (and for lack of better language just referred to it that way above) that again the Bible may or may not address. As the “church” has been hyper-focused on the matter for some time, I basically held the views I imbibed with my mother’s milk (or would have if she had bothered to breast feed me) in conservative N. Texas- that homosexuality is not only wrong/sinful- but given the focus on it- it’s arguably the worst kind of sin.

I’ve come to see what an arbitrary and self-serving focus this is, though. “Fundagelicals,” especially, like to focus on it because for some it’s an easy “sin” to avoid and distracts attention from the more difficult ones that most fundagelicals/”Americans”/people do fall into, like lying, greed and wanton consumerism, hypocrisy, etc. Over time I came to view homosexuality as a sin like any other that deserved no more or less focus than any other, and I would be the last to “cast the first stone.” That notion of judgment is critical to me now, because like so many other things I don’t (or desperately try not to) see homosexuality as a mere “issue.” Rather, it comes up for me now in the context of relationship- my relationships with LGBT folks, and this is one area where I especially appreciate Church in the Cliff- because it is a community where gay and lesbian folks are welcome and accepted without judgment. My point I guess is that in my experience it’s easy to think of something as an “issue” and make judgments about it until you actually know someone who is affected by that “issue,” by those judgments. As a Christ-follower, I’m required to love my neighbor, and my neighbor is absolutely everyone; so I’m required to love gay folks, and for me that “love the sinner/hate the sin” nonsense is just that- nonsense. It’s nonsense because making such distinctions puts me in the position of judge, a role that I am not worthy to take. I know little enough about all of my own “issues” to sit in judgment regarding anyone else’s.

I know of course that it gets a bit more complicated than this, though, as is usually the case with such things. For example, I certainly make some judgments and feel compelled and called to do so as a Christ-follower, such as regarding racism or other injustices. I try, then, to be led by Jesus as I do so. He always seemed to favor and choose the weak over the powerful, the outcast over the “in” crowd, etc. In this regard, then, if a stand is to be made against injustice it seems clear that I should make any sort of stand with my LGBT friends and neighbors, rather than against them. I would even go further in stating my regret that it is the “church” unfortunately that I would often be making such a stand against, since it has been one of the institutions perpetrating much of the injustice that LGBT folks have suffered from over the years.

Some might say that I’ve avoided the underlying question: is homosexuality sinful? My simple answer is: I don’t know. As I’ve alluded to, there are a very few passages in the Bible that can be read as seeming to state quite strongly that it is. But it really is just a few passages, and there really is “reading” involved, and of course “all reading is interpretation.” When we moderns (and postmoderns) read such texts we bring our knowledge and ideas about the modern practice of homosexuality into the text and have to make decisions about whether or not and in what way the text relates to our preconceived notions. All communication works this way. We often make such interpretive decisions, unfortunately, without even considering what the writers of the text were actually speaking to, and of course whatever we can say about their “original intent” we can only say marginally, since we can’t really “get inside their heads.” There’s much we can learn about them and what they were facing, to be sure, and so educated guesses are possible, but they are just guesses.

All of that aside, the weight of the entire Biblical canon (notice I didn’t say “text/s”) seems to favor love and justice, especially when Jesus is one’s hermeneutic of the Bible (or the “lens through which one reads it”), as is the case for me. I also get the logic of choice that so many LGBT folks speak of; that is, why would anyone “choose” to be an outcast, to be reviled and hated, to be “sinful,” when there is another way? This raises the question of creation, then: if homosexuality is not a matter of nurture but rather one of nature, why would God make anyone “sinful” when in fact we read in Scripture that God declared all creation “good?” For all of these reasons and more- but mostly in the context of relationship- I feel some confidence then in loving my LGBT friends and letting God sort the rest out, which finally brings me back to Shane’s book. I guess my hope is this: just as I and other straight folks like me choose not to focus on the few Biblical passages that for the umpteenth time may or may not deal with homosexuality, I wish that my LGBT friends from Church in the Cliff would similarly refrain from focusing on those few “occasional prayers” in the back of the book that touch on sexuality but appear to leave no room for their expression of it. Is it a slight? To be sure. Is it intentional? I don’t know, but there is so much else that is good and needed about this book and more generally about the ordinary, but radical, life of discipleship (or “new monasticism”) that this liturgy provides a rhythm and tempo for that I hope this slight/injustice- whether intentional or not- can be overcome. In other words, there’s a whole, whole lot of good there (in the book), and maybe something really crappy too, but that’s the case for the Bible and the Church and the whole Christian endeavor as well, I would argue. I pray then that the good can be taken despite the bad while we strive- together- toward that vision of a “beloved community” in which there are no outcasts, no injustice, no “bad” to overcome any longer.