Last night I dreamed that I went to a church that was religious, but not spiritual. The place was packed, and somebody asked me to play the piano, but it’s been a long time since I’ve played and I was never very good at it anyway. So I sat and listened, and waited for something to happen. The guy up front talked about everybody’s duties to keeping the kitchen clean, and greeting, and making sure communion was set up, and made a joke about some guy buying a boat who hadn’t been going for months. Everybody looked back at the guy as he was walking in and started applauding, because he gave a lot to the church.
When it came time to read from the Bible everybody started talking. I realized I had only been there five minutes, and didn’t know if I should say anything, but I was angry and stood up and said something. I don’t remember what I said. All I remember was I was angry. I felt guilty, not knowing these people, and thinking I was going about it the wrong way, and felt like I was the last person to say something like this. I’ve had this dream pretty often.
I don’t think I’m religious, or even a good person, and am aware of a lot of ways where I screw up. I’ve often felt like and defined myself as an outsider, on a lot of different levels, and even though I grew up in the church I often didn’t feel “part of the family.” Lately I go, but have often left feeling pretty bored or empty. The conversation I go for and want to have usually doesn’t happen. There are glimpses sometimes and moments when I feel like, “I need to live differently. This is bigger,” or I feel more alive. At those moments usually the person’s talking about Jesus, but a lot of times church people talk more about pop psychology or making sure we’re not like “those people out there,” or “having faith to believe everything’s going well,” which seems sometimes like putting on spiritual blinders to the harder realities of life where most of the rest of us live, and where they do too if they were willing to admit it. Wrestling in the midst of those hard realities, those are some of the stories I want to hear about, and it seems like those are the ones the Bible talks about.
I don’t see myself as religious, but want to be “spiritual” in the sense that Jesus was, reaching out to people, meeting their needs, living life in a real and adventurous way. I think if I did that and more people did that, the whole religion question would fade away.
I feel like box man though sometimes, and had a dream about that too. Writing another blog feels a little empty, and there are times when I get uncomfortable and don’t want people to get too close that I fall back into some safe and secure place, saying things I think people want to hear (I’m sorry about your loss, that’s too bad. Anything I can do to help?), and yet shutting off a big part of myself in the process.
I’ve seen that tendency, and have wanted to push beyond that and live out some of the dreams I’ve thought were good ideas, but for me especially, that’s scarier and a lot harder than talking about it and saying it’s a good idea. Maybe that’s where a lot of people in general are, and what is behind some of the religious community that turns my stomach sour. Probably it’s the same thing in me.
Here’s an example. A few months ago a friend of mine started living with me for a few months. I wanted to live in community again, had lived for years on my own, and was looking forward to not coming home to an empty house. We were good friends and the idea of being roommates for a few months seemed like a good idea to both of us. Then I came home and couldn’t find the remote, or there were dirty dishes in the sink, and a lot of them weren’t mine, or we kept different hours, and I found myself getting irritated. It was supposed to be easier, better, or something, and we were supposed to get along all the time. On one level I’m a lot more realistic than this, and the realistic side of me would step up at these moments, but honestly this was probably some of what I was thinking on the emotional side. In short, it was a lot harder actually living out community than it was talking about it.
I was afraid I’d get lost, get sucked into some of the other person’s darkness, or habits, or . . . I don’t know what exactly I was afraid of. I’ve been in my own dark places at times, and it’s scary enough that I don’t want to go back there, and when I see hints of it in someone else, I don’t just see their darkness, but see hints and edges of my own clawing at me, trying to regain some kind of a hold.
I didn’t get lost. I learned a lot and grew a lot, and so did my roommate. We fought like brothers sometimes, but it felt like we grew like brothers as well. I’m grateful for the late night talks, and sorting through things, and the ways we grew in music and movies and tennis matches and soccer games.
But back to this fear of difference. Sometimes I’m afraid of becoming friends with gay people, or African Americans, or Buddhists, or people who like to party a lot. I’ve been friends with all of them, and have worked with internationals and see myself as a pretty open-minded guy while still sticking to the core of who I am (being a Christian and wanting to follow Jesus is part of this). But I’m afraid of becoming lost, and when I feel that way I feel backed into a corner and threatened, and part of me retreats until I figure it out. I think I want to have everything figured out and fit into neat containers. I am box-man, after all. Then I have friends who come along, take a look at the boxes, and shake them up and create a mess. At first I’m upset by this, but usually the reason they got into the boxes in the first place was to see what was inside, to play, to help me see that not everything fits neatly inside the boxes.
Jesus loved all kinds of people and didn’t get lost in the midst of that. Yet our own fear (mine included) gets in the way of this, and makes us want to hang out with people who are exactly like us, that we click well with, and can relate to easily, and soon we’ve got our clubs and yuppy churches all over the place. I don’t know what holds me back, probably scared mostly, because when I do step outside of my comfort zone I usually really like it.
I wasn’t sure if I could do the whole roommate thing again. I had gotten so used to living alone I had forgotten what it would be like to live with another person 24/7. I had gotten so used to hiding parts of who I was that I wasn’t sure I wanted someone to see that. I may have to someday ask the same questions when it comes to having a wife, a family, or being a parent. When you have never been there, it looks scary and foreign on the other side, but most people who are in it say, “There are adjustments, but it’s got its perks too :)”. Maybe working more with the homeless, or immigrants, or inner city, or AIDS patients, or other areas would feel the same way, a definite stretch, but more like living than anything Boxland could offer.
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