Words and White Space

I just got done browsing through my mail. The Christian book store catalogues are so noisy. Paging through them I see a multitude of choices on how to tweak my relationship with God, talk to the world, to teens, how to be authentic, how to find community, finally get thin (in a spiritual way), stay on a budget (in a spiritual way), get closer to God by using a particular version of the Bible. And more wonders, if I am not a reader I can listen to CD's, download stuff, or watch a DVD. The catalogue limp in my hand, I suddenly feel fat, far from God, and way behind on my Christianism, in a mere ten minutes. I resist the call to change, and put my credit card back in my wallet.

There was lot of news about Pat Robertson yesterday. He did it again. There are brands of Christian culture I find, well...embarrassing. There are pockets of religious people who use God jargon to justify intolerance or to maintain positions of power. Yet, as I plod about in church life, there is other Christian culture too. Some give a sense that this is how cool Christians think and act, a sort of modern honest way of living . I wonder if being relevant is just one more group of religious people telling me how to live. Or if being authentic means I get to be honest without decorum. It seems important to be transparent, and yet it makes me seek new ways to hide while I learn what is spiritually acceptable to say out loud. The weird thing is....I could say this out loud and receive unanimous shakes of the head because whatever I think is ok. I am weighed down and bemused by all the words and expectations on how to live this Christian life.

I am no poet. In fact, I use way too many words throughout my day that don't mean much at all. I put on my warmest coat tonight, the one that looks like a sleeping bag with arms and sit on my snowy front porch. I resist the urge to describe the evening, the snow, the wind, and all that affects my five senses. I want to write about it, but it would fill up space in this moment that needs to be left white. I want to paint a picture of this dark snowy night, but would I use white paint on a dark background or dark paint to a light background. What do I really see? What do I hear? Do I write about the silences of the night or the sounds that interrupt it?

When I get quiet enough, there is one Voice and it doesn't seem to batter my senses. Right words at the right time, full of grace and truth. There is a Creator who helps me see, and I know what is dark and what is light and he puts the brush in my hand and tells me to paint. There is a Teacher who specializes in those who are weary and weighed down....and sends an invitation to the best school of all, where color or gender doesn't matter, open to the whole world. Culture sometimes latches onto the Church, gets embedded, obnoxious and loud. Sometimes I need to get quiet and open my eyes and I can see Her and hear Her. She isn't loud, but she is very, very real.

Disordered Love

God of order, I have let love be my highest goal--but my loves are all out of order.

I mouth the words with the passion of a preacher "God, husband, family, others, me..."
But it is not so. What are my first thoughts when I wake. What do I reach for when I am sad and lonely. What do I spend my money on. What do I find myself justifying.

The Teacher said,"It isn't what a man eats that makes him unclean, it is what comes out of the heart."

I keep focusing on the externals, I sense all that comes out of my mouth. I have gotten things all out of order, theology doesn't match reality. It is not good.

Creator God, who made all, called order out of chaos, life out of nothing, and pronounced "it is good." Recreate me.