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I sometimes upload pictures to Flickr. But I'm not shooting as much as I'd like to lately. |
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What I seem to be doing is tearing down the building, then searching for the part of me that is still left after I've sifted through the rubble.
— December 11, 2004 |
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Men go forth to wonder at the heights of mountains, the huge waves of the sea, the broad flow of the rivers, the vast compass of the ocean, the courses of the stars; and they pass by themselves without wondering. — St. Augustine of Hippo
The most important questions don't seem to have ready answers. But the questions themselves have a healing power when they are shared. An answer is an invitation to stop thinking about something, to stop wondering. Life has no such stopping places, life is a process whose every event is connected to the moment that just went by. An unanswered question is a fine traveling companion. It sharpens your eye for the road. — Rachel Naomi Remen (as heard in this interview)
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I can be reached at romanlily ~at~gmail.com. Or you can join the notify list here. |
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December 4, 2005
Black and white and everything in between
When I was a teenager, pop music was one of my great passions. But because my father was a pastor, I felt compelled to keep it in the closet. I bought Rolling Stone magazines on the sly, kept them well-concealed in my bedroom. I was afraid to let my mom know when I bought my first tape (Whitney Houston's Whitney!, unfortunately). My best friend and I surreptitiously taped Def Leppard videos off of MTV, and then watched them over at her house, down in the soundproofed basement, after her parents had gone to bed.
I loved pop music, but I carried a lot of guilt about it, because it presented a moral challenge to my Christian faith. So much of the stuff glorified violence and sexual behavior that I found unacceptable.
That's when Amy Grant entered the picture.
God bless Amy Grant. I loved this woman. Discovering her music was like figuring out how to open a window in a burning building. She had a way of making convincing pop music that honored her Christian convictions.
I was hooked from the very start. I bought all her albums. I listened fervently. I went to her concerts. I memorized all the lyrics and lipsynched them in front of the mirror in my bedroom.
Fast-forward fifteen years. A couple of days ago, I was painting with Melissa. We were both tired of FM radio, so I flipped through Melissa's wallet of CDs and discovered (with both horror and delight) Amy Grant's "greatest hits" Collection.
We popped the CD in and kept painting. You know what it's like to listen to music like this, don't you? First, there is the delight of hearing these old songs that used to regularly kill you with their awesomeness. Then, there is the horror of remembering yourself at that age, when your own personal awesomeness was at an all-time low. Melissa and I painted and laughed, and I relived some great memories of my youth group days.
As we kept listening, one of Amy's most celebrated songs came up: "Too Late." It's a catchy rock song with an anthem-like feel. And of course I still know all the words by heart:
Well, it's too late for walking in the middle,
Too late to try.
Yes, it's too late for sitting in the balance,
No more middle line.
Oh, it's too late for walking on fences,
Time to choose your side.
Yes, it's too late for flirting with the darkness,
Make up your mind.
I sang along with the words at first. Then I stopped as I listened to what the song was actually saying.
You may think that you can live by your feelings,
Different every night.
But an emotional religion will crumble at our feet
If we're made to stand and fight.
I realized that this song, which I had cherished those many years ago, basically summarized all the reasons why I finally fled the strangling embrace of Christianity this year. This song, which I remember believing so deeply as a fifteen-year-old, equates doubt with foolishness. Letting your emotions to guide you is useless. Choose a side, now! Get off the fence!
Of course there's a lot more to Amy Grant, pop music, and Christianity than can be contained in this catchy three-minute tune. Still, the lady had a point back when she sang the song, and I believed it fervently as a teenager.
From this place where I'm sitting (still not sure which side of the fence I'm on, or if there really is a fence), it's distressing to reflect on these lyrics and the black-and-white mentality that they reflect.
The comforting certainty of this universe of Absolute Truth has been one of the biggest casualties of the past year. It has been my deliberate choice to release it, and doing so has taken every ounce of energy I have. It went down hard.
I remember talking to a friend about this issue last year. I was talking about how as I age, life grows more complicated. Things that were absolutely clear to me as a child are now not so certain.
She said something brilliant then. "We are meant to grow more comfortable with ambiguity as we age."
She talked about world views as containers. She said that that the walls of our containers are meant to grow softer and more porous as we age (even as our own bodies and minds break down).
She spoke about children who are just beginning to understand language. When you are talking to a three-year-old, it's best to speak in concrete terms about concrete things. A three-year-old understands words in a very literal way. As we age, our lives grow more complex and our understanding of words grows more subtle. Definitions grow broader, and our world view becomes more layered as our brains form more and more associative connections. You see this mirrored in the natural world, the way light diffuses when it hits a surface, the way that matter gradually breaks down and yields to surrounding elements.
The religion I grew up with seeks to reverse this trend. I was instructed to grow more certain as I aged. Less tolerant of ambiguity. Fight the good fight, keep the faith. Choose a side. Get off the fence.
As nice as that sounds, I just don't know how to do it. I have tried. I have given it everything I could, and it hasn't worked.
This past year has given me one lesson after another in the fine art of appreciating ambiguity and uncertainty.
As far as I can tell, the Buddhists seem most comfortable talking about these issues. Once again, the rock star Buddhist nun Pema Chodron expresses it so beautifully:
"...Going to the other shore has a groundless quality, a sense of being caught in the middle, being caught in an in-between state. We get into a raft on this shore, where we're struggling with the notions of right and wrong, busy solidifying the illusion of ground by constantly seeking predictability. And we're traveling across the river to the other side, where we are liberated from the narrow-mindedness and dualistic thinking that characterize ego-clinging. That's the traditional image.
"This is the picture I prefer: In the middle of the river, with the shoreline out of view, the raft begins to disintegrate. We find ourselves with absolutely nothing to hold on to. From our conventional standpoint, this is scary and dangerous. However, one small shift of perspective will tell us that having nothing to hold on to is liberating. We could have faith that we won't drown. Holding on to nothing means we can relax with this fluid, dynamic world."
I love the word picture that she uses. In a strange way, it does feel like I am on a journey of faith, even in my exodus from the church. Even as the raft disintegrates, I find that there is water beneath me. And it is strong and gentle enough to hold me up and carry me home.
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