An authentic moment

Why is it that the only Psalms we sing are the happy ones? Where is the authenticity in that? David breathed down curses on his enemies, he begged for mercy in difficult circumstances, and he wept in his pain. Regardless of what was going on in his life, David cried out to the Lord. Why don’t we do that? Why can’t we share with Jesus the emotional baggage we all carry around? Its like we’re trying to hide it from him or something. If we all just sing good songs, maybe no one will notice that I’m really bad. HOGWASH! And the really dumb thing is that we do that, then we wonder why we feel alone, why no one notices how broken we really are. We hide ourselves from the truth and call each other hypocrites for not seeing each other as we really are!

As you sow, so shall you reap.

The way of the Lord is not to hide your pain, but to heal it. And a hidden wound is never healed. Besides, do you really think God doesn’t already know? So, the next time you gather for worship notice how we sing about the greatness of God and the love of Jesus, and how blessed we are to know who God and Jesus are. It occurs to me that not everyone really feels that way. It occurs to me that a lot of us may be singing one song with our lips and something entirely different with our hearts. It occurs to me that all we ever do in our music is celebrate the joy we are supposed to be feeling, when in fact what most of us feel is not joy, but rather pain. We feel hurt and broken and alone and scared. What are we scared of? Mostly we’re scared that people will see us for who we really are, or worse, we fear that who we really are now is who we’ll always be. We fear what people might say, or how they’ll treat us if we tell them about our wounds, our pain, our loneliness.

How tragic! Tragic that we feel that way, and even more tragic that we are incapable of sharing it with anyone. And if that is true, then it is not only tragic, but terrible as well. Terrible because that is not the way our faith is supposed to work. That is not worship the way God intended it to be! If that’s the best that Christ has to offer, then you can keep Him. I don’t need a God who won’t let me be real, genuine, authentic. I don’t want that kind of God. Seriously. And while we’re on the topic, I’m not real excited about being part of a church that would bind me that way either. If all we’re ever going to do is tell each other how ‘fine’ we are, then what’s the point of asking in the first place? Why be a hypocrite?

And since we’re being real with one another now, let me add that every time we cringe when someone finally has the courage to give a real answer to the, “How are you?” question, we ought to get zapped with one of those electric dog collars that people put on their pooches to keep them from barking, or maybe a cattle prod. I mean, honestly, how deluded do you need to be to expect someone to answer, “Oh, I’m fine.”? We’re not fine!

If we were fine, we wouldn’t need Jesus so badly. But we routinely reduce the Creator of the universe to an insurance policy. We tuck Him into a neat little box that says “God” on the front of it and we slide it onto the shelf in our hearts between “Fishing” and “Ham Sandwiches.” And the only time we pull Him out is when it’s socially acceptable; on Sundays, or Easter, or when we know someone else is watching. HYPOCRISY!!!

We’re not fine. We’re struggling. We’re hurting. We’re desperate, because we’re lost. Naysayers have said that religion is a crutch. And that may be true. But I don’t need a crutch. My problem isn’t that I’m limping through life, it’s much worse than that. Jesus to me is not as much a crutch as He is an iron lung; without Him I wouldn’t just limp, I’d die. Instead, I run. In spite of my pain, in spite of my hurts, in spite of the wounds accumulated over thirty-five years of broken hopes and dreams and promises and relationships, I RUN. I live. I live well, in fact, but let’s not pretend that I’m fine. I’m not fine, I’m like everyone else. The only difference is Jesus.