Anne Lamott

When an acquaintance lent me 'traveling mercies,' it was with the caveat that 'this is not for the easily offended, typical uptight christian.' i assumed that was my ticket into the in crowd. after all, i don't think you get much more irreverent and un-churchy than me. Five pages into the book, i was already rolling my eyes and gagging. Half way through, and I was outraged and deeply offended. For the next 5 years, I could barely restrain the string of expletives whenever I heard her name mentioned. Unfortunately, many of my favorite writers openly adore her. (rob bell, donald miller...what IS it with her?)

There are 3 things that bother me about anne lamott. First, and least important, her writing style smacks of 12th grade creative writing class. All the fragments, the 'stream of consciousness', breathy delivery. You can almost hear her cliched 'I'm an artist and a poet' voice drawling out the words while you read. So obnoxious. Anyone can do that. Second, her soft opinion on abortion. It's hard for me to admire anyone who is so ambivalent about the birth of her own child. Last, her smug descriptions of having sex with other women's husbands.
I don't think I've ever worked harder on anything than on my marriage. It offends and terrifies me that someone like Anne is out there, splurging on her pet sin from time to time, and then chalking it up to her tragically flawed human nature. Remorse? I don't think it's in her vocabulary. Self loathing is just another form of self worship, Anne. At least she knows she's a narcissist. (She mentions it often.) It's so annoying to have someone ignoring the rules, and bragging about it, as if she's advertising grace.

Ok, that's off my chest. I truly don't know if she really knows Jesus. I have trouble wrapping my head around what comes off to me as a total lack of repentance. It feels like bragging to me.

That being said, I have wondered for so long why this woman can inspire Christians. I've found her writing so...hopeless. I've felt infuriated at her apparent lack of desire to change. Her total acceptance of miserable failure to perform even the basics of what's considered standard to being good, let alone spiritually mature. I hated her for that. I hated her for being able to inspire others. I want to get better. Doesn't everyone else?

Two years ago, I accidentally loaded her audio book (Grace:Thoughts On Faith) onto my ipod, after borrowing it from the Public Library. Now, when I'm out jogging, I keep getting bits of Ann Lamott thrown in with my Killers and Pixies and Keane. Somewhere along the lines, I've realized that something changed. Her obnoxious reading voice still sounds just exactly like my 12th grade creative writing teacher (I just knew it would), and I'm still totally baffled by her easy proclivity with politics that don't seem to match any rendering of the Bible that I can see, but...I no longer find her hopelessness offensive.

I think this last couple of years has seen the beginning of the death of my perfectionism. I don't want to get my hopes up, here, people, but I think I've finally made peace with some of my own personal failures. Maybe even some of those of my friends and loved ones. Where Ann used to whip me up into a rage of 'Pull-Yourself-Up-By-The-Boot-Straps redoubling of my efforts inclined fervor to never give up the fight to Fix Me,'...now, I just hang my head and laugh. Or sigh. Some things die so hard. Others take sooooo long to change. And still more parts of me may just be broken forever. And God still likes me. I think, if anything, Ann and I could toast to that.

Revelations

The last book in the Bible is called Revelations. I've never read it. Not until this year. Granted, my step dad read us through the entire Bible as kids during morning "devos" (short for devotionals, a term which I find just as ambiguous. A term for a Christian's daily reading and meditation on the Bible), at least twice. But I don't remember it. And I've steered completely clear of it for most of my adult life primarily because of what I'll call End Times Enthusiast who want to fight about their pet theological time line...and the crazy person I've met in nearly each and every church I've been in who lives and breathes tales of 'The Beast,' 'The Rapture,' and the Left Behind book series. So when both my husband (the pastor), and the Community Bible Study group I'm involved with three towns away both announced last spring that we would be studying Revelation this year, I felt a measure of relief.

CBS, or, Community Bible Study, has been one of the most fair minded interdenominational groups I've ever been a part of. I'm constantly amazed at how objective and inclusive the commentaries are, and how few theological fights break out, though we're around the table with Catholics, Baptists, Calvanists and Pentacostals. I trust them to deal soberly with Revelations.

My husband, too, is not one to dabble in wild eyes speculation when it comes to Scripture. Wait, that is not true at all. He lives for wild eyed speculation of scripture. But at least he knows, and acknowledges it when he's dong it, rather than bending and warping the Bible around his favorite whipping boy topics. (Honestly, I'm sure we all do that in some respect, because we can't help it, but I appreciate Jason keeping us all informed when he is forming an unprecedented conclusion.)

Anger

I had an unsettling experience a few days ago. I got in a fight, an escalated, angry theological argument with a friend. I used to do it all the time, you know. Match wits, clash of ideas, etc. There was always a feeling that went along with it that all of Christianity was riding on my shoulders, and if I failed to convince my opponent, or at least best him with my shining reason, that I would be losing something of my self, my identity, of my safety, of my right to have my faith. It was a terrifying venture, trying to strong arm my ideas down someone's brain. I recall not being able to walk away. I was like an angry animal, embarrassed, insistent, obsessed.
Somewhere along the line (I think it was after reading Blue Like Jazz) I realized that people are real,that they are not just extras and props in the movie about my life. And that God actually likes everyone else as much as He likes me. And that He can stand up for Himself. He doesn't get a pass/fail grade all on my ability to describe and convince everyone of His existence and intentions. I can just enjoy people. And share what I know about Him when it fits. Which, it turns out, is practically all the time.
So, how did i get from my recent status as mellow, wise sage to angry red faced seething anger machine hurling thinly veiled insults across the van to my dear friend in defense of my understanding of scripture as pertaining to an important but not life and death point of theology???
I don't know. It scared me. I thought I'd left that angry frantic person behind. I thought I was in command of my feelings enough to avoid losing control like that. I thought I had achieved the composure to be civil even under duress. I was so wrong.
The last decade of my life has taught me that I can control, subjugate and compress my anger very carefully. But it is still in there. I'm not even sure how to get rid of all of my anger, or process things in a non angry way. But I think I have a lot of anger. I took a survey in an anger management book, and I came out in the red zone. I took a week of silence, and I felt enraged all the time. When I'm in pain, I am furious. I'm not sure how and why this happens. I just know I try to cover it up and contain it.
I'm starting to think maybe I can just choose not to be angry. That I am not required to respond with anger and outrage to every circumstance that seems unjust. But I have a lot to learn. Congratulations to you, dear friend, for showing myself just how far from enlightened I truly am. That is a lesson I am still smarting from.

spirit of santa claus

I'm a bit over sensitive to the idea of lying to my children. There is something unsettling to me about informing them that an overweight bearded stranger is responsible for the pile of bright pink and purple plastic that annually populates our Christmas tree. Honestly, it just doesn't sit right with me. Maybe because I want credit for my purchases. Maybe because my deepest scars from childhood involve looking back and realizing I was duped by my (well meaning? self serving?) parents.
I was a very serious, philosophical child. It bothered me that grown ups usually laughed indulgently at my questions about life. Only my father would sit up late hours discussing love, god, truth, faith and the meaning of things. That's why it cut so deeply years later to realize that he'd been using his powers of intellect and manipulation to solicit my regard and approval, meanwhile subtly redefining the lines of reality and truth in his favor.
That brings me back to Santa Claus. I've made an unspoken promise to myself not to lie to my children. Some information, let's face it, lots of information, is on a need to know basis.
But there are enough mysteries in life, and I'm not interested in muddying the waters with what is known fantasy.
In an awkward but funny dialogue weeks ago at book club, I admitted that Levity's kindergarten teacher pulled me out of car line mid December to make a strained request. She informed me that at every mention of Santa in the classroom Levity was leaping up Joan of Arc style and asserting to the entire class that, "Santa isn't real. You're believing a lie." (Can you hear the shattering dreams of little children all across our city?) Why hadn't I briefed her on this topic? While I honestly don't like giving some nebulous clown character credit for all of the gifts under the tree, I don't have a problem with folks perpetuating the Santa myth. I'm just not interested. Truly, had it occurred to me, I would have told her not to share her opinion unless asked. oops.
When I shared the story, to the horrified stare of my dear friend and fellow primary school parent, D, she was stunned. For my oversight in the matter of swearing Levity to secrecy on the Santa thing, D chastised me thoroughly, taken aback that I allowed such a cruel social blunder. That brought the conversation around to my basic question: What is so great about Santa Claus? D's eyes widened and she gasped at my ignorance. 'The Spirit of Santa Claus,' she exhaled. According to D, it's the Spirit of Santa Claus that causes stressed out pre-Christmas shoppers to put away their grimaces and paste on a smile in the stampede to the grocery checkout. The Spirit of Santa Claus keeps her from speeding angrily through downtown traffic, cursing the lemming masses for clogging the intersections with badly timed U turns and driving like they're the only ones who need to get somewhere.
(Santa get's credit for that, too?)
I presented my 'not to muddy the water' spiel. Another friend put forward her thoughts. Knowing my husband is a minister, she suggested that teaching the children about Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy might actually help them develop faith.
That stopped me cold. Is that what people really think of faith? That believing in Santa helps develop a deeper ability to have faith in Jesus?
How odd. I pointed out as gently as I could that telling my children all about Santa, the big Rabbit and the money leaving fairy who trades for teeth, along with Bible stories about Jesus, could actually backfire quite badly. When they get old enough to realize Santa was a fraud, why on earth would they think Jesus is any different?
It made me think, though. There is a difference between having faith in ideals, and having faith in someone. I think a lot of people who follow Christianity loosely have faith in it's ideals. But I have faith in a real, distinct Person. A being who exists outside this created reality. Someone who conceived of everything we know, spoke it into reality with the power of words, and then wrote himself into the plot as a character-born into our race human, just to talk to us, and make a way for us to know Him, understand Him. But this concept is more strange and sci fi than the average person's faith, I think. They aspire to belief in the ideas of faith, so that they might live up to their best possible self, and see the best in others. Maybe they don't even believe the actual Being exists. So they chalk it up to the spirit of Santa Claus.

Doubts

Today I spent 45 minutes having my ego stroked. It only took a moment to whisk that all away, turning an otherwise stimulating coffee shop conversation into a metaphysical slap in the face, with these five words-"I used to be you." What I hate about those words is the arrogance behind them. Here I am intently listening to someone's list of big questions for god, all the while posturing as a wise, loving, deep listener. That is who I like to portray myself as. That is who I try to be. I figure I'm working my way into this person's top favorite people, and building up to a climactic moment when I breath out some brilliantly insightful observation about life and god and suffering that they haven't considered yet. But she's not been baring her soul, waiting for me to wow her with a modern, updated, better than ever insight on Christianity that proves that we two are the brilliant minds who really understand Christ and his work-instead, she's been taunting me. It turns out that, in her own words, she used to be me.
Me, the one who still knows God as a loving father, a king worth serving, a God who intimately cares about the biggest and smallest matters of the human condition. The God who waits for us to ask, impassioned to intervene in supernatural ways we could not even ask or think.
She used to be on fire. She used to be hot hot hot for Jesus.
She used to be me.
(Implication being that I too may soon realize that most Christians are probably fooling them selves into believing in God's intervention, slapping God's name on every good thing that randomly happens, and tritely explaining away tragedy, loss, and his bad judgment calls like letting a 5 year old's mother die of cancer.)

I feel so insulted. Mostly it's my pride that's been hurt. Here I am thinking that people see me as some source of wisdom and connection to God, and in fact I'm being condescended to, pitied maybe, and pegged as the same old blind faith believer who simply hasn't seen through the veneer of human religious indoctrination that assumes as Christians, we have the corner on truth and spirituality.

This person expressed a belief that Jesus is not interacting in our lives like we'd like to think. She knows personally a Buddhist who has been healed from terminal cancer through the power of sans-Jesus meditation and prayer. She says healing is possible through the power of faith in Jesus, self, or a witch doctor- that faith heals, and not just for Christians.
She also shared a frustrating meeting in which a whole community of believers prayed for a woman's healing from cancer, and...nothing happened. People who had faith, and tons of it.
So why wasn't the woman healed? Could the Buddhist's faith have been stronger than a room full of believing Christians? What about the absolute faith African's have in their witch doctors?
She said that you can find the miraculous if you look for it, and expect it, and you don't have to be a Christian to do it. Maybe she's right. Wouldn't that mean that the roomful of believers did not have enough faith for the cancer stricken woman? Jesus said that "it has been given to the poor to be rich in faith." Maybe as Americans we are just too handicapped by our wealth to have enough faith for the job, at least most of the time. Jesus certainly said some things that would support that. I don't think that means he doesn't want to intervene.

My friend confessed she just doesn't really see God at work in her life. She thinks many things she once attributed to the intervention of God were simply random, or brought on by the power of expectant faith operating with or without Jesus, according to her account of Buddhists and others. I asked her what she would like to see God do, to show himself in her life. I asked her to list the top three things she'd like to see God accomplish, even if they are impossible, and we'd pray and ask God to do them in the next three weeks. (A good friend and mentor, Steve Sjogren told me he does that all the time with people he meets in line in Starbucks, and that he's not had God let him down yet.) She hemmed and hawed. She said she couldn't think of three things. I asked her what she had to loose. If you want to see God work in your life, one place to start is to ask. That's what I would do.

Is that where the conversation shifted? I feel like that line of questioning is what precipitated her comment that pained me so. When I suggested biting the bullet, crapping or getting off the pot, being hot or cold, did I offended my friend? She is convinced that God isn't who we think he is, that many Christians are buffoons, but that she isn't willing to put that to the test. She doesn't want to totally loose her faith or anything. I am ready to risk looking like a fool and asking God to show himself in her life...but she isn't. I have so much confidence in what I see God doing in my life every single day, that I am willing to ask him to do something big and dramatic in the life of a doubting friend, though I risk looking like an idiot if nothing happens. But she'd rather write my confidence in God off as a fad she once jonsed on too. She used to be me. I guess that automatically invalidates me. But maybe she's just chicken. Perhaps I am naive. Or maybe she's just had it too good for too long, and has forgotten what it feels like to need God's help so badly that even when he says 'no,' there is a spiritual proximity that his love and presence bring in suffering that teaches and mends and enlightens. Oh how I'd hate to miss the exhilaration of his 'yes'! There is nothing like when it God comes through for me. There is no pride like pride in Him. Totally free from guilt, self doubt and selfish ambition, being proud of what my God has done is the bulwark of the richest part of my life.

Not Sure

One funny thing about being the pastor's wife is that you have to be friends with everybody.
You don't get to choose your friends.
Isn't that strange? Everyone else gets to pick their friends.
In our church community we encourage natural, genuine friendship, though we expect and challenge everyone to show kindness and interest in others in the body.
But not for me. I'm on duty every day, everywhere I go, constantly "investing" in people's lives, expected to blindly give and give and give to people who don't give back to me, all in hopes of some kind of harvest someday.
What ever happened to me just having some friends?
Why are the rules different for us?
Should they be?
Is this yet another layer in the proverbial onion of the 'Pastors Are Superheroes' American fan club?
Or am I just short on having enough of my own 'superheroes' to invest in me?

not playing by the rules

This week I was accosted in the parking lot after church by an angry 40-something year old male who demanded an explanation for why I hadn't allowed him to take home one of the children's Sunday School toys. I kid you not. I think some people go around looking for a power struggle. After repeatedly explaining that none of the children are allowed to make off with the classroom props, and pointing out that if we adopted a 'take it if you want it' mentality, that soon we'd have bare classrooms, I was at a loss.
Can you tell me why a grown adult can get away with acting so weird?
Is it because people avoid this person? Do other people pretend that this type of behavior is normal? I just don't like it that we have certain people in our sphere that we tolerate, and pretend are OK, who clearly are not.
Who clearly have boundary problems.
Is it so uncomfortable to say "The way you are acting right now is simply not acceptable, not courteous...Do you see anyone else acting as you are?
But no, we must all pass the buck. Smile thinly and hope they go off to bother someone else.
I know even crazy people need to be loved. But isn't love being willing to say to someone who is being openly rude, childish, selfish, demanding, or just plain nuts-'hey! It's not cool to do what you're doing. You've just got to stop it.'
I just don't like being fake.
It feels like certain people are elephants in the room.
But because we're Christians, we'd better be nice and pretend to love them.
The truth is we all breath an inward sigh of relief when they leave.
That can't be right.
Why are some people so much harder to serve, to even like, than others?
Is it because they know people don't like them, so they adopt an obnoxious personality to cover up loneliness and vulnerability? They've given up hope for being seen as people, so they turn into angry manipulative jerks?
God, please change my mind. Help me to see more value in people. I know You're personally proud of each person You've made, but I get lost sometimes in the madness.