For my recent paper on liberation and emerging church theology I first tied the two together as reflecting common approaches to theology and two perspectives on a shared theme of thelogy–that of dominated and dominant.

Then I moved on to offer some criticisms. The paper was already 10 pages over the assigned length by this point, so I couldn’t spend too much time on this section as probably properly warranted, but I did add a little bit. Given that my public writings tend to be more cheerleading for emerging/missional stuff it seems fitting to post that wee section here. My own experiences in emerging/missional churches have given me great hope for the possibilities, and great confidence that such possibilities are indeed possible as I’ve seen them work out in other communities. Yet, my own experiences more directly have pointed to problems and dysfunction, which is why I stepped back and tend towards focusing my thoughts on responding to what I see as some inherent problems–that might not show up everywhere, but make emerging churches too dependent on having the exact right mix of particular people in order not break down in predictable ways.

Here’s what I wrote, as a bit of exposure to my somewhat rather more broad, critiques of the movement:

The emerging church has neither the history nor the sophistication of liberation theology. As such, while there are many criticisms these are not always entirely perceptive as to the actual theology of emerging churches. This situation is not helped by the fact emerging church thinkers are apt to be elusive in responding to themes they feel are arising from foundationalist concerns. However, this does not mean there are not substantive criticisms and warnings possible. Two areas come to mind as the emerging church theology continues its development.[1] The first is a weakness that results as a possible over-emphasis on a strength. Emerging churches, and emerging church theology, tends towards a form of Christomonism, or maybe more precisely, “Jesumonism”. Emphasis on the work of Christ, and especially the teachings and model of Jesus during his earthly ministry, are indeed a necessary correction to much of Christian theology. However, over-emphasis on Jesus without a more fully trinitarian and eschatological perspective leads to distortions not only in theology but also in practice. Without, for instance, a more fully developed eschatology social activism loses its grounding and hope in the fulfillment of God’s work. Without a more fully developed pneumatology the boundaries of an open community remain undefined, allowing for either abusive leadership or unfocused anarchy.[2]

Second, the emerging church should be seen as yet unproven in its ability to persist as an influential movement within the church. While it does not deal with the same issues as liberation theology in having to resist a strong hierarchy that can undermine its goals from above, it is susceptible to being undermined from below, by tendencies that have historically undermined similar movements. These tendencies can best be understood as relating to the classic conservative and liberal division found in modernity. Emerging churches have, thus far, been able to participate together along the spectrum of beliefs that Murphy’s model encourages. However, the tension of the traditional arguments over leadership, Scripture, ethics, and other topics create constant pressure to depart from the spectrum and re-embrace a more firm dichotomy. Interestingly, this tension is often a result of the criticisms felt by emerging church thinkers from either liberal or conservative traditions. Those on the liberal side pressure the emerging churches to transform theology, to embrace a more progressive stance than the established Evangelical churches have done.[3] Those on the conservative side press emerging church thinkers for more substantive expressions on the unique contribution of Scripture and other theologically conservative positions.[4] These trends suggest the possibility emerging church thought could be eventually subsumed back within more established movements, no longer expressing any distinctives. In addition, emerging church theology can be accused of at times not living up to its rhetoric, especially in terms of leadership.[5]

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[1] My criticisms come out of long participation in emerging churches, participating at NewSong church beginning in 1992 through 2003 as well as involvement with multiple other emerging church settings. See Gibbs and Bolger, 30 and 323ff. for a brief history of NewSong.

[2] Comblin’s book on the Holy Spirit is an excellent model for a holistic pneumatology. See also Patrick Oden, It’s a Dance: Moving with the Holy Spirit (Newberg, Ore.: Barclay Press, 2007). This could also be, to a lesser extent, a charge made against liberation theology. Both liberation theology and the emerging church arise in contexts very influenced by the Pentecostal and charismatic movements. Yet, rather than learning from these there seems to often be a reactionary tendency, letting these movements, in essence, own the topic of the Spirit. The topic of the Spirit is de-emphasized, it seems, because of the perceived over-enthusiasm or wrong emphases Pentecostal traditions exemplify.

[3] See http://transformingtheology.org/ for a expression of this tendency.

[4] See http://theoriginsproject.org/ for an expression of this tendency.

[5] In my experiences, emerging churches suffer no less than other evangelical churches the effects of overly dominant leaders shaping communities according to their own particular vision, and creating hierarchies of influence and control based less on gifts and more on intra-church politics. This, in fact, can cause even more damage than in traditionally hierarchical churches as there is no accountability for such leaders and there is an increased vulnerability as participants assume there is more freedom and potential for change than might actually exist.

“This study indicates that the brain relinquishes responsibility when a trusted authority provides expertise, says Berns. “The problem with this tendency is that it can work to a person’s detriment if the trusted source turns out to be incompetent or corrupt.”

A study that shows rigid hierarchy can be detrimental to creative thinking. Read the whole article. It’s about trusting financial experts, but I strongly suspect the same exact thing is true for all kinds of other areas, including religion and spirituality. Which is why it is comforting, in a way. Knowing someone else knows allows a person to stop thinking about the difficulties, with the only task, then, making sure the one who is supposed to know remains the expert and remains respected. That’s also, in Christian perspective, why Jesus didn’t pass on the responsibility of “teaching all things” to other people, including his disciples, but said that this is the role of the Holy Spirit, emphasizing personal thinking, discernment, and responsibility as we have a direct route to God that doesn’t depend on any other expert.

Experts can help, there’s no doubt about that, if they guide and teach and direct how to have discernment.

March 26, 2004

Morning — It was not raining, but it was very wet, wanting to rain. One could feel the weather yearning to let loose. The fog was thick, rolling by, pouring out over the land. Drops of water beaded at the tips of pine and cedar needles. Jays flew back and forth, landing in dead pines, announcing themselves. I got to my morning tasks. A moment of these and I returned my gaze. Sun was shining through the fog, the beads of water illuminated and glistening in the glare. Chainsaws and construction vehicles start their day early. And yet all I hear is the songs of wren and chickadee celebrating spring. The wind itself delights and dances. It is going to rain, that is for sure, just not quite yet.

My life is spent pondering mysteries and delving deeply into what it means to follow the Way (which I shall continue to use despite finding the term has been soiled by popular literature, which in only a few short years no one will remember). There are several paths in the Christian life, illustrated by characters in Bible and history. All seem to be approved by God, and yet all three contain inherent weakness that requires others to complete the fullness of the Christian life.

There are the pastors, the missionaries, and the, for want of a better term, monastics. Each expresses an aspect of the fullness of Jesus’ life, who was the only person who was indwelled with the fullness of the Spirit. We have a part of his whole, and can only display those parts. The pastor cares and teaches those who are in the kingdom, maturing and leading, enveloped in the lives of those around so that together the community may mature. The missionaries seek out new souls, entreating and convincing, knowing that God loves all people and desires all people to find fullness in Christ. The monastic (which I use though I don’t imply the Catholic form and all those trappings) is called to a life a prayer, a life of pursuing the depths of the Christian life.

The monastic digs the mines, the pastor mines the ore, and the missionary distributes it to others. The monastic is the explorer, the missionary is the trader, the pastor is the settler. Made unique and united by the Spirit all three are essentially, and cannot claim a hierarchy of importance. Of the three, the pastor type is the most plentiful, the standard which the other types must deviate. For we are all called to care for each other, and only specific callings can suggest more specific plans. We are who we are, and while it is easy to feel guilty for not being something else, something which may in fact be more popular, we can only be who the Spirit wishes us to be. There is only grace in that, there is exhaustion and frustration otherwise, even if we think we are doing good.

The trick of the Spiritual life is to not want others to be who we are. I’ve made that mistake, to be sure. We accept others, everyone, because Christ accepts them, and do not judge, except in places of explicit sin, because we ourselves also fail. Unity in the church is not based on either agreement nor is it based on perfect responses. It is based on a commitment to each other despite ourselves, raising neither ourselves nor others up on a pedestal.

Our path is not the path of others, though many lessons and thoughts can and should be shared. It is Christ alone who gives us sustenance, who gives us strength, who gives us love. Some of our problems are indeed real, many come from a faltering faith. Christ calls us to reach out to the hungry, to the sick, to the poor widows and children, to give a hand to those who are blinded by physical causes beyond their means to repair. He also calls us to have faith, to stand when we want to crumble, to put on the armor of faith so that when the day of evil comes, we stand our ground, and having done everything, we continue to stand.

So, we learn to walk and learn to stand, like toddlers approaching a new stage of being. I am very thankful for those who were there when I needed help, and thankful for those who have helped me learn to stand on my own.

Today, I consider my regular tasks again, and seek to live this life with a ruthless devotion to the call of God for me. I am ready, I think, to jump in a moment to help where I can, and also ready to remain patient when the call does not come. Only in prayer and training can I be alert to both. And that is my goal for the day. There are seasons to this life, times of calling and times of waiting. All the greats of the faith went through these seasons, it seems. Training for battle, and readying for tasks beyond human ability.

I’ve no doubt that someday soon God will call me to more active service, for now though, I seem asked to only do what I can do, and trust that God is doing all in all. By embracing this reality I find peace.

Evening – I knew this moment would come. From the day I began, it was looming on the horizon. Now it came, and may in fact come again. Alas…

I went to bed last evening without even a thought of adding my evening comments. I even had some thoughts in the afternoon that wanted to explore. If there had been a fine excuse I would not mind. There was not. Hmmm…. Good thing I wrote a lot in the morning.

Well, back at it. No harm, no foul. Discipline has never been innate. Only thing I can do is restore the rhythm and keep my thoughts more aligned with what I ought to be doing.

Because I started this wee series late, I’m still playing catch up, and now I’m almost caught up.

March 11, 2004

Morning — A little hazier today, though no clouds. Early birds came for seed, singing and screeching. Dogs barked before the sun rose. Trillings songs, chirps, whistles, and the occasional raven croak filled the morning air, until the concrete truck with its large revolving drum, so mystifying to young eyes, came to lay down a new driveway for a neighbor. Now, all the forest noises are drowned by urban sounds. The lovely thing about the mountains, though, is that by four all will be quiet again. The branches seems sparser in the bright sun I notice, the tree seeming so full in blocking the stars, barely hides anything now. All activity of bird or beast has stilled, no movement, but for a single fly can be seen.

I feel unfocused. Though I do not know if this is only because I am differently focused. My new home on the web takes some time and effort. Thoughts of expansion, of possibilities, fill my head, changing the course of my creativity away from those things which I know are my primary calls. And yet, this is important. So, maybe I am focused as I should, for now, able to spend a day doing what I continue to feel is an outlet the Spirit is leading me down. It is easy to let go of the other now, too easy. My creative writing of the focused sort has retreated recently, lost in a cold, frustrated by a block. What is needed is perseverance, breaking through the barriers with dogged determination. So easy not to do when distractions, some important and good, arise. I take stock today of my goals and end, determining what is of primary value for my time. With this I pray, knowing that grace comes strong on those tasks we are meant to pursue, and it is lost in those things which only serve to divert. We can struggle and slog for a long time, unaware that God wishes us not to, wishes us to go where grace leads, where our hearts and minds can be buoyant even under strain. To walk the trails of a grace filled life, stepping only those places which allow us to stay in sight of heaven, that is the goal. Only the sharpest eyes can see these steps, though, so I know I too often misstep and sink. Well, we’ll see how all this goes today, where it all goes. I feel peace in the moment, a prayer forming on my tongue. Maybe I just need to rest in God, and not worry about the movement of time.

Evening – Not even a whisper this evening. No movement, not a breath of air. Light branches lay still. The great bear shines through the trees, Jupiter peaks out over the roof from the east, rising with Virgo. The little bear dodges the snake, circling about, while Cassiopeia slowly peaks out over the horizon. The lion dances with the bear, Jupiter like a bur in its leg. Orion, in the west, chases the bull to the earth, the twins in hot pursuit, Saturn pointing the way. Of these, only two can I clearly see… Jupiter and the great bear. All the others, hidden behind tree and artificial light are there, of that I am certain, only my eyes fail the hunt. There, but not seen, known because of lore and experience, charts and writings of many. All around, and much, much more, though my comfort afflicted being can see only little. The air is warm, the sounds only those of distant cars and my fingers typing. I hear the blood moving through my head. I take a deep breath, then another.

There are signs out there if we know how to read them. Some are complex and take a life time, some we learn when young, then forget, and must constantly learn again. Today I relearned what I already knew. On and off I wonder why I did not pursue a technology career, or even settle for less creative work of a paying sort. This day I spent wrestling with computer ills and gains, moving forward, certainly, overcoming obstacles, definitely, feeling empty, absolutely. A moment in a glade makes my heart rejoice, fills me with a heavenly delight which knows only the bounds of my own soul, and strains at it to broaden and deepen. Even briefly under the sun turns my being upward. Before a computer I deplete and descend, becoming headachey, becoming sallow in mind, losing that drive which points me upwards. I’ve always known this. I exult in being part of nature, of dancing with sun and rain. The activity of code and commands sap my essence, leaving me dry.

Today I wrestled with needed tasks, settling into this new web home, so that future thought may be concerned only with moving forward in creativity and content here. But still, I know that to live in such a world is to die for me. There must be balance. While this is an important, I don’t know why, task, one which I feel is right to do, I still feel it is not my heart, that is something else, something which breathes the breath of the Spirit within.

I finish feeling the same unfocus, though admitting my day was not wasted. I am reminded why many practical choices evaded my grasp. I do not want to be lost, and in these things I may exist but I no longer am. My lesson in all this, I don’t know. Only that I know that God gives passion and energy in directions we are meant to pursue, and allows our draining when we spend our energy in imperfect ways. To spend a day like today is fine, to lose sight of my call to write and focus on God’s creation is more than unfortunate, it is death. Slow though it may come, my soul even now feels less, and thirsty for pure water. All is well, if I return to the path, and walk as I am called. Everything else is in the shadows.

March 25, 2004

Morning — I awoke and it was dark. I awoke again and it was very bright. Beautiful day, perfect one might say, a light breeze accenting the warm Spring sun. Ravens are flying through the trees.

There are times in which one has to tell a story over and over again to different people who are interested. Especially when a big decision is made or some kind of traumatic event occurs.

That was my night last night. Not in reality did I have these conversations, they were in my dreams. I don’t usually dream, or at least I very rarely am aware of my dreams. Visions and meaningful dreams are not among my gifts. Last night, though, it seemed I dreamed all the night, the same dream, in different contexts. I kept having to explain myself, not with bitterness or frustration, just with the kind of optimistic hope that I generally do in reality. At two thirty my dog barked, waking me up and getting me up. From that point on I was restless in mind, if not in body, and ended up feeling emotionally drained from having slept.

Needless to say, my enthusiasm of yesterday is depleted a bit, all because of an overactive mind at rest. I feel like I’ve spent hours in a crowd, and need to recharge through quiet and solitude. Only I haven’t, which leads to conflicting feelings. I’m not sure what to do with this, since the source of my irritation has only minor import it seems. Who’s to say. It just is another day in which my self motivation seems somewhat stalled, and I would like a purpose outside myself to motivate me up and out.

Nothing has changed, though, so I deal with what I have, and pray for happier dreams tonight.

Evening – Cool wind came this afternoon, unbeknownst to me until I was running in it, wearing shorts and a tank top. It kept me running to be sure. Still it blows, my wind sock nearly horizontal. Fog comes as well. Spring is here, but winter has not yet had its final say. I see my breath when I exhale. I love the cold, and welcome its return, knowing that this will be the last taste for many a month.

Even before I awoke this morning I felt a weight. Upon opening my eyes I felt the same weight on my soul. It was already late afternoon before I learned why. The details are not important. It was just that I felt what I did not know, and upon responding felt free.

The Spiritual path is a lonely one. There is no doubt in my mind about this. I know it from my own life, and I know it from the lives of the saints before me, extending back into the far reaches of time. All those in the Scriptures who God has called encounter points in which they feel utterly alone. They are not always by themselves, in fact rarely are they, but they are alone, for God was leading these men and women down narrow paths, distinct from others of their time. Not a single soul drawn by God throughout time since the New Testament ended has gone down a path with perfect company. All the greats felt the burden of loneliness, learning through these dark times that only God is the trusted one. In understanding that all others fail, that we walk a lonely road at key times, we can then engage community with a healthy sense, accepting people with all their faults, joining together with our own failings, thankful for each other, dependent on God. While others might be by, no one understands our trail and travail. So, we feel the weight of this, overwhelming at times.

Paul felt it to be sure, for even with all he did he could not do enough to please everyone. He did not act the way others thought he should, and so he was left alone, attacked even, except by a few. It is not all lonely, for there are points of joy and community which taste of heaven itself. Only in heaven though will we bathe in that which we seek now. And so we walk, at times alone, learning over time that there is only Christ and us. He is the only one who can reach out, and the only one who will not abandon us. For we are imperfect, and sinful, and without wisdom in too many ways. We are limited beings, with limited strength, attention, and intelligence. So we do what we can, helping and offending in turn, able to only do that which we can, no matter what others may demand of us.

I feel the weight of not being enough. Though I think, with joy, that which I can do and have done, thanking God for those who I have been able to assist, thanking him that I have some measure of ability. I can not do what I do not know, and cannot see all things. So I fail, and will, for the rest of my life, continue to fail, causing hurt and pain. For I am a sinful man. The God who saves, though, will also give me tasks which help and aide, which give courage and wisdom, which help those in the deepest of loss. Through his Spirit I will do much that is good, of that I have no doubt.

I can only be who I am, walking as the Spirit asks, responding not to the demands of others, but always being mindful of how God wants me to be. I am not enough to be all things to all people. That is only God. Those who imagine themselves such are torn always, forgetting their responsibilities to those who have their commitments. Lives are destroyed, families are lost, because we think ourselves able to be spread thin, and then help no one.

I felt a weight this morning on my soul. I feel it lighter this evening. Not without pain, nor without doubt. I pray that God makes up for where I lack. Even Christ knew the lonely road, the road that led to his death. Some could say that he was selfish in leaving, in not healing just one more person. His call was larger, though, and he knew that in walking it greater things were to result.

The call on the Christian is many and wide, often entailing complex decisions, priorities in the balance. We pray and do, trusting that God is in charge, knowing that the weight of all the world is not on our shoulders. There are others, who are also called, and who are charged to tasks we are not. Together, all together, we make up the body. God does not need me to prove his love to him, nor do I need to prove my devotion to others. I do what I do, I am who I am, and trust that God is all in all.

To ask anymore of ourselves or each other is to invite pain and confusion. I want neither. At the end of the day, at the end of this day, I feel I am right before God. Thus, having sought wisdom and counsel, responded to the weight, I end the day with peace. Christ alone is the face who will not go away, and it is to him I now look.

Matt Stone has a great post on the ‘mini-movements’ that are beginning to get more defined in the emerging church movement. The categories aren’t his but his commentary is quite worth reading. I’ve my own thoughts on those, and will post on it soon. For now, I’ve been making some points in the comments and so invite you all to join in on the conversation.

Because I started this wee series late, I’m still playing catch up, and now I’m almost caught up. I want to emphasize the following thoughts, which explain a bit why I wrote the way I did:So, if the details of my life slip by the wayside, it is because the details rarely change, but the battle has new nuances each day. These are my concerns, the ways of spiritual battle, the art of war in the heavenly realms. I say this to myself, knowing my tendency to drift, and cautioning myself to stay grounded in the now, but a little more accepting of my mental wanderings away. This all is life and death to me, so the platitudes or lessons are not contrived, but attempts to get my hands around aspects which are far too large for a single human soul.

Here’s the whole thing I wrote five years ago, and a couple of weeks:

March 10, 2004

Morning — A chainsaw begins its whining buzz earlier than politeness would dictate. Its sound drowns out all others, its mechanical buzz an affront to nature’s sway. Needed, of course, one might say, its destructive swath a healing balm to a forest afflicted. Not, however, congenial to a morning cup of tea, or quiet prayer. I take a deep breath, then another, and a third. The breeze outside picks up. Spider webs strung from branch to branch dance in reflecting light, appearing in a ray, then gone, invisible to the eye. I rub some Neosporin on two hand cuts, unsightly more than painful, watching two jays come taste of the morning buffet before flying away.

I take another deep breath, seeking this morning the tools of restoration from my fractured self. Yesterday, I found myself caught, walking along, when a firefight erupted around me. And I was hit and wounded, not mindful of either my heart or training, not trusting in the tools. I begin this day with a different tone, reading Scripture, praying for wisdom, breathing deep of the forest air. I turn on some chant, knowing that the subtle religiosity of these singing monks does in fact have a calming effect. I fill my water bottle, and finish it, fill it again. A single branch catches my eye, I ponder its intricacy. I breathe deep, relaxing my shoulders, my back, my neck. The meditative sight of cedars blowing in the light wind brings ease and peace. I face the day, straining for what is ahead.

I thought this morning about this present task, what was on my mind and heart, where I stood before God and man. Thinking of previous entries I realized how contrived I might be, how it might seem I am dodging personal insight for platitudes and theology. My goal is to write from the heart, to let my soul come out, the wrestling and delights of my continued walk be marked down for future consideration by myself, and because of this format, by others.

Nothing I write is intentionally contrived I figure now. If anyone who knows me wonders why I make the decisions I do, suddenly take on a pensive look, stop when others go, these notes express the inner struggle. It is not just my emotions I consider, though I think these a part of the united whole. Having studied theology for a fair many years I consider the underlying issues, attacking and treating the themes of my life, listening to the song and applying theory.

In Palm Springs many years ago I had a terrible time. I was with good friends, had a fine schedule, and yet could not swim happily in that setting. I knew, even at the time, why. This weekend was a break, but not too much of one, for I was reading and writing a paper on John Cassian, the great one. I felt strong the cognitive dissonance of differing paths in that place, and knew mine was a path away from most of those wallowing in the excess.

Now, several years since, I still wrestle, but have sought to go beyond admitting dissonance to explaining why, putting words to vague impressions, dissecting thoughts which once were ethereal. My spiritual sense gives me impressions, my training gives me analysis and words, both sides of which I still seek growth and understanding.

So, if the details of my life slip by the wayside, it is because the details rarely change, but the battle has new nuances each day. These are my concerns, the ways of spiritual battle, the art of war in the heavenly realms. I say this to myself, knowing my tendency to drift, and cautioning myself to stay grounded in the now, but a little more accepting of my mental wanderings away. This all is life and death to me, so the platitudes or lessons are not contrived, but attempts to get my hands around aspects which are far too large for a single human soul. It is the attempt which causes growth, enlarging our own souls through time and discipline.

Evening — The green branches of the cedar sway in the light breeze, as though caught in a meditation. The ground is covered in brown pine needles, falling from the once full pines, soon to be gone. Newly stacked logs catch my eye, adding more brown, adding more order to outside piles. My sliding door is open full, the warmth of coming spring welcomed in. Not a sound emanates from the forest besides the gentle hush of wind in tree.

Today I felt the peace I lacked all day yesterday. And with this came an urge for outside chores, finishing tasks which had been waiting, cleaning and stacking, working in the sun, feeling my muscles exult with every lift and strain. I thoroughly enjoy dramatic weather, and delight in arctic temps, but something about today called out, wishing me to celebrate and ready for springs arrival. It was not done with frantic regret, but with joyful peace. I read as well, and found easing of yesterday’s troubles, as this new address indicates. Confusion reigned throughout yesterday, today the peace was just as palpable and much more welcomed.

Nothing else lay in my mind’s consideration. I pray that I would continue to grow, continue to feel the delight and light of God’s peace, and I pray for those about, friends and family, that they may know their heart’s delight.

Not all days can be like today, for while I felt peace I did not burrow into my regular tasks. That is for tomorrow, another day, another step forward.

My present paper is finished, and I took the weekend off. Then, not surprisingly, I caught a cold and my head is stuffy and my body is achy. Fortunately, I have a lot of these posts left, catching myself up with myself.

March 24, 2004

Morning — It is dark out still, only the barest hint of blue in the black sky. Faint outlines of branches swaying in the fair breeze can be seen. All is quiet still, and I am awake.

I put my shoulders down, take a forceful step, then another, pressing forward. I am called to write, I believe, and when I do not engage this call for whatever reason I feel the darkness creeping up and in. It chases me, and I must stay active to keep beyond its grasp. So, today I discard those things which distract. I put aside even those things which are helpful in other ways, which are good and right, thinking now only of my goal, of the single cause, of the primary purpose of my present being. I lean into the wind and forget what is behind and around, blocking out the voices and noises of the world, seeking to take hold of that again which seems resonating with the Spirit.

It is not a choice. My soul demands this today. I must re-engage, even if it means everything else is lost. My eyes have trouble focusing on the goal, the end, and so all other distractions must be sacrificed, and tomorrow, and the next, until I again can dance with the rhythm, and lose myself in the melody, allowing other parts to merge with the fluidity of being.

And so I begin.

Evening – Dark again, later than I would like. I’m off to bed, hoping for another early morning.

This morning went as I had hoped, a ruthless re-engaging with my called task, and I felt the inner surge of joy which came from such momentum. I shall press on the same tomorrow.

I continue to seek to pray, continue to walk in a way which shows I am not settled, trusting in the nudges of the Spirit, and hoping I hear right. I can do no more, only I wish I could see more than I see. The broader narrative is beyond my scope, and I only know limited parts. So I do and do, not knowing why, feeling my way around in what is dark. At the end of the road, I’ll see, I know. The only way I will be able to look back with honor is to be able to say I did all I knew to do. I can not be asked more than that.

I feel good this evening, cautious, but good. There are many things afoot I think. I must press on.

Because I started this wee series late, I’m still playing catch up:

March 09, 2004

Morning – The coyotes are gathering. Their whines and howls echo across the hills and valleys, sounding like unruly children. It is their family interaction, the pack meeting together, reestablishing after a long night. A raven croaks, quietly, then louder, then quietly again, flying by the front of the house. Ravens tend to follow coyotes, announcing their presence at times, for reasons only they are privy to. A streak of a gone by jet streams white across the blue sky, expanding into a wispy cloud. Before I opened my eyes I heard the chatter of a squirrel awake. I do not see any about now. Only the light trill of a song bird remains. Morning for some, evening for others in this forest.

Nothing specific raised this thought, it only passed through my mind as I was transitioning, awake but not awake. A goal of the spiritual life is to overcome the vices, there being eight, and subtleties among them. We think of the pious often as being the Puritan caricature, sternly rejecting pleasure in their fight against even the hint of sin. Dark colors and austere miens come to mind. These are of course historical mistakes, the real puritans were anything but in most cases, facing the same disdain now that cultural elites still place on our own religious minded. No one wants to be reminded they are not all that matters, so they mock and bite at anyone who speaks of higher realms.

The caricature is wrong on many accounts. Those who rabidly flee from human joy in their repression of sin are no closer to real virtue than one who gets lost in the occasional vice. Avoiding vices is not virtue. It’s a negative existence. No, for the spiritual, vices are not something to be dodged or feared. They are boring. One does not engage in the various prattles of sin because they simply hold no interest anymore. The sanctified mind sees them for what they are, childish titillations of our own weak souls. Stronger souls need not pursue, seeing the sins as interesting as watching a piece of concrete. That is the mark of the advanced. Vices are boring, so of course are not temptations, because there is nothing in them anymore to seduce. The virtues, often thought of as boring themselves, are for the advanced spirituals, advanced culture, souls attuned to higher realms and able to achieve a measure of pleasure which far outweighs the intrigue of sin.

This is the work of the Spirit in us. Certainly we are to avoid sins as we can, watching our steps as we grow in wisdom. It is only when sins themselves hold no attraction, making us ask “why?” rather than “why not?”, that we’ve gone far along the road. The virtues are Shakespeare to the vices National Enquirer. Better by degrees in all forms, for those who are wise enough to understand.

As far as my own soul this morning, the point of this writing, I don’t know. This all goes together with my mood, finding temptation afoot, and realizing I’m getting bored by it. I’m not all the way along, though, for I still see the attraction of the various sins, and must fight for focus. I’m not there yet, but I’m beginning to taste of heaven. And let me tell you, it is succulent.

Evening – Ursa Major shines through the branches of the trees to my north. Little else can be seen of the heavens above while standing on my balcony, but this, especially the part known as the big dipper, shines clear. Directly to my right, and high, shining bright even through the thicker branches of a live cedar I see Jupiter, bold though the sky is bright with moonlight. Two dogs bark, distant cars drive to their destinations. Earlier a bat flew out and back beneath where I stood, its movement and shadows the only indication of its brief presence. Bugs can be seen, reflecting the glow of artificial light. These are what bring out the bats to be sure. Coyotes gather on a far off ridge. A neighbor’s rottweiller howls in response.

Today was one of those days. The kind that brings sighs of remembrance and are welcomed to finish. Nothing terrible, just an aura of confusion throughout. I started the day with what I call the more active kind of acedia. The kind which seeks diversion, wallowing in discontent for the quiet tasks, needing stimulation. From there frustrations grew, computer troubles, then more. Nothing works, I am told all is well, but nothing works. I was bumped to the next levels, and still nothing. There are a few things which raise my ire or cause frustration unrestrained. Rudeness of any sort will do it. Needless waiting. And computer troubles, when all is being done right and things get worse. The crews of various kinds of workers were in the neighborhood, bringing power tools, unmelodious singing, and loud conversation. I felt it, and I succumbed to it, unable for a moment to regain focus, unable to watch as I should watch.

Times like these raise other questions in my mind. What was in me and what was about me? Was the confusion purely my own, or was I feeling the weight of surrounding forces arrayed. Both have been true in the past. I do not know of today. This does not excuse my own missteps. The mark of the Spiritual is to feel the confusion but not be drawn in by it. To understand but not participate. There are things seen and unseen which affect the sensitive. Oddly, I am generally sensitive. Odd I say because I tend to operate mostly in a thinking mode, not a feeling. Yet, the weight of a aura comes strong to me, more when I am focused, strongly when I am in prayer.

I end this day not knowing. I am not yet advanced. Neither can I give details, nor can I keep myself above the fray. Two signs that the road stretches out still long before me.

March 23, 2004

Morning — Clouds are covering the land, blocking out the rising sun. Birds are active, the wind is heavy. One could almost expect a storm to be coming. A small tree blooms in the distance, white flowers weighing down the branches, non-native and fitting all at once. Closer to my view is a squirrel foraging on the ground, running over pavement and dirt. They only visit my balcony on snowy, stormy days.

My agitation of last night, from internal doubt and external awkward communication continues. I awoke this morning praying for three specific people, whose lives are in points of stress. Surfacing as I continued to awake were thoughts stirred up like leaves in the wind, unmanageable, scattering. While last night I was wishing to understand the spirituality of it, understanding my role, this morning I am a wee bit more offended.

It takes my eyes off my goal. I awake this morning not with thoughts of how to pursue the creative life, how to progress in fiction or add another touch of spirituality. I awake instead agitated, distanced from my calling, forced back to engage the past of which I have moved beyond. My eyes were turned, and while I am willing to engage others with where they are at, I cannot lose sight any longer. I understand Antony in the desert.

I cannot be what others may want me to be. My goal is Christ, and those around me can aid me, or they can even give me rest and restoration, but I can’t be dissuaded anymore. I have no desire to return to Egypt, though I may have left friends there. There is only forward. I have friends who journey along, some who stay. For my own sake I have to keep my eyes on the prize, even if it means only me and Christ.

Today will be spent attempting to regain that which I lost, that which I lost because I am not yet strong enough to maintain my sight in storms.

I am young, spiritually immature, only having gone a short while along the Way. It is too easy to distract me, to tempt me, to pull me away, leaving me not with change, but with increasing confusion. For I know the path, and so today I must walk it again, come what may. I pray for peace, for strength, for wisdom. The road is unclear right now, and I have to trust Christ will bring it back into focus. There is nothing else.

I also have a bit of a stiff neck this morning, I must have slept in an odd position. God warns, of course, against stiff-necked people, so hopefully in all things I can move on.

Evening – The light constant breeze whooshes through the trees, a whisper, though loud in the surrounding quiet. Planets are lined up, a bright line beginning in the western horizon. My sister-in-law just called, asking about a Kenny Rogers song. I have no idea why.

This day was one of those which make me likely to spend a long Saturday or Sunday catching up. I did no more than the minimum, and felt groggy throughout the day, weary to do more. Part of me wonders if it is just one more expression of a cold too long lasting. I don’t know. My mind stayed agitated, my soul found no peace in its reviews. Things lost and looked for remained lost, the only result being closets emptied, and now a mess to clean. It does reflect my inner self, so I will likely let it be until tomorrow.

Today was another day in which I feel myself being drawn back to some sort of community. It is not in my strength that I need those surrounding me, it is in my weakness. There are times, many times, in which I can bolster and encourage, then there are days like today when I need someone to help me get moving, to spur me to where I do want to be. I miss that today, as I always have. However, the difficulty remains the same… finding a community who are no more lax than I am, who I am not allowed to drift while at my low points.

I’m of that terrible sort that I will always live up to the challenge before me. If there is little challenge, I live up to that, and take on an emaciated sort of life. If it is a great challenge, beyond me even, then I come alive, finding joy and ruthless devotion to the task. In this I remind myself of Sherlock Holmes, who between cases would descend into some netherworld. I yearn to find a place where daily prayer, constant attention, openness and honesty can thrive. I am not catholic, nor do I hold to the theology which they insist upon, so a community of this sort is hard to come by.

It is not because I am stronger or better that I seek a more passionate focused place, it is because I know I need to be surrounded by likeminded men and women, who I can help with my gifts, and who can help me with my weaknesses.

That is not before me, so to lust after such is not worth the effort. I have what I have, and that means a more solitary quest at the moment. Learning to know Christ, and Christ alone, is a worthwhile, if difficult, pursuit. The road gets very narrow, and the way becomes steep. Yet he calls, and though I stumble and feel the pain of the effort creeping into my legs, I will get up and press on once more, finding in these kinds of days nuances of understanding.

The road becomes slow at its later stages, growth is almost imperceptible. Only by slogging on does it happen. There is no turning back. I just pray that tomorrow will be a day in which I feel the renewed strength of the Spirit within and around, finding inspiration, where as today I found only agitation. I will go to sleep earlier, and wake earlier, hoping by this to return to the schedule which is most helpful. I also, again, need to devote myself to prayer. I feel this is my next step, the call on my life, the wall which is before me. And with this I end the day.