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.