We picked apart Romans 8 today.  We read a lot of it and used the NIV version if you want to read along.

This post that will mostly be from Elizabeth Gilbert, a lovely writer of deep, spiritual books that you’d really enjoy. 

But first, a little background: There is a guy who’s been nominated for the Supreme Court with baggage that has stirred up a giant storm of pain and anger and politics. I can’t help but to think the debate is (to probably misquote Shakespeare) “full of sound and fury, signifying nothing,” because I’m pretty sure the vote will go straight down party lines, just like it would’ve without the accusations, tears, investigations, or arguments.

Anyway, here is Elizabeth Gilbert’s Instagram post, called ‘Integrity Check”:

“Dear Ones: It’s Monday morning and the godawful news cycle is about to begin again. Before I start getting high off the crack pipe of outrage, I decided to do an integrity check on myself. It’s not fun or pretty, but here goes:

1) Did I give Bill Clinton a complete and total pass on being a lying skank about women, because he was my guy and I liked his politics? Answer: Yes. So can I really “not believe it” when others do the same, for the politicians and candidates they like?

2) What if the tables were turned, and Democrats controlled the House, the Senate, and the White House? What if my side had a chance to hastily shove a lifelong appointee on the Supreme Court who agreed with ALL MY BELIEFS—thus ensuring that for the next 30 years, every cause that I valued would be protected? Would I be tempted to overlook or excuse that candidate’s various character defects, lies, and crimes in order to secure this priceless seat on the Supreme Court? Answer: Probably yes. So can I really “not believe it” when others do the same?

3) Do I preach love and courage and peace and inclusion, but then use my social media platforms to spew rage and fear and panic and condemnation? Do I constantly use the language of war, with the delusion that this will somehow lead to peace? Answer: Yes. So can I really “not believe it”, when others do the same?

4) Do I claim to speak for all women, in a way that some women would find profoundly insulting? Do I make blanket proclamations about how “we women are angry,” or “we women will rise up and take our revenge” — ignoring the fact that literally millions of women have completely different beliefs from me? In claiming to speak for all women, do I therefore drive an even bigger wedge between those of us who identify as progressive feminists and those who do not? Answer: yes.

5) Do I spend my days being outraged and indignant at other people’s lack of integrity, and then forget to check my own? Answer: yes.

6) Can I be an activist and advocate, but still do the hard work of identifying my own blindspots, my own shortcomings, my own hate, and my own failures of grace? I sure hope so. Because I’m the only person I’m in charge of.”

Now, that is absolutely brilliant, because in times like this, we can get very self-righteous and the imaginary walls that separate us get thicker and higher and divisions get more pronounced. There are important issues at stake, that we are rightfully passionate about, but once the discourse goes from platform to platform instead of face to face, it’s no longer about the issue or the person, it’s about the letter that follows the politician’s name. She is an ‘R’ so she must be some sort of way, and he is a ‘D’ and we know what that means, right? We forget ‘they’ are people just like us… in fact, we often forget that we are people, with experiences and agendas and biases, and not completely objective robots with a exclusive handle on truth and common sense. We all have the capacity for boundless hypocrisy.

I think the answer is not to give up – you know I whole-heartedly reject “it is what it is” despair. We can, and should, and must, fight like crazy for the things we believe, vote for or against this guy, and settle for nothing less than honesty, integrity, respect, care for each other and shalom for all (even though we will regularly be disappointed.) But marginalizing each other in the service of our causes, reducing us to only our political affiliations, or a value or belief we hold, is simply too high of a cost.

It’s easy to hate a letter, or an elephant or donkey, or a race, nationality, or sex, but it’s really really hard to hate a person, because people are terrific. Sure, sometimes we’re mean and say and do terrible things, but we’re also soft and generous and warm and kind and honest and loyal and radiate the most beautiful energy. 

I would not minimize the importance of this appointment, I understand the consequences, but politicians aren’t the answer to the revolution – we are.

First, the bad news: We will NOT be on the riverboat Sunday. There has just been too much rain, they cannot sail. I’ll take this time to thank Dennis for all of the work he did to secure the pavilion, and then to change the reservation. We all appreciate you, whether we get to enjoy the fruit of your labor or not.
Followed by good news: We WILL be at the Bridge at the regular time, and we will continue in Romans, opening ourselves up to what someone called “the greatest of all monsters, and the root of all evil.” You can’t wait, right? As far as serving, no one was scheduled this week, so we’ll keep the kids upstairs – I’ll keep the message very short, probably 5-10 min;) and there will be no snacks at the hospitality table. That should be ok because we WILL still be having our meal together after the service, still following the sign up sheet.
If you have any questions about Sunday, please ask
I hope I see you all there, there’s almost nothing more beautiful than a community meal.

Love. Peace.

You know I’m writing a book, and that takes up an awful lot of time. I spend most of my days in front of a screen, pounding away, tying stories from the Bible to the Bridge and middle school and floods and faith and doubt and anger and family and movies and songs and everything else. I’m getting close to the end of what it will be (I could go on forever, probably, but it has to end somewhere, right?) – my hope is to have it finished and printed by Christmas. So, I want to share a little with you, an idea of what this monster might look like:

I just watched the movie V For Vendetta. (It’s super violent, so if that’s not your deal, I wouldn’t recommend it.) It’s about the exact same thing the New Testament is about: a Revolution of the Mind, a call to reawaken the imagination that’s lain dormant for way too long. The main character, simply named V, refuses to give up on a culture, a world, that has fallen into fear and despair. He refuses to accept that “it is what it is.” He refuses to abandon the idea that change is possible.  

And he’s exactly right. God hasn’t abandoned this world, His creation. In fact, He’s redeeming it. That’s what the cross is all about, that today is different from yesterday. That this world isn’t lost forever, that ‘it is what it is’ might have been fine yesterday, but now there’s an empty tomb and nothing will ever be the same again. Jesus is the perfect sign that He hasn’t left us all alone, in increasing darkness, and if He hasn’t, then we shouldn’t either. 

All we have to do is open our eyes to the reality all around us, open our ears to the music that’s already playing.   

V quotes Emma Goldman, “A revolution without dancing is a revolution not worth having.” The Trinity (God, Father, Son & the Holy Spirit) is a relationship, not static and rigid, but fluid, based on mutual giving, receiving, community, movement – like a dance. 

We are not drafted into an existence marked by more rules and checklists and entrance requirements. This is not a faith of sterile automatons trying to stay out of trouble, not a life spent trying to keep our hands clean. 

No, we are invited into a total revolution where we don’t surrender our beautifully determined hope to discouragement and desperation. Instead, we dance. 

Last week, I stepped on the scale to find I had gained 3 lbs. 

You see, my entire life has been a struggle with weight – up and down (mostly up) and always a battle. It’s caused all sorts of insecurities, held me back in a variety of ways. I wore t-shirts into the pool and ocean (I understand some wear clothing to protect skin from the sun, very smart, but that wasn’t why I did. I did it to try to hide, because obviously, when you wear a shirt at the beach, you become invisible, right?), but that was only when I couldn’t get out of going in the first place. I missed nearly all of the pool parties, beach trips, to which I was invited, stayed away from locker rooms, and excused myself, faking stomach aches, from gym classes, especially ones where teams were differentiated by ‘shirts and skins.’

(Seriously, shirts and skins?!!!?  That IS a real thing, and not just a mythical legend from the pits of hell! What are these sadistic gym teachers thinking?! As if adolescence wasn’t difficult enough…)

So. I would lose a little, gain a lot, staying round-ish and weak, unthreatening. But it was always a thought, concern, embarrassment, an energy drain, stealing so much, like a weight around my neck and a nail in my brain. 

Here’s the thing, though, that I’m finding. Maybe it was never about weight, maybe it was about a tendency towards perfection. I always wanted everyone to like me, to think I was funny and cool, smart, that I was awesome. And no matter what I did, there was always this voice in my head, lying to me, persuading me that none of those things were true. This voice screaming at me that I was alone and stupid (that hurts, even now, to write, and it should hurt to read and it’s why we don’t say it in my house), and the H for Husky on my jeans and the way my clothes fit (or didn’t) were just very visible representations, symptoms that I confused for the illness. I could never figure it out, though, couldn’t connect the dots. So, I stayed super sad and self-conscious, terrified of a number on a scale. Of being less than ideal. Scared to death of never being good enough.

Ok, now. The second thing I do, every single morning, is climb onto this black square of horror, and last Thursday, I gained 3 lbs.

(Of course, I know you can’t gain 3 lbs in a day, but logic and truth are hardly substitutes for 40 years of self-abuse and lies, right? So, this is where the downward spiral usually begins, where the tapes start playing, reminding me that I am these terrible things and any growth or movement were impossible dreams and 3 lbs will soon be 50 and how could I ever think it could be different and blah blah blah.)

The point I thought I was making with this post was about taking a long view of our own development, that we’ll have 2 or 11 or 30 steps forward and 1 or 2 or 29 back, that those steps back don’t mean all is lost, that the steps back are actually an integral part of the process.

But then these words came out and the water got very deep and now what do I do with that? I can delete this whole page easy enough, keep these things inside, private. Or I could leave them right here.

We like to tell stories of our struggle once they’re in the rear view, framing them with ‘How I Overcame (Whatever).’ We begin with “I used to..” or “I was…” We do not like to tell stories that start with ‘I am fighting with (whatever) RIGHT NOW.’ Our vulnerability is past-tense, and I’m not sure that’s an authentic vulnerability at all. Perhaps, it’s just another monument to our independence and strength and pride. The truth is, the voices still come for me, and I still sometimes listen. I still cringe when I see a +3. I still am pretty scared of not being good enough. 

That’s the biggest change in me, since I fell in love with Jesus. I’ve found the old voices don’t have an off button (yet), but now they have competing New Voices (the lovely voice of my Jesus as well as the voices of the others I allow to see me as I am) that show/tell me I am loved, here, now, +3 or -3, steps forward or back, pass or fail, up or down, days I am awesome or days I am not. 

The brilliant Anne Lamott writes, “my God, what if you wake up some day, and you’re 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written; or you didn’t go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life, of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid? It’s going to break your heart. Don’t let this happen.”

She’s right, it breaks my heart how much I missed. And I’m not letting it happen anymore. I’m writing a book, I go swimming often, my life is getting more juicy every gorgeous day.

I’m more and more convinced that all spiritual journeys require this ‘waking’ to the life we have been given, and jumping into the invitation to actually live it.