Monday, March 6, 2017

I confess

I have a secret I've kept from all but a few close friends. It is one of those habits of comfort that as an adult, I've deliberately secreted away. It is a pleasure from a time in my life when I was a completely different person, full of passion and fire, full of conviction and evangelism, a somewhat embarrassing person. No, really. Any time you know what someone else should be doing you are embarrassing yourself. When I embraced fundamental Christianity, I listened to only Christian music because all other music was "devil music". I even went to a workshop at my youth group where someone played a Queen song backwards on a turntable and if you strained to hear, the chorus sounded like, "it's fun to smoke marijuana." We ooohed and ahhhheed over how crafty the devil is in leaving these bad influential messages in the popular music everyone was listening to. On first dates, I don't really disclose that information, again, embarrassing, and say instead I have "large gaps in my cultural knowledge." But I loved contemporary Christian music, and my secret is, that although my spirituality has shifted, I still listen to it.
Going back to that time where I was so naive and had so much love I needed to put somewhere, when singing my heart out to "Jesus music" brought me feelings I didn't know I could have, when church brought me connection to something bigger than myself, is just comforting.
I was saved at several Petra and other Christian rock concerts. In the black-and-white thinking of a teenager, I thought salvation was an either/or proposition: either you were saved because you toed the line and were good enough, or you weren't. I hadn't learned about grace and so I'd have an unsavory thought or do something sinful and back I'd be at the altar call.  Maybe I took it as shame and putting on a garment of shame felt familiar. There were other ways the church put on shame, and my waking up to how truly radical Jesus was, and what a social justice warrior he was in the narrative of his life, not to mention that I experienced in a bad way the Pharisee nature of many Christians, left me seeking other ways to experience holiness and divine connection.
But I loved the music. I loved, and still love, the feeling of worship and devotion. I remember one artist was fire-was controversy- was passionate honesty: Amy Grant. I remember what a stir she caused by inching to the mainstream, by working with Peter Cetera, and then breaking through with her hit "Baby Baby."That was huge for a Christian artist. She also sang songs about the joy of family, had scandalous names to her songs like "Lead Me On", and wrote about struggling with temptation to cheat on her husband. Wow. Christians didn't talk about those things, much less sing about them. People freaked out and judged her relentlessly. I loved her.

What I drew from singing and listening to that music was an honesty I hadn't found in the letter of the law. It was the spirit of the law, the psalmist's cries, as the deer pants for the water; sincere longing and passion. It was the utter vulnerability that comes from recognition of your humanity in contrast to the Divine. And oh, having been bathed in shame my whole life, I was attracted to Christianity, but eventually realized for me, the truth of God is the opposite of shame. Perhaps shame is what brings us to spirit, which is why I love it when people expose their dark underbellies. I have spent so much time in dark underbellies of abuse and have seen the worst of humanity:  in Christians, in organizations, in myself, in beloveds. But often the people who are the most hurtful are the ones who appear the most righteous and perfect. It's so boring and bland to be righteous and perfect and above reproach. How positively wearisome and banal . Give me some reality...tell me how you hurt or avoided responsibility or lied or stole or messed up or had to unburden your pride and apologize. Tell me what you know of your darkness, where you have stumbled, where you have humbled yourself before others and God. Let's get real together. Because, yikes-how we wound each other, constantly. How we hurt, ignore hurt, abandon, reject, criticize, and blame each other. How some even enjoy this wielding of powerful swords over others, even swords of religion and especially shame. Yet-please show me a person who has found grace without coming face to face with those shadows and darkness. Show me the person who hasn't fully emerged from beneath a dark underbelly without lifting their arms in praise to anything and everything that is LIFE, screaming "I am FREE!!!"  Show me the person who has walked in darkness and strife, in numb pain and isolation, who doesn't come all the way out of that knowing grace IN THEIR BONES. They have to because then they have known how shame hurts.
I love that one can touch darkness and it leads you to grace. It helps me accept my own faults and the mistakes of my humanity, and be as unburdened by perfectionism as I possibly can. I can always fix a mistake, but I can't fix it if I don't own it.
Part of me doesn't want to admit that oppressors have any use in this life except to cause suffering, that ideally we will all be walking in the light of grace and restoration and love when everyone's enlightened and the divine feminine has come to a place of equality with the divine masculine and then who cares, there is just the DIVINE. But if the whole purpose of being abused, being scapegoated, being made into an enemy is to find grace, then all that suffering will not have been wasted. And how odd to find grace through people who are not full of grace yet claim righteousness. That's just the way it works.
Also, there is Amy Grant.
So, I will just keep closet listening to my Jesus music. And Queen, too, because there never really was any devil music.
Lead Me On.


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