This post will not be for the faint of heart, and is questionable for children to read. It will not be explicit, but it will be difficult to explain and understand without context.

As an early-thirty-something male, I’ve found myself trying to fill voids I didn’t know I was trying to plug. In fact, I have tried to fill voids that didn’t even exist, particularly in terms of my own sexuality.  I am certain I am not alone in this regard. I am not sexually promiscuous by nature, but that does not mean that I have not objectified women in my heart.

I am speaking, of course, about sexual imagery, up to and including pornography. In today’s world, sex is absolutely everywhere. Television, print and internet are virtually inextricable from our lives, and pornography and other sexual content is inextricable from those media. It is ubiquitous, much of it is free, and it is varied and multitudinous. My previous post was partly about standards of beauty, and how they are bullies in our lives. Now, I’d like to make a point against the sexual nature of much of this imagery. I find it condemnable, but perhaps not for the reasons I expected.  There are plenty of verses about committing these acts, and this is only a smattering of the most obvious ones:

“Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body” (1 Corinthians 6:18).

“But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart” (Matthew 5:28).

“For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions—is not from the Father but is from the world” (John 2:16).

Yes, of course the Bible warns us about adulterous thoughts and actions, and particular about adulterous women–as though being an adulterous man is any better–saying that they are sinful.  That may well be, but my objection to lustful, sexual imagery (explicit or otherwise) is that it is hurtful, and in ways to which I never really thought I was susceptible.

Firstly, if sex surrounds a person, and sex is everywhere all the time, it perverts expectations about what is actually “sexy.”  This is particularly true of pornography, but is also true of Victoria’s Secret commercials, of daytime soap-operas, and even of prime-time dancing competitions. We see what society tells us “sexy” looks like, and what sex looks like, and the bar is set impossibly high. Instead of valuing things like independence, self-confidence, and good humor, we look at someone’s shape, height, and the amount of skin they’re willing to show us.

Secondly, when we see sex everywhere, it becomes difficult to blur the line between what is meant to be sexualized, and what should be humanized. I feel like I’ve been conditioned to see sexual context everywhere I look. This has put tremendous strain on my personal relationships, even if I haven’t been able to see it in the moment. It also puts strain on my worldview, friendships, and courtships.

Thirdly, when we see other people each other as objects, even when that “object’s” beauty is revered, we lose sight of that person’s humanity. When we see a man treat a woman like his plaything in a video, or see a woman prettied and made to look like a doll in a photograph while she sexualizes herself with a pouting face, we start to see them as playthings and dolls. When women fawn over a well-muscled man with a pretty face, that man is likewise reduced to a piece of flesh, and he is treated with similar disrespect. Ultimately, this hearkens back to the golden rule, which I’ve written about before.  If I am not loving my neighbors as I love myself, then I am being disrespectful of them.

Finally, and in relation to my previous post, these sexual images amplify my own insecurities. Like I said, I’m not a bad-looking guy, but if I compare myself to models and adult stars, of course I will find shortcomings. Worse, I will start to think that everyone else sees those same shortcomings in me.

In the end, the person I have hurt most by partaking in these indulgences is myself.  Perhaps the most poignant verse I could find was from Proverbs, Chapter 6, verses 31 and 33, where it is written “He who commits adultery lacks sense; he who does it destroys himself. He will get wounds and dishonor . . .” As the verse says, these wounds are self-inflicted.

For this reason, I have made a conscious decision to abstain from pornography and lustful imagery. Some of it is easy to avoid, but some of it is decidedly more difficult; in some cases I must make a conscious decision to turn away. Do I really believe that looking at a woman lustfully would condemn me? The point is irrelevant. My true aim–my deepest desire–is to love others as I want to be loved, and to treat them how I would want to be treated. I am greater than what I look like, even on my best days, and I should endeavor to see others that same way.

As a great teacher of mine (Yoda) once said: “Luminous beings are we! Not this crude matter.” We must see that luminosity.

One of the darkest, most sinister aspects of my personality is insecurity. Even when I am at my most confident, there is a nagging feeling in my mind that I am simply faking it, and that the people around me will eventually see through my guise and understand me for what I really am: inadequate.

The world is full of bullies. Some of them will push you down, some of them will make fun of you, and some of them will name your shortcomings to your face. These are the obvious bullies, and while they are hurtful, they are in plain sight.

The more dangerous bullies are the ones we don’t see until they’ve wormed their way into our subconscious minds. Society bullies us with advertising. Our peers and friends and family bully us with immodest bravado and boastfulness, even when they don’t mean to do so. Women are constantly bombarded with an unachievable, unattainable moving target of what our society’s “standard” of beauty should look like, and they drive themselves to extreme measures to make themselves more like that standard. Men are likewise shamed into achieving Adonis-like musculature, fretting over their hairline, and wondering about the relative size of their fifth appendage. I am as guilty of feeling shame about my body as the next person. I know intellectually that I am that I am taller than average, thin, and generally not an ugly man. But emotionally, I still feel inadequate.

Once you move beyond the simple body-shaming aspects of the bullies that surround us, there are other, just-as-nefarious messages. We are taught what success looks like: what kind of house to live in, what kind of car to drive, how much money to make, how attractive one’s spouse should be, et cetera. I am similarly guilty of finding myself wanting in these areas. I feel constantly behind where I should be, and constantly comparing myself to my peers.

In the end, this is all folly. I’d like to call out three verses that are teaching me today to understand the nature of that foolishness:

“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will” (Romans 12:2).

“The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart” (Samuel 16:7).

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things” (Ephesians 4:6-8).

The first verse is particularly poignant with regards to this writing, and I hope to my own life. Paul writes that we should not transform ourselves to be more in line with the concerns of this world–fiscally, physically, emotionally–but should strive to transform our minds (and hearts and spirits). Once I am at peace with myself and mindful of God’s will, I will be able to see and achieve God’s plan for me.

The second verse may seem intuitive and obvious, but it still bears repeating. The Lord does not see us the way our peers see us, or even how we see ourselves.  God sees only our heart and spirit, and because we are of Him, that is what He loves most about us. As it pertains to my own life, I must strive only to compare myself to my younger self.  Am I closer to God today than I was yesterday?

The third verse is the most action oriented. Paul writes that we should be grateful and give thanks, and that our hearts should not be anxious. Once we understand that “attitude of gratitude,” the peace God imparts will act as a shield against anxiety and insecurity. Then, we can more fully appreciate the beauty in the world around us? Here again, I must endeavor to transform myself every day, and ask myself: am I celebrating and appreciating beauty in His world more than I have previously?

These things are easy to say, and difficult to practice. My insecurities are deep-rooted, and I have not done much to help myself. But I must take into my heart that God’s love is not contingent on what I look like, or what I achieve in my career. God’s love is of my heart, and I should be mindful to see myself that same way.

Prayer for the morning:

Father above us, Father among us, Father in our hearts, in your splendor please grant me the peace that comes from knowing you love my heart.  Please also grant me the peace of knowing that there are people who see me the same way you do. Thank you for loving me.

When I started this blog, a little over a week ago, I needed a title.  I want to share why I chose “There will be rest.”

In music, particularly choral music (sacred or otherwise), the most transformative moments of a piece are major chord resolutions.  These are the moments where dissonance becomes Harmony. These are the moments where the direction of the piece becomes clear, and a hundred voices point in a single direction.

At the University, one of my favorite pieces I ever sang was called “There Will Be Rest,” by Frank Ticheli. The piece is slightly sacred, in the sense that there’s an overall arc of spirituality, and a general “Holiness” about the lyrics and sound. It’s not really about God per say, though. It’s about stillness, quiet, and peace–and rest, of course. The themes of the song are only partly why I chose the name, though.  In truth, I wish it was a little more on the spiritual side.

But, as I said, the real magic of the song lies in the resolutions. The song starts out dissonant and uncomfortable, in a key that simply doesn’t sound warm to our western ears.  Then, it slowly weaves in and out of a major key over the course of the first minute and a half. It becomes warmer, and even though the volume slowly builds, it somehow also becomes more gentle. Then, at the 1:40 mark, it gracefully sets a chord resolution down, as though the notes are made of the finest, most fragile crystal ever conceived, and for just a split second, there is complete serenity and peace until the tenors repeat the line and the song blooms into a beautiful garden.

There are several resolutions like that over the course of the song, and I have always held a special place in my heart. A poetic romance of the soul exists in moments like that, where the sound of gentleness and peace wash over the listeners (and singers). Your shoulders relax, your heart swells, and a content of the spirit takes all the fight out of you. That is what I’ve been seeking: resolution, love, peace, and gentleness. I pray that God’s grace grants me a serene, gentle heart, and that the discord in my soul can find that perfect harmony and quiet.

Below is a recording from a University choir from 2011.  The recording isn’t perfect, but it is very, very good, and certainly better than the most popular recording available on YouTube. The choir is mostly careful with their sibilants, they are well balanced, the tempo is perfect. This is how I remember the song feeling when I was the one in the penguin suit.

Retrospectively, I don’t think I ever believed when I was a child. This is at odds with the traditional expression “faith like a child,” but as a youth, I can’t ever remember really taking it to heart that God took stock in my soul, and that Christ could be my salvation. There are several possible explanations:

1. Perhaps I’m mis-remembering, and I truly did blindly believe what I was being taught.
2. Perhaps my newfound belief has simply paled my previous iterations of faith in my memory.
3. Perhaps I did not truly believe, but simply went along with it, blindly saying the words and going through the motions.

I wonder if I treated Church like school. Learn the lesson, memorize the lines, pass the test, and move on to the next lesson. Just do the things.

What brings this question to mind today is the thought of prayer.  I’ve written before that because this is a newly renewed aspect of my life, I sometimes struggle to find words that adequately express my heart to the Lord. Last week, when I picked up the Book for the first time in a long while, I started with the Gospel of Matthew. I came across this portion of scripture in Chapter 6 (Forgive me, but I’m going to mix translations here, and I’ll explain why later):

“Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him. Pray then like this:
‘Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our tresspasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever, Amen.’

For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.” (Matthew 6:8-15)

I find this passage interesting, and simultaneously encouraging and discouraging. As a Lutheran, I memorized this prayer and recited it . . . more times than I can possibly count. That is why I mixed translations. The framing verses at the beginning and end are from the NIV Bible. The prayer itself I transcribed as I remember it. We called it the Lord’s Prayer, but as I understand it many Catholics refer to it as an “Our Father.” Same same.

What discourages me is that I find it very difficult to repeat those words without simply regurgitating them. Because it was drilled into me, it serves as a mantra, but this prayer itself is very difficult to take to heart. I try repeating the prayer and pausing in order to consider each line of the prayer individually. I hope that if I parse the phrases and internalize them, the Spirit will move me to give my heart to the Lord, but mostly it’s just words. I may just as well be doing a layup drill on a basketball court, or sawing a board in the workshop. It’s an action, but a passive one that starts to unravel if I think about it too hard.

But, I think the point is that the prayer is supposed to be a template for how to pray to the Lord. That first verse reminds me that God already knows what is in my heart, and so this prayer is meant as a verbal affirmation of what Christ teaches should be a part of every prayer. 1) Address God. 2) Revere his glory and name. 3) Accept God’s role as the grace by which we–and all things–exist. 4) Ask only for what you need, and give thanks. 5) Ask for forgiveness and deliverance. 6) Acknowledge the infinite and eternal nature of God and His kingdom.

These things are simple and intuitive. I find that when I kneel to pray before bed–or any other time–I almost tend to naturally do these things. If I pray with an attitude of gratitude, humility and reverence, these aspects of prayer almost naturally spill out of my mouth without consideration. Prayer is still something that I must practice every day (or more often), but through that passage I think I understand what ought to be said. Besides, God already knows my own heart.

One of my most recurrent thoughts when considering my relationship with God is trust. Because I am feeling a great deal of turmoil in my own life right now, I think that trust is hard to come by. I feel very confident that it will get easier, once my heart heals.  For now, I just pray to God for comfort, love and peace, and try to take each hour as it comes. Get through this hour without breaking down, and when this hour is up, get through the next one.  Some are easier than others. Some are brutal. I must keep telling myself that God would not send this pain to me unless I was meant to have it and grow from it.

As I went to bed last night, I was internalizing the chapter I’d read from the Gospel of John, and there are a few verses I want to write about in particular.  I’ll start with verse 35: “I am the bread of life.  Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

Contextually, this happens right after Christ performs the miracle of feeding the five thousand on the banks of the sea of Galilee, and then walks on water.  With only five loaves and two small fishes, Christ gave thanks for the bread and broke it, dividing it and spreading it among the crowd of five thousand. So the most literal interpretation is that he performed these miracles to convince the crowd, and in order to set up this next teaching moment. To my understanding, the “bread of life” is one of the most lengthy records of Christ’s speech, and also ranks among the most important.

In the context of multiplying the loaves, Christ is speaking literally about food. The followers who have gathered there have eaten, against all reason, “as much as they wanted” (John 6:11). The obvious subtext here being that what gave them their fill was not only the bread and fish, but also Christ himself. They were sated both because they’d eaten, and because their spirits were full. In terms of my own life, I take heart from this lesson. One of the reasons I am seeking Christ in my life is because of an emptiness I feel spiritually, and I have great hope that he will fill my heart and soul with his love and grace.

The next portion of the Gospel is also of great interest to me right now. “All those the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never drive away.  For I have come down from heaven not to do my will but to do the will of him who sent me” (verse 37). Similarly, “No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws them, and I will raise them up on the last day” (verse 44).

One of my fears about my young faith is that I am seeking Him for selfish reasons, and that I am doomed to backslide once my pain subsides. I don’t want to lose my way, and I don’t want my faith to be for the wrong reasons, because then it would truly be doomed to fail. What I think Jesus is saying here is that there is no wrong reason for seeking God, and that if I feel a calling, it is not because I made it up in my head, but because the Father put it there in my heart. God is drawing me near, and from that I take great comfort. According to the Gospel, it is God’s will that I seek him, and that he draws me nearer to Himself with great purpose.

Prayer:

Father above us, Father among us, Father in our hearts, I ask that you draw me nearer to you with every passing hour. Thank you for being my bread.

Tonight’s reading came from John, and I would like to drift into sleep thinking about chapter 6, verses 35-51:

“Then Jesus declared, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty. But as I told you, you have seen me and still you do not believe. All those the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never drive away. For I have come down from heaven not to do my will but to do the will of him who sent me. And this is the will of him who sent me, that I shall lose none of all those he has given me, but raise them up at the last day. For my Father’s will is that everyone who looks to the Son and believes in him shall have eternal life, and I will raise them up at the last day.’

At this the Jews there began to grumble about him because he said, ‘I am the bread that came down from heaven.’ They said, ‘Is this not Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, ‘I came down from heaven’?’

‘Stop grumbling among yourselves,’ Jesus answered. ‘No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws them, and I will raise them up at the last day. It is written in the Prophets: ‘They will all be taught by God.’ Everyone who has heard the Father and learned from him comes to me. No one has seen the Father except the one who is from God; only he has seen the Father. Very truly I tell you, the one who believes has eternal life. I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, yet they died. But here is the bread that comes down from heaven, which anyone may eat and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.'”

I’ll mull these over in my sleep, and discuss in the morning.

Prayer for tonight:

Heavenly Father, Son, and Spirit, please leave me tonight with a feeling of gratitude in my hearts, so that I am reminded of your grace, and everything that flows from it. Be my bread, and I will partake of your light and love.

I’ve written about trust in the context of faith before, but this morning I want to revisit the subject, because I need to feel that trust right now. This is a time of great trial in my life, and great upheaval, and it is easy to dwell on the past, and on my mistakes. What could I have done differently, and what will happen now? I know intellectually that worrying will bring me no peace, but my heart is at war with my mind.  Even though I have faith that the Lord will see me through, I am also troubled by doubt fueled by heartache. What does my future look like now?

A song lyric by The Killers has been rattling around in my head, from the song “Dustland Fairytale”: “God gives us hope, but we still fear what we don’t know;” (Flowers).  This describes my current state well, I think. I believe that this trial is important to my life, and that through God’s love I will endure it, but I am afraid. Part of my heart rejoices in God’s gifts of life, love and hope. But mostly I am sadder than I have ever been. I feel broken and halved. I am worried that I will never be happy again, even though I know that God will not abandon me to despair as long as I have faith.

I came across this passage in Matthew a few days ago, and I repeat it to myself sometimes: “Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?” (Matthew 6:27). It has become a mantra of sorts, a shield against sorrow. But my faith is still young, and my pain is still heavy, and my battle against that pain is still a constant toil.

I also take some measure of comfort in “My Lighthouse,” by Rend Collective. It’s an upbeat, folksy number, sung with great joy and gratitude.

Your great love will lead me through
You are the peace in my troubled sea
Oh, you are the peace in my troubled sea.

In the silence, you won’t let go
In the questions, your truth will hold

My lighthouse, my lighthouse
Shining in the darkness, I will follow you
I will trust the promise;
You will carry me safe to shore.
(Rend Collective)

Easy to say, and easy to sing, but far more difficult to adopt right now. I am raw, and hopelessness encroaches upon me. Today, above all other days, I need to practice faith. And then tomorrow above today.  And then again.

Prayer:

Lord, let me have the trust that you will see me through my most difficult times.

Today I attended a church service–virtually.

I never really noticed that word before: “service.” I knew they were called services, but I don’t think I ever thought about it. The reason it’s called a service should have been obvious, but like I said, I don’t think I ever really thought about it. It was just a word. That was what it was called.

In the traditional sense, it’s not unlike a dinner service.  There’s music, there’s a starter course–perhaps communion–followed by a main course: the message.

But I also think that perhaps in my estimation, there are other reasons to call it a service. The pastors have been called by God into service. Their sacred duty and privilege is to serve their flock in Christ’s name, and to serve their community at large.  They are our modern-day apostles, called to be messengers and ambassadors for Christ.  In a very real way, they are both serving God and servicing us through their testimony.

In yet another way, Church calls the flock itself into service. Often, the message itself is a missive of faith and service.  How can an individual serve the Lord?  How can he or she serve the community, or the flock itself?

Pastor Mark Leuning, of theSprings, spoke today about the faith and trust required to put the Lord first above our own needs.  He called to out a passage from Deuteronomy, chapter 26, verses 10-11: “and now I bring the firstfruits of the soil that you, LORD, have given me. Place the basket before the LORD your God and bow down before him. Then you and the Levites and the foreigners residing among you shall rejoice in all the good things the LORD your God has given to you and your household.”

I have never tithed.  I have never belonged to a church to which I could tithe.  When I was a young boy, my grandparents would give me a small bill, perhaps a five-dollar bill, or a couple of singles, to put in the offering.  When I was older, I stopped attending church regularly, and certainly never long enough to join up. The concept of tithing was foreign to me. Of course, I do understand the concept of generosity and putting yourself before others, but I honestly did not think of giving to the Lord in this way.

Oddly and coincidentally, I tithed this morning before the service.  I woke up in a hurry, but I said a prayer, and I checked the church’s website to make sure I knew what time the service would start and that I had everything I needed to ready for viewing. I saw a “give” button on the website, and I was simply compelled to push it.

When I did, though, I had to do some mental math.  How much should I give? How much do I have to give? What will be left over when all my other obligations are fulfilled? What can I afford?

The message of Pastor Leuning’s sermon this morning was that I did the math in reverse. Giving to the Lord, and in the service of each other, should be sacrificial in a way that changes the life we lead. By giving sacrificially, we open ourselves to the world, because that spirit of sacrifice and generosity begets an attitude of gratitude, and that gratitude begets a spirit of generosity. Then, we trust that the Lord will take note of our celebration and sacrifice, and will provide a way forward for us.

Generosity has lately been difficult for me. The word Pastor Leuning used was “grubby,” and that’s the right word. I am ashamed to admit it, but I’ve written it in this space before. I have been selfish. Now I want to be called to service.

Prayer:

Father, please, please bring my heart relief right now. I ache.

I lift up my hand, and I ask the Lord to lift up my heart; I need Christ in my life. Amen.

Good morning Lord.

Thank you for your grace, love, and understanding.

Thank you for entering my heart.

Thank you for inspiring me to seek the best version of myself–the version of myself that you had always planned for me.

Thank you for my pain, so that I know I am still alive.

Thank you for your wisdom, passed to me through not only your Word, but also through people I hold very dear.

Thank you most of all for sending your son to us, and for his unfathomable, astounding sacrifice. And thank you for helping me to see that I can be worthy of that sacrifice.

I ask you today to be with me, to grant my path clarity, and to speed me along my way. Be close to me, and wrap me in hope and love.

Amen