One of the things we are doing right now in our CTK story is trying to re-establish the missional small group as the focus of our church life. We gather for worship every other Sunday night where we have established a strict rule of using the time only for the purpose of recognizing God for who he is--worship. Outside of that, we have two missional gatherings (small groups) that meet weekly in homes. The goal of the smaller gatherings is to get into each other's lives and establish reaching out community within Durango. I am attending a group facilitated by my friend Daena on Saturday mornings. It has been a few weeks and we are beginning to get a bit of a rhythm. Some of the neighbors are showing up and there is real potential for growth in terms of people who are not already in our circle.
This week, we were talking about the story in the gospels where four friends tear apart the roof and lower their paralyzed buddy in front of Jesus. I've always loved this story because of the idea that the friends made this heroic act of faith and Jesus healed the guy because of them. I always imagine myself tearing at the shingles--willing to do whatever it takes to help my friend.
In our discussion, we went through the typical small group questions...Is there anyone you would be willing to help in that way? Do you have friends like that? To be honest, it was a somewhat predictable discussion. The kind of discussion that can either stay easy and superficial, or God can push it through to a new level. The last question that came up was: What about you would warrant your friends lowering you through the roof to get you in front of Jesus? This morning, as I write this out, I am still grappling with this question. It is easy for me to imagine myself as a friend willing to do whatever it takes to help my buddy. It is a little less easy for me to imagine how grateful I would be to friends who took that kind of initiative on my behalf. I have never once in my life thought about what there might be in me that would necessitate my being laid before Christ in that way.
I'm not paralyzed. I don't have any outward or obvious ailments that need to be healed. So, what would it be? What about me needs to be healed so badly that my friends (if they knew about it) would snatch me up, carry me to that house on such and such street and tear the roof apart to get me in front of the only person in the universe who could heal me?
My first response is that there is nothing. There isn't anything about me that needs to be healed that badly. There are plenty of people who need Jesus' touch more than I do. After all, that's one of the reasons I have chosen to be a leader in the Church, because I want to help the people who need it the most. As I've thought about it, though, I realize that to be willing to help others, I must also be willing to acknowledge that I need help. It is a special brand of arrogance that believes one can help others yet not need saving as well.
The worst part of this whole thing is that I know what the answer to this question is, I'm just not sure I'm willing to articulate it. I think most of the struggle for me in this exercise has been trying to come up with something clever to say about what I need to be healed. Maybe some secret sin in my life--there is plenty to choose from and probably some that I could spin in such a way as to motivate a few of my friends to come to my aid. The truth is, most of that is stuff I approach God with daily. On my own, I am able to seek God's forgiveness and guidance and provision for most of what I have going on.
The deeper question is, what is there in me that I am somehow not able to bring before God on my own. I know it's there, but I have no way of getting it before him--or maybe it actually requires the communal effort to be exposed and brought to Christ.
When I think of it that way, there is one thing that surfaces almost immediately. I suffer from a debilitating condition of feeling completely unloved and unlovable. I don't really have any good reason for this (outside the way I filter and interpret the world around me to support these feelings), but it is real. Some days, this sense that I am not worth loving is so tangible that I freeze up and am unable to complete even the most benign chores. I can become so consumed by this sense of hopelessness at being unworthy that it bars me from extending my love to the people around me who I care about. I have tried to express this to people, but it just sounds silly--even as the words come out of my mouth. "What?!? How can you feel unloved? You're a great guy...you do all these great things...you're so funny...people like you!" It is almost as if each confidant has been handed the same script to read back to me as I try to communicate this sense of feeling so unlovable.
I try to seek God out on my own for this, but it is pretty useless for me to try and sort it out in my own head. There are too many thoughts and feelings to unravel on my own. I'm not sure I can articulate it (even here, now) well enough to truly explain it to get help. It just is. I function, for the most part, in spite of it, but it is always there and often surfaces and overwhelms me.
I have no real clue what to do with all this! I'm not even sure that's the point of the exercise or this post. The question is, what is there about you that needs to be brought before Jesus--something you are powerless on your own outside the intervention and intercession of loving and faithful friends to deal with. For me, that's it...I often feel like I am not worthy of being loved. I feel like there is nothing redeemable about me and it poisons my perspectives, stunts my growth, and causes me to damage the relationships I do have.
The paralytic in the story could not bodily stop his friends from helping once they decided on a course of action. I wonder how often I find ways to sabotage efforts from the people around me to express their love for me. How much of my condition involves keeping friends from being able to help--reinforcing the condition? How much of my motivation to be the helping friend comes from a fear of becoming the helped friend?
I can always tell I'm on to something when I end up with more questions than answers!
A real appreciation for simplicity. I sometimes miss only having three shirts to choose from. I liked the space it gave me to think of other things. I have more clothes now, but I have had a couple of "thinning" sessions to get rid of excess in the past year.
I can do stuff that requires discipline and commitment. I've never considered myself (or really been considered) a disciplined person. I live a life full of variety and some spontaneity. Doing the vow was a great exercise in committing to something that takes time and following through with it. In the time since the vow, I committed to lose weight and get healthier and have followed through with it in ways I was never able to before. I started riding a bike and commuting (I live ten miles and 1000feet above town-so that's an accomplishment) to town when I can. I feel like I can make commitments and follow through with them.
A greater capacity for constant interaction with God. When there is no one else around you growing out their hair for spiritual reasons or sporting the same three outfits on purpose, you don't have a lot of community to fall back on. I learned to talk to God in a more familiar way--less, "Dear God" and more, "Hey, what about that?".
The only downside, which wasn't that bad, was seeing just how many a$#holes there are out there who are just looking for someone to put down and curse and badmouth for trying to do something to move toward God. Sometimes the general spirit of condemnation and malevolence among "Christians" can be depressing. Most of my friends outside church circles, on the other hand, seemed to really respect and be into the vow.
So, that pretty much sums up the Nazarite portion of my life. I'm hoping to catch up on this blog in the next couple weeks and start sharing/processing some of the other, newer things going on at CTK Durango and in my life in general.
