Lamenting my Crown

My well-intentioned friend told me recently that because of all my suffering, God was placing lots and lots of jewels in my heavenly crown. She smiled sympathetically and massaged my back wanting to rub some hope into my skin like sunscreen to block the burn of bitterness that I’ve attempted to smile away over the years. 

 I know it was her kind way of saying that somehow, in some way, I would be rewarded, or perhaps it would be better to say “compensated,” for all the suffering I’ve experienced and am experiencing in life. While I appreciated her sincere effort, I wanted to tell her that if God would like to rewind the last six years and undo my best friend’s suicide, my mom’s suicide, my own descent into despair, and now my dad’s rapid deterioration due to Alzheimer’s disease and depression, God could gladly keep His damn heavenly bling - every pearl, ruby, onyx, and diamond I had “earned.” 

Is that sacrilegious, blasphemous? Probably. It’s honest though. 

When complaining about this recent encounter to my sister, surprisingly she frowned disapprovingly at my cynicism. She stated that our present suffering is nothing compared to the suffering Christ endured, bleeding and dying on the cross to save us from our sins. Annoyed, I wanted to counter with some snarky response about how at least Mary was present when her son was dying. At least Jesus had His mom until the very end! However, before I could get snippy, I immediately recalled that most of Christ’s best friends took off running for the hills when Christ found Himself accused. Worse, even God, Christ’s Daddy, completely abandoned Him at the end of His human life when He needed his Dad most. I guess that’s about as tragic as life can get. My sister had effectually silenced me. No, I’ve got nothing on Christ. 

And God knows my suffering is minuscule compared to others in the world, my father’s own suffering for one. I have suffered mostly by association which pales in comparison to the torture my father is enduring in being fully aware that day after day a few more fuses in his brain blow, and another seemingly easy, mundane activity, like remembering how to swallow, is erased from his mind. It’s one thing to lose your wife; to also lose your mind, well, that’s suffering. How my dad will manage to hold up his crown will be a glorious sight to see. 

I’m not normally a pessimistic, jaded person. In fact, I’m usually quite the opposite, perhaps to a fault. Yes, occasionally I’ve been that irritating Facebook friend who posted Jeremiah 29:11 on my wall in hopes of encouraging myself as well as others. And honestly, for the most part over the past six years, I’ve leaned heavily on my faith and securely wrapped myself in Christ’s embrace in order to fall asleep planning on seeing life through to another day. It’s just that I’m now finding myself at that almost breaking point. A willow can dance and sway in the midst of a storm, but, like the broken weeping willow in my parents’ backyard, well, some ice storms just cannot be survived without significant injury. 

So, here I sit exploring crowns and suffering, theodicy and redemption, and I am not sure what to do with all of it other than lament. For now, I supposed I must just wear this confusion, drape myself in these authentic feelings of discontent and discouragement, and articulate, albeit incoherently, the struggles and sufferings of today. 

 It is just only for today.

Me, God, a cigarette, and trees

With all that has been going on in my life as of late, I regret to write that it has been quite difficult for me to find time for my own spiritual life and nourishment, something I probably desperately need. One challenge for me in congregational ministry and being involved in church worship is that during the services themselves, I'm often too distracted by my own actions, reactions, and responsibilities in order to fully participate in the spiritual practice and reflection of the services openly and authentically. Even when I do recognize my becoming overly self-conscious and stop to take a "breath," I often discover that it is not long before I am wandering/wondering: now what is coming up next in the service, is my microphone turned off, can they hear me singing, why can't I read music anymore, am I allowed to sneeze up here, remember it’s body broken and blood shed – not body shed! Ironically, church is becoming less and less of a time of my experiencing God and much more about my insecurities, God help me (truly). Perhaps it is yet another lesson God has intended for me in genuinely understanding and experiencing Christ’s true Grace in being utterly human me.

So that said, I am a bit ashamed to admit that my one constant spiritual practice presently is having one cigarette with God standing under the trees outside my apartment each night before I go to bed - ashamed both because I find smoking rather repulsive these days and because I believe I owe God a bit more time and attention than the time I spend in self-destructiveness. Now I quit smoking regularly years ago, only having an occasional cigarette here and there when the situation or company seemed to deem it; however, when the weather turned hot this summer, and I began feeling like everything was falling apart - financially, with my father, etc., I decided my stress level had warranted my purchasing a pack of cigarettes. I never wanted (nor want) to become a “regular” smoker again, my lungs hurt just writing about it, but somehow, that one cigarette late in the evening this semester, while looking out at the stars and the moon or an overcast sky lit only by Nashville or the trees full of rustling leaves, seems altogether peaceful – an experience outside my hectic, nonstop world. In its own kind of “silence,” I stand out there listening to the crickets chirp or some birds sing evening songs; occasionally frightened by the random possum who lives nearby or surprised by the alley cat who strides cautiously under the orange fluorescent street light. All the while, I am praying, always praying. I talk to God, mostly asking God to help me, help me please, or thanking God for all the things that are well and right with the world. This smoke with God gives me a little solace at the end of the night, and I’ve come to appreciate it.

Now truthfully, my ideal is to cut out the cigarette part of my nightly ritual; but for the time being, I'm trying not to judge it too harshly. Instead, for now, I just look at the moon in its fullness or fingernail sliver, watch that one multi-colored twinkling star that seems to wink at me from beyond, and feel a bit connected with something that is beyond me. The smoke from my breath unfurls in a breeze like incense of a kind. Yes, for now, and just for now, it's okay.

01/09/2012

“Y’all ready to settle down and get with this? You know, settle into this feeling? Cause you know there’s a lot of LOVE here! Love, love, love.” ~ Miss Jill Scott

First day of the second half of Divinity School today. Funny how I continue to learn that, even with all our theological constructions, fundamentally it’s always really all about Love. Love, love.

resolution

write more
personally
speak more
openly
live life
outloud