* * *

Amanda, the other day, talked about why she writes. She even wrote about it, once.

I’ve combed back through my own writings and I realize that I have never addressed the issue, accept for a blurb included on my current About Me page:

I write because I cannot stop. If I shut the words up in my body, my brain will atrophy.

I write in this space as an act of faith and as a sacrament. Acting in faith that I have something worth saying to others.

Fair enough. The first reason is the reason of necessity. I write because I must. The second reason is the reason of meaningfulness. I write in order to have value.

And those reasons are good as far as they go. They are true reasons, certainly. Perhaps we can compare them to the act of cooking.

Perhaps I cook out of necessity. I must eat. And raw food will poison me. Such a meal, borne out of necessity, will be riotously inelegant and shaped entirely by efficiency. Thus, I would cook whatever came to hand in whatever way allowed food to enter my body.

Perhaps I cook out of meaningfulness. I must eat, certainly, but I am not on the brink of starvation. I cook as an expression of identity, considering my meal to differentiate me from others. Thus, I would avoid cooking junk food and would spend considerable energy making something satisfying, healthy, and maybe even photogenic. I am, after all, not a barbarian.

* * *

My friend Morgan recently took a creative writing course at ACU. The professor, a marvelous instructor, asked the class to consider why it was they wrote. Most gave one of the two answers I have provided. The professor encouraged them to consider a third:

To write as an act of love.

* * *

In his book, A Theology of Reading: The Hermeneutics of Love, Alan Jacobs challenges readers to receive texts as gifts from others. To treat the self-disclosure of the author with complete respect. To value the text as one would treasure a gift from a close friend.

I think that is good. Perhaps, as its corollary, I should write as if my words will be a gift to another.

Let us continue the metaphor.

* * *

Perhaps I invite some guests over to my home. Perhaps, even, I am hosting a meal in celebration of another (as a best man, I hosted a meal for my friend Drew for his Bachelor Party).

Why might I cook? I would cook as an expression of hospitality. I would cook so as to feed my guests, nourish their bodies, comfort them, and build warm friendship around the table. The meal would be focused on meeting the potential desires of my guests, thus I may very well cook foods that I myself do not enjoy. And I would cook them well. I would set the table with familiar elegance, making sure the space in which my guests ate was clean.

I would graciously accept the requests from my guests for additional utensils, condiments, or drinks. I would serve them and, only after, partake myself. I would genuinely accept any praise for the meal, but I would not seek it out. And, after the meal was over, and after we had enjoyed each other’s company with after-dinner drinks and cigars, I would send my guests home and I would clean up the mess. If any guest had traveled far, I would offer my couch and a blanket.

* * *

The first two reasons for writing are selfish (even as they are important) and, being selfish (I will add that being selfish is not bad; it is only bad when it comes at the expense of others) in their intent, necessarily result in much writing that is rough, offensive, or harmful to others. Such writing, at least for me, is not intended to harm others, but that doesn’t change its effect: it is in negligence that much harm is caused.

The third reason takes into account the existence of other people and treats seriously the command to love my neighbor as myself.

* * *

I suppose that it is here that I want to make a couple of caveats.

First, I really only think about writing as an act of love when that writing is going to be shared or published. Sometimes it is entirely necessary to write a polemic that no one but I will ever see. In this way, I will have written out of necessity but not harmfully.

Second, writing as an act of love—treating my writing as a gift to another—does not always mean that the writing is nice. Sometimes destructive or harmful ideas need to be publicly excoriated, but I think that is a far rarer occurrence than is often thought. And, indeed, I ought only to write in context—keeping my nose out stuff that I don’t have the right, authority, or knowledge to write about.

* * *

But what, you ask, does this have to do with the article I shared at the beginning?

In that article, Preston explained that he is not a scholar of theology/languages and does not want to act like one when he writes. That’s not who he is. While he is an academic (studying the intersection of theology and the arts) he is not an expert in the sources of authority to which folks often appeal when debating theology or the bible. He has ideas—as do we all—but no special knowledge, and his place is to translate what he is learning into the common language. And to trust that if God got him, God can get others.

I want to shout this article from the rooftops. I completely and entirely agree, and I very much identify with it.

I have certainly put on airs, pretending like I have knowledge/authority that I do not, in fact, have. Yes, I am an academic (I’m halfway through my M.A. and hope to do a PhD), but I am not an expert in biblical history, languages, or theology.

I am a student of the effects that texts have on people, and I know a thing or two about writing and about constructing arguments. My academic pursuits are focused on the intersection of theology and politics with a look at the way systems act on agents, and with a special attention to discourse.

And, yes, I had a pretty rigorous undergraduate education in biblical (especially New Testament) studies, but I know enough to know that I don’t know much.

* * *

So what I have to give, on this blog, are my own (often poetic) reflections on the stuff I am thinking about, the stuff that I draw meaning from. If you, like me, are interested in history, theology, the bible, language, rhetoric, politics, poetry, fiction, and liturgy, then maybe you will find my blog to be valuable to you.

And, I promise, that I will do my best to only create charitable, kind, and loving gifts of words here for the blog. But if you’re not interested, you’re not interested. And that’s fine with me. There are no expectations that you would stick around.

And, like Amanda, I do not write with the intention of presenting a holistic record of my life and thoughts.

In its most fundamental sense, my blog is a digital record of a small collection of small snippets of my disorganized thoughts about a dozen topics.

* * *

As always, thanks so much for reading. I hope that you are inspired, encouraged, and challenged by what appears here and in the future. May you be blessed on your own adventure through life, and may you always find people willing to listen and give you a chance.

Always remember: All is Grace.

Peace.

* * *

I come striding into the park that nuzzles my neighborhood, the one where I used to walk my dog most days—the only way I could get away from home for a while.

I take a seat on the most out-of-the-way bench and I wait. And then I see myself walking the dog. It’s late January, which doesn’t mean much in Houston—but I am wearing that letter jacket.

I see my sixteen-year-old self make his way closer. I start to remember. He has just started wearing shorts again. It’s been four years since he was made fun of for having girl legs, and only now does he feel comfortable exposing them.

He glances at me and then takes a seat on the opposite end of the bench. He gives the dog a drink and pauses for his feet to rest. He doesn’t want to go back home yet, but he’s got to finish that chapter on the Civil War.

He glances at me again and then looks away. He knows who I am.

Why are you here?
To give you hope.
I getting on well enough, you know.
If you insist.

I sigh. In two weeks, I’m getting married.
Do I know her?
Not yet.
When do I meet her?
Five years.

He sighs. I’ve been thinking about God.
I know.
What if it’s true?
Then you will change.
But I don’t know how.
He will show you the way.

He grunts. Right.
I grin. Do you think you’re worth it?
The change?
Yeah.
Maybe. If I ever decide that people matter.
You will.

We pause for a while. Just sitting there. Waiting.

I turn my head. Yes?
Do I get what I want?
You will dance without shame.
Literally?
Yes. And . . .
That’s not possible.
. . . and you will find the Music.
The secret fire?
Yes. The darkness will shatter.

I fade and he walks home. And we pondered these things in our heart.

First, I dismissed people’s motives as incidental to the lovingness of an action.

Second, I wrote in a cavalier manner in which I failed to be charitable to other viewpoints.

I’m sorry for this. My intention was not to make universal claims about the nature of prayer or God’s interaction with people. Nor was my intention to belittle another viewpoint. I take responsibility for the hurtful ways in which my words may have affected others. I realize that words often produce unintended consequences.

I still agree with the substance of what I said, however, and I want to put that substance into a little bit of context.

First, Seth asked a specific question using a specific incident as the framework. That is, if one is (to use Seth’s word) “ambushed” by a group of strangers wanting to pray for you since they believe God told them to, how do you respond? Because I riffed off  of this specific question on to two related ones (is it ok for people to do “ambush” others?; why do I feel like I don’t owe my attention to such people?), I decided to write my own blog post in which I answered those two specific questions.

Thus, I do not think it is ok to “ambush” others even if you think God told you too because I think that is an unloving invasion of another person’s space. And, moreover, I feel like I do not need to incorporate into my life what strangers tell me about my own faith or beliefs since I do not know them and have not built intimacy with them. What I did not say is that I would never listen to anyone who told me that they had a message from God. Indeed, I articulated in the comments on yesterday’s post that I have friends who do just that. And I trust them because they know me and there is accountability for what they have to tell me. I will see them again.

Second, I failed to clearly articulate the tenuity with which I hold my beliefs. I wrote:

These days, I am supremely uncomfortable around people who claim God has told them something specific. I don’t get it, I don’t think God acts in that way, and I think making the claim that God has told one something takes a lot of gumption.

That was not a humble thing to write. What I meant, by using those sloppy words, is that I live my life with the norm that God does not tell people specific things through some supernatural act. This norm is occasionally violated—I’ve been in situations which I can only describe as miraculous—but for the most part it holds. And, further, that I will never make the claim that God told me this or that since making that claim requires a level of certainty about God that I do not possess. My hope is that others who make that claim do not do so flippantly, but that is their affair, not mine. And I am sorry for insinuating otherwise.

Third, I failed to appreciate the motives with which others act. I do not think a group of strangers want to “ambush” others with prayer because they are hateful. Rather, I think the opposite: I think they are inspired by (however misguided, in my opinion) love. My point is that they did not consider the elitism and power dynamic they established when they approached Seth (or other strangers). That does not make their actions wrong, just potentially unloving.

Fourth, it is not always productive to parade one’s beliefs around in public. However, a great conversation about this topic was already happening on Seth’s blog and I decided to add to it. I certainly don’t post about all of the controversial things and I am still convinced that the life I live ought to be marked by love rather than fear of the things with which I disagree. Christianity is a practice, not a belief system. Anyone who has been around the blog very long will have noticed that I almost always focus on my journey rather than speak in broad terms about others. Yesterday was an exception, and I realize the potential and real harms.

So, again, I apologize and ask for forgiveness. As always, thanks for reading. And, of course, keep pushing back on my ideas. That’s the whole point.

Peace.

He wrote about the charismatic gnostics who have special knowledge from God about people. Specifically, he told a story about being “ambushed” in the library by a group of folks claiming that God told them to pray for Seth.

He also wrote about academic gnostics who respond to claims about scripture or theology with their own expert knowledge: “actually, the text really says . . .”

Seth wants to know how we are to respond to these gnostics.

I made a comment on Seth’s blog, but I wanted to hash out my larger idea here.

Full disclosure: These days, I tend to be an academic gnostic. It’s makes some people afraid to talk to me about the bible/theology because I usually know more than they do. Used right, this knowledge enriches people in the life of love—the Way of Jesus. Used poorly, this is a way to boost one’s ego. I know what it is like to be on the receiving end of someone who knows a whole hell of a lot more than me about a scripture that I hold dear to my heart. I’m usually afraid of losing the precious meaning I have given to the scripture in the light of this person’s knowledge.

I also used to be a charismatic gnostic. I “received words” for people from God. They were almost always vague, general encouragements that—when couched in “thus sayeth the Lord” language—gave an impression of greater gravity and authority than they had. I never lied to people (I honestly believed that God had “put this on my heart” for others), but my reasons for attributing such encouragements to God’s supernatural activity as opposed to my own natural activity are murky at best. Just because a thought crossed my brain, or because a scripture came to mind, does not mean that God caused it.

These days, I am supremely uncomfortable around people who claim God has told them something specific. I don’t get it, I don’t think God acts in that way, and I think making the claim that God has told one something takes a lot of gumption.

Now, in light of this, how should we follow the Jesus Way?

I am not going to split this down the middle and say “both sides are equally wrong.” I hate that kind of reasoning to the center. The charismatic gnostic is worse because it makes unverifiable claims with certainty, while at least the academic gnostic can be debated on academic terms.

The problem with both approaches, though, is that they are unloving.

Seriously. If you are a stranger, and I didn’t ask for your insight into my life, then don’t offer it. That’s just rude, even if God “told” you too. Unsolicited advice is unloving even if it is true. And hiding behind “God told me to” to lend authority to your statement means that you are not required to take ownership of your beliefs or opinions. If you are a good friend of mine, one who knows me well, then your insight into my life is always welcome because I trust you, and I trust that you would not speak with certainty about the Holy Spirit unless you were certain. And, even then, I would trust you to have humility.

I have less of a problem with the academic gnostic because they tend to not run around confronting people with esoteric bits of theology or textual study. Nevertheless, in certain situations (especially on blogs or social media) they come out of the woodwork with their “the bible really says” knowledge. Maybe it does. But I don’t trust you because I don’t know you. And I certainly don’t trust that you have my wellbeing at heart. Again, if you are a good friend of mine, then I want your push back. I want your theology and your knowledge. And I trust that you will speak in humility and love.

St. Paul says in 1 Corinthians 13 that knowing all things or having faith to move a mountain or anything else does not matter if you have not love, and love requires one put aside oneself for the sake of another person. This means, among other things, treating other people as people and not projects or problems. People who know their life situation best. People who walk through life in a complicated way just like you. It means not coercing people with exaggerated claims of your knowledge. And it often means shutting up and giving people space.

Of course, we who are approached by the gnostics also must act in love. As I wrote in the comments on Seth’s blog:

My first inclination is to ask the Charismatic gnostic how they know (that it’s the Spirit, that they are hearing right, that God acts in such ways, etc), to maybe move the conversation into a dialogue. To place myself as the student/learner (while remaining discerning and self-confident) is productive, I think. The danger, of course, is asking the question sarcastically (just how do you KNOW?) rather than being genuine. I guess if I can’t be genuine, then a polite refusal might be best. Just because I think people have bizarre and/or dangerous theology does not mean that they are not my neighbors. None of us, I think, would respond to a religious person of another faith in a rude way. It doesn’t make it ok if the person is family, so to speak, though we are often rudest to our siblings and spouses.

My response to the academic gnostic (I happen to be one, more or less) is to affirm their academic expertise/knowledge while maintaining my essential belief that there are different kinds of knowledge–different epistemologies. Thus, I know that the OT is (historically) not concerned about Jesus himself, though I choose to read it through a christocentric hermeneutic. I affirm that this is revisionist, but that’s what I want. Or, to use another example, I have poetic and mystical tendencies. I practice Lectio Divina on occasion, and I know that the insights I gain from that practice are different than the insights gained from textual scholarship. Again, it’s about love of neighbor.

i was expecting a thunderstorm,
or at least the odd car crash,
to shake me from my chains.

i heard all about identity
and truth and the personal
relationship with Jesus.

but it never worked. and I fled.
and i found that identities aren’t
stable, that truth is a label.

i found Jesus had left us, departing
beyond the sky, leaving us alone
with the flame. the hope. love.

and the Spirit of the silences.

until the cosmic kairos
united heaven to earth—a
nuclear flash, the first touch—
in the groaning strain
of two cross-beams.

death undoing death unto
eternity, the hostility
of the universe tamed
with the peace of Love,
and nobly redeemed.

the stars are held by his
bleeding palms, fusion
making light and heat
in the crucible of
human suffering.

(inspired by Colossians 1:20)

I’m tired of the hodgepodge. I’m tired of the cafeteria faith. I’m tired of narcissistic spirituality. I’m tired of ideologically driven readings of the world and the people in the world. More than ever I believe that all is Grace. I believe that Love Wins.

I believe that all of this is real. And, if it isn’t, I choose to believe it anyway.

Because I realize now the narrative of Faith cannot be accomplished singularly. There is no such thing as me and Jesus against the world.

There is only the Grace of God mediated by people of the world.

The beauty and the darkness and the stories of the world all of a sudden have more meaning for me because of the reality of faith. C.S. Lewis once said something like “faith is the light that brings clarity to the objects of the world.” Without faith, we wander in a dark and cluttered world.

I’m so weary of the self-imposed exile. I’m tired of dragging myself through down the road of unanswered questions. Life is not a trial to pass through, nor a test to finish. Life is not even a journey as a journey implies a goal, a final end, a moment when the journey is complete and the business of the ordinary can resume.

Life is a web of journeys and adventures, to be sure. But life only ends as the systems and complicated interrelations that preserve it degenerate into dust. Death is not an old friend to meet at journey’s end, the inevitable finality. No. Death is a grotesque enemy, the final degeneration of life. The Faith proclaims that Death has started working backwards. That at the last day—the consummation of all things as we know them—Death itself will be destroyed and the vibrancy of life alone will remain.

And, in the meantime, we are told how to cheat Death of its effects. Empowered by the Holy Spirit, we are guided in the Life of Love, the Death denying creed of our slain-and-risen-Lord: “Love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, soul, mind, and strength; love thy neighbor as thyself.”

And so I long for prayer and worship and fall retreats and small groups and relationships at church and lifelong friends. I long to be swept along in a church with real people and corny events.

I long for the honest labor of work matched by commitment to the people right in front of me.

I long to spend my life teaching and writing. I want to raise children with Amanda, showering them with a glimmer of the love we have known. I long to live life with my soon-to-be wife as she heals and loves and teaches. I long to be free from the burden of answers and solutions and ideology. All people are precious and deeply loved. Can not that be the life we live?

I long to pray and read the scriptures and serve and love with Amanda all the while affirming all people—every individual—as uniquely loved and beautiful.

Let us find the beauty in the ordinary and thus follow our Lord in his incarnation.

As St. Paul reminds us: aspire to live quietly, to mind your own affairs, and to work with your hands.

But no more. For even
as the light flickered
and then died, the shadows
melded into one.

And what is the difference?

on that day—that day of all days—
when darkness and light ended
their fight and all binaries, large
and small, were stitched together,

on that day as the burning snow
fell across the frozen ground
and obliterated the few remaining
conifers given to the harsh clime,

on that day when a muted sun
shone its paling light across
the broken windows and empty
swimming pools and charred books,

on that day the Lord came in power
and glory, his heralds before him
and all the heavenly host attired
for battle. But they were too late.

For on that day humanity was at last
undone by means of human sub-
creation as the stars moved, the wind
blew, and this empty rock endured.

As it was in the beginning, it ever
shall be: world without end.

Amen.

I’m done blogging consistently or regularly for now. The writing rhythm has been good for me, but I need a lengthy break from the self-imposed pressure. I’ll be back at some point, but I’m not setting deadlines or making promises. I may also have sporadic posts here or there.

As always, thanks for reading. See you around.