Casual Heretic

The Long Walk I Don't Remember... Finally Continued

2008-05-15T22:57:00.006-08:00

Now that no one is reading this blog I though it was time to continue... sort of :)

I think I'll hop off the previous train of thought and reach for another. I have little doubt they'll intersect somewhere down the line. (train metaphor anyone?)

In my previous post, which a lot of people read, I talked about the loss of my friend, Tom. My friend's untimely (to me and most everyone else) death has not been easy to sleep on. Or to be awake with, now that I think about it. It is not at all that I am unfamiliar with death. I have been present with a large number of people who have lost loved ones. I have been present with a fair number of people as they made the journey to the other side. Some of those people, in both the former and the latter, have been my own loved ones. In each case I have felt that I was intruding.

For example; I once waited outside a hospital room with a dozen other friends. Inside the room was our childhood friend with his wife and 10 year old son. His beautiful boy was battling leukemia. Just that morning we had gathered by his bedside and held hands to pray. A suitable donor match for a marrow transplant had been found and was ready to proceed that day. But our young friend had developed a fever and this stopped the whole process. Months of waiting and planning for this day had been ground to a halt by some insipid little infection somewhere in his already struggling body.

So we gathered to pray. We were earnest. We were sincere. There was weeping and there was laughter as we considered what God could do. I remember being pissed off at one person who was there. I didn't even know who he was, and I don't think the family was familiar with him either. He had attached himself to some good people in our church and had convinced them he was a person of great faith. Someone had thought it a good idea to ask him to come to pray. He prayed long and loudly. He proclaimed that the boy was already healed.

(Later, he was found to be a business fraud, a liar and a cheat. So... not so different than me, I suppose. Or than all of us in some way or another.)

I was angry because he kept touching the boy's forehead like a saliva spitting "faith healer" I once met. He shouted at the demon of cancer, growled at the spirit of fever and laughed at the specter of death. I wanted to punch him in the mouth to make him shutup. Partly because I could see that he was hurting this boy everytime he touched him. Sometimes people who are very ill have such heightened sense of touch that the smallest contact can be painful. I've made this mistake twice and I wish I could take them both back. It's a natural response on our part to want to comfort, but at certain times our touch may not be comforting at all.

However, I'm aware that I was angry because, whether he was a charlatan or not, he was expressing an idea of faith that I did not possess at that moment. While we stood together and prayed for healing, begged for a miracle I was like a man split right down the middle. Part of me wanted to believe that healing would come and part of me was sure the boy was going to die.

Later, when I sat against the corridir wall outside his room with a dozen other people that's just what he did. He died. I had rushed back to the hospital after a church event of some kind. I was the music and youth pastor and I must have been at some bible study or choir practice. I had been back to the vigil for about ten minute when I heard the most senstational and wrenching sound I'd ever heard. At first I didn't know what it was. I felt as if my brain had twisted a bit in my head and that everything around me was just a little bit... off.

In almost the same instant my bleary brain made the connection. It was wailing. My childhood friend who had played basketball at the church every night of the summer; had gone fishing with me; sat through countless bible studies; had fought with my brother and then made up with my brother; who had worked alongside us in ministry as a grown man; who had come from hellish beginnings to beautiful life in Christ was wailing. It was the moment he lost his son to childhood cancer. And we all wept while he cried.

to be continued

The Spectre of Deep Gashing Grief that Cannot be Assuaged

2008-04-17T00:12:00.003-08:00

4 dead in chopper crash; boy, 14, found alive
Dateline: Click Here

Tom Middleton is a great friend to me and my family. I know no greater man who speaks with purpose, truth and kindness. His love for his wife and kids was on his lips every day. He was as strong a man as I have ever known, and he was not ashamed to proclaim his love for family, friends and God. My life is forever altered by this tragedy and there is great depth to the sadness.

His peaceful strength inspired stability. His mad skills as a Fender Strat Cat infused my Worship Band with authentic passion for the past 15 years. "Church will never be the same again", my 11 year old son wept today. And he is right.

We have all, suddenly, become so much less than we were yesterday. That realization leaves a raw, gaping wound that we fear will not be healed. The earth has shifted on its axis. And we mourn.

I love you Tom Middleton, my brother in Christ and my friend in life. I will look after your family and offer them comfort and grace. Be not far from them that they may know your voice.

May the grace and peace of Almighty God be upon those we have lost, and on the one who has been found. May those who stand in weary, grievous guard over them all find strength and comfort. Peace to the broken families,

In Jesus Name,

Pastor Tracy Simmons
Christ Community Church, Alaska
www.c3ak.com

Hang in there Gang

2008-04-07T23:04:00.003-08:00

I'm also setup so that it will be easier for me to actually sit down to write. I appreciate that so many of you have been checking back in, and I will get some "stuff" for you this week.

see you in the blogoshpere soon.

tracy

Things are Moving!

2008-02-05T01:59:00.000-09:00

I really want to return to the veins of thought I opened the "Casual Heretic" with, so I've moved the C3AK Message stuff to its own blog space.

If you're looking for that stuff, click here:

http://www.c3ak.com/blog/c3akblog/

Otherwise, check back on this space for pithy, insightful and slightly irreverent commentary on the Christian life and all its trappings.

Life as a Teenage Super Christian: Part One

2007-04-15T22:38:00.000-08:00

In his fabulous book "Blue Like Jazz" Don Miller recounts a life event that he credits with one of his spiritual awakenings. As a young boy he squanders his Christmas spending money on his own pleasures, which leaves him very little with which to purchase a gift for his mom. He ends up giving her something he can afford, as opposed to something she would like. His mom is appropriately grateful, but his own sense of guilt is smothering. He tells the reader that this is one moment where he realized that he could not be a moral person and live only to please himself. More specifically, there were people populating his young life who deserved to be loved. And his failure to do so caused those people spiritual harm. His description of this realization is both heartbreaking and illuminating. In my own life I had a strikingly similar Christmas experience and awareness. I may flesh it out in detail at a later time. But for now, it should suffice to tell you that I and my siblings had a joint event with my mom that left a lasting impression on me. It changed the whole synergy of Christmas gift giving and influences me today. It was a good thing although the event itself and it's memory are pretty painful. I am thankful for it and I can see many areas of my life where the event influenced who I am, how I think, and what I do.

One area in which it influenced me was in my approach to friendships. The intersection of my Christmas experience and the importance of friendship occurred when I was a senior in high school. Some religious background will be in order: I grew up never knowing what it was like not to go to church. From my earliest memories Sunday church was just a normal part of the game. In the course of those years between infancy and my senior year of high school I observed so many different things about church life and its people.

One of the most consistent things I saw was how people were willing to sacrifice themselves or those close to them in order to remain "faithful" to the church. In my narrow recollection, pastors seemed to be the worst about this. There is a reason that people say preacher's kids are the worst, because in my experience they are. Not bad people, mind you. But certainly not good religious people. Almost categorically this was a response to massive inattention from their parents. It's the old "even bad attention is attention"syndrome that many ignored children will adopt. There seemed to be a large disparity between the call to a "godly life" demonstrated by church volunteerism and the emotional wasteland of my PK peers. In my own parents I had seen a different example that saw them stick with some of our family friends through thick and thin times. Times which even included some of our friends taking up positions against the organized church they had previously served in. Instead of casting them aside or losing touch with them by being too busy with church, my parents stayed connected with these lovely, imperfect people. It was a lasting example.

(to be continued)

actually writing again

2007-04-10T22:20:00.000-08:00

Yes kids... I'm actually back to writing. Sorry its been a big teaser for the last several weeks. I should be posted by the weekend and, God willing, more regular after that. As a side note, in the last two days our church website (http://www.c3ak.com/) and this blog site have been getting hammered with hits. That's relative to previous traffic of course, but we've always had a healthy flow of traffic. Most interesting to me of the 300 plus hits from yesterday is the one that came from BEIJING to my little blog! That is just astounding! Anyway, noticed that BLOGGER has a new feature to put video on the blog page and I am going to experiment with that. If it works, you should be able to view some video of one of my ministry heroes. Blessings, and I'll see you soon.

Stay with the GAME!!!!

2007-03-19T00:39:00.001-08:00

(Yes, this is an AmbienCR influenced post... wierd huh? I edited some of the stranger stuff that even I didn't get.)

Holy seashell... Thank you SO MUCH for continuing to come back. I see you in my Big Brother Google Tracking Software. The only thing it doesn't tell me is how MANY of you were bad and were eating at your computer! SHAAAAMMME. Bread crumbs in the keyboard gives MICE a place to write their rodent little missives. I had to clean chicken salad from my own a little earlier. I really need to not eat at my computer. I end up with crumbs all over my mousepad and then can't figure out why my mouse doesn't work right. I have also been waiting for the release of the novella by Amy Bridges. C'mon Amy's publishers... any day now would be just fine. (http://www.rattlesnakeprincess.com/). I really am going to reward your trust with some content. I will continue the Donald Miller thread and put up a second area regarding the past 2 months. I must warn you, that if I have taken my AmbienCR before I write, I do NOT sleep drive, marginally sleep eat, but I do apparently... I do, in fact, blogo-sphere. And some of it has come out just - plain - weird............this could be (it is) one of them. STAY TUNED - Tracy

sorry gang. please take hope

2007-02-07T22:37:00.000-09:00

I know there should be new content here, perhaps even approaching original. But I got socked with a hell of a cold this week and I have been down for three days. There's at least one more down day in the hopper. plaease accept my apologies. I KNOW you're bored without my great insight and wit to read.

Point Number Two & What I Didn't Know

2007-01-21T20:35:00.000-09:00

Next Post coming soon... Life as a Teenage Super Christian

So now, for my second point. Do you remember it from way back there? It was this: My first real encounter with Jesus came somewhere along my 8th year of life. I know it was real for at least two reasons. One... (read "The Long Walk I Didn't Know About) Two, at the moment my surrender came there was the most unquestionable transition in my thinking and the way I felt. There is a part of me that wonders if my reflection on this memory is really accurate. I know I was only eight years old but I really had a sense that in that moment something dramatic happened. Let me be quick to say that the setting was not dramatic at all. Sometime during the previously mentioned Sunday morning war with the back of the pew God clued my oldest brother in to what was happening. I find this fairly amazing for a number of reasons. Mostly, unlike you might assume, my brother did not attend the same church. So there was no opportunity for him to "witness" (pun intended) my Sunday struggle. He didn't see my tearful face or grieving spirit. But somehow, he knew it was time.

One day, very simply, we knelt by the bunk beds and he shared with me Jesus' love, my eight year old brokenness and my need for God to save me. We prayed a very traditional prayer, I wept like baby and when I stood up I felt lighter than air! I can't imagine what great load of guilt I was carrying at such a young age. I was one of those really good kids who never did much wrong. I liked the way "adult" words bounced around in my mouth on the playground, and snitching an extra cookie when I wasn't supposed to. But that was about it. But no kidding, when I prayed to God to become real to me, some massive darkness lifted from my soul. And there my problem began.

I didn't notice it right away, but the seeds of it were planted long before that moment. Years of churchiness before and after coalesced into a flawed understanding of the life I had just entered. I toddled along into my teen years and got active in a church youth ministry and in a church that was focused on what I now realize were "engineered ministry moments". It's that word "moment" that would become the source of my struggle. In this same church, years later, I would become one of the staff members who was devoted to engineering even greater, more dazzling moments than the ones that came before. I had grown up in an era of church musicals with orchestras and acting. The latest greatest names in church music performed on our stage. The most notable evangelists provoked us to more faithful service. And over time each successive event had to outdo the next. It was like a drug addiction, or eating chocolate. The first taste is sweet, the initial high is gigantic. But over time it takes more and more of your particular drug to satisfy you. in my ministry and Christian life the monkey on my back had become pursuing the next big event, or moment, and it absolutely HAD to be bigger and better than before. Sometimes I find myself being lured back in the direction of doing ministry that way. No doubt, it was exciting. There were some great times, and thank God! There were many times that in spite of my own stupidity and lust for recognition God even used my silly pursuits as His avenue to touch people's lives. You may be asking yourself, "What's wrong with all that anyway? Isn't that how a lot of churches still do things?" I guess some of my answers would go like this.

At least in my own life, both as a "regular" Joe working in the church and, later as a Pastor, I spent so much of my time chasing the next high. And when it didn't happen, or my efforts fell short the crash was personally devastating. I attached so much of my value to how well these events came off that when something was lacking, I was lacking. I can recall times getting so upset over missed lighting cues, blown musical notes, feedback, poor attendance and a countless host of other things that were beyond my own control. In the process of getting upset I trampled the spirit a number of wonderful people who bore the focus of my ire.

God began to speak to my heart about how wrong that all was about 2 years into full time ministry. A lot of churches do still operate in a way that looks, at least in appearance, just like what I've described. All I can say is that I hope their hearts are in a different place than mine and my church's were. I'm speaking in fairly broad terms here, but the end result of being who we were was that people and their eternal condition became a commodity that we tried to buy with glitz, glamour and nifty tricks. As soon as we completed the transaction in the form of church membership or "salvation", we had a church culture that moved on to the next transaction. And most of those who came, if they stayed, seemed to be caught in some kind of holding pattern. They, along with me, never really seemed to get "better", or closer to God, or more Christlike than when they first arrived. In fact, in so many cases, they seemed to become worse people.

Collectively, I think we were all really grumpy about that fact that we were racing from one big moment or event to the next. The amount of effort was huge, the sense of community was as fleeting as the moments. I knew in my own heart that I had been tricked somehow into believing that this way of living the "Christian" life was how God intended it. Tons of frenetic effort. One big moment after another. What I didn't know was that God had said repeatedly that this was not what He intended at all. If anything, this life was supposed to be a journey. A long walk. A marathon. Endurance was the motto of the trip. I realized his other great metaphors were equally long term, slow producing and ultimately satisfying. Birth, gardening, trees, fruit, wine. Sure, all of these metaphors have "moments" before, after and within them. But anyone who is intimate with these ideas and experiences will tell you that you can't separate them from one another.

For instance, if you separate the moment of birth from everything that comes before you end up with a paradigm that only cares about the arrival of offspring. This denies the thrill of conception, the nurturing of the growing life in the mother's womb, the wonder at the miracle of fetal development and so on. A wine maker loves more than the bottle of wine. In fact, for those who know how, the taste of the wine reminds them of all of the qualities and conditions that went into making the wine. Weather patterns, soil composition, aging barrels, aeration. Hundreds of variables that came into play in the process of making the wine. In the same way, when I look at my sons, I simultaneously recall the joys, pains, heartbreaks and celebrations of their existence, not just the moment they were born.

It is in these examples that the picture of life in Christ is revealed. It is not intended to be a succession of one moment greater than the last. But rather, a tapestry of landmarks woven together to create a whole. A journey where each step moves the sojourner but the next step is informed an enriched by all of the ones that came before. It is a journey of awareness and revelation as much as destination. Destination may even be completely divorced from the idea. Since we are said to be living in Christ, it could be said that it is about proximity, not destination. How do you see these ideas in your own Christian history? Do you find yourself today running from one big moment toward the next? Have you discovered the simple luxury of walking the journey?

The Long Walk I Didn't Know About

2007-01-15T18:48:00.000-09:00

Next Post Coming Soon: Point Number Two & What I Didn't Know

In the opening paragraph of his book "Blue Like Jazz", Donald Miller http://www.donaldmillerwords.com/ says this...

"I Once listened to an Indian on television say that God was in the wind and the water, and I wondered at how beautiful that was because it meant you could swim in Him or have Him brush your face in a breeze. I am early in my story, but I believe I will stretch out into eternity, and in heaven I will reflect upon these early days, these days when it seemed God was down a dirt road, walking toward me. Years ago He was a swinging speck in the distance; now He is close enough that I can hear His singing. Soon I will see the lines on His face" pg. 1

My first real encounter with Jesus came somewhere along my 8th year of life. I know it was real for at least two reasons. One, the leading up to the day of my first surrender to God's whisper in my ear was completely unrehearsed, unpredictable and devoid of any actual interest on my part. Two, at the moment my surrender came there was the most unquestionable transition in my thinking and the way I felt. Now, I know feelings can be deceptive, but for God's sake (really). When you meet the creator face to face and realize His love for you as fully as you are able to at any given moment... I think it certain that you should feel something. I mean, He created that ability to feel didn't He? And if this whole believing thing is supposed to be absent any feelings, based on reason alone, we're doomed. Because ultimately it makes no sense. But, more on that later.

Let me explain number one a bit. When I was eight my Dad was a pastor. We spent most of my childhood in small churches with earnest people. As I recall they were mostly old earnest people. I have very few remembrances of other children, though surely there were some. I have a very clear remembrance of a particular period of time when I was eight. I was the only kid in Sunday School. It was not very exciting. My teacher, whose name I cannot recall, was one of the old earnest women of the church. As I sift through some mental pictures I can see her gray hair and a navy blue dress. I can also recall that she was incredibly kind. I somehow know that I was not simply an obligation, but that she really cared about me. I don't remember a thing that she said.

At that same time, each Sunday after Sunday School, I would attend the main church service. We sang hymns, listened to organ music, people would pray, an offering would be received... and my Dad would preach. Like the Sunday School teacher, I do not specifically remember a thing my father ever said when he preached those Sunday sermons. I was hopelessly preoccupied with other things. Shortly after the sermon began I would invariably dig into my mother's purse to retrieve her Parker ballpoint pen. On the weekly bulletin I would use every available white space to draw shapes and lines that only on rare occasion resembled anything like a picture.

Sometimes, in the course of finding the pen, I would be rewarded with the discovery of a roll of Life Savers, Wint-O-Green of course. To this day the taste of a Life Saver will transport me back to my mother's purse. I can instantly smell the blend of her perfume and the tobacco from her cigarettes. I can feel the brush of her clothing across my cheek and see her small, slender hands as they supported her bible in her lap. And there I would sit, scribbling on my paper with her pen.

At some point, my father would end his sermon and begin what we called the "invitation". Many churches still use this same tradition which consists of a direct appeal to those in attendance to make a public statement of their decision to become a Christian by walking to the front of the church. Once there the pastor or other church member would counsel with the repentant soul and they would be presented to the church. On most Sundays, for as long as I could remember, the same thing happened. We would stand and sing, my father would make his appeal, we would sing some more, we'd stop, we'd go to lunch. Except that at one point, with no warning or precipitous event, each time we started to sing my little heart began to break. I wanted to weep. I was unable to sing because of the lump in my throat. I didn't know why, but I knew without question that I was supposed to walk down front. Somehow I even knew that God was wooing me to Him. That there was something transcendent of bible stories and hymns and church. God Himself was trying to elevate me to that something.

I know. Pretty damned heady for an eight year old. But I'm not kidding. I knew, week after week as I stood there white-knuckled on the back of the pew, that the reason my heart hurt so much for the last ten minutes of church was that God's finger was poked into my little chest and He was tugging on me. My father became a conduit directed at me of the mysterious, frightening, compelling presence of God. For some weeks I did not go. And He did not relent.

Begin the Journey

2007-01-04T01:43:00.000-09:00

I’d heard about this book called “Blue Like Jazz”, by Donald Miller for some time. Different people that I respect; friends, peers, students, reviewers – all of these different voices, with their varying opinions about its merit came together on one clear note. They said it was different. That it laid bare the bones of Christian belief in a way that was frequently humorous (not that unusual… everyone tries to be funny, don’t they?) and just as frequently, honest in a rather disquieting way.

I find myself doing something all of the time that drives me nuts. As I get older, it gets worse. It goes like this: I have in my mind something I want to do, acquire or remember. The success of my desire is dependent on my remembering to do it, acquire it or write it down at a particular time. For instance, I may think, “I need to get milk”. My problem is that I will recall this detail at 2:00 in the morning when I’m searching for something on television that isn’t total crap. More annoying still is that I have been to the grocer once, sometimes twice, the previous day already. But while I was at the grocer’s I didn’t remember that I needed milk.

This book was like that. I’d be walking along the road, riding my bike, grilling a steak and the thought would crash through my head – “I need to get that book!” – but the thought never occurred to me while I was out at the mall, or driving about, or for God’s sake at the blinking bookstore.

One day, while I was buying milk, I walked past the book section of the superstore and there it was. Without hesitation I stuck it in with the groceries and took it home.

Over the next several weeks I want to explore some of the ideas and themes of the book. I’ll tell you what I think, and I’ll ask some questions. If you feel like it, post your comments, but that’s not required. It might be good if you read the book too, but I hope that won’t be necessary either. There will be times where I won’t even reference the book at all, but the blogs I post will probably have been influenced by something I have read.

If you have a website, or an online community, do me the favor of giving me a link. The more people in the conversation the better. Installment number one should be here early next week.

The New Year Will Bring Some Posts

2006-12-23T17:36:00.000-09:00

I've been waiting until the New Year turns to start some blog posts. I think my first segment will tackle the themes and idea of a book called "Blue Like Jazz". If you haven't read it, runout and get it NOW. It will be more than worth your time.

Thanks for the notes and check back here Around January 2nd, 2007

Welcome

2006-11-14T22:45:00.000-09:00

The blog posts will begin soon. Check back in a few days - tracy