I am not a happy Christian. That probably sounds a lot worse than it should, but I am not one of those Christians who is always saying how great it is to worship, to praise, and to love the Lord. I do love the Lord. I love to worship and praise, but that is not the be-all, end-all of my faith.
Beyond that, I am not a happy Christian. More often then not, I look at the negative than the positive. Some of my pastor friends use my approach to life as a benchmark for their mental well-being. If they are more negative than I am, then they need to get help.
There are many places in scripture where people go to find reasons to express joy, but where do people go to express grief, distrust of the world, and the gloom of reality? Where are the Kinkade (painter of light my a--) paintings of the dark night of the soul and the a reference of the first verse of Ecclesiastes, “Futility, Futility, all life is futility”?
There are times when I feel like I’m just not a good Christian because I am not bouncy, happy, and shiny all the time because gosh, I am so luck to be a Christian – shining grin- Yet there are very real times of darkness in everyone’s life. There are very real moments of despair. People face hurt and wounds and in all reality cannot always say that they are just full of the joy of the Lord.
I have my moments of joy, but it is a joy that is shrouded with more of a passion, it is a deep sense of peace that goes beyond stupid happy clappy feelings to a real sense of what it means to be redeemed and what I can do now that I am redeemed.
I also have my angst and ennui and brooding. That is what I get for wearing black and having artistic qualities (music, music, music). People should feel joy, but those who are hurting need to know that God is with them even more. Pain leads to isolation, isolation leads to despair. Yet if one were to read Lamentations, then one would know that there are others who have felt pain, hurt, and despair. If others have felt it, if such experiences are in scripture and are not condemned, then maybe such feeling shown to be a true part of one’s faith.
So I will surround myself with the Psalms of despair (22, 13, 139), I will cloak myself with Lamentations, with Jeremiah, and with Ecclesiastes. Let the tears fall, let the weeping be heard, and let the sighs of despair overwhelm the shallow, forced happiness that so many assume is the proper path of faith.
Afterthought: do not despair, I will not go “Silvia Plath, Jack Kerouac, Eugene O’Neil” on the world with my despair. It is couched in a healthy way with the hope and the grace of Christ. Camus, Sartre, and Marx miss so much of life without faith. I realize that and embrace it. So don’t worry (Mom!), I’m ok, You’re ok, we’re ok.
2 comments:
Jonathan, what you are describing is what Karl Rahner called "winter Christians" -- as opposed to the "summer Christians" who always go around with a smile and "Praise the Lord!" on their lips. Winter Christians are those of us who have looked into the abyss -- and yet have hope because of Jesus Christ.
I learned about Rahner's work from a devotional book that has become my friend over the years -- Martin Marty's _A Cry of Absence_ which points to the Psalms as prayers for times when God seems absent.
It's a good thing that some of us "winter Christians" become pastors, because that's the only way that we can help other winter Christians to acknowledge the reality of the abyss at the same time that we assert the reality of Christ in our lives. Thanks, Brother.
Thanks for the comment Lois, I actually did not know about Rahner's comment - very apt.
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