Exposed

A couple of week ago, while attending my weekly recovery group, I heard this said... "We are only as sick as our secrets."

As I've said before, I've been a pastor or a leader in the church for many years, ever since high school. I learned along the way- set by example- to try and have the answers to all of the questions, try to have my ducks in a row, and try to always be the safe person people will come to no matter what. Most pastors know exactly what I'm talking about. There's this pressure to be flawless because it's only in flawlessness that one can be trusted. Of course, flawlessness is an illusion.

The issue is that when we try to present ourselves in the illusion of flawlessness, the dark secrets inside of us get darker and jam themselves deeper into our hidden wounds. The holier we look on the outside, the more infested with secrets we become on the inside. Shadows only exist with the presence of light.

This is the reason that Ted Haggard stories play themselves out. People like Ted are not bad people. They are just people who do not feel safe or secure enough to share their secrets with others. So the secrets manifest themselves into harmful behaviors, eventually ruining relationships and harming others, as well as themselves.

For years, I have quietly hauled around an addiction to sexual thoughts and pornography. It's been a war inside of me that has been laced in guilt, shame, confusion, and anger. It's manifested itself out in destructive dating relationships in the past as well as my marriage in the presence. It's encouraged me to fixate on beauty that is artificial and ignore beauty that is authentic. The voice of the addiction has haunted my thoughts, yelling at me even when I'm trying to put on the happy face. And more than anything, the addiction has been a lonely and isolated place to be.

After hearing that we are only as sick as our secrets, I decided that I needed to bring my secrets out into the light and expose them to my recovery group. So I mustered up enough courage to do so and I did it. I told them that I'm a hurting man who is living in a painful life in regards to sexuality. After telling them this, I immediately felt a weight lifted off of me because my inside was finally being illuminated. In doing so, I opened myself up to being loved and for the first time, I felt deep love. And that's just it... our hidden secrets take up our capacity to love and be loved.

I have a tough time hearing certain pastors give sermons these days because most of the time I feel like I'm hearing really good theology and interpretation and seeing very little transparency of their stories and struggles. It's not that sermons are bad, but they can be a great escape to hide our secrets behind. I have a hard time seeing so many people get addicted to their religion, so much so that they are under the belief that their religion is their surrender. They forget that theology cannot bring secrets into the light. Studying the Bible cannot bring secrets into the light. Attending church cannot bring secrets into the light. It's only a willingness to step into the light that can expose their secrets to the light.

Whether you are a pastor or not, I encourage you to come out into the light. Lay down the bible, cancel your activities for the night, and expose yourself to someone. Leave the lonely world behind and breathe. God's love is as real as your breath when you give yourself the capacity to breathe.

You are deeply loved.

The Beauty in Agnosticism

As I left the church a year and a half ago, I decided to learn how to become an agnostic. I wanted to know how agnostics may see the world and the unknown. I wanted to know their language. And overall, I just wanted to learn from them.

See, between the ages of 15 and my mid-twenties, I only knew how to think like a Christian and the problem with that without any other view, it inevitably leads to being a closet segregationist. When I operated only from the perspective of a Christian view point, I lost touch with understanding the world. I assumed a lot of things about those who wanted nothing to do with Christianity and I made judgements based on those assumptions. I learned to put simple labels upon that which is complex because against the Scriptures, they were all vain. Or so I thought.

In that time of my life, I took the depth and brilliancy of those who didn't think like me and perceived it through my eyes that only saw shallow puddles. Everything was black or white. Nothing was gray. You either fully believed that Jesus is God or you didn't. You either crossed the bridge of salvation or you wandered in the desert of unbelief. It was this or that. Everything was about the "or" and the "then" and no belief ended in a question mark.

I didn't see it at the time, but my relationship with others that didn't go to church had a habit of fading. If they were not willing to budge in order to follow the Jesus I knew, I didn't really see a point in investing time with them. I mean, my life was about getting people to accept Jesus and what other mission could there have been? That's what Jesus wanted me to do, I was sure of it. I was a door-to-door religion salesman and if the door shut on my face, I was on to the next house. I knew the ultimate truth and the ultimate truth had no patience. Soon, I began to realize that the ultimate truth had no understanding either.

I wasn't willing to try and understand a belief that wasn't mine because I was afraid that someone may convince me that the very thing that I would die for had grave errors in it. I didn't want to be embarrassed by my follies and I certainly didn't want to risk the chance of not believing in God (mainly because I was terrified of hell- the place where unbelievers are supposed to end up at). Besides, I felt an invigorating rush in knowing that I had the most important decision on earth (following God) figured out and others did not. I knew this to be true because at parties, I was the only person who didn't drink.

My evangelism madness finally hit rock bottom when I forcefully used it against my own flesh and blood. Several years back, my sister- the most genuine and honest person I know- was openly venturing through some questioning about her faith and about the church. I was absolutely devastated when I found out. I couldn't accept the fact that the person that held me when on the day I was born could actually be having doubts about the most important decision on earth. How could this be?! In my mind, she was a rock that had turned to sand and I needed to figure out how to save her from being swept into the ocean forever.

It was one afternoon and her and I went to a sandwich shop near where she was living. She had recently started dating a guy who I wasn't sure about and I had just about had it. Her crisis of faith had now moved her into making poor decisions and it was time that I confronted her on it. So I did so without reserve. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I was aggressive and unwilling to hear her out. Tears rolled down her face and I knew it was because I had hurt her with my stubbornness. For the first time, I finally saw the damage done by my evangelism.

How many others did I hurt like this but never realized it because I never took the time to see their point-of-view? Who did I steam roll over with my Jesus fury because they didn't believe like I did? And how many moments to share life and learn from others had I missed because I was trying to push people into the same dysfunctional journey that I was on? And all of this to save them.

One of the many things that people like my sister have taught me about is that there is so much beauty in the gray. The freedom of life is in the ability to say, "I don't have the answer" and furthermore, "I don't need the answer today." In the questioning of the most important things to us in life is where the purest oxygen to breathe is abundantly available. When you are running around trying to force people into seeing something one way or your way, you are constantly running out of breath. At least I was.

Though it is a slow process, I have learned how to love the unknown, sort of like an agnostic. I'm breathing deeper than I ever have before. It's weird because at the age of 31, I'm ok with saying that I'm not sure of something- even if it has to do with God- because if it is truth, it will let me know someway and somehow. I can't deny that which has shown itself to me and the God of love has changed my life enough... enough that I have the freedom to not fully understand why, how, or if it will sustain. But the greatest devastation to a human life is when we close our eyes to the world and refuse to receive or at least observe what is there.

By all means, ask questions.

The Thing That Was There All Along

Have you ever noticed that as we grow older we are always trying to become something?

I want to become a musician. I want to become a lover. I want to become brilliant. I want to become.

But there is something so uncomfortable in saying that I already am, isn't there? It's as though the "I am" is not enough in life, especially in a life that is compulsively reaching for the stars. To say "I am" is like saying I have arrived... and there is something defeating about that. "I am" is a broken gas pedal while driving on the Audubon. "I am" is the refusal to grow. Or so we believe.

We are fueled by not being enough. Many times it's because we were affirmed this by our parents or by other authority figures in our life. Maybe it wasn't even through words... maybe it was their example. School, for most of us, taught us that we are not enough and most importantly, to STRIVE HARDER! Study more, pay attention more, listen more, learn more. More, more, more. The grading system wouldn't be functional if it was anything other than a factory of achievement. In high school, as my grades gradually got worse going towards graduation, I realized that I wasn't very intelligent because I compared myself with others. I wasn't able to score well on tests, like all of the "honor's society" classmates of mine. Coming into my senior year, I just hoped that there was going to be a class that graded solely on your personality alone. I figured that I was locked for a "B minus" if so.

When you begin a job after college, say like in a corporation, it doesn't get any easier. The more achievements you make in your duties, the more rewards you get. You get to become the boss of the people who you once shared a cubicle with. And then if you do that well, you become a bigger boss and so on and so on. If you are one to just be content with the job that you have and you never get promoted, you may just get lucky enough to receive a yearly membership to the jelly-of-the-month club come Christmas time. It's about climbing the latter, reaching for the top, and leaving behind the scales that you shed off from your old self.

Climbing to the top is not the problem. Some people are able to climb the ladders because they know their strengths (and weaknesses) and they thrive in them. But more times than not, people are trying to become something better because they do not feel like who they are is good enough. They are running from the person they learned to hate in hopes to become something they will love. It's like the person who is never satisfied with the partner they are in a relationship with at the time, so they continue to break hearts in hoping to find the next best thing. Much could be said about Apple products along those lines.

Youth group leaders- the most dominant authority figures in my life during high school- constantly reminded me and others to love my neighbor as myself. But now what I realize that they were actually saying was to figure out how to like my neighbor while degrading myself. There was no nurturing of my self-worth; as that would have come across like self-gratification. I was never really involved in any fights in high school, but I learned rather instinctually how to give myself bruises, all because I hated who I was. I meditated on being a sinner and in turn, I obsessed at seeing the sins of others. Later, I learned that we can only love others to the capacity of how much we allow ourselves to be loved.

I'm exhausted in living the cycle of not being enough. I want to look into a mirror that is not shattered and see a living plant that is not a weed. I want to put down the tight clenched fists aimed at my face and gently hold my aching soul like a baby in a mother's arms. To make the change is a radical step, almost one that seems devastating. It's in the realm of spinning the vehicle around at 70 mph and going head on into oncoming traffic. It's stepping off the cliff hoping that some invisible arms will grab me. It's counter culture and yet the brilliant people we admire were brave enough to do so.

I'll end like this.

Whether it's a fairy tale or not, my favorite story in the entire world is the story of Adam and Eve (my second favorite being Forrest Gump). I love it because if looked at in the appropriate light, the narrative can shake off the noise from the chaos given in the rest of the Bible that haunts our thoughts and messes us up. At the core or the story... I appreciate the fact that these two characters live in a time where they have no one to compare themselves with. They seem happy to be with each other and comfortable with being themselves. Before their curiosity gets the best of them and they get doomed at the tree, they really enjoy the life that they have- taking care of the animals, picking fruit, eating plenty, and probably picking more fruit (I've come to realize that they must have been fantastic gardeners). It's the story of the original self.

I think the thing that I love most about that story is that it gives me a glimpse at what "essence" means. I've learned that there is a difference between our character and our essence. To me, essence is our original self... the fingerprint of who we are, the "I am." It's that core of us that cannot be touched or manipulated. The only thing that we can do is either ignore it or marvel at it. I'm convinced that the reason we are obsessed with become something more is because we are strangers to our essence. We haven't taken the time to discover it and we've become blinded to the fact that it's the treasure that sits right in front of us. On the contrary, when we explore it, we find the thing that we search for most in this world... contentment.

I think about the musician who doesn't feel like they are good enough, yet they have all of the ability in the world in this very moment to make beautiful music because beautiful music is in the core of their essence.

I think about the mother or the father who sees themselves through the mistakes of their own parent's failures and in turn, ignore the fact that they are already extraordinary parents in the core of their essence.

And I think about the addict who refuses to believe that they can be free from the bonds of their addiction because they are strangers to the immense strength and victory that is in the core of their essence.

Give yourself permission to love yourself. It's ok to do so. I will join you.

Many Hear It and Many Don't

There's a melody that dances through the silence of life. Many hear it and many don't.

It's like a river with rapids, shifting and changing, waltzing past rocks and high-fiving the shores. Many hear it and many don't.

People hear it in different tones and keys, different tempos and pitches. It seems to be a symphony at times and at other times, it's a slight hum. Many hear it and many don't.

It has a divinity to it that seems to be composed by something or someone larger than man or woman. Many hear it and many don't.

It's too brilliant and too perfect to come from nothing and too endless to trace its steps. Many hear it and many don't.

It seems to have a purpose, yet it is only by speculation from humankind as to what the purpose is. Maybe it is just supposed to be. Many hear it and many don't.

The world is moved by this melody when one brave soul listens to it and translates it to those around them through their instrument of choice. Many hear it and many don't.

If we sit down for one moment in the open grassy field, let the internal and external noise pass by, that brilliant melody will grab you and change you forever.

Many hear it and many don't.

How AA Meetings Destroyed My Chances of Being a Pastor

Over a year ago, I left a well paying job as a worship pastor in a church. The job was great on so many levels... a wonderful staff, the freedom to create, talented fellow musicians, and the spontaneous late night hangouts in the sanctuary while watching films like Dead Poet's Society on the big screen. I proposed to my wife in that building. I learned how to use a technologically advanced copy machine in that building, too. I wrote songs on the massive grand piano up on the stage every so often, as well. And on every Sunday beginning at 9:30am, I would sing my little heart out with a hundred or so attendees, many who were sipping on freshly brewed coffee that was served from an espresso stand out in the foyer.

I was there for just a little bit over a year and my reason for leaving was not circumstantial at all. My boss at the time- a good friend of mine- was and is such a quality human being... a man with a warm presence, an upbeat persona, and just a big kid at heart. The staff- 7 of us or so- were all very complimentary of each other, both in interaction and in personalities. Staff meetings were fun and always left space for the 7 different minds of the staff to come up with new ideas for Christmas services, family days, and ways we could make the church decorations look less 1992-ish. Truly, we were paint brushes on a stretched canvas of existing colors.

So why did I leave? It doesn't make sense.

Slowly, as I got more involved there, investing my life into the church, my heart began to take an uneasy shift. I don't know how to explain it other than to say that it felt like I was falling less in love with the product I was supplying, to the point where I was actually beginning to resent it. It probably had as much to do with processing my unattended wounds from church in the past as much as it did in processing my purpose for the present and finding hope for the future. It was a stew of emotional and aggressive chaos and although it didn't feel fuzzy and fluffy, it somehow felt invigorating and... well... correct.

I guess you could say that I was going through some sort of brutal awakening experience, where I was becoming aware of things that I was never aware of and angry that I had been blind to them all along. My days were a series of moments where I consistently wondered, "what the hell am I really doing?" and then bitterly realizing what the hell I was really doing. I think I felt a little bit like Peter Gibbons in the film Office Space, where he realizes one day that his life revolves around filling out TPS reports.

To the staff and others around me, I probably just looked like a bitter guy that was just wanting to fight "the man." My voice at the staff meetings began to reverberate with dissatisfaction rather than contentment. My arms were folded more often than they were open. And my eyes rolled more frequently than the rain drops fall onto the Seattle sidewalks. At the time, I wasthat guy, the guy I didn't want to be and yet the guy I knew I couldn't help but had to be.

[Enter AA Meetings]

I think that the game changer for me was when I began taking notice at the AA group that met on Wednesday nights in the church sanctuary. The group must have been about 200 or so people, twice the amount that trickled into that same space on Sunday mornings. They were of all addictions, yet no one looked any different than me. Before what looked like a town hall meeting took place, I would sit up on stage and play the piano or guitar as they walked in through the open doors. I'd play and sing renditions of Michael Jackson songs, old 70's rock and roll songs, and Beatle songs like, "Hey Jude." They loved it and they would give me an applause when I would finish each tune, as though I was Paul McCartney himself (this was the closest I ever felt to being a rock star). And as I left the stage, some would stop me and tell me how much it meant to them that they could experience live music for a small portion of their week. I felt like I was giving them a much needed gift and maybe putting a smile on their face was all they needed.

After I got done, instead of heading home, I would more often times than not, just sit in the back of the sanctuary while their meeting would go. I was mesmerized at how much they cared about each other and listened to each other. During the meetings, a couple of people would share their stories in front of the entire group and all of us would listen intently. You could tell that some people were gifted speakers and others were far from it, but their elegancy didn't matter. All that mattered was that each person would be known, supported, embraced, and loved. That was the atmosphere of those AA meetings... transparency and vulnerability being embraced by grace and understanding. There were more hugs given out at the end of those meetings than what I would imagine would take place at a hugging convention (it that even exists). Many times, I couldn't escape a random hug either. It was the purest sense of community I have ever witnessed.

Sunday mornings would come back around and I would always be the first one to step into the dark building and flick on the lights early that morning. As I would step into that same empty sanctuary, I would imagine... what if church today looked like the same Wednesday AA meetings that I was experiencing earlier in the week?...

What if instead of having the worship music that has lyrics that most people singing them probably don't fully believe, are aware of, or even comprehend, we listened to the sounds of nothing? What if instead of 3 point sermons with fancy power points, predictable thesis', and catchy titles, we had people standing in front of the congregation, sharing their raw story as we learn from them and in turn, all of us feeling valued and known? What if instead of doing the awkward get up for one minute and turn and greet someone next to you, we took an intentional half hour to have conversations with each other during that hour long service? And what if we actually came to church, not as people who needed to be reminded that we are sinners, but people who have already come to terms with our sinful nature and just want to be with others like us in a place of intentional recovery?

And that is why my heart fell off of its axis halfway through my pastoral employment during that time. I didn't believe in the vision of what we we were doing and I was angry about it. I was supposed to be invested in the church, yet I didn't really believe in what the church was doing anymore, especially on Sundays. I realized that really all we were doing on Sundays was creating more noise on top of the noise that we had been abused by all week and hoping that God showed him/herself somewhere in the chaos that we had created. I've come to know that the church is probably more scared of silence rather than the devil itself.

See, the thing about the typical model of the church these days is that in all of its good intentions, the design has created a huge space where people have and are becoming more and more lonely. Today, the church is about spectatorship and entertainment (and mostly unoriginal and poor entertainment to boot). It's about inspiring sermons and in turn, pastors are becoming the idols of worship. You could have a pedophile who is in desperate need to be known and cared for sitting right next to you in the pew and if he/she doesn't join a small group and doesn't have the courage to tell you about their need during your brief encounter in the foyer, you wouldn't know it. They would be just one more victim being pummeled by the noise of it all and being inadvertently degraded at the same time.

Much of today's church is designed to reinforce independence than it is to encourage vulnerable community. Just listening to a transparent teacher does not make you a vulnerable person. Although, it is safer (and more numbing) to go that route. This is why the largest growing churches in the U.S. in terms of attendance on Sundays revolves around excellent preachers. Christians are becoming obese on Biblical interpretations when in retrospect, they need to become hungry for life's recovery with others.

So where am I now? I'd say I'm halfway between knowing my need for recovery and actually taking steps in recovering. I think that's like the 4th step or something. Slowly, I'm learning my essence- the original me that is buried underneath the dirt of my past. I don't know if you sign up to be a pastor or if a pastor is just something that you are, but as my brother-in-law (who happens to be a pastor) says, "We are all just beggars."

I don't want to see the church destroyed by any means, I want to see a revolution... where the noise ceases and the billions of wounds begin to be noticed and tended to. I want to see community... where the commonality does not have to do with doctrinal belief, but of human suffering. And I want to see God... not by theory or information, but by the tending of my throbbing wounds.

** To avoid the possibility of damaging my relationships with pastoral friends/family of mine with this blog, I want each of you to know that I have thought of you in the highest regards as I have poured my soul into these paragraphs. Furthermore, I know that everyone of you have unique and amazing visions as you lead your congregations and communities in the Kingdom of God. Even if our visions may look different. With much love and respect, Rob.

The Devastation of Uncensorship

My earliest recollection of church was around the age of 6 while we were living in Texas. It was an early Sunday morning and on that day, I was going to get baptized. I had no idea what baptism meant and I knew that when my parents were putting me in a situation to have something strange done to me, I would inevitably be sitting on rolled out butcher paper next to a jar of tongue depressors, painfully bearing a shot to the arm. Of course, I found out soon after that I was just getting some warm water splashed on my head while being propped up in front of mass of strange people by the Jesus pastor- who sadly, resembled Elizabeth Smart's kidnapper at the time. I didn't really feel anything different following the event, but I'm not sure Simba felt anything different when Rafiki held him up atop Pride Rock, minus the Elton John song about circles and life.

So church began as something strange done to me where, for the most part, it didn't seem to be as impactful as the event was meant to be powerful- at least in the short term. I don't blame my parents for getting me baptized at the young age of 6 and I think that I understand why they did it. But as I look back through my faith journey, there just seems to be a pattern of doing things in the church that we do just because that's what we do. For instance... a baby dedication in a church service is usually just a comedy hour where we watch the baby obsessively pull on the lapel mic attached to the pastor... the pastor who cradles a kid like a chef holds a fresh honey-baked ham. We all laugh when it happens and then we recite some words of commitment at the end of the comedic routine to make it meaningful. But rarely do we actually think about those words 8 years later when that same kid is pouring Elmer's glue into the back of a little girl's hair in Sunday school.

I was publicly baptized 3 times in my life because I felt like it either never worked or somehow it expired as I got older. In my twenties, although my intentions were mostly sincere, I usually felt more like a rebellious atheist who really just wanted the sexual satisfaction from a girl with a nice rack (insert joke about "laying hands on"). I existed on the hamster wheel of wanting to do good, making bad choices and then feeling guilty afterward. The wheel violently spun until I would be thrown off. The routine would send me back to the dunk tank, hoping to renew my faith and start new... again. At one point in my life, I was just quietly taking late evening baths so that I could secretly baptize myself before I went to bed to save the public embarrassment.

Now I must say that I don't think that these traditions are pointless or without purpose in many cases. Please hear that. If done with intention and sincerity, baptisms and baby dedications can be pivotal and transformational (apparently, it was for Jesus in the Bible, among many others then and now). But for those who are just doing the routines because that's what we are supposed to do... I think that we need to stop and retreat for a bit. We need to lower the out-stretched worship hands of insincerity and put away the choir robes that cover up our transparency.

See, I believe that people cycle through the church routines and traditions without intention- not because they are lazy or unoriginal- but because they are living a fear-based life. They are serving traditions out of fear of being rejected by God and by others. Many people commit their lives to doing what looks like the most God-ordained thing, yet have no sense of a relationship to the entity that is God. It is much safer to be captive to a mission than it is to be vulnerable to a higher being. Why? Because we can control missions and control can help us avoid hurt.

I led worship for 15 years until 2010 came around and then eventually I stopped. I quit my job as a worship pastor and walked away. I did this because I realized that I was faking it up on stage and I was tired of being insincere. As authentic as I was as a worship leader in years past, I was now doing it for the attention because playing music and watching people sing with me somehow made me feel better about who I was or rather, who I was not. Sundays brought relief to me because I spent the rest of the week beating myself up and talking myself down. As for the music, I didn't actually buy into most of the words I sang and began realizing that many people in the room probably didn't buy into them either. When I realized that I was seeing the congregation as a crowd and myself as a rock star, the green lit exit sign in the back of the auditorium finally caught my attention and I darted for the door. Leaving was quite possibly the first time I had been honest in worship in a while.

The church will radically look different if it begins to become more honest with itself. I totally believe this. I'm quite sure that if it happened for even a moment, you would begin to see radical changes...

Church buildings would empty out because people would be spending their limited amount of spare time in therapist offices and recovery centers, wanting to be known and heard in their new found pain....

Communities would become vulnerable and less formal...

Many pastors would step down from the pulpit and let their messages be relational through conversations with those around them...

Inspiration would begin to emerge naturally because it is less forced and manipulated...

Silence would be longed for instead of something we try to convince people to value...

And most of all, we would stop censoring ourselves because desiring to understand each other would be of second nature.

Honesty reveals darkness and darkness invites light.

The Uncensored Room

For the past year or so, I've quietly pulled myself out of what I would call conventional church. Younger generations may call it the emergent church and older generations may call it something that doesn't look like the church they once knew. It's the church of Sunday sermons, uninspiring music, over-worshipped pastors, and spectatorship. Why have I pulled away? I found myself so sucked into the system of church, that I was becoming a stranger to the outside world- even a segregationist- and this eventually began to bother me. So I left.

Since then, my questions have become irresistible to ask. Questions like...

Was this straight and narrow path of church community in fact more community-less that I thought? Why did it seem as though my unchurched friends who hang out at bars accept and respect each other, while my church friends sit around arguing theology, constantly bickering about whether or not Mark Driscoll is a chauvinist asshole and if Rob Bell is indeed a universalist? Why in all of this bickering am I so lonely? Why am I so filled with fear operating inside of the church, maybe even more than outside of the church? Are we actually worshipping dynamic teaching pastors rather than this entity called God? Does God even exist?

So while the pastor was preaching his Sunday sermon, I quietly opened the back door and stepped out into the fresh air that I have been longing to breathe. This is where I am now and it is here that I want to write my thoughts to those who will listen. These thoughts are unbound and to many, maybe even vulgar (you may have cringed at the word "asshole" that I used in the previous paragraph). I guess that I just don't care about censoring what I see and how I see it anymore and I think that somehow, there is a profoundness that thrives there. I want to witness the profound.

I started this "Between the Waves" blog a while back and I must say that it isn't until now that I actually feel as though I AM finally between the waves. I was on the shore when I started this thing and maybe my previous writings give you a glimpse of that. Many Christians do what I did for so long and fantasize about being in the dangerous waves, even write about it and reading about it from others who have taken the leap. They convince themselves that they are fearless Christians- they do this as they hide behind their favorite podcasts of pastors that they listen to each week, filling themselves up with more and more knowledge- LOTS of speculation and very little experience. My hope is that my writings will encourage you to put down the books, take the leap, risk the safety, and begin to be more honest at this very moment.

So get ready to lose the religion and put your faith on the stand. Get ready to risk becoming an atheist and an agnostic and on the contrary, quite possibly become a deep lover of a mysterious God and of wounded people. Get ready to be offended and pissed off and quite possibly, find a new joy within the conflict. Stuff I say is going to rub you the wrong way and that's ok. Our ugliness is radiant with beauty and we need to reveal what we are indeed so scared of... our ugliness. We live in the dark, calling it light, when most likely, we've only seen specks of light in the distance. Honesty welcomes light and the light is good.

Now, let's turn on the lights...