So, why am I deconstructing? Despite the claims of wanting to be liked, rebelling against God’s authority, and letting my feelings deceive me, the answer is simple. I am deconstructing to arrive at a place of authentic faith. I am a Christian, I prayed the prayer and I still firmly believe in all of the key doctrines and confessions. It is arrogant to say otherwise. I’m deconstructing to save my faith from all of the garbage it has accumulated for the last twenty-five years. 

In my Introduction to Philosophy college course, I learned about a German theologian by the name of Friedrich Schleiermacher. Schleiermacher was confronted by higher criticism coming out of German theological schools and new ideas that put prior understandings of Christian truth in doubt. After thinking through these critiques, his new approach sought to make Christian faith more personal and up to the interpretation of the reader. To Schleiermacher, this approach encouraged a more authentic faith, even though he conceded it wasn’t a perfect one. Schleiermacher was not alone in his desire to keep the core of Christian faith while dispensing with what was not true.

Fundamentalist Evangelicalism put a lot of trappings on my faith that cannot be justified or proven. Most of the trappings revolve around assumptions based on dogmatic doctrines like: inerrancy, the idea that the original manuscripts of the Bible are curated by God and do not contain errors; textual infallibility, which is the claim that the writing of the text is completely authoritative; and scriptural sufficiency, the idea that the Bible is all you need and contains the answers to all life’s questions. Religion that is authentic, adaptable, and correctable cannot exist in concert with these doctrines. That’s why if the Bible says it, I don’t necessarily believe it, and it doesn’t settle the question. I want a faith that is intellectually honest and spiritually humble. Evangelicalism does not provide this because it embraces fundamentalism and dogma.

There’s much to unlearn from Evangelicalism. I’ve spent years trying to detach my mind from what fundamentalism preaches: dogma, reactionary theology, and prejudices. Often when interacting with others on social media I will catch myself saying something in a tone that is too certain. I realize that I’m not trying to get to the truth; I’m trying to be right. Doubt is an unpleasant but necessary bedfellow for one who takes on this faith overhaul. I’ve found myself angry at being lied to, depressed at the pain I’ve caused, and confused about how to move forward. There is always fear and shame lurking in the back of my mind whispering, “What if you’re wrong? God will be angry with you…” I don’t believe this is true, but the impulse is always submerged in my religiously abused subconscious.

Deconstruction is not triumphalism. We’re not throwing parties and hosting orgies. We don’t boast about how we’ve slain the dragon of fundamentalism in its lair – because you never do that, or at least I haven’t managed to do it. As someone who’s been homebound for most of the pandemic, I struggle with how I’m living out this new understanding of faith. I feel like an actor at times, maybe because I am one. I live with a deep frustration at how many years I wasted in Evangelicalism, lying to myself and not taking a stand against its abuses sooner. My Evangelical pastors and professors lied to me about other people to make themselves look holier and better. Do you realize what this does to trust? And they did it all in the name of Jesus. So much of my deconstruction journey has been angry, and that, too, has been strange and difficult coming from a place that told me, “do not let the sun go down on your anger.” 

My M.Div. was obtained from Liberty Divinity School (yes, that Liberty) at the end of 2013. While there are aspects about the education I appreciate, like the exposure to translations of Patristic texts and learning about the Southern Baptist Resurgence, there’s a lot to dislike. I’ve since learned about liberal theology, liberation theology, neo-orthodox theology, Greek Orthodox theology, and other forms of Christian faith. I’ve learned how Judaism is misunderstood and slandered in our Christian circles, and it has been humbling and wrecking to discover how our own sacred text paints our Jewish neighbors in ahistorical, biased lights. Christianity has a history of embellishing facts to make itself look better than other religions and divert attention away from its own shortcomings. 

Christianity is the source of white supremacy and white European privilege. Christianity was the justification for the enslavement of an entire race of people and the genocide of another. Christianity has been the primary driver of terror and abuse toward those who are LGBTQ+. None of this is sexy; none of it is comfortable; none of this makes me feel good. When coupled with challenging my definition of spirituality and what is “good and honorable,” I’ve discovered that deconstruction has brought me hurt and unease. Spiritual devotions no longer have the same meaning; adjusting to corporate liturgy, social justice, and freedom of conscience/thought turns over all the tables. Evangelicalism wasn’t like this – it was certain, sure, organized, and easily backed up with “chapter and verse.” But it was a lie. The hurt and unease are worth it for truth.

At the first Episcopalian bible study I attended someone spoke about an interpretation of a passage that caused all of my bad instincts to rise. I sat in indignation, waiting for the priest to intervene and correct them like every Evangelical bible study I’d attended. 

But the priest didn’t, and neither did anyone else in the room. Instead, I was floored by how they began to discuss the merits and implications of what had been said, how that particular interpretation helped the listeners better understand their faith, even if they disagreed with it. When I left, I challenged myself to be more willing to listen than to teach. As a result, I’ve grown so much from being exposed to the ideas of others, whether I agree with them or not. Fundamentalism often tries to resurface during these moments of exposure to the new, but I always find it more rewarding to tell it to shut up and let myself learn. 

There are things I miss about Evangelicalism. I can’t look at the Bible the same way  anymore; it’s become just another book, even if it has an honored place. Music allows me to emotionally connect with God, but so much of the music I used to listen to has either a terrible message or is ruined by the messengers who abused others to make it, yet I still miss the music. I miss the focused drive of Evangelicalism that is all too often lacking in mainline denominational settings. 

But here’s what I don’t miss: I don’t miss false certainty and false confidence, and I wouldn’t trade them for what I have now: an authentic, human faith journey. 

Before each Holy Eucharist, our priest says, “Wherever you are in your journey of faith, you are welcome at this table.” There are days I don’t know where I am – but not all who wander are lost. We’re all on this sojourner journey together, even if our paths often diverge.

Deconstruction isn’t “sexy,” but it beats all of the fool’s gold currently being sold in Evangelicalism. It leads, when done thoroughly and humbly, to a faith that is real. I might be right, but I might be wrong – and I’m okay with that. There are far worse things in this world than being wrong. If I’m going to err, I’d rather err on the side of love and grace for all my fellow humans than on the side of judgment and disdain. 

I believe the Gospel saves us from ourselves and leads us into a better life. The seeds of the gospel are flourishing in most religions and in every culture. Loving God by loving others as you love yourself has the power to change the entire world if we embrace the fullness of what that truly means. Resurrection – the belief that life comes despite death – is foundational to understanding how God works through everyone to make all things new.

I don’t need to assent to creeds or commit to an exclusive religion or faith tradition. There are those who don’t consider themselves to be religious and yet they’re more like God in practice than many fundamentalist Evangelicals. These folks have embraced the ethos of loving others as they love themselves; they show this by seeking to free people from the systemic oppression that drapes our world. I am one with persons of color, LGBTQ+ people, and those who find themselves destitute and impoverished. I am with those in prison for crimes they did not commit, for those suffering physical or mental illness, and for the elderly left forgotten in deplorable conditions. I find common cause with the differently abled, the single mothers and childless career women, and all those shattered by the evil in our world. We are not free until we are all free. 

These causes called by the Gospel sound exciting and romantic, especially for the cis het Christian white guys with savior complexes who believe leading others to deconstruction is now their life’s work. However, there have been many painful moments for me. I was going into ministry. That is lost to me now. For the last six years I’ve tried to re-establish my motivation, but it isn’t there. I didn’t realize how much my “calling” to teach was bound up in my Evangelical faith. It was the steam engine of my life, the guiding star, and it’s gone. At nearly forty, its absence causes me to wonder what will ultimately become of my life. I no longer know. And, strangely, I’m at peace with that, even if it’s painful. 

Christians believe God sees the heart. I hope that when or if God sees mine it will prove to be whole and at peace with who I am and how I’ve helped and loved others. I hope that I’ve tried to make the world a better place for everyone – the goal, I believe, of the kingdom of God.

The post Deconstructing Certainty appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

I’m not a very materialistic person, and objects don’t usually mean much to me. But there is one thing that I’ve had — and many different kinds. It serves the same purpose and fills the same void in my psyche. The object that I speak of is incredibly special in that it is so versatile and able to assume many roles across a vast number of both intended and sometimes even unintended uses. This immensely important object is the guitar.

Evolution

The innovations in gospel and blues music with the acoustic guitar coincided with innovations in electricity that led to the eventual creation of the modern electric guitar. The electric guitar is the most important and influential instrument since the invention of the piano. And just like the piano, after its innovation, innovation in music skyrocketed. It brought a whole new world of sound to the collective ears of the world. Music has never been the same since.

The guitar is in everything that I listen to. It may not always be the focal point of a song, but it is always there. Around the age of 13, a family member introduced me to the music of Ozzy Osbourne. I didn’t know what it was at first, but there was something different about this music from the normal 90’s and early 2000’s pop and country music that I had been exposed to for the majority of my life. This “difference” was the guitar. It was catchy. It was heavy. It was fast. It was AWESOME. And it was making me fall in love for the first time in my young life. But it’s not just the guitar on its own; there was an incredibly talented musician creating these new sounds that I was now hearing, and his name was Randy Rhoads.

I became obsessed. I listened to everything that I could find that had his guitar playing. Tragically, there wasn’t a whole lot, as Randy had died in a plane crash in 1982 at the age of 25, seven years before I would be born. His playing gave me inspiration for the first time in my life. I needed a guitar. I knew that I had to learn how to play and attempt to maybe write something as great as the music that had inspired me.

Escape

My first guitar was a black Fender Squire, Stratocaster with a blue tortoise shell pick guard, and an old Peavy Bandit amplifier that was the same age as me. They were terrible, but they were mine and I was so proud. I got the hang of it quickly and learned the first half of the song “Crazy Train” by Ozzy Osbourne over the next month or two. I was completely hooked. Totally addicted. I found that I was able to listen to a song and pick out the parts that I wanted to learn and learn them by ear.

I started listening to music obsessively and continued learning new songs more and more as my skills progressed over the next several months, and very soon started to write music of my own. Writing music became more than just a hobby for me, and I soon found a mental escape in playing guitar. As I became older and started experiencing the world from a more mature perspective; my music writing became an emotional outlet for my thoughts and feelings where words always seemed to fail me.

My guitar is more than an object or even just an instrument to me; it is an extension of myself. It’s like having a second voice that only speaks the language of the soul, however corny that may sound. They both mean more to me than I could ever properly express. I don’t know who or where I would be without my guitar or music in general, but I can say that I firmly believe that our world would be much less awesome.

J. R. Tucker

The post About a Guitar appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

The Simpsons aspect is hilarious when thinking about it without that context. Every time he doesn’t understand a reference, which is of course multiple times in every episode, he searches the internet to help him get the joke. He’s 11 and hitting Wikipedia to search for the presidential election of 1912.

“What is the 8th commandment?“

“Who is Drederick Tatum?”

“Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints”

He’s really into the musicals Rent and Six right now. Obsessed might be too strong of a word, but then again, it might not. We’ve been through phases of Hamilton and In the Heights and Come From Away, but right now it’s all Rent, which debuted in 1996, and Six, which takes place in the 16th century.

“Henry VIII bastard sons”

“Anne Boleyn”

“Mark Cohen’s sweater”

“Different kinds of sweater stripes”

But last Friday he searched for “March For Our Lives.” The day before that he searched for “Robb Elementary shooting”. The day before that he searched for “Arkansas school shooting.” And the week before that, before Uvalde, he searched for “Marjory Stoneman Douglas.” Before Uvalde. Before 19 more kids and two more teachers were shot and killed in another school shooting, my son was thinking about school shootings. And the week before that, he searched “grocery store shootings in Arkansas.”

He’s not going to bad sites. He’s not doomscrolling. He’s not scared to go outside. But he is acutely aware that these things happen. And happen with frightening regularity. And he carries that every day. At age 11.

It is incomprehensible to me that the trauma we are inflicting upon millions of kids through this omnipresent, background thrum of terror, hanging over them like the Sword of Damocles… that THAT isn’t enough for us to do something. THOSE KIDS, the victims of merely the threat of this scourge, should be enough to demand our immediate action.

It shouldn’t take dead children.

It shouldn’t take staggering statistics.

It shouldn’t take graphic, heart wrenching reporting.

Our kids Googling where they are most likely to get shot and killed, mixed in among their searches for Miranda Cosgrove and Top 10 Mario Games and funny cat memes… that should be enough. It’s incomprehensible that it’s not. That scores of actual dead children aren’t, either? Well, that’s just evil.

These kids are living on a planet that we are trying our hardest to destroy. We have enough resources to rid the world of hunger, and take a big bite out of poverty, but we just… don’t. They are getting a reprisal of the Cold War complete with the threat of nuclear winter. And on top of all that, their parents and grandparents, in what we love to call The Greatest Country in the World, refuse to take even the very first step toward stopping this plague of our own making.

They should never, ever forgive us.

We should never, ever forgive ourselves.

The post The Search for Answers appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

A faithful(?) reader of my stories once voiced a complaint that they were too long, that he could not finish reading one in a reasonable amount of time. Whether this is a valid critique or a self-revelation of the damaged attention span of this reader, I am unable to judge. However, this man’s appraisal reminded me of the criticism that Mozart was hit with in the movie, “Amadeus” coming from a jealous composer, who declared that Mozart’s compositions had “too many notes!”

What do YOU know, expert of other guy’s business?

It would be rather presumptuous of me to place my literary offerings at the same lofty level of Mozart’s music, and to ignore competent criticism would also be an exercise of arrogance on my part. On the other hand, to be criticized by an ignoramus can be received as praise in that the ignoramus by definition has absolutely no clue as to what makes for something to be judged worthy or good. 

In my defense against this complaint of “too many words,” let it be known that I do edit my writing always with an eye to say things as clearly and succinctly as possible. But enough about me. Let’s talk about YOU, the expert of the other guy’s business.

Generally speaking, most people think they know a lot more than they really do. There is an inverse ratio that is especially true for those who are given to voice their opinions about each and every thing: that the more one thinks he has all the answers, the less trustworthy his answers are. And this axiom applies to so-called experts in their fields, as made clear by the following stories:

Thanks a lot, Food Pyramid

Back in the 1960’s the USDA Health officials created the “heart healthy” Food Guide Pyramid emphasizing carbohydrates (grains) at the expense of fats. These experts told us that fat is bad for us and encouraged us to heavily favor grains and fruit. The next thing we knew is that we can’t see over our bellies to read the four digit number registering on our scales! There are so many obese people in the U.S. today that it is causing our continent to sink into the oceans. Thanks a lot!

The more one thinks he has all the answers, the less trustworthy his answers are.
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Another story: Just a few years ago, 2005, a British “researcher” published a paper indicating that autism was caused by an element contained in various childhood vaccines. This startling “discovery” caused millions to withhold giving life-saving vaccines to their children resulting in a vast amount of unnecessary deaths and suffering. Thankfully, the author of this “study” was ultimately exposed as a outrageous fraud, but, unfortunately even today, there are many who cling to this “truth.”

Know what you don’t know

What do you know about Global Warming, Fracture Drilling, Medical Marijuana, Same Sex Unions, Debt, Deficits, Life After Death, the Community Club, the City, Vitamins, Herbal Cleansing, Euthanasia, What’s Wrong with the Chicago Cubs, Cutting Trees Down on Common Property, Obamacare, Should Catholic Priests be Allowed to Marry, Homosexual Scout Leaders, Flat Tax, Reverse Mortgages, Bill O’Reilly, and finally, Mozart’s composing skills? Answer, probably not much that is really worth a nickel.

There are so many ideas, views, data, opinions, sources, books, ad infinitum out there on the unending list of topics that it is almost impossible to acquire a decent understanding. And because each subject tends to be complex, it requires enormous amount of study to even come close to something reasonably acceptable. And even after you have diligently searched for the truth, leave a little room that you could be wrong especially if your “facts” come from sources such as the Internet or what you heard from some guy at the bar.

But here, even after you’ve done all the heavy lifting, serious digging on your subject, there is a catch, and it is a big one: your conclusions are most likely tainted! Why? Because we all tend to gravitate toward the “facts” that reinforce our initial view and/or bias.  For instance, you like to a drive big cars that require a necessary amount of fuel, fossil fuel in the form of gasoline. You also own stock in Exxon which pays you a healthy dividend allowing you to drive expensive cars. So if you are checking out the pros and cons of offshore drilling, guess what “facts” will make the most sense to you. 

As the great philosopher Aristartled Smedley put it,

“You don’t know Mozart from The Grateful dead, so get off your high horse, you jackass!” 

The post Out of Bounds: What do you know? appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

Baby Kerry

After our daughter Lora turned two, we decided that it was time to try for a second baby. We were fortunate and it wasn’t too many months later when the pregnancy test came back positive and we began planning the bedroom for child number two. Lora was a book lover and we had these illustrated children’s books based on the books by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Each one started with listing the members of the family—Pa, Ma, Mary, Laura, Baby Kerry and their good ol’ bulldog, Jack. As the pregnancy developed, Lora started referring to the baby growing in Mommy’s tummy as “Baby Kerry” and we often did the same.

Not quite midway through the pregnancy, my wife called me at work on a Thursday morning passing on a worrisome report from her doctor. Her maternal alpha fetal protein level was high—so high that the doctor wanted to repeat the test to check the accuracy of the results. I was in a pediatric oncology treatment team meeting where I filled the role of social worker. After the meeting, I contacted the medical library at the hospital where I worked to get some articles about what could happen with an elevated maternal alpha fetal protein level.

Us Among Them

The repeated level came back even higher and over the weekend we read the articles and were not comforted. The articles talked of neural tube defects, significant disabilities and even death of the baby. My wife and I were already challenged with living examples of what can go wrong in the development of a child in our jobs. Each month I met three or four new children diagnosed with cancer and my wife worked as a teacher in a preschool for children with a wide array of disabilities. Now we wondered if we would be joining the club of parents of children with disabilities or life-threatening illnesses. Would it now be “us” among the “them”?

Monday came and we moved to the next step of a level II ultrasound. I stared at the blurry screen looking for signs of anything. My wife could not see the screen but she could see tears in the eyes of the ultrasound technician who watched the screen and left the room to get the doctor. After looking himself, he assured us we had done nothing wrong but that our baby had anencephaly—our baby had and would have no brain and this condition was obviously not compatible with life. Our options were three—dilation and curettage, inducing labor and then delivery or continuing the pregnancy to term. We went home in shock, cried together and called our families and friends. The next day my wife began to have physical complications and we chose to induce labor and deliver.

I Know Why You’re Here

Wednesday night we packed and prepared to go to the hospital and we searched for words to explain to now three-year-old Lora about what was happening. We told her that the baby was sick and the doctor needed to get the baby out of Mommy’s tummy anticipating that the post-hospital conversation would be that the baby was too sick and the baby died.

Our pastor came to the house and we all sat on the floor with a few friends as she prayed with us and anointed our heads with oil and blessings for the experience to come. Arriving at the hospital on a cold winter night, I left my wife in our room and went down to complete admissions paperwork. In the elevator, a stranger saw me as a young man in a hospital where many babies are born and said to me, “I know why you’re here.” I tried to smile and nodded but thought, “You have no idea why I’m here.”

Song of Faith

Baby Kerry was born late the next morning. We didn’t know if it would be a boy or a girl but agreed that either way the name would fit (although the spelling would change). He was as big as my hand, burgundy colored with perfect hands and feet and missing a brain. As my wife took her well-earned sleep, I rocked and sang him songs that I had sung to our daughter—songs of faith that I had learned from my parents and grandmother.

His lungs were not developed enough for him to breathe but his tiny heart was beating and did so for about an hour and a half. Against my tendencies and history, the tears flowed freely as we shared our brief time together. I knew that there could be someone like me (in my professional life) in this hospital—someone who was called when bad things happened—but I did not want to share this experience and thankfully no one came.

Wonder in the Making

Kerry was cremated and we spread his ashes in the memorial garden at our church following a memorial service Sunday afternoon. Winter weather and icy roads almost kept family away but they made it to stand by and give witness. My wife and I read from a book of prayers in the service and asked that a baptismal song be sung. “See this wonder in the making, God’s ownself this child is taking…”

I heard this song again when I was back to work in the hospital. My family loved music and my parents knew many songs. Growing up it became habit to come up with a song to fit whatever was happening at the time. It was like continuously living in a musical. When I returned to the hospital, I was on call one night when a baby died. When the family expressed a desire for pictures to be taken of the baby, I walked down the hall and stairs to get the camera.

On my way back to their room, I became aware of the baptismal song playing in my head and I wondered how long it had been there. It reminded me of the dark humor of my unconscious when Kerry was born—then the song that came unbidden was from the Wizard of Oz as the scarecrow sings, “…if I only had a brain…”

Everything Reminds Us of Baby Kerry

In the spring, we planted a tree in the backyard in Kerry’s memory. While planting the tree I explained to Lora that the tree would remind us of Baby Kerry. Lora replied matter-of-factly, “Everything reminds us of Baby Kerry.”

Kerry was cremated and we spread his ashes in the memorial garden at our church following a memorial service Sunday afternoon. Winter weather and icy roads almost kept family away but they made it to stand by and give witness. My…
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It’s been twelve years since we said hello and goodbye in the same breath to Baby Kerry. Each year Lora and her four-year-younger brother, Noah, help put Snow Babies ornaments on the Christmas tree in Kerry’s memory. When someone asks how many children we have, I almost always answer “two” but in my mind, I’m thinking “two and a half.”

Not too long ago Lora asked if Kerry had lived would we have had Noah. Her memories of Kerry are few and fuzzy but her experience of Noah has been deep and affectionate. I replied that we had planned to have two children and so it was unlikely that we would have had more than two. She thought about this and replied that maybe it was a good thing, then, for otherwise we wouldn’t have Noah. Sometimes I wonder the same thing.

The post Everything Reminds Us of Baby Kerry (March for Life, Part II) appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

 

Not everybody in Arkansas is a “Redneck,” and not everybody drinks sweet tea. I’m not saying people who are and do are bad. These are simply things I’ve learned by growing up and living in Arkansas. I’ve also learned that certain things, like racism and ignorance, loom around in the state’s corners more than in other places. The safety of this state’s embracing arms—that hold me—seems to be at the cost of others.

This is an ongoing, unsolved, internal conflict that I have. When I was a kid, I thought as a kid might think about Arkansas. “Nobody cares about it” or “Nothing ever big ever happens here” were sometimes my complaints about where I lived. I didn’t truly hate my home as a kid. No, I thought maybe once or twice about minor details and fussed about them, but it wasn’t anything serious. I don’t think I realized as a kid how much I should have appreciated the good attributes of Arkansas, such as the abundance of beautiful nature around homes and towns compared to other states, especially since I enjoyed them so much. If I were to remove from my life all of the times I went outside to play in the afternoons in my yard after school or went to eat at a picnic table at the park by the river surrounded by massive, protective pine trees, or looked out my house’s windows during a powerful storm to see the grass being forcefully stroked by the wind that rocked the trees and dispersed the rain to beat at the window – if I removed all of those moments from my life, I would lose a part of me and need something else to replace it. 

 

 

I hope that one day we can realize that it’s not all about us, and that we’re not always right.

An attribute that I enjoyed was one that I must’ve not seen, or at least, I didn’t realize it until I started getting older. This attribute however, is double sided. It hugs then it stings, and I didn’t realize that until more recently. Arkansas is a very closed state. We have an old and strong barrier that seems to keep us apart from the rest of the world, or at least from those who aren’t like us. I took shelter in that barrier. As a kid I might’ve not noticed I was hiding behind it, but now I do. As I grew up, I noticed that almost everyone believed in the same things. Almost everyone went to church. Many teachers had religious frames or objects in their classrooms, and many people flew or wore Confederate flags. I didn’t think much of this as a kid. I guess it seemed normal to me at a younger age. Today, I can tell that it is not so normal at all. I’ve realized what things Arkansas holds on to that many others don’t. I’ve seen that we tend to be ignorant of the things going on around the world. We think everything is already settled and shouldn’t change. Some of us might think that racism doesn’t exist anymore, and any claim that it’s taking place is simply for attention. We are heavily reluctant to accepting something new, whether it be laws or people. 

 

 

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Not everybody in Arkansas is a “Redneck," and not everybody drinks sweet tea.
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I debate within myself, because I think that this way of living, of staying true to customs and what we have learned from those before us, is maybe what we should do. I think about how many of the changes taking place in the rest of the world, that are slow to take place or don’t take place at all in Arkansas, are wrong according to my faith. The barrier that I took shelter in as a kid—I still indulge in it to this day, and enjoy it, because it allows me to more comfortably live out what I believe in. I felt safe seeing those religious frames or pictures in my teacher’s classroom. I felt safe when a prayer was said before football games. I feel safe when my teacher plays Christian music in her room. I feel safe when my class and teacher have the same opinion on extremely heavy topics like abortion.

 

My home embraces me and tells me I can comfortably live out standing up for what I believe in. The thing is, that I am not precisely standing up. I am rather standing with. Standing with a crowd, a large crowd, which makes it much easier, but devastatingly harder when the crowd isn’t there.

I live in a small town that seems to be an Arkansas within an Arkansas. There is more diversity within the state than within my town, but when I see the news, or go online and see how we respond to nationwide issues, I know our barrier is there. I don’t know if Arkansas is supposed to be a safe haven for people who are wanting to live in a tradition-friendly, religious, peaceful atmosphere that respects and still practices southern values. I grew fond of this place. I do not hate Arkansas, and I do not hate its values. In fact I share many of them.

 

 

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But as I lie in safety behind the barrier, some from the outside are stuck inside, surrounded by those trying to avoid them. My safety can cost them theirs.
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Our reluctance to accept members from the LGBT+ community might make me feel like our state isn’t steering too far from my beliefs, but it can lead to members of our own state “family” being disrespected and attacked.

I sit here in Arkansas, appreciating the small town feel you get almost everywhere you go, and the quietness of everyday, but I continue seeing a stain in it. What I wish is that we wouldn’t jump to conclusions based on what we have always known and done. I wish that we would research issues to really understand them instead of listening to people who have the same initial opinion that we have and building on that to the point where we won’t listen to anybody else, even if they actually understand the issue. I feel ashamed and sometimes afraid of how some Arkansans think, but I know that there’s many out there who don’t think the same way. I hope that one day we can realize that it’s not all about us, and that we’re not always right. Perhaps I, along with all of those others who don’t think like that can help make that happen. 

The post Growing Up Arkansas appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

In good faith: critical thinking, truth telling

I have a dish towel in my kitchen that shows the back end of a hen, with her head turned so she’s glancing back. It says, “Sometimes you just have to say ‘Cluck it’ and walk away”, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.

It’s been about a year now since I stopped trying to act like a Christian. I needed to take some time to be away from it and just live. I kind of wanted to know what questions would come up and what I would miss about it. It turns out, there’s not much I miss.

All my life, I’ve been some sort of evangelical, and there have been a lot of good things about that. My faith led me to places where I could serve people and love them in unexpected ways. I was very young when I learned that love is something you live, not something you talk about, and I certainly didn’t succeed in being loving all the time, but I sure can say I did my best.

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It’s been about a year now since I stopped trying to act like a Christian.
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My faith also taught me that change is difficult but part of growth, to look for ways to make a difference where I am, to get back up when I fail, and to be fascinated with the world around me, just to name a few things. My life so far has been rich and full of beauty and adventure, and much of that is due to the choices I’ve made because of my faith.

A God who loves

The Good Samaritan by William Henry Margetson

The more I studied the Bible and thought about what it meant, the more I loved it – not as a manual for living or a magic book of encouragement, or even for its component parts, but as a fairly comprehensive picture of what it looks like when people believe in a God who loves and they try to live up to it – and of what that doesn’t look like. People are complex, beautiful creatures but flawed and often stupid.

We do dumb stuff and then wish we hadn’t. We do weird things we think will make God happy only to find out that it was just weird and we were making things more complicated than they needed to be. Sometimes we do evil things and put God’s name to them just because it’s what we want to do and we think that God said he (/she/it?) would be with us so that just makes whatever we want to do the “holy” or “righteous” thing to do.

Sometimes, though, we just reach out and love someone else and work for the best for them, and that’s when it’s really transcendent. That’s what I love about the Bible. It’s mostly just the story of people acting like jackasses and still being given another chance to not act like jackasses. Even the good ones are pretty dumb. It’s just that they’re trying. So, my problem is not with the Bible.

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I’m a middle aged white American woman living in a rural area of the Bible belt in 2021 and I want so little to do with the church as it is here
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My problem also isn’t flawed people. Obviously, I’m not perfect and neither is anyone else. We might like to pretend we’re not shooting in the dark but really, we all are. Many of the individual people in the church are trying their best, and many are doing wonderful things that I love to honor and support.

But I don’t want to be a Christian anymore.

Bible Belt: a new perspective

I realize that this has a lot to do with the time and place in which I live. That’s true, but the fact is that I do live in this time and place. I’m a middle aged white American woman living in a rural area of the Bible belt in 2021 and I want so little to do with the church as it is here, in my time and place, that just the thought of being called by the same name makes me feel ill. I’m well aware that there are other iterations in other cultures or backgrounds that I would have fewer issues identifying myself with, but the fact remains that I am not in those places, or living in those times. I am here. And I want nothing to do with it.

I’ve spent hours upon hours trying to piece out what brought me to this place, like putting together a puzzle where each little piece holds a clue to the whole picture that is not made clear until the end. But if this story were a puzzle, it would have at least 3000 pieces and I don’t know that I’d ever be able to get it all together. My anger is not with a person or disappointment from any one event, although I’ve been angry with people sometimes, and definitely been disappointed.

Members only?

My anger is with an institution. It’s an institution that offers a social club with eternity insurance – failure to join with the correct words and practices of initiation resulting in torture forever – and coverage continues then cost-free and regardless of other choices forever. It’s an institution that has proven itself, over and over again, to be more interested in doctrine than in love. It’s an institution that is determined to address the issues of “the world” instead of the issues of the church.

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Jesus looked for the people his culture hated, and he loved them. He had mercy on the people his community saw as enemies.
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It teaches children that popularity or looking the part is more desirable than kindness. It teaches the gifts of the spirit without emulating the fruits of the spirit. It has consistently confused political party alliance with religious devotion, explicitly or implicitly endorsing the use of Jesus’ name in acts of political violence. It has proven that the outward performance of devotion is of higher value to it than the quiet and meek solidarity with the weakest and poorest among human beings. It openly portrays the concepts of social justice, equity, peace, inclusion, and anti-racism as anti-Christian.

What would Jesus do?

Our world is in turmoil. People can be assholes and honestly, we know it. Jesus was different. He walked around in a world full of turmoil and divisions and popularity contests and religious rules and political posturing, but he was kind. He looked for the people his culture hated, and he loved them. He had mercy on the people his community saw as enemies. He broke the religious rules if he could show love instead. He chose to sacrifice himself instead of pursuing political power.

Christ of the Ozarks in Eureka Springs

In fact, our world is hungry for the kind of stubborn kindness that Jesus showed. We’re all desperate for a promise of something that makes it all worthwhile. People (myself included) are looking for examples of lives worth living. In the church we see people screaming for their own rights – to own guns, to move freely without regard for the health of others, to sing their songs, play their games and abuse those with whom they disagree, to hold hateful signs and scream hateful slogans when others demonstrate peacefully against acts of violence.

It’s not that there are no people serving the poor without regard for reward, or caring for the sick or taking in the refugee, but those people are largely hidden away where they do not have to embarrass the ones who are not doing those things. No, the church is not where the world around me finds its kindness and acceptance and justice and peace in the storm. A tree will be known by its fruit, and the fruit growing from this tree is division and jealousy and sorcery and contempt for others and misogyny and spiritual posturing, and open racism and love for violence and rivalries and magic thinking.

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I’ve been standing in front of a door, thinking that inside is where I need to be... but what’s really happened is that as I’ve tried to work from inside, it has actually pushed me further away.
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Love is something you live

The fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness and self-control. These are the very things we all look for when the world around us is in turmoil, and they are things that are there to be found. I can think of a few people who have defied the odds to become the pop heroes of our culture, and they are anything but perfect. Dolly Parton is revered by diverse multitudes, not directly for her music but for playing the long game in her investment in bettering the lives of those less fortunate than herself, and for doing that without fanfare or great publicity but simply, as the opportunity arises, and with faithfulness.

Brené Brown is a superstar for teaching people to accept their own vulnerability and love truly and expansively and with humor. Michelle Obama became, in a way, the Proverbs 31 woman and Esther to Generation X – caring for her family while utilizing a position she would not have sought for herself as a springboard to serve and encourage others she would never have a chance to meet. Fictitious as he is, Ted Lasso inspires millions to choose to turn to others with cheerfulness and kindness and a healing hand when possible. In each phase of my life, I’ve known people whose kindness and true compassion has set them apart and made them an example to others. There are many more pop culture figures who have come forward to fill the hole left in our hearts by the church, and that’s great, but the fact remains that they are doing a job the church is leaving undone.

No place for me

Several months ago, a relatively new friend was talking about the many friendships she used to have that have been destroyed by the political turmoil of the past years – from the vindictive political campaigns that started nationally but have spread to even the tiniest elections, to the racial upheavals, to the politicized response to the pandemic, and on – and she asked me if I could relate. I thought about it for a moment and realized that yes, I had lost friendships, but more than that, it’s been the final blow in robbing me of my religion and my faith community.

I’m no longer going to pretend this is all okay with me, or implicitly endorse what I see as blasphemy with my participation in its programs or my identification with its name. I find that for years now I’ve been standing in front of a door, thinking that inside is where I need to be. That if my faith is real, I would stick to the church and change it from the inside, but what’s really happened is that as I’ve tried to work from inside, it has actually crowded me out and pushed me further away. So, my decision is not to walk away from my place, but to walk away because I no longer have a place, and it was making me crazy to keep feverishly trying to find it in an institution where there is no room for me.

Making peace

Nothing much has changed in my everyday life. I’m not exploring alternative lifestyles or joining a coven. I’m getting up every day and loving my kids and my husband. I’m trying to be a loving family member, a good friend, an advocate for peace. I want my kids to be diligent and kind and passionate and successful adults so I cheer them on as they try those things out and encourage them to try again when they fail. I want to love others, so I try to approach each person with honor for their humanity. I’m trying to learn what I can about the world around me.

Please don’t misunderstand my purpose in writing this. I’m not writing to ask you to join me. We each occupy our own space in the world, and I trust you. I’m not even asking you to agree with me. I’m asking you to remain my friend and as my friend to be with me in this – to trust me that I’m doing my best. It’s hard and lonely and kind of infuriating to be me right now. I need my friends. If you have questions or want to talk about things, I’m here for it, but please don’t try to evangelize me. I don’t know what will happen with my faith, but if God is God, then I am safe, and if not, I am at peace.

 

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