Something in the old way isn’t working anymore.
There is too much pain, too much grief in my heart.
I’ve been running too long on the faith-fumes of elders, and I’m in this strange place of trying to refigure where it is I stand, on what it means to be a woman, on what it means to be a wife, to be a mother, to be a Christian when he says “to live is Christ”.
There’s a guy named Derek Webb. He used to be in a Christian band. He’s an atheist now, divorced from his wife. I read his words, the ones he claims are the truest and free. It doesn’t sound like the old him at all. He sounds like a new man who no longer lives, but might yet hope to live again.
The time for grief is over he says. I get it. You can’t remain in the sadness forever. But how did Christianity wound us so badly? Who’s fault is it we missed what it meant? No sex before marriage. No divorce once you’re married. Go and let your light shine before men. This is nowhere near the point of what it means to be a Christian.
The spirit of the age out there wants us to spill, but there still remains a right and a wrong way to speak. There’s not a clearer writer in the Bible than Paul. “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is wholesome in building others up, according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.”
There’s a deep and gnarled cynicism threatening my heart, like a vampire poised to sink his teeth into my neck. Every tear is like a poison to my faith, and yet, AND YET, how much greater then the HOPE when I hear the words of glory, “He will wipe away EVERY tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death, or mourning, or crying, or pain.”
Rejoice, dear friends.
The former things are passing on.