Abuse, Cover Up’s, and Sex Scandals - Church, We Have a Problem.

This past week, a few people slid into my DM’s with the same headline. Brian Houston, the man who heads the Hillsong Empire, is up on charges for covering up sexual abuse of minors. Yes, plural. He claims innocence, of course, and the long arm of the law must wait until he returns from Mexico (!!!) to take the next steps in the two year investigation. Houston famously fired his own dad after it came out that Houston Snr. (Frank) had abused minors. Did Brian Houston remove his dad from the staff? Yes. Did he make organisational changes? Allegedly, yes. But did he go to the police with the information he had and was obligated to report, thus allowing the system to process the charges and take reasonable steps to prevent future abuse? Apparently not. This knowledge doesn’t rock me. It doesn’t even surprise me. If there is an emotion anywhere near surprise, it is my anger and disappointment that it has become so unexceptional. To place doctrine, ambition or empire over person. To do exactly what Jesus would not do.

This from the people who instruct us in the ways of selflessness and Christ-likeness, who we take as moral standard bearers over our lives. Yet, in this moment when justice comes knocking for Houston Jnr, will the Church collectively answer the clarion call to stand on the side of justice, truth, and lawful living let alone compassion and advocating for the vulnerable? I doubt it very much.

As we know, Hillsong’s followers and attendees number in the millions. Across the world, there are numerous “campuses” as they are now called. Last year, we saw another Hillsong scalp fall as Carl Lentz got outed for cheating on his wife. It happened in a year when Ravi Zacharias, the legendary apologist, died and with that took to the grave any possibility of justice for his alleged abuse victims (who I absolutely believe, for the record). It has been reported that Zacharias regularly exaggerated his academic achievements, and that there are multiple sexual misconduct victims.

Then there’s Jerry and Becki Falwell, the couple at the head of the conservative Christian College, Liberty University in Virginia. They were outed as having some sexual practices that certainly wouldn’t fit within the doctrines they publicly espoused. (I.e. One of them would trawl the university for young men for Becki to sleep with while Jerry watched on. It’s called cuckholding. If that’s your thing. Fine. Just don’t shame girls for their spaghetti strap cami’s or loss of virginity while you watch your wife doing the the pool boy. Hypocrite. That’s before you delve into the issues around power distance between a sexual predator and their prey).

The Falwell issue was creepy at best, predatory at worst, and when you throw in their the fact that it was Falwell’s recommendation that went a long way to putting Trump on the American throne for four ill-fated years, ousting Ted Cruz as the conservative anointed one, it gets creepier. It is rumoured Trump hooked the Falwell’s up with his lawyer. A cover up in return for a favour, perhaps? But the pool boy talked (Here’s the scoop on that one: The Rollingstone with some more salacious pieces of wow for you).

There’s a joke in there about the wrong type of preying/praying, but its entirely the wrong time for jokes.

You could be fooled for thinking that these people were anomalies. That there was just too much at stake for these Christian leaders to operate by the moral standing required of them as they headed up these large churches or Christian institutions. Does the end justify the means if you are weighing the life of a handful of abuse victims versus the millions of followers worldwide? The answer should be obvious here: no! In the parable of the lost sheep, the good shepherd leaves the flock of 99 to care for the one that was lost. As groups like the Australian Christian Lobby parade around, crying foul over the Church’s loss of privilege as the institution that was somehow a standard bearer for morality and goodness, this is what we are weighing it against - People like Brian Houston who is famously pals with Prime Minister Scott Morrison, and who is off preaching in Mexico while a two year investigation draws its conclusions that there is enough evidence to charge him for his handling of his fathers abuse of minors.

You could be forgiven for thinking that somehow the sheer size of Hillsong would make it harder for Brian Houston to do the right thing. Perhaps that he is the anomaly, or that riches and influence somehow made it too hard to stand up for truth without compromising the work of the ministry globally.

But there are three problems with that logic: 1) its horse shit, 2) its diametrically opposed to the energy of the gospel, and 3), perhaps most importantly, its not just the bigwigs.

My suspicion, and my lived experience as an Evangelical survivor and as a podcaster/blogger who moves in exvangelical spheres, is that the issue of abuse and its mishandling permeates right through institutionalised religion. These people are supposed to represent Jesus - the model for compassion, justice and self-sacrifice. And yet they do it so very poorly. It would be laughable if it weren’t so darn tragic.

Roughly a year and a half ago, I sat in a courthouse waiting room with the mother of an alleged abuse victim (alleged - because the case is still before the courts at the time of writing. But I 100% believe and support the victim). We waited for the accused to turn up for his hearing. He was a pastors son. (Still is). He never showed. The victim’s mother had shepherded her priceless, vulnerable child through treacherous years, having disclosed the abuse to the pastor almost a decade prior and then weathering all sorts of personal hell as the crime was kept quiet and covered up (allegedly, again I'm using the word even though I 100% believe the victim and their mother). She approached police, who were rightly concerned about the vulnerability of the victim when it came to the timing of pursuing charges. But this day, she had raised every ounce of Mamma bear strength she had, and sat at the court house waiting to face them - both the accused and his pastor-parents. But the accused never showed. No one did.

I later heard (via second hand sources, admittedly) that there was a prayer meeting across town. It was supposedly a special prayer meeting called as “the church was under attack.” If true, then I can only guess where the accused was. And I can only guess what “the attack” was.

Lady Justice was at the ready, scales in hand.

Here is the case in point: Brian Houston has millions of excuses, irrelevant excuses, to potentially cloud his judgement when it comes to reporting the crimes. Count them in attendees, or count them in dollars - whatever balances your scales - but nothing stands up to me and thousands of others who demand that churches, you know, represent a loving God. But what about the abovementioned micro-church pastor? Well at this point I would estimate his church attendance to be well under 50. Does he have the same money or power to justify covering up the (alleged) abuse?

I think not. And yet…

It’s not just the bigwigs that that seem to think that the call of the their god, whatever that god may be, is bigger than the call of justice. This is an opinion piece. Let’s state that loud and proud. I blame two major factors for this gross miscarriage of justice. 1) Dominionism, and 2) Power. Let’s take the latter first.

I once saw a movie, and for the life of me I can’t remember what it was, but there was a line that struck me so hard the rest of the movie became irrelevant. The quote was this: “One of the greatest myths in the world is that power is innocent.”

We would so like to think that church leaders are immune to the corrupting influence of power. But with the growth of influence comes the growth of ego. Therefore, humility is less of a trait and more of a discipline, and it is my suspicion that too few people in power understand this. Still fewer church pastors, regardless of the size of their congregation, adequately discern the depth of their power/influence over their congregants. They do exist, I’m sure of it! I’ve met maybe a small handful for whom I know this to be true. But what of the others, however innumerable they may be?

I once did an interview with Mike Phillips who aptly pointed out that, as soon as there is money, hierarchy or power involved in a community, there is the opportunity for that to become corrupted. It was a damn good point. Influence is just another word for power, let’s be honest. I have witnessed, time after time, that the damage caused to a victim within a church system can regularly fall far down the priority list when it involves exposing the ways in which people in positions of power have behaved badly or covered up the actions of those who did.

Even when it involves grievous harm.

So what if a church of a million closes because the pastor was found to be covering up child abuse? So what if that pastor is friends with the prime minister? If we think that the means justify the end, if we think that our empires and our money and our political influence is more important than a child who faced insufferable abuse at the hands of anyone within our leadership ranks, we are thoroughly and biblically wrong. Jesus said “let the little children come to me. Forbid them not for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

But what do we do when we tell a child that their innocence, their damage, is less important than God’s man or God’s plan? We are the stumbling block in their way. We are a giant, cosmic “fuck you” representative of God himself.

This isn’t true for just the original victim. It is true for the mothers and fathers who advocated for that child. For the siblings who knew the secret. For the relationships and friendships throughout the course of that childs life who are privy to the damage and hold the hands of the victim as they weather the tough terrain of recovery. To them, the question is obvious: “Where is God in all of this?” And the picture we give them time and time again is that he is there, behind the Frank Houston’s of the world, and that the Brian Houston’s of the world are there to play armour bearer and get in the way of justice. It is here in these moments, that Jesus, who came to model radical, sacrificial love and inclusivity, to stand up for justice, overthrow corruption, and model the law of love, is completely absent from the Institutions of Church. In fact, Church more clearly resembles the pharisees and sadducees of the scripture who Jesus railed against, and who railed against him.

Did I just call Brian Houston, and any church leader who values power, money or influence over the plight of the vulnerable or covers up abuse within their ranks, a Pharisee? Yes. I did.

But where did we get the idea in the first place that there was a call so great, so lofty, that it was our mandate, and not serving the vulnerable, marginalised or at risk? Thats the second problem: Dominionism.

I’m going to go ahead and say it: this is the most problematic doctrine in churches today. It’s a big call to make but I stand behind it. Dominionism is unbiblical. It sounds nice, because it tells us that power and dominion is our birthright as Christians; that we are somehow spiritual spies with a heavenly mandate to infiltrate and take over the halls of power, whether they be business, politics, family, spirituality, education, entertainment or health. That God intended for the world to fall in line while we ascend to power. Tempting, isn’t it, to believe that saying the magic words (the sinners prayer) automatically entitles you to riches, power and influence.

I’ve written on Dominionism before, and I’ll link you at the end of this article. Dominionism is believed by its adherents to be Biblical. But when you delve into it, it is nothing more than a heresy - an unbiblical idea that appeals to some because it rubber stamps their desires for societal ascension. Politics is where dominionism is most obvious - we saw it in Trump pandering to the Republicans and locking up the Conversative vote. We saw it at the end of his presidency when his followers blindly proclaimed false prophesies about his second term, and we saw it in the Capital under seige on January 6. This was not a kingdom based on righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost (the definition given in Romans 14:17). This was a kingdom built on ego, and its fruits were violence and lawlessness. Yet the good Christian conscience of many of these conservative followers was absent. Dominionism had replaced discernment, and Donald “Grab ‘em by the pussy Trump” was now their banner. His multiple divorces now overlooked (an aberration not to little old me, but to many of these church leaders who abandoned their own doctrines to support the man). The sexual assault allegations against him now silenced. To raise these abuses would be to speak against God’s anointed, as they like to say.

Of course, not all American Christians. Of course - I say by way of disclaimer. This topic tends to get my blood a little warm to say the least.

The problem runs deep. Deep enough for many many blog pieces to cover it. But it doesn’t just apply to billionaires or church leaders with millions of followers. It also applies to small church leaders, even micro church leaders, who think the end justifies the means or who believe that their great and lofty call is more important than the child who discloses that a church leader did something to do them.

If the church can only reach its goals by silencing its victims, then the institution is lost. It is not representative of Jesus. It is not representative of any of the values it claims to espouse. Jesus told us, in the New Testament about the law of love. If we look on the global scale as churches fail to protect their victims, we have to mark this with a gigantic fail. So if we can’t measure up to Jesus one commandment, then maybe we should go back to the Ten Commandments:

1. I am the Lord your God, you shall have no gods before me. (Okay then…how about power? Can I worship power or riches before You? FAIL)

2. Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord in vain. (Oh, do you mean using the name of the Lord to justify things that the Lord would absolutely not justify? FAIL)

3. Remember to keep the Lords Day Holy. (Well first of all the sabbath is a Saturday, so for the majority - FAIL)

4. Honour your father and your mother (Okay. Maybe this one is okay, for the churches who don’t split families apart in the name of “restoration” or “spiritual fathering”)

5. Thou shalt not kill (Gosh, I hope we don’t fail this one! But do you count it when people suffer abuse at church and then lose their lives to suicide? FAIL)

6. Thou shalt not commit adultery (I’m looking at you Carl Lentz, and the Falwell’s. Fail)

7. Thou shalt not steal. (Do you mean stealing a child’s innocence? Does that count? FAIL)

8. Thou shalt not bear false witness. (OOOOh burn. FAIL)

9. Thou shalt not covet your neighbours wife. (Lol. Sorry Carl Lentz. You bombed twice in one scripture passage)

10. Thou shalt not covet your neighbours goods. (Okay, even I’m bombing here, because my neighbour has some cool stuff.)

How did we rate? 1-2 out of 10?

Let’s refer back to the big man, shall we? If Jesus became “obedient to the point of death, even death on the cross,” can’t you report crimes against children and vulnerable people? If Jesus said “Let the children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,” should we be making these children suffer and bear wounds from which their recovery will be long and gruelling if possible at all?

The point I’m making is this: the Church is now being disabused of the idea that it is above the law, or even that it is an example of anything to society. The Royal Commission into Institutional Abuse (in Australia) was a damning mirror held up to our faces, and yet we refused to take a good hard look. Here we are, years later, and the secular world is leading the charge when it comes to all matters pertaining to protecting and advocating for the vulnerable, and demanding truth and transparency from organisations. And the people who seem to be kicking the most against this progress seem to be found in churches. Or in Mexico. Or attempting to wield political influence so they can continue on their merry, unscrutinised way.

Is all lost? Can the church be rescued? Only if it is willing to look in that mirror, long and hard, and completely rebuild it’s structures from the ground up - to humble itself to the point of death, even death on the cross. Can miracles happen, yes. Do good churches exist, yes. Have I experienced some of these good churches? Yes, I think so. Do I still take a dim view of the system worldwide? heck yes.

Do better church. You won’t find me supporting Brian Houston, or any other pastor against whom an allegation has been raised. You’ll find me on the side of the victim who had to gather every shred of strength and self-belief to stand up and report what happened to them, only to be smacked down and silenced. Because generally speaking where there is one such allegation, there is bound to be more.

I hope I am proven wrong. I just don’t think I will be.

xo
Kit K - who has a bee in her bonnet today.

And the Links Bebe:

What is Dominionism?

Is there a Biblical Basis for Dominionism?

Why I’m Not a Dominionism Anymore
Dominionism in the era of Trump and ScoMo, the 2019 Edition

Ya Basic: The Calvinism Edition

Hey there. Hi. How are you? Long time no see. I have been absolutely, head-spinningly, crazy busy. But here we are, on the eleventh day of February in 2020 and I’m finally writing the first real blog article of the year. Those who have hung around here before and know me, know this: I’m a big believer in an examined faith. If we don’t take the time to examine what we believe and why, we can end up with all sorts of crazy theologies in our heads and a lot of them can be nothing more than glorified superstition. In a time when the evangelical church is coming under increasing, and I believe deserved, scrutiny, Biblical knowledge a noble pursuit.

The truth is, it is easy to walk into churches that feel good, sound good and speak about nice things, but be none the wiser when it comes to what they believe. I also believe that, with the emergence of a trend towards going independent, ideas can permeate the pulpit and sound original, but hail from older theologies. Is this a bad thing? Not always. I’m all for modernising the word and making it more understandable and accessible. But here’s the thing: older theologies often have a little more conversation and criticism around them, meaning it is easier to see what is solid and what isn’t.

Before I delve into the basics of one of the big thinkers of the Protestant Reformation (circa the 1500’s), I want to say this: I’m a layperson. I don’t have a theology degree. I don’t claim to know it all. I’m just a regular Jo, working her way through life and trying to do her best with faith and followership. There are whole books arguing for and against this next topic! I’m just giving you my super quick cooks tour of it.

Without further ado, meet John Calvin. The TULIP guy.

The 1500’s were a turbulent time for Christianity. The Roman Catholic Church, which had enjoyed a position of privilege in society, was undergoing the throes of what would later become known as the Protestant Reformation – a significant split from the institution. John Calvin was a French theologian born into a catholic family but later went protestant after studying philosophy, humanism and law. He stepped up to the plate in the mid 1500’s and began to help popularise a few things ideas that have hung on until today, namely; belief in the sovereignty of God in all things, and the doctrine of predestination.

Why did I call him the TULIP Guy? Because he had five points and the best acronym people have come up with for that is a flower. (Hey, I like flowers!) Christianity.com briefly explains the five main points of Calvinism as this:

1. Total Depravity – asserts that as a consequence of the fall of man into sin, every person is enslaved to sin. People are not by nature inclined to love God, but rather to serve their own interests and to reject the rule of God.

2. Unconditional Election – asserts that God has chosen from eternity those whom he will bring to himself not based on foreseen virtue, merit, or faith in those people; rather, his choice is unconditionally grounded in his mercy alone. God has chosen from eternity to extend mercy to those he has chosen and to withhold mercy from those not chosen.

3. Limited Atonement – asserts that Jesus’s substitutionary atonement was definite and certain in its purpose and in what it accomplished. This implies that only the sins of the elect were atoned for by Jesus’s death.

4. Irresistible Grace – asserts that the saving grace of God is effectually applied to those whom he has determined to save (that is, the elect) and overcomes their resistance to obeying the call of the gospel, bringing them to a saving faith. This means that when God sovereignly purposes to save someone, that individual certainly will be saved.

5. Perseverance of the Saints – asserts that since God is sovereign and his will cannot be frustrated by humans or anything else, those whom God has called into communion with himself will continue in faith until the end.

Okay! Big ideas here. Big ideas that have permeated church until today. I always used to just think “Yep, okay cool” when it came to Calvinism, but the more I grow in my faith and deconstruction, the more I can see some fundamental flaws in the logic. Most of them pertain to the middle three points. Let’s start with unconditional election: the idea that we are either doomed to hell or destined for heaven from the dawn of time is something I find deeply troubling. We have scriptures such as John 3:16 (For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son that *whosoever* believes in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life) or Acts 2:21 and Romans 10:13 that guarantee that anyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.

Then there is Romans 5:18 that says “as through one transgression, there resulted condemnation to all men, even so through one act of righteousness, there resulted justification of life to all.”  1 Timothy 2:24 talks about Gods desire for all to be saved, and Titus 2:11 speaks about God bringing salvation to all. 2 Peter 3:9 says that God’s desire is that none should perish. These scriptures seem to be at odds not only with unconditional election, but the idea of limited atonement too.

The idea that there is an in crowd  destined for heaven and an out crowd destined for hell, and we have no choice as to which crowd we are in, is deeply flawed. Yes, I know there is that verse that says “many are called but few are chosen.” This is an unsettling parable that shows that even though the invitation to salvation goes out to all, only some show up. These are the chosen. The elect. And there is Ephesians 1:4 that refers to the elect that God has chosen before the foundation of the world. So I can see where Calvin was getting his ideas from. However, the greater story arc that stretches through the Bible shows the nature of God to be one where He wants to redeem all. Why would he then only redeem some and eternally doom the rest from before their time on earth begins?

All of this hails back to the idea of predestination and God’s sovereignty: ie. that we cannot change what God has already decided so we are sealed in our fate. Now, both of these can be argued biblically both ways. We could have two skilled debaters on the platform using only biblical knowledge as their argument and it would make sense.

But for me, there is a chink in the chain mail. Why send your only begotten son to die for only some? Why create a soul that you love, that you care for, only to decide from the outset that they are destined to burn. We are introduced to God as being “love” and as being a loving father. As a parent, this speaks to me. I have two beautiful kids. You want me to choose one to live forever in a glorious afterlife and the other to burn for eternity?

Nope. I’m choosing both of my kids for the good stuff. No one burns. So that’s me, with two kids. Two kids I love so much I’d walk through fire for them. I’m not writing either one of them out of the will. I love them, thus I will do everything I can for them.

In pulpits everywhere, we are taught about God’s unconditional and sacrificial love for us. It’s an argument seated solidly in scripture. How then are we supposed to argue that only some of us actually have tickets to take advantage of it, especially given all the scriptures I quoted above.

Now I get it; if God is omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent and all the omni’s, then He already sees and knows our choices. He already sees and knows who will take Him up on the offer of salvation. But does that mean that it is not freely offered to all? I think not. A hard core calvinist, when asking themselves a few questions would have to come to the conclusion that God knew and even desired for sin to enter the world from the beginning, that there is no point praying to bring unbelievers to faith because its either going to happen or not anyway, that Jesus didn’t die for everybody, and if we take the concept of predestination to the extreme, that God ordained things like the holocaust, murders, tragedies or sexual crimes.

Now to the idea of irresistible grace – that if we are the elect, nothing we can do can separate us from God’s grace and atonement. It’s a lovely idea. So lovely. I believe in the all sufficiency of God’s grace. However, the idea that the elect get this conscience clearing superpass to heaven no matter what they do, while those who are not in the elect get the short straw and go to hell no matter what they do is troubling.

It paints God as a masochist. A bit of an arsehole dad – who made a whole bunch of kids and decided a large portion of them weren’t good enough to eat at the family table, and who killed one of them to redeem only some of them.

Now to the idea of total depravity. Okay – I have no problem with the idea of sin. Sin, as falling short of a lofty, Godlike standard is just the human condition. We are all flawed in some way. We are all great in some way. We are all doing the best we can. But calling it total depravity is a whole new level.

To say “For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God” is a recognition of our human flaws. It is a recognition that we are not God and we need God. I like that. I’m fine with that.

Now look to your local maternity ward. Inside the nursery, swaddled in whites, are tiny babies. They are so new to the world that they don’t have a functioning prefrontal cortex. They don’t have awareness of what is right and wrong. They have awareness of hunger, tiredness and discomfort. This is not total depravity. This is innocence.

I have two preschoolers. Even in all the tantrums and tears and the selfishness of always wanting the bigger slice or the cooler toy, I can’t call it total depravity. Inside their brains is a firestorm of growth. They are learning who they are apart from me. They are learning how to assert themselves, and the difference between justified frustration and an unjustified tantrum. Even now, I can’t call their poor decision making total depravity. Because as frustrating as it is, it is innocent.

If you argue that total depravity sets in at the point where a person has a fully functioning prefrontal cortex and can make conscious decisions, then fine. But answer me this: the emergence of the atheist movement over time seems to have shown that people can be altruistic and seek to create a better world even if they aren’t Christians. It seems to show that ethics and unconditional love aren’t the domain of the redeemed alone. I look to those who campaign for human rights and I see God in them regardless of whether or not they believe.

At what point then, do we become totally depraved? You can look at the Ted Bundy’s of the world and think “Yep, depraved.” You can look at the Hitlers of the world and think “Heck. Absolutely. Depraved.” But a four-year old who just wants to faceplate directly into the top of the watermelon instead of waiting for mummy to slice it? He’s just learning patience and doing badly at it.

For all have sinned, fine. For all are flawed, absolutely. Depraved? I can’t come at that. We are all just doing our best. It’s just a shame our best isn’t Godlike, or the world would be a more peaceful place.

Look – I was going to try and argue for Calvinism. But it turns out I can’t. Someone else can! Heck, if you feel like it, pop me a note and you can guest blog on it! Be my guest!

The Bible is a complex document. It is rich in historical and cultural context that we often miss. The Protestant Reformation was an important time in history where mankind started to re-take the reigns of faith that had been handed off to the clergy. It gave us an opportunity to participate in faith to a whole new degree. It was an important development.

But there is a line somewhere in the Bible that says God builds line upon line, and precept upon precept. We, as Christians, progressives even, in the year 2020, need to take our faith and understanding further. And that means understanding what it is built on now.

Until next time, 
Kit K, predestined since the beginning of time to write this blog article and publish it without proofreading it on February 11th 2020. 

Peace

What Happens When God Doesn’t Answer Our Prayers

Late last night, a friend send me a text message. “Have you seen, #wakeupolive on instagram?” it read. I jumped on over and saw every mothers nightmare. A beautiful little girl name Olive, 2 years old, full of life, had suddenly stopped breathing and died. She was taken to hospital and declared dead on arrival. She was not on life support. Olive was gone. My heart sunk to my shoes. I wanted to wake my sweet 2 year old girl and cuddle her forever. Because no parent should lose a child. But little Olive’s case was different. Her mother is a worship leader at Bethel and the last five days have been filled with worship sessions, worldwide prayer and fervent beseechings for God to raise this little girl to life.Now read me right, I’d be thrilled if the best were to happen. I’d pull a Tom Cruise and jump  up and down on the couch with my kids. 

But we are heading into day six now and so this story will have a lot of people asking “What if she doesn’t get raised from the dead?” Well that, my friend, is a very good question.

I want to start by saying I believe in miracles, in that I have been the very reluctant recipient of two of them. (I.e. It wasn’t mind over matter because I was sure that I was not going to be healed from these conditions. I’d even been in big arguments about it. There were witnesses to that.) Long story…

But miracle healings do happen. In the science world, they are called spontaneous remissions. There are thousands of documented instances of sudden and inexplicable recoveries in both Christian and secular settings. When you look at people like Dr Joe Dispenza, Dr Gregg Braden and even illusionist Derren Brown,  you actually do get some pretty fascinating explanations for how these healings might take place. I’mma blog more on that another day because it’s complicated. But for the sake of today I want to say this:

I believe that God, or whatever you choose to call the force that animates the universe, can use various mechanisms to heal us. Science and metaphysical philosophers of various streams may be able to explain some aspects of it. Great. I’m not offended by that. I believe that God can do whatever He wants to do. I also believe know it can be profoundly disappointing when it doesn’t pan out the way we’d have liked.

Real talk: God has been profoundly disappointing to me at times. I remember sobbing in the shower after my fourth miscarriage and telling God some things I really hated and was furious about. Then I hated myself for hating God. And then I realised God has big shoulders. He can handle my anger and my questions.

When these questions become deep questioning, that can be called deconstruction. It’s the moment we start to grapple with whether or not our faith and worldview holds up to scrutiny. The issue with deconstruction is not whether God can handle it. Its whether we can. When I look at the Bethel movement, I can see some pretty big red flags. One is the doctrine that complete healing is guaranteed as part of atonement at the point of salvation.

Bill Johnson believes and teaches that [1]:

God never causes sickness.
God always chooses to heal.
Paul’s thorn in the flesh was definitely not a physical ailment.
If you do not believe in healing on demand, you are preaching another gospel

Johnson has said “I refuse to create a theology that allows for sickness.”

Well! Bill isn’t God. He doesn’t get to decide that, but…

The first point I don’t have an issue with per se. Although, as we age, the body is subject to entropy and atrophy. That, to me, seems to be just part of life after Eden.

The second is rubbish. God doesn’t always choose to heal. Jacob walked with a limp. God didn’t choose to heal him. The argument that Paul’s thorn in the flesh was “definitely not a physical ailment” is laughable. There is no way we can tell. I know plenty of people of great faith, who walked closely with God, who were constantly bringing their sin and failures before him who did not receive their miracles. I wouldn’t dare question their salvation. I wouldn’t dare question anyone listed in Hebrews 11 who didn’t receive their healing or the thing they were praying for.

The moment we create a theology that portrays God as a genie in a bottle who grants our healing wishes, we deny the sovereignty of God. If we believe that God is God, we have to believe He is sovereign over the timing of healing (i.e. here or eternity). We have to believe the choice is ultimately His. If not, we are demoting Him to genie, and promoting ourselves to deity.

And hey – the scripture tells us that if we share in his sufferings, we share in his glory. Why would that be dropped into scripture if salvation meant life would be a painless walk in the park?

The idea that healing is guaranteed on demand is a bad doctrine that has the potential to knock someone right out of the church door if tragedy strikes. It’s bad theology. And bad theology is dangerous.

I used to come at faith from a position of, I don’t know, superiority maybe? I had some bad theology of my own. Now, having lost the blessed naivety of my youth, I know that Christianity isn’t a magic wand, a silver spoon or a genie in a bottle. It is a comfort and a guide. It is a set of ethics and morals. It is a way of seeing the world. It’s a reverence and a reference point, and so much more.

I believe it should constantly be something I wrestle with and think about in terms of how best to live it out. But it doesn’t change the amount of struggles I will face in my life (spoiler: there have been a few!). 

I doesn’t change the amount of struggles anyone faces. The Bible never said it would. It said though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will *fear* no evil for you are with me. It said thy rod and staff comfort me. It said all things would work together for good for those who love God and are called according to his purpose. But that never meant we would be immune to pain.

Hey. I’ve got unanswered prayers. I have significant health challenges. I don’t for one minute blame God, and I don’t for one minute blame myself. Those challenges mean I can sit with people who have invisible illnesses, support them and understand them. I grieve my angel babies. But I’ve been able to hold the hands of people walking the road of infertility. Sharing those deeply personal struggles is an honour I don’t take lightly. I might not be healed, but I am bloody resilient. I thank God for that gift.

(I’m not suggesting that poor Olive’s mum looks for any such silver lining right now. I am hurting for that woman! Let’s make that clear.)

The case of young Olive is a tragedy. I hope it doesn’t become a dual tragedy that causes her mother to lose faith, or causes other people to ask God why He didn’t be a good genie and bring her back when we demanded it. If it did, I wouldn’t blame the parents. I wouldn’t blame the people who are praying for these precious souls because of the compassion and empathy and faith they have right now. Thank God for them!

I’d blame the people who trot out bad theology and raise expectations above the Biblical bar.

God isn’t our genie. He is our father in heaven. He is the author and finisher of our faith. He is sovereign. He is not able to be fully understood and I cringe at even using male pronouns for him right now. God is too big for our petty labels. God is too big to push around.

And hey side note: I read this fabulous quote on instagram (I’m looking at you, Jess Hugenberg): Types of witchcraft: 1) incantation: magic spells, a series of words or phrases believed to be uttered to achieve a desired result. 2) Divination: seeking knowledge by supernatural means, such as necromancy, which is summoning spirits or raising the dead.

Proclaiming “resurrection power” with poor understanding is heresy. Resurrection power is NOT the power to raise anyone from the dead. Resurrection power is the power that fuelled and accompanied Jesus’ resurrection which defeated sin and death. That doesn’t mean we will never die but that our souls will have eternal life in Jesus.

Look, I don’t know about you, but I like to stand well clear of the line that tells God what to do. The rationale above is pretty good reasoning as to why. My witch friend (yes! She’s fab) has shown me there is far more to witchcraft that what I wrote above. Her practice is quite different. But I’ve put that quote up there for thought provocation. We need to be careful which lines we cross. In my mind here, Bethel is crossing some dangerous lines.

If God didn’t answer your prayer, 
If he didn’t heal your child, or your sibling, your friend or partner, if He didn’t grant your wish on demand, that doesn’t mean God doesn’t exist. Look for him in comfort you receive. In the medical treatment you can access. In the faces of the friends who support you, and hopefully even in the blogs that try and help you to grapple with the questions that fall out of that disappointment.

But when we subscribe to the genie in a bottle doctrine of complete and guaranteed healing as part of atonement, then we not only question God but our very salvation. There is no biblical case for us to think we get to demand God heal us and have him scramble to snap his cosmic fingers.

Now, for my atheist readers, Hi! Good to have you along. I’m sure there are a million thoughts you have here, including the power of the mind and the placebo effect in healings. I’ll get to that another day! But for everyone else who believes there is something out there, for those of us who believe that something out there is called God, hang tight.

Unattained healing, ungranted wishes, unrequited desires – these are not evidence of an absent God. I like what a friend of mine says “Lack of evidence is not evidence of lack.” She was saying it about the world of research, indicating that there is much yet to be discovered in terms of the power of the body, the mind and the forces that animate and impact upon it.

I think it applies to God, too. I look at world history, at world religions, at the different denominations that exist around the world and I know that we are all striving to find meaning on this planet and to try to understand and explain the uncontainable Divine.

If God hasn’t answered your prayer. I’m sorry. I hope in time, He does. But if tragedy has struck, I hope that you can find comfort in the knowledge of a loving God who will carry you through the aftermath. When we subject ourselves to bad theology that treats God like a genie and denigrates His sovereignty, we can’t find comfort in God when we go through hard times. We can only be angry that our genie didn’t perform, or we can think that somehow we weren’t good enough.

Don’t do that. Life is hard enough. My heart is with the Bethel Church and the Heiligenthal family. I’m praying for them right now in this horrendous time of grief. I’m also grieved that this has played out in such a public and desperate fashion. Gosh. Imagine.

That’s all I got. I’m going to go hug my daughter real tight.

Over and out

Jesus: God, Man or Mascot?

A good many writers have considered the formula C.S. Lewis put forward: who was Jesus? Was he a liar who defrauded the public on purpose, a lunatic who believed he was God but wasn’t, or was actually he who he said he was – the son of God? That’s a paraphrase, obviously. But you get the gist. It’s a question many of us have asked ourselves. Once we’ve come to the answer on that, which inevitably tells us (in our heart of hearts if not in our rational minds) whether he is God or man, I believe there is another question we need to ask: have we reduced him from divine status to simply a mascot? Have we edited him and changed his appearance until he is acceptable to us, but merely a caricature of himself?

A little context for you: Some months back, I wrote a series on dominionism. (You can find that hereand follow the links through to the end of the series if you so desire). Dominionism is the belief that there are seven mountains in society and God has destined Christians to dominate in all of them. The irony is that it is, according to my interpretation of the Bible, a pseudo-Christian heresy at best and completely unbiblical at worst. But how seductive it is: to leave behind the idea that God might have called us to minister to the poor, lift the broken, sit with the outcasts, give voice to the voiceless, and love those whom society has left behind, and trade this for a “predestined” position occupying the seats of power in society and letting other people do the nitty-gritty work of Christianity.

While dominionism has been around for quite some time, it was recently made chillingly and abundantly clear in the form of a Netflix documentary based on the investigative journalism of Jeff Sharlett. He infiltrated an American dominionist pseudo-church movement (my best explanation of the bizarre yet eerily familiar scenes laid out in that doco) and wrote two books about them, thus exposing an organisation that had made every effort to stay as secretive as possible.

I can’t tell you how many times words were uttered in that document that made my skin crawl – because I had heard them before. Almost exactly. But the thing that made my stomach drop was this ponderance: it was abundantly clear how “The Family” reduced Jesus to a mascot. They used His name to appear righteous but their one-eyed pursuit of power, and the methods they used to infiltrate high places and secure powerful allies, would have the real Jesus doing a heck of a lot more than throwing some tables around in the temple. But in truth, it isn’t just pseudo-Christian cult groups that use Jesus as a mascot and then just do their own thing. If we look at it, if we study Him then look hard at the world around us, we just might see it everywhere.

Jesus isn’t a mascot we can use to influence the mood of the crowd before we just go ahead and do whatever we want. Nor is He a “get out of jail free” card people can wave around to cover up wrongdoing committed in the name of the cross. We can’t just choose our own gospel and call it Christianity when true Christianity is followership of one who embodied truth, compassion, self-sacrifice and more, one who seemed to shun self-interest all His earthly life. I think Jesus would be angered by people using partial truths to advance a cause so far from His nature yet trotted out with His name emblazoned upon it. It made me mad. Then it made me think.

People of colour have long been joking about how there are different Jesus’s. There is white Jesus who appears on white Christian’s artwork (for those who like that sort of thing). When we pray, an image pops up in our heads of a white guy with sandy blonde hair, a beard, and flowing white robes. Go on. Admit it. It’s true. Then there is Black Jesus and Mexican Jesus, who appear a lot closer to those cultures. Rinse and repeat around the globe. But hey, reality check, the real Jesus was Jewish. He was Middle Eastern. We need not airbrush him to fit our cultural ideals and yet it seems we have. Already, by virtue of his appearance, He is a mascot of sorts.

We’ve made him a caricature of himself by changing how he looks, altering the Bible to suit our need for power or influence, and we seem to have painted over the parts of Jesus we don’t like: we choose the prosperity gospel, or the gospel of the tidy middle class instead of the kind of gospel that takes us to the poor. We choose the purity gospel instead of the gospel that was shared with the woman at the well, who had had seven husbands and was living with a man who she wasn’t married to. We choose the shallow gospel that doesn’t confront us even though the Jesus who walked the earth stopped people in their tracks and made them want to change. We choose a gospel of aggressive conservatism, even though Jesus may have indicated his progressivism when he stood on the mountaintop and uttered the words”But…a new law I give to you.”

Christianity over the years has taken many forms. So very many. From dry, unengaging, obligatory attendance to immersive worship experiences that could take any secular song and swap the words “Baby” for “Jesus” and emerge with something like devotion.

But is this a caricature of Jesus too.

For once, I’m not blogging with the answer in mind, or a tidy list of references, or a neat ending waiting at the end of this paragraph. I’m asking us to think: the Jesus who walked the earth was a revolutionary not because of violence or stoic observation of the good old days. He was a revolutionary because of love. He did not defend himself when accusations came against him. He did not seek power. He took time for the unclean, the unpopular, the at-risk and those the world had cast aside. He was not controlling. He spoke in parables and allowed the listener to find the interpretation within their own heart. He was humble, seeking out another revolutionary with a camel-skin robe and an unkempt beard to baptize him.

That was Jesus. Who is it that we have created? How have we changed him so that he is fit for us to worship? That’s mascot Jesus. That’s not the real Jesus. As the church across the globe grapples with how to hold on to millennials (who seem to be seeking truth, not entertainment), we need to ask ourselves if we are failing to keep the interest of the next generation because we have disengaged mascot Jesus from social justice, equality and inclusion, and made him a vanilla, middle-class white dude who doesn’t ruffle feathers.

Just a thought. (I finish a lot of blogs with that sign-off, don’t I? I’m not even sorry about that. I guess I’m sort of inviting you to think with me.)

Peace
Kit K

What Made You Hold Onto Jesus?

If you know me, you know I love a reader question. Not only does it mean that someone’s reading my blog (and those stats aren’t lying to me after all!), but it means I don’t have to think of a blog topic for the week. That, right there, is a ‘double yay!’ This weeks reader question wasn’t necessarily a tricky one, but it did still make me delve into the archives of my brain and wrench up some details I’d sorta forgotten. The question was this: “In the enormous process of dismantling and re-establishing your faith, what made you sure that Jesus was still real and worth committing to?”

I’m not going to lie to you; my first answer was “fear.” It’s an answer shared by many a person with a similar background to me. Evangelical, a bit fundamentalist, raised in churches – we Christian kids learn to behave for Jesus before we fall in love with Him. I’d behaved for Him all my life. Of course, there was genuineness in my faith, but for the early part of my walk with God at least, fear was the big motivator. No, not the “awe-inspiring, fear of God” type. Just pure, unadulterated fear. Fear of judgment, hell, stuffing up, getting caught, getting embarrassed, missing out – you know the types.

But in the early process of deconstruction, I realized that the way I’d been viewing faith so far was incongruent with the message of the cross.

If love drove Jesus to the cross, why should fear be the thing that drives us to Jesus? Was it possible to discover a love-based faith rather than a fear-based religion? Was it possible to have Christianity without fear and self-loathing?

As a loving mother, as the wife of an incredible husband, there is nothing in me that wants to scare my husband or my children into devotion toward me. I don’t want to scare my husband into cuddling up on the couch and watching movies with me on a Friday night or whatever. I don’t want to scare my children into sitting on my knee and letting me cuddle them or read books to them. I don’t even want to scare them into behaving well. Rather, I want them to understand how to be safe in the world, and to grow up to be people who make it a better place.

If we stop and think about the reality of scaring our partner or children into loving us, we understand pretty quickly that it isn’t love. It’s abuse.

This equated to a bit of an “ah hah” moment for me. It was followed quickly by another “ah hah” moment: Jesus wasn’t a Christian. This means that this thing we call Christianity is simply mankind’s best attempt at building rituals, systems and understanding around a God too vast and infinite for words. It was always going to fall short. It was always going to be messed up by messed-up people and made better by the best efforts of the well-intentioned ones. It was always going to be a mish-mash of the good, the bad and the ugly. Because Christianity was only ever going to be an attempt at humankind housing the divine.

Expanding the search beyond the fear 

The realization that fear was my first motivator was a sobering one. Thankfully that lightbulb moment happened in a church while listening to a level-headed, and theologically strong pastor. He had dragged a scripture out of the archives that I’d only ever heard one way: it was the scripture about Mephibosheth, Jonathan’s son with the clubbed feet. I’d only ever heard it preached one way – that because when Jonathan gave his armor to David, he held back his shoes. The message was always that what you don’t give up in covenant becomes a curse on the next generation. The message below that: obey because of fear that God will curse your kids.

But that’s not what this pastor had said in his message. My husband mentioned it after the service, and the pastor’s words have stuck with me ever since. “To read it that way is to completely misunderstand the nature of God.” He went on to explain himself in more detail, but I wasn’t listening at that point. I was thinking “What else about God have I misunderstood?”

The truth is that Biblical scholarship is an art almost entirely lost. It used to be that people didn’t read the Bible because they couldn’t. They were illiterate, or the Bible was only in such short supply that the scribes were the only ones who could access it and read it.

Now, in an age where most of us can read, and all of us can get free Bible apps on our smartphones, we still seem Biblically illiterate. Thus, we trust the people standing behind the pulpit to explain what we need to know. But what if “what we need to know” is tainted by lost context, personal agendas, leadership challenges, or the colored lenses of the pain and loss life might have thrown them?

There are a million reasons why we can’t just do this. We don’t know what a preacher is thinking when they choose the message for the morning. We don’t know what lens they are viewing that scripture through or what motive is behind it. If we don’t have enough knowledge about God and the Bible to inform us and ring the bell when and if something is a bit skewiff, then we are at the mercy of bad doctrine that takes us further away from a relationship with God, not further into it. But the sad thing is that bad doctrine almost always drives us further into fear and condemnation than into the redemptive love of God.

That realization drove me into the thing I’d always had in my pocket but never had the power to use: the Bible. But I ditched the complexity of the whole thing for a while and just stuck with the Red Letters.

Red Letter Christianity

I blogged on this a while back, and I won’t rehash the whole thing (because you can read it here). But a personal challenge I took on back at the beginning of my deconstruction was to read just the Red Letters for a while. After all, these were the words spoken by Jesus who was one-third of the Trinity. What could get us closer to the nature of God than the words spoken by the Son of God?

They are a big challenge in and of themselves, so much so that the rest of the New Testament seems largely geared at helping us understand how we can live out followership of Christ. But the revelation that I got from my foray into Red Letter Christianity was that judgment was not the goal of God. Love was. Love had always been. Judgment was a thing that He hoped He could spare us from, so much so that He sent Jesus.

He wasn’t after a perfect people. He was after a devoted people. And if our hearts are turned to him, then despite our humanity and the inevitability of failure, our imperfections are all covered. This, essentially, is the nature of God – love. He is love. He does love. He gives love. Yes, he is holy. Yes, he can’t stand sin. But because he loves us, he found a way around that.

That took me back to the fear-abuse conundrum I spoke about in the beginning: If God loved me, then He wouldn’t want to use abuse to drive me into His embrace. And right there, in that sentence, was the great inconsistency I had witnessed over and over again – People professing to have been moved by the love of God, and the higher way of living He called them to, using the fear of Hell and judgment to drive people into salvation and keep them there. “Just do this one thing different and God will love and bless you. Just change this. Just repent of this. Just cease this…” Always one more thing when the truth of the matter is that His Grace is sufficient and His strength made perfect in our weakness.

Boy, it takes the pressure off. Just like that, a lifetime of striving and wrestling got swapped for the safety in knowing God loved me even in the midst of deconstruction. Even if I had difficulty trusting Him or understanding Him for a time, that was totally okay. Because God has big shoulders. He can deal. He could see the grapple, and he could see my struggle to get to the heart of true Christianity, and He wasn’t going to judge me for that. Because that’s not in His nature.

Other World Religions

During the heavier initial stages of my deconstruction, I read a lot and watched a lot of documentaries. I always did so with one thing in mind: my own life experience had taught me that there is a God. That was something that history and science both echoed and did nothing to refute. Even atheism seems consistent with the tree of knowledge of Good and Evil, as written in Genesis. If we choose that tree, we eat of its fruit.

(Whole magazines are devoted to these topics, so I’m not going to talk about that in this blog post.)

But one documentary series stood out: Morgan Freeman’s “The Story of God.” In it, he looked at many different world religions including Christianity. It seems that, throughout the world and throughout history and even the post-modern age, we all seem to seek out the divine. And though our words for it differ, very similar themes echo through.

It seems to me that from the beginning of time, mankind has been aware of the divine. From the farthest stretches of the world to the modern centers of civilization, there exists an awareness that there is something out there – some greater power. We find different words to wrap around it. We find different lenses and structures to see it through. But its there.

What makes Christianity different? Well, I guess that’s a series for another day. But the place I arrived at is this: throughout my life, I had seen the hand of God. I had seen Him protect me from certain things, and seen him enable certain things that I’d always thought impossible. He had seen what I prayed in the silence of my room, or in the loneliness of my darkest times. He made these things happen in time. Other people might call this divine force something different. But I call Him Jesus. He calls Himself the way, the truth, and the life.

One day I’ll tell those stories, of the things he rescued me from and the things he bought me through. But for now, here is my truth:

Illness, personal upheaval, loss of church, loss of community, financial hardship, deconstruction of faith, a search through science and other world religions, a critical look through the Bible in its various translations and iterations, a critical look at the world around me – none of it has driven me away from God. Rather it has driven me towards an understanding that He is bigger than what I can possibly understand, and more loving than I ever thought. I don’t have to understand everything about him. But I can spend the rest of my life trying and that will be just beautiful.

Anyway! That’s kinda my thoughts on it. Its taken years to live through, so it’s going to take longer to unpack. But these are some of the things that made me realize, throughout the enormous process of dismantling and re-establishing my faith, that Jesus was still real and worth committing to.

Riding the Third Wave: The Neocharismatic Movement

I feel like this blog post could open with a Matrix pun. In fact, as a kid who grew up in the neo-charismatic movement, I’ve heard a good many youth-centred messages that included the old “red pill, blue pill, choose your reality” message extracted from the wisdom of the Wachowskis (who wrote the screenplay). But I’ll refrain. I’m about to launch into an interesting series on the link between modern spiritual warfare and paganism. But in order to preface that, we need to know what the New Apostolic Reformation is (see last weeks post) and what the Neo-Charismatic Movement is. They are intertwined, but also quite distinct from each other. So here we go: the history-hack takes on the third wave. Up, up and away. 

The Third Wave Charismatic Movement is known by a few names. Among them are the terms neo-charismatic and hyper-charismatic and of the two, I think the latter makes the most sense. Essentially, it’s a relatively recent movement within evangelicalism, which in itself is a broad term taking in a good many expressions of faith (all of which involve evangelism or the spread of Christianity). To understand the neo-charistmatic movement, we need to know what came before it and what it looks like today.

The first wave: Pentecostalism circa 1900

This “first wave” as some historians call it was undoubtedly an exciting time in the life of the church universal. Marked by revivalists and revivals (such as Azusa Street), it was a renewal movement within protestant Christianity that did away with the cessationist idea that the spiritual gifts had disappeared from the church. The Pentecostal movement saw the restoration of prophecy, healing and speaking in tongues to the church. Since Azusa Street (which seems to have become the historical marker of Pentecostalism’s emergence), this movement has swept across the world and with it, the classical beliefs within Pentecostalism have spread. These include but are not limited to (because lets remember I’m a hack of a historian):

• Evangelism

• The reliability and infallibility of the Bible (in fact, many pentecostals seem to be Biblical Literalists)

• Salvation by grace through faith, and then transformation of ones life through Jesus.

• Baptism, as in baptism into Christ at salvation, then Baptism in water and Baptism with the Holy Spirit where the gift of tongues is received.

• The eminent return of Jesus.

• Other doctrines such as divine healing, spiritual gifts, and worship through songs, prayers, communion, giving and other methods.

All in all, pentecostalism has offered great gifts to the world. It seemed to be an alternative to the stagnation that other faith institutions were/are experiencing. It offered a shared experience of faith which was a relatively new experience. There were some big names in this movement, of course. People like Charles Parham and William J Seymour were teaching on speaking in tongues, divine healing and evangelism. Gone were the silent observances of faith, mediated by the much revered clergy, and in came the participatory revival experiences that immersed believers in a new experience of Christianity.

There have been a good many big names, controversies and developments within the Pentecostal movement over the years (which would take forever to cover off on). I can’t help but think of the tele-evangelists of the 1980’s and 1990’s and wonder where they fit in – names like Kenneth Copeland, Benny Hinn, Yonghi-Cho and others that rang loud through-out my childhood. They were hardly the revivalist types (like Parham and Seymour), but attempted to take the Pentecostal church experience into lounge rooms.

Truthfully, you could exist in a Pentecostal church, be touched by the evangelical charismatic movement and still be influenced by the neo-charismatic movement in tandem. One wave seems to roll into another quiet seemlessly.

The second wave: The evangelical charismatic movement of the 1960’s

Charismatic Evangelicalism amassed a wide following and built on the pentecostal doctrine with two major differences: it did not major on speaking in tongues as evidence of being baptised in the Holy Spirit, but it did major on the spiritual gifts (prophecy, healing, faith, healing, miracles, discernment of spirits, tongues). While, as I said above, these two “waves” or movements seem to roll in pretty effortlessly with each other, there were clashes aplenty. One was this “the failure of Charismatics to embrace traditional Pentecostal taboos on dancing, drinking alcohol, smoking, and restrictions on dress and appearance [that] initiated an identity crisis for classical Pentecostals, who were forced to reexamine long held assumptions about what it meant to be Spirit filled. The liberalizing influence of the Charismatic Movement on classical Pentecostalism can be seen in the disappearance of many of these taboos since the 1960s. Because of this, the cultural differences between classical Pentecostals and charismatics have lessened over time.”

Looking back through my experience in Christianity, it seems that many people don’t know exactly where they fit on the Pentecostal/Charismatic scale. It is said that Pentecostals believe that speaking in tongues is necessary evidence of the Baptism of the Holy Spirit, and that they are more strict on the taboos mentioned in the quote above, while Charismatics aren’t too fussed on either of these things. I guess I grew up Charismatic, but even within this, I was touched by the purity movement which (functionally if not explicitly) placed restrictions on dress and appearance). I had my first drink of alcohol at age 25, and dancing was always a matter in which one had to be careful not to be too sensual. In my experience, Pentecostalism and Charismatics seemed to roll together. The clashes between the movements seem to be put on the back burner as people plunge ahead and roll with the waves when it comes to faith movements. This is fine, but as you know, I’m all about knowing what you believe.

So that was the second wave. The third wave was yet to come:

And here we are: The Neo-charismatic Movement.

In the third wave, we saw the power evangelists gain fame. I’m sure Billy Graham was the trailblazer here. But as time marches on, it’s the big ministries like the Bethel types, the Todd Whites and Heidi Bakers of the world that fly the flag.

Early on, there were a couple of movements that raised eyebrows or attracted a lot of criticism. Two such movements were the so-called Toronto Blessing (marked by so called “holy laughter” and lead by Rodney Howard Browne) and the Pensacola (or Brownesville) Revival. Criticisms that spanned both movements included  a lack of sustainability, and potentially capitalising on the naivety of believers who may have been swept up in a hyped atmosphere that may have had little or nothing to do with God at all.  There was also a bucket of theological issues raised. (I’m not going to critique these revivals today. You can read up on them here if you want).

As a child, I never experienced the Brownsville/Pensacola revival. That was considered to be “geographically specific” and unless you visited the so-called “power centre” you wouldn’t be touched by it. This, of course, is jarringly opposed to the omnipotence and omnipresence of God which leads me to ask “Which spirit was ruling the roost over there?”  I did, however, experience the Toronto Blessing. I sat beside my parents in a crowded auditorium in 1996 and witnessed the immersive worship that was the preliminary to Rodney Howard Browne striding onto the stage and singing “This is that” – his self-penned revival theme-song. To be honest, I was more taken with the lady on the piano who could run a whole band from her seat behind the ivories.  She was the one I wanted to emulate. (And kinda did, I guess).

ANYWAY! This movement characterised by laughter and being “drunk in the spirit” did reach my corner of the world – little Gippsland region in the back blocks of Australia. I remember watching the adults roll about on the floor in church meetings barking and laughing and falling on each-other. I had no idea what was going on, but it proved the perfect opportunity to find your friends and cackle your way through church. No one ever noticed if you leaned in to your bestie, made a quiet remark about how ridiculous someone looked, and then laughed raucously. It was “the Holy Spirit at work”. That was our cover.

Years on, I see little or no fruit from that movement (although I’m happy to be proven wrong if anyone has data). Not a soul saved in my area because of it (that I can recall). No lasting sense of renewal that I know of or could observe. No larger churches. No socio-economic change. No patches of the world touched by this movement that showed lasting declines in depression and anxiety statistics that should go with an outpouring of holy peace and joy. Maybe there were miracles, but these can’t be attributed directly to a movement. If the scripture says “Lay hands on the sick and they will recover” and that happened, then it’s because of the Holy Spirit and not because of so-called “Holy Laughter.” I guess 1 Peter 4:7, which cautions us to be sober and watchful, is my big caution here.  

What was the Toronto Blessing then, and if it was God, why did He do it? I don’t know. Ask the real historians. But the thing we have to be watchful of now is the theological issues that are raising their heads as the neo-charismatic movement beds itself down and marches forward under the current big brands in Christianity.

The Big Theological Differences in Neo-Charismatics

In the neo-charismatic movement, we have gone from the gifts of the spirit, to emphasis on signs and wonders, and the supernatural. I find this interesting. We seem to be upping the ante from one movement to the next and I have to wonder whether this is at least partially manufactured to fit an audience that demands more from the entertainment it consumes and has less of an attention span to consume it. Tv scenes are shorter and more intense. Movies are more gripping, with more special effects and quickly escalating plot lines. Social media has seemingly affected the attention spans of readers to sound-bytes and status updates.

Why do I mention these seemingly unrelated issues? Because along with these shortened attention spans and the escalating nature of entertainment in the secular world, we see shorter sermons, more intensive immersive worship experiences, electric atmospheres, shows of signs, wonders and miracles and (in my opinion) less emphasis on a well-considered and well informed faith. How do you build a solid, deep and well informed faith in a short sermon that is often more loaded with pop psychology than with scripture? (Look, there are some wonderful churches out there! I’m taking a broad brush to the issue)

My big concern within this third wave is that we can’t and shouldn’t treat Jesus like a drug. If we don’t feel Him, that doesn’t change His reality. It shouldn’t. But if we have been raised into Christianity on a steady diet of signs, wonders, miracles and spiritual gifts, immersive worship experiences and communal expressions of faith, then if our faith suddenly becomes rocked by an estrangement from church or community, and those feelings go away or we pray and don’t get healed – who is God? Where is God? Did He disappear? Am I going to Hell now?

Many a theologian has raised concerns over the errant teachings that have come out during this third wave. A personal concern of mine is that with increasing numbers of independent churches, and a decrease in emphasis on doctrine and qualification (with calling taking its place as if we don’t need both), then it seems we are perfectly poised for an epidemic of toxic, authoritarian or even cultish churches to emerge. These do not serve the body of Christ. These can leave immense damage in their wake when a believer wakes up to what is going on and has to extract themselves and their family from its grasp. (Read more here)

We don’t need bizarre manifestations for Christianity to be relevant. In fact, that could make it a laughing stock. We don’t need to ‘use’ Jesus like a drug to fix our mood or elevate our faith and devotion. Christianity, true followership of Christ, comes from a deep place within us. It is not a political stance. It doesn’t demand Dominionism (as we see in the NAR) or showiness. If we continue to create this hyped-up Christianity, then we are prepping ourselves for a mass exodus from the faith when inevitably, the individuals that make up the massive evangelical following worldwide hit hard times and start to question their faith.

True faith, to me, is deep, sober, grounded in the word, grown in compassion and love, and practiced regardless of church attendance (which of course we are exhorted to do so we don’t lose faith in the hard times anyway). How do you build such a faith if yours is built purely on the experience of neo-charismatic Christianity? For all the hype, for all the miracles, for all the songs and sermons, surely the personal expression of faith offered to God in the quiet, unseen moments is more meaningful. Just my take on it!

So there you have it: third wave/ neo-charismatic movement. I’ll admit, I’m a participant in the third wave. I just do it with my own Bible in hand rather than a firm reliance on my pastors wisdom. To be honest, I much prefer it that way.

See you in a few days for one heck of a series!

(Okay Kit. Stop procrastinating and write it!) 

PEACE!

Kit K

Rediscovering Joy When Faith has Been Tough

I have a confession. Don’t hate me but sometimes I just can’t stand a lot of Christian blogs that are out there. I can’t stand how relentlessly happy they are. They’re full of colour and scriptures about how good God is and how wonderful life is. Even when there is a hint that the author is going through hell on wheels, they don’t crack a frown. They just keep smiling and sprouting Psalms. I don’t know why but it gets my back up. Not because I have a taste for drama, but because I have been a Christian all my life and I know one thing for sure – it isn’t all rainbows and unicorns. And we may as well be honest about it. Christianity doesn’t erase difficulty. It just gives you a friend and a frame of reference to get you through it. But gosh – wouldn’t we all be lying if we claimed we never struggled with that?

Those kind of blogs jog my memory in the worst kind of way, because I juxtapose them against the happy talk I used to sprout even when I was going through hell. For example: Three year and a half years ago, I stood in the shower sobbing and doing something I had never allowed myself to do ever. I was yelling at God. My husband and I had just suffered our fourth miscarriage. I couldn’t understand how God could see the heartache and pain I went through every time, the compounded grief I experienced with every baby I never got to meet, and still there was more heartache in store. How could He? Why would a loving Father not stop that if it was in His power to do so? I couldn’t wrap my heart around it. So I stood in the shower sobbing and yelling.

Truly, I couldn’t take it anymore. The toll had become too great. We gave up our hope of falling (and staying) pregnant naturally and booked in with a fertility specialist. Turns out we didn’t need it. A couple of months later, I was pregnant with our first successful pregnancy. All onwards and upwards huh?

Nope! Life would deal us a few blows yet. The next six months would see us plunged into a strange series of events that saw us lose our church community and what we had been promised were lifetime ‘covenant’ friends. Our family landscape dramatically changed, and we were neck deep in an existential crisis I now know is shared by many an exvangelical. Three and a half years later, I can say hand-on-heart that I’m happier than ever, and a little bit thankful for the wake-up calls life gave us.

But I can also say, hand-on-heart, that long before the first of four miscarriages broke my faith, I had lost my joy. Salvation, church, and faith had become hard, hard work. They held no peace or joy for me. I wanted to walk away from it all, but I felt like Paul – a bondservant. Couldn’t walk if I tried. So how does one rediscover joy after that? Aren’t you just stuck? 

I hope I never stop deconstructing and reconstructing my belief systems, but when I was at the beginning of this steep learning curve, it was painful. I’d lost my joy long before I started this process though, and once I saw it and understood that God wanted better for me, I had a bit of journey to get back that deep sense of joy and happiness. Here are some things that I’ve gone through along the way.

Confront your bad theology. 

Over the years, I’d found myself believing strange things. I just didn’t know they were strange. They’d been preached relentlessly by people I’d looked up to, and I had listened with open heart and good intent. I never scrutinised them. Where these things Biblical? Where they helpful? Now that I’ve said them out loud, and confronted my bad theology, I almost laugh at some of the things I thought. I say ‘almost’ because there’s nothing funny about bad theology.

I believed that God would remove His grace for me if I was not 100% dedicated (with my time, resources, heart, mind and soul) to His “primary assignment” for my life. The subliminal belief lying under this was that I had to earn His favour, grace and love, thus every failure or idle moment was eternally important (#exhausting). I had to behave well to earn His grace. Now I know that I can do no such thing, and my entire life I knew the scriptures that told me this. But I had turned a deaf ear to them. I believed that God cared less about my wellbeing than He cared about the rest of the world. (Hey, He can multitask). I believed God’s best for me was an exhausting life of subservience, persecution and obedience that lacked any real enjoyment. I believed that I had to lay down any of my own dreams/ambitions because ambition itself was ungodly. In truth, God placed those dreams in me. Even if He didn’t, I know He would honour any dream I pursued wholeheartedly believing it was in His service. (I.e. I could live a life I enjoyed. I could serve Him too. One did not negate the other).

There were other things in my bag of beliefs. I had to scrutinise it all. In fact, I went over everything with a fine tooth comb, deciding what I ought to keep and what I ought to discard with the help of a Bible, a conscience, a bunch of Christian friends, and a husband on the same journey. Bad theology robs joy. It robs peace. It sets your conscience against you and sucks you dry. And as I said in my last blog post, the Romans 14:17 is the barometer I use to tell me if I’m off on the wrong tangent – righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Ghost. If I don’t have all three, I need to look at myself.

Stop fighting “negative” emotions. 

Another belief I had collected along the way was the belief that some emotions were negative, and therefore untrustworthy and unacceptable. I had developed a habit of shoving them under the carpet, silencing misgivings, and plunging blindly ahead when all the warning bells were dinging up a storm. Years on, I know there is no such thing as a negative emotion. Emotions are like blood.  If you start bleeding, you best not ignore it. It’s a sign something is wrong and needs attention. Once you figure out what that thing is, the cause of the bleeding (or the unwanted emotion) becomes more important. You want to, you need to, take care of that.

These days, my husband and I don’t try to fix each-other if we are feeling not quite right. We just sit with that feeling, and if it leads us to a conclusion that something is off, we pay attention to that. If it doesn’t, we know that its probably grief and we just need to give that space. The irony in this is that once we embraced negative emotions and stopped trying to mute them, we were able to enjoy life much more fully. Life became more beautiful.

I’ve learned that when you try to mute emotions on the sad/frustrated end of the spectrum, you also have to mute the other end of the spectrum. Why? Love and hate, joy and sadness, pain and elation, they all come from the same heart. The same brain. The same limbic system. You are either emotionally connected to the good and bad, or you are disconnected from them both. (Hey – not talking clinically here. Just talking metaphorically. If you have depression or another mental health challenge, then don’t take this as treatment advice. All I’m saying is listen to your emotions. They are telling you something about yourself or your situation and you need that intel).

Audit your beliefs about yourself.

Oh this one is fun. Life is complicated. It might be a bad relationship that knocks you. It might be tough financial situations, abuse, grief and loss. It could be a lot of things. When faith gets tough, it might be the last domino to fall or it might be the first. Whatever the reason for your joy-robbing, faith-interrupting existential crisis, it can pop some funny little beliefs into your head.

And by funny, I mean not funny at all. The last few years have seen me having some chance conversations with a lot of people who had negative or damaging experiences with church, who lost their faith or their faith community, and who regained or reformed their faith later. I’ve heard some eerily familiar things come out of their mouths.

• It took me a long time to belief that I deserved love

• It took me a long time to stop fearing every bad thing that happened was the judgement of God

• It took me a long time to trust my own intuition again

• It took me a long time to believe that I could be loved by God and accepted by Him if I wasn’t perfect in the eyes of (my old church/relationship/etc)

These are just a few things I’ve heard. I’ve had to confront a few other beliefs of my own. But here are some truth bombs on the four beliefs I just noted.

• Romans 8:37-39 For I am persuaded that neither life nor death, nor angels nor demons, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth nor any created thing can separate us from the love of God. (Expansive list! I can’t think of anything that doesn’t fit under those categories. Also, John 3:16 has no caveats on it. The love of God is deep, and profound, and no one on the face of this Earth is exempt. Neither. Are. You)

• Romans 3:20-24 is massively long, so go read it later. But heres’ the scoop. Under the law of the Old Testament,  none of us measure up in the eyes of a Holy and blameless God. But we are all justified through Jesus, and His grace covers all of us. Hey friend, if you are worrying about God and His judgement and trying to do the best you can, then you are a candidate for justification through Christ and His grace will cover you. Some things are just bad luck. God doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t want to punish you just because. (But sure, if you have something on your mind that you think you are being judged for, then bring that to Him to clear your conscience. You’ll feel better.)

• Job 38:36 talks about God putting wisdom in our inner parts, and giving understanding to our minds. Other scriptures talk about the still small voice, or refer to what discernment. This is a big area. But case in point, God lives in you. Therefore you need to trust your intuition if it is setting off a warning bell. God may just be using that.

• I guess on this final point, it was simply something someone said to me while I was comparing myself to other people and their judgements of me. “God has no grandkids.” His love for us, His care for us, His intent for us doesn’t lessen with our position in the social hierarchy of our churches. Our place in His heart is as His child. Always. No better or no less than any other.

It was this last point that made me start asking myself if my Heavenly Father wanted me to live a life that had no joy in it. Why would He want that for me? Why would Romans 14:17 appear in the Bible if God wanted me to be exhausted, miserable and self-loathing? There was only one answer: He didn’t want that for me. He wanted peace and joy for me, not just a relentless pursuit of righteousness when it was guaranteed that I would remain imperfect.

 Its amazing what happens when your beliefs change

In the beginning of our deconstruction, we gave ourselves permission to skip church every now and then (ooooh ahhh). Believe me – That was a big deal. I remember one Sunday we skipped church and spent it visiting an Aunt in Melbourne. She’s not a church goer, but the conversation we had about love, compassion, and altruism taught me something about God. I learned more then than I would have learned zoned out in church. Another Sunday we skipped church and spent it with friends who are also Christian who weren’t attending church. We had wonderful conversations about how lifestyles reflect our deeper values and we can’t rely on a religious rite like Sunday church to carry our faith for us. It was beautiful, and it was memorable. I believe God smiled upon these moments.

It took us a while to lose the guilt, even though we knew we weren’t doing anything wrong. These days, I’m on the music team every other week. We love creche even on the days we aren’t feeling churchy. (Hey. Real talk.) But we always love the fellowship with our amazing tribe regardless. In the beginning it was hard to listen to some messages. Nowadays we listen with open hearts, but with a promise to be kind to ourselves if something hits home. We have spent so much time thinking the world depended on how well we responded to every word spoken from the pulpit, and we had to course correct immediately and without question or else. It takes a while to get over that kind of exhaustion and conditioning. Simply listening with an open heart is good enough for God. The rest can come later. We don’t have to be perfect now.

Put your trust in God, and the passage of time.

I don’t know what lead you to my blog. I know a lot of you are on the exvangelical journey. I know others are recovering from bad experiences. Some of you are just morbidly curious. Others, many others, I’ve never met and I don’t know. So  I don’t know what you are recovering from, or deconstructing after, or reconstructing into. All I know is this: it gets easier. It’s a cliche but it’s true. If it took you years to lose your joy, then it takes a while to dismantle the habits, beliefs and mindsets that lead you to that state. If it took years for your self-worth to be worn down, then it will take some time to rebuild. If it took you years to start thinking God was this awful being in the sky waiting for you to mess up so He could get a bit of revenge and ruin your life a bit more, then its going to take some time for you to get to know the real God. But once you dedicate yourself to the process, once you tell yourself you are worth it, then time is your friend. Its gets so much better. Joy can return. Joy can be more full.

And you are worth it.

P.S Good therapists help. Just saying.

Until next time, over and out

Kit K

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Faith, Identity, and the Deconstruction Journey

When I first read the terms “deconstruction” and “reconstruction”, I was in the thick of what one might call an existential crisis. Up until this point “deconstruction” was something referring to food in swanky restaurants (A deconstructed cheesecake, for example. Basically it means a messy, smashed cheesecake with a garnish on top.) Suddenly I was hearing this word applied to faith, belief and the way one looks at life. At that time, I felt like my neatly packaged way of looking at the world was suddenly flying about in a million pieces like ticker tape. It was its own messy, smashed cheesecake and I didn’t know how to put it back together. 

I don’t know how to write this series in a way that’s neat. Because deconstruction and reconstruction aren’t neat. But I sure hope its helpful. So here are my first four thoughts.

First thought: You’re going to be okay. Its scary as heck. But you’re going to be ok.

Deconstruction, in psychological terms, is a process of critical analysis. You could apply it to faith, relationships, identity, life, or even specific issues in news or media. You could even apply it to a prize fight. Where did it go right? Where did it go wrong? Etc. But the type I’m talking about here usually comes after a loss of some sort: loss of a friendship, a relationship, a faith, a community, etc. It causes you to look back on time and ask things like “What was I thinking? What do I think? Who am I now?” and in some cases, “How do I approach life?”

The process itself involves deconstructing your old ideas about who you are and what you believe (and reconstruction is the partner to this process: where you put those pieces all back together). Think about this like a thousand piece puzzle. Its lovely when the picture is all together and looking sharp, but when you are holding the pieces and you don’t know where to start – well gee. That’s daunting. And its messy as F. (F meaning foretold. You didn’t think I’d drop the F bomb, did you? Heh.)

For some people this process of deconstruction can be limited to one patch of their life. For others its all encompassing. I’ve read that for people leaving a controlling relationship or a high demand group, for example, it can involve high-anxiety and inability to think through things as simple as deciding where and how to open a bank account.

When I started this journey, I was happy with where my bank accounts where held, thank Heavens. But I was second guessing what the Bible really meant, who was God really, how should I raise my kids or approach faith, God, and contribution to society. I was wondering how I should redevelop a tribe for my husband, kids and I to live and thrive in. My experience of faith had informed everything: my friendships, how I interacted with family, career, finance, sleep, tv consumption, major life decisions – everything. All of a sudden it was blown to pieces. I felt like I my locus of control had been external. I didn’t know how to reach out, grab it and figure out how to possess it for myself. I didn’t even know whether I was allowed to. In some moments, I was rapt in the freedom of it all. At other times, I was almost crippled with fear.

Its been three years. And I want to say something to people who are just starting this journey – you are going to be ok. I’ll give you a spoiler here: I’m ok. In fact, I’m happier. My marriage is thriving, as are my friendships. I love my tribe, and my weekends are spent with people I just adore. We soak in the sunshine, watch our kids play, drink wine (on many if not all occasions) and we laugh a lot. I laugh a lot more than I used to. I still have struggles but they are well within the bounds of “normal.” How do you deal with 2 year olds? How do you squeeze in date night when you are so tired? Why do the weeds in my garden have to grow so freakin’ fast? That sort of thing.

If you’re just starting this journey, then it feels all-encompassing right now. It feels messy, and painful, and out of control. But it won’t feel that way forever. I’ve got friends who are 4, 5, 6 and even 15 years post-deconstruction. They are doing well. Life looks different but it looks good. You’re going to be okay. Just keep taking one step at a time.

Second thought: There’s grief, and no matter what you’ve heard about the five stages of grief – it isn’t linear. One moment you are in denial. The next you are angry. You think you’ve accepted it then you change your mind about that. That’s okay. Just roll with it.

Yes, you can grieve for faith, community, or relationships as deeply as you would grieve for a person.  Why? Because if you are grieving for the loss of identity or a relationship, then its almost like you are grieving for the person you were before. Its okay. My husband and I used to try to fix each-other. If one of us was having an off day, we would try to talk each-other up and out of that funk. One would compensate for the other persons sadness or rumination with confidence and cheeriness. It was noble. But we have learned something over the years: its better to acknowledge those feelings of sadness and rumination, hug it out, and simply be there in the sadness. You don’t have to feel “up” all the time. You can’t. That’s life. But if you have someone beside you to simply share it, then cherish that. I’m so blessed that hubby was on this journey with me. The way we worked through our deconstruction/reconstruction was different, as was the timeline, but we were in it together. I’m so thankful for that.

Not everyone will go through this process with a partner. If you can’t, then find a friend, a support group, or a therapist. Better still, find all of the above. This is hard stuff. You’re going to make it. But its hard stuff.

Third thought: You probably need to know about limbic lag.

Fun fact: Your prefrontal cortex (which makes sense of the world) sometimes works on a different timeline to your limbic system (which is thought to govern emotions). So when it comes to matters like re-evaluating and re-building your life, if you are feeling like crap, it doesn’t have to mean anything more than that you’re feeling like crap. Acknowledge it. Don’t fight it. But don’t think you need to rethink everything because you are feeling like rubbish in that moment. It could simply be limbic lag – thoughts and feelings working on different schedules. Eventually they’ll line up a bit better. But in the midst of the crisis, they might not. And that’s okay.

Tomorrow will be another day. You don’t have to feel sad tomorrow if you felt sad today. But if you do that’s okay too. (Disclaimer: one or two days is okay, but if your low mood lasts much longer than that, see a doctor. Sometimes when we face upheavals in life, it can wear on our mental health. If you are suffering from ongoing low mood then it could be depression, which is a medical condition. Don’t muck around with that. Your life means too much. Yes, even if you feel like you’ve lost your sense of purpose and place right now. You are worth help. And help helps, you know.)

Now, I know that limbic lag is a bit of a pop-psych terminology to describe this phenomenon but its a helpful one based on how the different sections of the brain work. If you’ve gone on a big process of deconstruction, then your whole life might be put under the microscope of critical thought, and you might be grieving a lot while also talking and thinking through it all. If you are used to “following your gut” to know whether you are right or wrong, then this limbic lag could be confusing. You might wonder if you are wrong on something just because you don’t get that happy, peaceful feeling about it.

In this moment, I encourage you to sit with the feelings and know that sometimes you just feel bad. I’m about to use another pop-psych term (eeek!) but in these moments, self-care matters. So run that bath. Have that chocolate. Go for that walk (get dressed first if you’ve just had that bath! You’re welcome). Phone that friend. See that movie. Deconstruction can feel all encompassing, but you can take a few hours off your existential crisis to see Jason Momoa, er I mean Aquaman or whatever. Your existential crisis will still be there tomorrow, so you can give yourself permission to take a day off making sense of the world.

Fourth Thought: Deconstruction and reconstruction don’t have to be separate. You can do one as you do the other. They can also be positive and freeing, even if the circumstances that lead you there weren’t.

Look, how you face your crisis is your business. No one can tell you how to do it (apart from a good therapist, which EVERYONE needs. I swear. Emphasis on the word good though. A good one will guide you through it, give you the skills to do it, but never demand you do it their way or according to their values). But I found I had to approach deconstruction and reconstruction together, and in an ongoing fashion.

In the beginning, something would pop up almost every day. Its amazing how pervading your belief system can be. During the heavy deconstruction phase after I left a church, lost a community and had to reinvent it all, I was amazed at how much I had to rethink. But deconstruction and reconstruction ran together. Something would pop up, and I’d realise “I used to think this about a particular thing. What do I think now?” I’d then study, think, talk it through with people in my circle and arrive at what I now think. It was a constant process of taking one belief out of my box of beliefs, turning it over, thinking about it and deciding whether it was to be kept, discarded or reinvented.

You see, you can’t just discard a belief. You have to replace it with what you now think. It’s not just a matter of realising Santa doesn’t exist. Its a matter of realising he doesn’t exist, and he’s actually your parents waiting until after you go to bed and putting the presents bought with their hard-earned cash under the tree. Santa didn’t eat the cookie. Ruddolph didn’t eat the carrot. Dad ate the cookie and Mum put the carrot back in the crisper so it could be chopped up and put in with the roasting vegetables.

It sounds terribly orderly, doesn’t it? I wish it were. It was actually a lot less organised. Because one day it was church attendance and tithing, the next it was social justice, predestination, the afterlife and fear of Hell. Then back to tithing or whatever. It was haphazard and emotionally draining, sometimes intellectual, and other times deeply emotive. Sometimes it was easy to arrive at a new conclusion or retain the old one, and sometimes it was too hard to sort through in a day, a week or a month.

Three years on, I hope I keep deconstructing and reconstructing for the rest of my life. Now that I’m through the existential crisis and into a more authentic, congruent and peaceful way of living and expressing faith, I think its an altogether healthy thing to keep asking yourself important questions. Its hard in the beginning if you’ve been living life one way and then it all gets thrown up in the air. But its not always a negative thing or something undertaken in reaction to loss or upheaval.

I realise this blog post lacks my usual references and intellectual geek-speak. I felt like it deserved a bit more of a personal look. I hope it helps. If it doesn’t, then I hope you just hold on to two things: find a good therapist, and you’re going to be okay.

Life can get sunnier if you do the work.

Three years into a deconstruction/reconstruction journey that may come and go for the rest of my life, here’s what I know: I’m still me. I just like me more. I am more able to grow and evolve than I thought I was. I am stronger and more capable than I thought I was. I am still a Christian. God hasn’t changed, but my understanding of Him has and so the way I express that and love people has changed. There will always be things I grieve. Because grief doesn’t necessarily go away. You just grow a bigger life around it.

And you can, you will, grow a bigger life around it.

Good luck. Stay tuned next week when I talk about…something relevant.

xo
Kit K

Is Faith Still Relevant in Today’s Society?

We are in between big series’ here on the Kit K blog. We have just finished talking “cults and high demand groups.” We are just about to talk “Dominionism and the NAR (New Apostolic Reformation.” But in the mean time, I’ve got a slightly lighter, much more personal topic to talk about – relevance. Is the church still relevant? Is faith still relevant? Is the way we do church still relevant? (I’ve even got the very first guest blogger coming up. He’s going to be talking about whether preaching is still relevant. So excited about that!)

But for right now, I want to talk about whether or not faith has a place in 2018.

When my life got turned upside down about three years ago (after Hubby and I had to leave our church), I lost an entire community of “covenant, unconditional” relationships – relationships that turned out to be neither ‘covenant’ nor ‘unconditional.’ In coping with that, I had to also look at many different beliefs that I’d held. It was a time of deconstructing my old faith and reconstructing a new one out of that wreckage.

Tough, but oh so transformative. I like who I am now, and what my faith is now, to a much deeper degree.

I’d believed that the church in Australia was being persecuted, that we were up against an increasingly humanistic society that left little room for God. I’d believed that it would be a battle to share my faith with people, because their hearts would be hard and the conversation would be adversarial unless I’d prepped the ground with months if not years of friendship.

I discovered I was wrong on oh-so-many counts. Perhaps I’d changed my posture from needing to be right and to convert people to my way of thinking, to just wanting to understand and connect with people. I don’t know. But over the last three years, I’ve sat with atheists, agnostics, pagans, and people of many other spiritual persuasions and we have talked and talked and talked. In these conversations I’ve been warmed by a shared desire to make the world a better place, to better serve humanity, and to show deeper compassion to the marginalised and down-trodden. I’ve seen noble, compassionate and heart-warming similarities in the ethos of these people and for the first time in my life felt like the something we shared was greater than the something that divided us.

Surely this is a better place to start than on a street corner with a megaphone shouting a message of sin and damnation.

I’ve realised that the Western world really isn’t a place where the church is truly being persecuted. We are blessed! Syrian Christians are being persecuted, for sure! Christians in some Muslim countries sure are, but Remnant theology doesn’t belong in the Western world because all we face in terms of persecution is adverse opinions on Facebook (which literally everyone faces, regardless of creed), and a government that wants to make sure the church doesn’t abuse people – surely a noble and Christlike pursuit by the powers that be!

So is faith relevant? You betchya! But does Institutional Religion have to evolve in order to maintain relevance in an ever-evolving world – heck yes.

How do we evolve? I don’t know. All I know is how I have personally evolved, and that I feel like my faith is more relevant now than it ever has been.

These days, I pursue a faith that concentrates on what it stands for rather than what it stands against. In years gone by, the church as an institution thought of itself as the moral guardian of the world. Preachers could stand on the podium and blast fire and brimstone messages, and hold people in adherence to their faith via fear. It was the stick rather than the carrot. You want to go to Heaven, not Hell. So be a Christian.

I still believe in John 14:6, where Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father but through me.” But I no longer believe that fear of Hell is the only reason we should pursue a life of Christianity.

Jesus came to serve the world and give His life for it. He came to the marginalised, the misunderstood, and the down-trodden as well as those in the highest offices of the land. He exhorted us to a higher law – the law of love while also making sure we knew that wasn’t a call to anarchy and disregard for the law of the land. He didn’t come to reinforce the law of Moses and the legalism of the Old Covenant, but to transcend it and call us to a higher expression of faith – that of love. It is my belief that modern Christianity should be leading the world when it comes to compassion.

I could criticise it for its performance here, but really the only thing that matters is whether or not I am putting my money where my mouth is and challenging myself to show more love, compassion and generosity.

Sure, love means speaking truth when truth is required. Sure, sometimes this will be confronting as heck. But I’m not too keen on getting the balance skewed in favour of ear-chewing. There’s a time and a place. I’m well aware that large chunks of the world have issues with the term ‘sin,’ and maybe that’s a topic for another day. But it’s about balance here.

We don’t need to throw out the doctrines the Bible warns us against. We just need to make sure we realise that we can’t police other people’s walks with God. We can only make sure that ours is pure, and true and the best it can be in terms of being ambassadors for a Saviour who has been as badly abused by Institutional Religion as any other abuse victim. Remember, Institutional Religion actually killed Jesus. So I’m absolutely sure He knows what harm at the hands of those claiming to be righteous feels like.

When I first began the deconstruction/reconstruction journey, an abortion bill went before Parliament. It was at that time I had a conversation with a friend from my new church that flipped how I thought of faith. She said (something along the lines of), “Of course, I’m pro-life. But if you give me a choice between publicly campaigning against abortion and inadvertently shaming people who have been forced to make that horrible decision, or to be able to sit with someone who has seen that heartache and show them the love of Christ, I’ll take that option. Other people can campaign. I can do what I need to quietly about that. But showing the love of Christ is my job.”

Other people can campaign on it. Good for them! There is absolutely place in this world for campaigning and holding the government to account (please do it gracefully as broken hearts can be caught in the crossfire!), Its just not mine.

I’d love it if we could’ve reinvent Christianity – if we could make it something people join because it is good, and noble, and inspiring, and loving, and true, and compassionate, not just because we are afraid of Hell and want other people to be afraid of Hell too. If we could make it a movement of people who amplify the beauty of salvation, forgiveness, grace, truth, love and service rather than a movement of people who wish to police how other people wield their God-given free choice.

I love the Church, even though I see its faults. I love the people who make up the Church, even though I sometimes want to head butt them.

These days I look at the red letters in the Bible more than I look at the black ones. I want my faith to emulate Jesus – the ultimate example of all good things. To me, He will always be relevant. Read the beatitudes, the sermon on the Mount. Read His exhortations toward sincerity, community, and the higher law of love.

These things will always make the world a better place. The world knows what the church is against. We don’t need that to be the only drum we beat. Let’s beat a drum that plays beautiful music instead.

Just some thoughts. I know – less academic and more heartfelt than my usual posts. But hey! That’s me too.

I’d love to hear what you think about the relevance of faith in the modern context. Shoot me a message!

Kit K

Solitude vs. Isolation: Where is the Healthy Place to Land?

I have this lovely friend. She's been through a lot in her life, a lot that could make her bitter, introspective, and a touch soul-destroyed. But she's more than a survivor. Her's is a life that is now devoted to supporting other people who have survived horrendous damage - be it psychological, spiritual, physical, or sexual abuse - and to finding her own way to thrive again. She never claims to be perfect. She's upfront about the ways in which she's not. But she is getting on with life and helping other people while she helps herself. Because "perfection" is not a prerequisite of "contribution." I love that.

Side note, before I get to the main topic: how come there isn't a cosmic quota for how much hardship a person can go through in their life before its all lottery wins and lucky breaks? Because I think that would be an amazing idea.

Anyway. She sent me a picture of Jim Carrey captioned with a quote of his. It said "Solitude is dangerous. It's very addictive. It becomes a habit after you realise how peaceful and calm it is. It's like you don't want to deal with people anymore because they drain your energy." Apparently old Jim -- AKA the mask, Ace Ventura pet detective, the guy with the stretchy, plasticky, comedic face - has undergone a spiritual awakening of sorts and is now all deep-thinking and wise. He just returned from weeks of solitude in the bush or something like that  (I'm not sure here. Don't quote me).

My friend asked me my thoughts on the quote. I have to say, its an interesting one. I like that Jim is so out there with his reinvention, and I'm not sure whether he was being poetic, or sarcastic. But here's what I think about solitude:

There's a difference between solitude and isolation. Loving solitude is a beautiful, healthy, regenerative thing. Needing isolation can be dangerous. 

There was a time where I couldn't do solitude. I didn't feel safe alone with my thoughts. I hid in plain sight - busy running a business, writing a book, being at every event, working crazy hours, maintaining a nuts kind of a social life, and so on. What would happen if I stopped? What would happen if one of the juggling balls dropped? Would I drop them all? Would I be completely out of control? Then I confronted the things I was afraid of. One by one, I took them down out of the "too hard" cloud that was hanging over my head. It was terrifying. It was empowering. It was painful.

It was beautiful.

Life has been reinvented somewhat. It looks barely anything like it did three years ago. Jobs, social circles, expressions of faith, hobbies, houses, daily routines, approaches to wellness - so much has changed. I thought about the things that were too hard to think about. I discarded the things that weren't healthy, even if those unhealthy things had become a crutch for me and it scared me to do so. I grew. I changed.

On the other side of the reinvention, I love solitude. Taking time away from the grind of daily life to sit on my back deck and watch my kids play without checking my phone or working. I love sitting outside and listening to the sounds of breeze and birdsong. I love sitting by the crackling fire with a glass of wine and nothing big on my mind. I've released myself from the evangelical tendency to think there are eternal consequences for my every action or inaction (Because like, God is pretty big. I don't have to be).  I'm not trying to solve the worlds problems or think my way through complex big ideas. There's time for that, but not during my wine and crackling fire time. Coz a girl has to recharge!

Solitude is not something I could ever do before.  But now I love it.

The thing is, its very different from isolation. If solitude is regenerative, isolation is the very opposite. 

Even in my raging workaholic days, I could do isolation. You can be isolated in a pile of work, too busy to connect with people who care about you. You can be too busy to be alone with your thoughts. You can pull away from the world and hope no one notices. That is isolation. It's a form of hiding. Where solitude says "I'm here. I'm me. I don't need to be anything else," isolation says "Don't come near me. Leave me alone. I don't want to be around anyone.. I can't be around anyone."

Isolation doesn't mean you are spending time with yourself and you are happy about it. Isolation can be damaging. Because isolation, to me, is fruit of fear, or of poor mental health. That can make you judge yourself far too harshly.  It can make it very hard to rejoin society when you feel better, because that choice makes you confront the fear what people thought of you during your absence, or what they will think of you when you rejoin. (Side note: I've also found that most people don't think about you nearly as much as you think about yourself!)

Getting out of an isolation loop can be tricky. There are so many reasons you got to that point. Getting back isn't always as easy as just turning up to an event and announcing your return to the land of the living. Isolation doesn't improve silence. It compounds it. The silence of isolation isn't comfortable. Its heavy with all sorts of bad.

Knowing your own personality type, your comfort zone, and your type of "healthy" is an important skill in maintaining the balance between solitude and isolation. 

My friend pointed out that abusive people will often shame you for needing solitude, recharge time or ever saying "no." Their demands take precedence over your own health. It's taken her a while to reclaim her need for solitude.

Now - a need for solitude is different from isolation. If you are an introvert, then quiet time matters. So don't feel pressured to fill every diary spot. A person who knows you and cares about you will either know the difference, or they'll listen when you say "this is what I need."

If it crosses over into isolation, then the friend stays important. They may gently challenge you and say "Hey I don't think this kind of isolation is healthy." An abuser will say the same thing, about solitude or isolation, but they make  it all about them-self or their expectations. If someone comes and presses on your self-protection bubble, then ask yourself which one it is. If its the caring friend, let them in even if you are feeling pretty crappy about life. Their love and care will make it easier to come out of the isolation bubble, even if the conversations that requires aren't easy. If it is the demanding, selfish person who is making it all about them, then you are free to choose solitude, and you should - for the sake of your health.

Because Jim Carrey is right about one thing. Sometimes people drain your energy. Solitude can be a little addictive like that. These days I have an "emotional coinage" budget. I don't spend more than I've got in the bank. Some people will take all you've got. Other's will help you recharge. Sometimes you give when there will be no return on investment, because you love that emotional vampire. Sometimes, the person you've got to spend your emotional coinage on is yourself. Know yourself. Know your needs. Know the difference. Sure, challenge yourself in certain areas. That is healthy. But a healthy person sets their own terms, and recognises their limits.

So there you go! My thoughts on Jim Carrey's quote.

Solitude can be great. Isolation, not so much. Know the difference and revel in the healthy one!

Happy Friday ya'll

Kit K

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Josh Harris, Purity Culture, and the Power of Saying “I Was Wrong.”

"There is transformational power in admitting you got something wrong." 

I just listened to the most amazing Ted Talk. The speaker talked about how you can't rush the process of transformation, and that process involves owning up to, rather than sweeping aside, the things you were wrong about. He spoke about how admitting you were wrong will tick some people off, because they were invested in the old you. He talked about how, when someone can't admit they were wrong, they are not growing. And this should serve as a warning to those who follow them.

The whole talk had me nodding and murmuring my agreement (somewhat geekily I guess, given I was sitting in a café.)

Honestly, it was an amazing talk. You should give it a listen (I've pasted it below, but don't ruin the suspense by scrolling down to see it just yet). The guy giving the talk only just gave mention to what he was wrong about. It wasn't the true subject of the presentation, but gosh, it was massive. It took a lot of humility to do what he did - stand on the world stage and say "I got something wrong."

If you were anywhere near your teens or twenties at the height of the 90's evangelical purity movement, you know this guy. You were probably handed his book by a youth leader or mentor, and you might have felt a little kick of something like shame when you realised why you were reading it.

The speaker was none other than Joshua Harris, author of the international bestseller "I Kissed Dating Goodbye." This is the book that made him famous. Its the book literally sitting on millions of shelves, that was translated into several languages. At the height of the purity movement, this was the guidepost that urged us to guard our hearts and keep our desires in check. Now, after it's first readers have grown up, Harris is noting that it seems to have had a few not-so-positive effects.

Harris recounts an interaction on Twitter in which a reader told him his book was used against her as a weapon. Harris did an uncommon thing, when it comes to big name Christian celebrities. He apologised. It wasn't tokenistic either. He went on to open his website up to stories of the impact his book had. Some of them were resoundingly positive. Others were heart-wrenching. He is now making a documentary on it, one that is saying, "I was wrong about this." He's not throwing the whole baby out with the bathwater, but there's a lot he is copping as not quite right.

"Wow.  Just wow," I thought. Its the same thing I said to myself when Benny Hinn admitted he was wrong about the prosperity gospel, or rather the extreme he used it for. (Read my take on that here). Its the same thing I thought when I read Billy Graham's take on what he would do differently. (Read that here).

I truly believe that, when people say "I was wrong" about something, especially if they do it on a potentially humiliating public platform like Harris did, we ought to sit up and listen. These are people who are deeply conscientious, who are growing in their faith and the expression of it. These are people who are safe to listen to. (Don't base your entire life on their expression of faith. That's dangerous. Your relationship with God is your business and responsibility. But they've been doing some soul-searching and they've changed because of it.)

Harris's Ted Talk is about the transformational power of admitting you were wrong. Honestly, its liberating!

But I can't really call this a complete review unless I talk about the subject he says he was wrong about: his book.

I can't say honestly that it hurt me. Much. The stories on his website vary a lot in content. The sadder ones include claims that it was legalistic, a flyswatter to whack people who stepped out of line, or that it was used to control people. I can't disagree with those points, whether through reading these accounts or recounting my own observations that spanned multiple churches I encountered over the years.

Many a story on Harris's website came from Christians in their 30's who are still waiting for their life partner. Some stories came from people relationally paralysed either by fear of giving too much of their heart away, or by the strength of their desires. One particularly unsettling story came from a 30 year old guy who simply cannot accept a mate who has had sex, even if it was just a mistake from her past. I read that account with two types of heartbreak - one for him and all that he may have lost by never finding love, and one for the girls he has rejected. Has this book given rise to a pseudo-Biblical form of "slut shaming", even in a time when we understand more about grace and forgiveness than we ever did? Quite possibly.

In hindsight, I remember reading the book and feeling a certain pressure to marry the first guy I "courted." (Spoiler: I did, and he's the best thing that ever happened to me). I am the eldest daughter of Christian ministers. There was a whole church and a whole network of churches that would see my every move. It was like living in a fishbowl. Oh the pressure to get this right!

I remember one lady in the church telling me off for flirting with a guy. She wasn't my mother, and it wasn't her job to police my behaviour. And I wasn't flirting! I had zero feelings for the guy. But the shame I felt over that was huge. It wasn't the only time I was pulled up for flirting. I truly believe this had a big impact on my ability to interact with members of the opposite sex. I tried my utmost to relate out of a stoic, "I have no sexual desires, I don't even want to get married, you know, unless its God's will for me," kind of persona. If even flirting was sinful, then gosh, I was evil! I'd done it more than twice. I have a naturally bubbly personality. I love to connect with people. Part of me died.

University was a particularly interesting time for me. When I was "outed" as saving myself for marriage, and when my fellow students discovered my flirting-disability, bets were laid. I felt so humiliated, and then all the more on guard with my peers. I was just a girl trying to find her way in the world. Now I was a trophy. A scalp to be claimed. A virgin. And that became the thing that everyone knew.

(Side note: Apologies to the guy who asked me out for dinner, and who was greeted not only by me but also the other 11 members of our study group. I totally missed the "its a date" memo. I will never forget the look on your face.)

(Another side note: I don't blame my parents at all for being among hundreds of thousands of church ministers globally who embraced this book and used it! Heck, we were all in the 90's purity movement. And you don't need a shot-gun or baseball bat if your teenagers are afraid of dating to the same degree that they're afraid of hell. My parents were just doing their best! I'm just sharing how I feel about Harris's book and its effect in hindsight.)

For many people, this book was a lightbulb moment. For me, and apparently for a lot of other Christian kids, it was fear-inducing. I was afraid of natural desires God had given me. Guess what: I wanted to get married. I wanted to love and be loved. I wanted the full experience of that and I felt all sorts of guilty about it. Imagine my mortification when an itinerant minister with the boomiest of voices began to call my parents church his home and insisted on loudly "Blessing" me with a husband - Every. Single. Sunday. (I still cringe)

I finally married when I was 29, and I don't regret for an instant that I saved myself for my husband - my soulmate,  best friend and life partner. I guess, in some way, I have "I kissed dating goodbye (IKDG)" to thank for that. I guess in some way we do. Truly, I'm happy about it.

But post-marriage, we had a thing or two to learn about switching-on the desires that we had been told all our lives were bad. Yeah, yeah, you can kiss and hold hands and stuff when you are married. You can even flirt, you know, if you want. But the guilt doesn't go away instantly. (There's a whole lot I could write on that topic, but I won't yet because its a whole lot of disarmed honesty! Haha!)

I have a number of good looking, educated, eloquent, funny, amazing, single Christian friends who are of an age now where they look around at other friends with kids and wonder why its not them. They're still waiting for "the one." I've often ranted to my husband "Why don't guys just ASK HER OUT? I mean, she can even COOK! Wife her already, someone!" I sometimes think this is the legacy of IKDG. We can't go out for dinner with someone unless there's a bloody strong chance they are "the one." It carries a disproportionate feeling of failure if that dinner date doesn't result in a second date, a third, an engagement ring, a white dress, a picket fence, 2.5 kids and an SUV.

I wonder how many others felt guilty for even flirting. I wonder how many others felt bad that they wanted so darn much to get married and have kids. "What if it isn't God's will for me?" and all that.

My thoughts on flirting now - It lets you know what good chemistry feels like. And chemistry matters. If you are dating someone and there's none, then hold up honey! Warning bells.

My thoughts on Christianity and sexuality now - Can we stop pretending that because we are Christians, sexuality doesn't play a central, sensitive part in who we are? Can we take it off the list of things we don't talk about? Sure there is a Biblical approach to sex, and I don't for a second regret saving myself for marriage. But gosh - sex, relationships, sensuality, desire for connection - they're all God-designed. Can we not feel shame over owning something that is God-designed?

I applaud Josh Harris for standing up and saying he was wrong, and for expressing his regret at the legalistic fly-swatter his book became in more than a few instances. I hope he can also see the good it did (and I think he does). But adjusting our stance is a good thing.

My husband and I have two beautiful kids now. I adore them and hope they never face heartbreak. I'd love it if they fell in love with and married the first person they dated. I'd love it if they saved sex for marriage. I really hope they do and I'll raise them to believe that true love waits. But I'll also raise them to believe that flirting isn't bad, and our desire for love is normal and good.

Hopefully they'll marry younger than hubby and I, and I'll get a lot of years with my grandkids! If I have to wait until I'm in my 70's to chase the grandies around the park, I'm gonna be pissed.

If you've read Harris's book, if you love it, if you hate it, if you feel it helped, if you feel it hurt - I urge you to check out his Ted Talk and his website. At the very least it will make you view change and the admission "I was wrong" as a wholly good thing no matter what it applies to. It might even release you from some baggage you have felt over the years. It doesn't have to reframe how you feel about faith, sexuality, relationships or desire.

But you should know me by now! I like to think. I like to challenge thinking. And I have a firm belief that truth will prevail. I hope no one looks back on the 90's purity movement with bitterness. A lot of good came out of it. But one perk of the passage of time is that we build on the generation before us. That doesn't and shouldn't involve taking their word as gospel. It should involve extracting the truth, and discarding that which is harmful, then moving on to a closer, better, more compassionate expression of faith.

Oh and if you want to check out his Ted Talk, its here.

Just some thoughts!
Kit K.

Over and out.

“Just Choose Joy!” Um. No.

This post might be a bit of a rant. I'm okay with that. It might have very few scriptures to back up the stream of consciousness. I'm also okay with that. After all, I'm not a pastor or a theologian. I'm a Christian who is exploring faith, turning it over, turning it inside out, and examining all the different ways the light can refract. 

I have an issue that I want to throw a little light on myself. This week I listened to a new song by a band I just love. And it well and truly pissed me off. The song was titled "Joy." Its catchy. Its not untrue. But it sends a message I think can be a little harmful, because it is so often repeated in churches across the globe and it can create unhealthy pressure.

The opening scene in the video clip showed two news anchors covering a mega-storm that was devastating the nation. One anchor was presenting the negative side of the story. The other was frustrated that she couldn't find the upside. Spoiler alert: the one who was trying to find the brighter note was the 'right' one. Because he was choosing joy.

Fair point. Learning to choose joy is a good thing. Learning to have faith in God when the situation seems dire is wonderful as it can take the lid off the pressure cooker of life. If you can choose joy, then you should. Good for you.

But for heavens sake (pun not intended), if there's a mega-storm coming at you, threatening to level everything around you, you don't have to be happy about it. If you are happy about it, I'm really worried. Or suspicious that you have a dishonestly inflated insurance policy and you're getting a windfall out of hurricane whatever.

Negative emotions are ok. They are fine. God made them. They shouldn't be what we build our lives on, but they are an essential part of the process of life. If we can't embrace the full spectrum of human emotion, if we only allow ourselves to express "Christian" emotions of peace and joy, then we almost guarantee the other God-designed emotions will become bottled, fermented, and explosive. I remember when I was young, my mum used to make non-alcoholic ginger beer. It was relatively uneventful until one batch fermented too far and blew up. You should have seen the mess. Wow. It covered everything in the shed.

It's a decent picture of what can happen when we deny ourselves the honesty of sadness, anger, grief etc. you know, when we just choose joy. Those other emotions become all-encompassing. They then have the potential to derail things.

If you are going through a mega-storm in your life, don't feel pressured to feel joy.

Grieve, if you have faced loss. God made grief. He turned His head away when His son was crucified. He couldn't look. I think He felt grief then.

Be angry, if you have been wronged. Didn't God invent anger too? Didn't Jesus express anger in the temple? Didn't God tell us "be angry but sin not?" The emotion is not the sin, friends. Keying your ex-boyfriends car, or rage-spending on a credit card that doesn't belong to you is the sin. (Insert a million other possible examples)

Be sad, if you are facing sadness. Didn't the Bible give us enough examples of God feeling sadness when he looked at the human race? Why do we lump these emotions in a basket marked "Bad?" They're human. And given the fact that God is no stranger to these emotions, I'd even say they're divine.

I refuse to use the term "negative emotion" any more. Emotions are necessary for us to process life. But if you want a key to peace, and indeed joy, then the trick is to let God in the troughs with you. Don't force yourself to always appear is if you are on the peak. He sees all your grief/anger/sadness already. Why not let Him share it?

I kinda blame the faith movement for this maladaptive approach to human emotion. There were a lot of good things about the faith movement, but this one stinks. You don't have to be up all the time. Gosh! Even God isn't.

I've been a little curious looking around churches and seeing a lot of depressed and anxious people. I don't know what the statistics are for the church globally, but I suspect that in some cases, our statistics on depression and anxiety could actually be worse than the unchurched world. Why?

I have a theory (Okay... a few). One of them is that we think Christianity demands perfection of us, and perfection means faultless emotional "upness". But my goodness that is so inauthentic.

In the last couple of years, I've given up faultless emotional upness. I'm happier than I ever was. I used to think, like a lot of Christians think, that we need to let our light shine constantly so a dark world can see and be drawn to our faith.

But newsflash. Candles flicker. Stars twinkle...in that things get in the way of their light so they are momentarily more dull. Clouds get in the way of the sun. The only light sources that are constant and unwavering are artificial.

Lets not be artificial. It hurts us. It makes us inauthentic. It makes others wary of what we are hiding.

You don't have to choose joy all the time. Sometimes you need to choose a good cry, a session with the punching bag, or a journaling session when you pour out your broken heart. Do this, and joy will be easier the next day, or the day after that. Do whatever helps you process the hurt and then you'll be able to find the sunny side again in time.

Just saying.

I hope joy is always easy for you. If it isn't, you are in good company, friend. Jesus, most of the world, and me are right there with you.

Cheers

Kit K

Open Theism - What is it Anyway?

I read a term today I'd never heard of before - upon reading its definition, I should have heard of it. Why? Because as a millennial Christian, its the form of faith presented most often to me. It is Open Theism. Although its a newbie to me, I thought I'd flag it here for a couple of reasons: 1) I believe we ought to know what we believe and 2) we ought to think about the contradictions it presents us with.

By means of a super-short introduction to the term, I once again turn to the font of all well-referenced and researched wisdom - Wikipedia.

"Open theism says that since God and humans are free, God's knowledge is dynamic and God's providence flexible. While several versions of traditional theism picture God's knowledge of the future as a singular, fixed trajectory, open theism sees it as a plurality of branching possibilities, with some possibilities becoming settled as time moves forward.Thus, the future as well as God's knowledge of it is open (hence "open" theism)." Read more about it here.

Theologians have flagged a few problems with this. One is that classical theism paints us a picture of God fully determining the future. This is the predestination doctrine, if you like.

Other theologians believe that God gives us free choice, but His omniscience means that He already knows the future and what choices we make.

Enter Open Theism. Open theists hold that: "These versions of classical theism are out of sync with: 1. the biblical concept of God and 2. the biblical understanding of divine and creaturely freedom and/or result in incoherence. Open Theists tend to emphasize that God's most fundamental character trait is love, and that this trait is unchangeable. They also (in contrast to traditional theism) tend to hold that the biblical portrait is of a God deeply moved by creation, experiencing a variety of feelings in response to it." (Once again. Thanks Wikipedia.)

It seems to be a doctrine I was raised with, which is funny given its relative newness to the theological world. Apparently it was Richard Rice who pioneered the Open Theism train of thought in 1980 with his book "The Openness of God." Since then,  many a modern theologian has published on the matter.

It raises a question or two, and its conclusion seems to be one that both atheists and open theists agree on. That is the traditional characteristics of God don't make sense. If He is omniscient, seeing all whether past present or future, He can't be omnipotent and all-good. If so, He couldn't see evil and still let it happen.

So that's one big ouch for the doctrine, and I have to say its an uncomfortable moment when you read an atheist argument and go "Hmmm. Fair point."

There are three other problems I see with Open Theism. They are the issues of predestination, prayer and what we do with free will if God can just re-write the future.

Super quickly, because this so wasn't going to be a full expose, just a quick post:

1. To decide whether or not Open Theism is a doctrine you subscribe to, you need to decide whether or not you believe in predestination. Now, this isn't a cornerstone doctrine to me, so I've never really examined it. If we believe in predestination, then there is no true free choice. What were the two trees in the garden? Why would God put them there if He already knew the outcome? Now the issue of predestination is one that could easily be argued from both sides. I always thought I agreed with it, but that was until I realised the following.

2. If we believe in predestination, then what is the role of prayer? I *think* it was CS Lewis who said "Prayer doesn't change God. It changes me." So perhaps he was a predestinationalist. I read that quote and I sort of agree with him. But then what of the whole, NAR (New Apostolic Reformation) and Faith Movement's emphasis on spiritual warfare? If we believe that prayer changes things, then we mustn't truly believe in predestination. One has us thinking that the role of prayer is to change us. The other has us thinking that the role of prayer is to change God. If the latter, then what of the immutability of God (that is that He cannot change?)

3. If God can re-write the future, what are the consequences of free will? Open Theism emphasises the love of God above all. It holds that He is very moved by creation and is moved in various ways. Then couldn't we do anything with our free will and then simply turn around and say "Yep. Sorry. Good to go with your best plan now." The modern church, or at least the branch of it that I've been exposed to the most, talks a lot about destiny. "Destiny" seems to imply predestination. Predestination clashes with Open Theism in that Open Theism offers up multiple possible trajectories that ones life can take, thus burning the predestination theme to the ground.

This is one of those rare posts where I'm putting out more questions than answers. I'm not sure where I come down on this whole Open Theism thing. I posted it because, well, I haven't posted for a while and its what I'm thinking about today. Those three points at the end will be things I'm thinking on.

If we put every doctrine that sounds appealing into our proverbial back-pack of beliefs, then we can end up with an inconsistent faith. Perhaps it takes a lifetime and beyond to fully understand God, and perhaps there are no right answers to these things. But perhaps its a good thing to think about. If we are about predestination, then we need to surrender to the will of God and just coast through life taking it all as it comes. I guess there's a peace in that. If we aren't, then we need to delve further into the why and how of prayer, and understand there's a certain responsibility in how we pray.

Anyway! Thats my brain dump for today. Hope ya'll have a fabulous weekend.
Cheers
Kit K.

Church Reformation - The Billy Graham Edition

Its 2018. The year still feels young, even though we have just ticked across into May. This post has taken me a lot longer than I thought it would, but I wanted to write it anyway. Because its been burning in my mind since Billy Graham passed away a few months ago.

I've heard many a preacher stand on the podium and talk about the need for church reformation. It surely is an easy case to argue. I, myself, am not sure that God would look happily on every aspect of His bride at present. I'll spare you the examples. We know that churches are made up of imperfect people. How could we expect perfection of ourselves?

There is one thing I'm sure of though, and that is that the type of reformation the church needs isn't the kind that points at the splinter in a brothers eye without dealing with the plank in ones own. That's why when a giant of the faith passes on some information about what he would do different, it's wise to listen.

In the early moments of this year, one such giant died. Billy Graham left this world bound for the eternal plain and with that, the world got talking. The criticism was as loud as the praise. (So much for not speaking ill of the dead!) Thousands if not millions paid tribute to him as if he was a saint, while members of the LGBTI community detailed their hurt over the harsh words he had directed at them and others railed against his brushes with the law when it came to tax evasion.

Thousands upon thousands spoke of the impact his life had on theirs. It was one heck of a mixed bag. I don't think even Micheal Jackson had so many negative articles written about him when he died - a fact that seems more than a little unjust. I'm grateful for the good stuff, while I also acknowledge the not-so-shiny. My own parents were converted at a crusade they attended on their honeymoon. Mine is a life that has been touched by Billy Graham's shadow, as it were.

I'm absolutely sure the guy was imperfect, and had his not so great aspects. But I'm also sure that the way to reform the church isn't by nitpicking giants like this.

It's by learning from them.

I struggled to find an article in which he reflected on his life and talked about what he would do differently. When I did, I realised why it was so hard to find. It's an area the church in the western world seems to be wading further and further into, and I wonder if it's because of the seductive promise of power and influence. What was the one thing big Billy Graham said he'd stay out of if he had his time again?

It's the area of politics.

In an interview with Christianity Today in 2011, he said: "“I also would have steered clear of politics. I’m grateful for the opportunities God gave me to minister to people in high places; people in power have spiritual and personal needs like everyone else, and often they have no one to talk to. But looking back I know I sometimes cros­sed the line, and I wouldn’t do that now.”

Graham had in fact been tied up with President Richard Nixon, and his is a legacy that thinned the dividing line between church and state by what some call 'a relentless pursuit of civil religion.'

It's a cautionary note in Billy's story, but it wasn't explained. The interviewer carried right on through to the next question. I couldn't help but dwell on that statement though. Why would he steer clear of politics? What's wrong with that?

I can't pretend to know what Billy was thinking. But I do know this: the church has always been counter-cultural. It gives me great unease when it seeks to be otherwise. Jesus wasn't a populist leader. Quite the contrary. It was him and twelve guys. The movement started from there but it didn't seek power and influence. It served. It served the orphans and the poor. It served the widows. It served those shunned by society. Of course it reached those in high places but that wasn't the emphasis.

The church in the book of Acts was as small number in a big world. My fear is that, in the modern era, the church fears losing its relevance, and thus it seeks out power. But there's a saying that contends "Power is not innocent" and there's the problem.

After thinking about this for months, and letting it challenge my own standpoint, this is the opinion I've come to: The church, and the men and women of God who lead it, should maintain innocence and righteousness, should be a voice for good, and should avoid blurring the line between the State and the sacred.

I could list pages and pages of ministers who have gone off the rails when handed too much power and influence. Its a seductive thing. It allows human leaders to confuse their own ideas with the voice of God, to start believing their own hype, to turn a blind eye to abuses and injustices while saying to themselves "the end justifies the means." It isn't like this because people are bad, but because of the effect of power, and of the people who revolve around those in power, and potentially the way it's easy to ignore counsel when there is no one you answer to. (Hmmm. Big can of worms there! Shutting the lid on that for today!)

When we look at the life of Jesus, we see His approach to power summed up nicely in Philippians 2:5-11. Jesus brought himself low, to the point of death, even death on the cross. He was the ultimate servant, who God then elevated. But that elevation was God's responsibility, not ever that of a human. Politics causes us to seek out the popular vote. It seeks for man to elevate us, whereas a life of service to the church is a calling to servanthood in its purest form.

The church should be a powerful voice for good. But I believe it is best kept separate from the State. Having the two institutions separate creates a healthy tension, in my opinion, and creates potential for the other to stay on track.

There is an example of the church and state becoming completely intertwined. (Okay, theres a few. Henry VIII is one. So is the Vatican. Both of those carry obvious cautionary tales.) I'm referring to Constantine. Many laud his achievements for the advancement of Christianity, but others point out the ways in which he married a pagan state with a Christian God and emerged with a mixed, state-sanctioned faith.

This is our danger.

I'm absolutely not saying Christians don't belong in politics. In a representative democracy, there should be room for all creeds. But I am suggesting that if you are called to the cloth, you mightn't be called to the crown. If you find yourself edging towards the other, do consider the words of Billy Graham and ask yourself if you are crossing a line that shouldn't be crossed.

My considered opinion is that the church should put pressure on government to maintain fairness to all people, and freedom to all religions, whilst the government should ensure that citizens involved in churches don't find themselves at the mercy of organisations who think they are above the law. Jesus said "render unto Caesar what is Caesars." This protects the vulnerable people who often seek out the church to find healing. There, they should find safe harbour, not political agendas.

Being a pastor or minister (the Christian type) is a sacred role. It's there to serve and love God's people, teaching them and discipling them according to the word of God. Its role is not to rule them. Each believer's walk with God is their own responsibility. When the state tells us how we ought live that out, we have problems. If you can't imagine that, go watch the Handmaids Tale. (Yes, I know dominionists will cite Genesis 1:28 when God tells Adam to have dominion - but He was referring to fish, animals, plants and insects. Not people.)

The power and pull of politics might be seductive, but it is a different calling entirely. It is to represent the will of the people, not the Will and word of God.

My fear, yes I use the word fear again, is that many a person who has sought out influence and power has done so because they fear their own vulnerability. But for pastors and ministers, and indeed for Christians, our God is our sword and shield. So what if we stay countercultural and never overpower the culture of the day? That is probably our place - to show a dark world there is a light they can follow.

I'm aware that this post may come across a bit abrasive to some. That is not my intent. It is simply to call our attention to Billy Graham's one regret, and to urge Christians not to fear where the world will go but to have faith in a God that has all the power we will ever need. If you are a Christian in politics, great! Serve with honour and integrity. Be a person of your word. Represent your people. Find good counsel and heed it.

If you are a pastor thinking of crossing over, if urge you to consider the undue influence you may wield over people who may think your word and the word of God never differ. It's a dangerous line to blur.

Just some thoughts! Have a fab weekend, friends.

Kit K

The De-Calvinisation of Kit Kennedy

There we were, my ex-husband and I, walking our two babies along a boardwalk during Covid19 lockdown. The dew was still fresh on the plants that carpeted the wetland floor. Our two-year-old was busy conquering her fear of bridges (because look, a boardwalk is one long bridge, isn't it). I watched her a bit proudly and reflected on my unfaced fears, and whether I had any. (Spoiler: We all do.) Then I said the thing that had been bothering me for a long time, but that I hadn't given voice to yet: "Bae, I just don't think I subscribe to the Evangelical trope of Jesus as my bestie anymore. And I can't think of God as an old white man in the sky who is morbidly curious about my every action, reaction and inaction, and who has a huge "choose your own adventure" style book of punishments and prizes depending on what I do or don't do in any given moment." 

Patrick responded with a sentence almost as wordy as the two I'd just thrown him. And that is perhaps one reason we work so well as friends even after splitting.

But that wasn't the moment I was observing. I was observing another one, a big one where I recognized the seismic shift in my faith. There was no one around. It's not like anyone could hear, and if my theory was correct (which I won't know until eternity), then the only person who would hear was Patrick. After a lifetime of believing that God watched and judged and reacted to every single thing I did or thought, and even wondering whether the "cloud of witnesses" were still creepin' when you were shaving your legs or whatever in the shower, it was almost a relief to get that thought out of my head.

Superstitiously, I've waited for the other shoe to drop and for cosmic judgment to fall upon me because I don't look at Jesus as if He is my best friend.

It hasn't. And that is perhaps the most telling thing of all.

Let's step back a bit: what is this Evangelical Trope of which I speak?

It has long been a trend in Christian worship music for songs to kinda swing in a direction where the word "Jesus" could be subbed out for the word "Baby," a slick beat dropped behind the catchy riff and BOOM: club-worthy song. There was a meme that made its way around the internet not too long ago in which the dorkiest band you've ever seen sang "Jesus is my friend. I have my friend in Jesus. He taught me how to sing, and how to save my soul, He taught me how to love my God and still play rock and roll" blah blah blah. In fact, I have instant regret over typing those lyrics because the song is that catchy. There goes a perfectly good night's sleep.

That song, released soon after the advent of color television, was a very early iteration of the "Jesus is my best friend/lover/brother/" genre. It might have worked for me as a teenager when I needed to feel a sense of connectedness, lofty destiny, and the illusion of a guaranteed rosy life, but it certainly sat a little wonky in later years when I started to wonder whether this was true worship. I'd started to wonder whether worship should instead carry an attitude of reverence and awe, rather than the sort of poetry cooked up by hipsters to make their target market feel good.

Harsh. I know. Heck, I've written some of this stuff so I've certainly been part of the machine. Admittedly nothing as cool as the pop-star worship-leaders of today.

But can I say it out loud? Can I acknowledge it for what it is? I don't think many of us see Jesus as a literal best friend. And that's okay. Perhaps to call Him that is to bring the divine down to a human plain, or worse still, to raise ourselves to god-status by calling ourselves equal to the third part of the trinity.

Jesus is, in my mind, the divine incarnate. To others, He is a prophet or a philosopher. To others, maybe just an invisible buddy they like to chat to. I don't believe its bad to see Him as any of these things. But I certainly don't believe it is bad to admit that we don't see Him as the latter.

But where did this "Jesus is my friend", buddy-buddy attitude come from? 

I'm sure there are better scholars out there, a fact I recount often. But there seem to be only a few instances in scripture and none of them seem to line up with "Jesus is my best buddy."

• John 15:14 - 15 "You are my friends if you do what I command you. No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you."

• James 2:23 "Abraham believed in God, and it was accounted to him as righteousness, and he was called a friend of God."

Jesus was certainly called a friend of sinners, the first-born of many brethren, and he was certainly a friend of the disciples. But none of these instances put him on the same human level as the recipient of his friendship. It's more like having a name in your phone book of someone powerful who you could call on if you needed them. I have a number of MP's on my Facebook friends list. But I don't play pool with them or muse to them about my thoughts on dating post-separation. Having an influential friend is different to having a buddy.

Yes, Peter James and John had a closer relationship with Jesus than anyone else. I'm not denying that. But am I as close as they were? Could I ever be?

If I was ever in a position where I thought I could clearly, accurately, faultlessly and tangibly hear Jesus' voice and "rest my head on Him" as these disciples did, I truly hope one of you would drag me to a psychologist office - stat.

Now, look: the point of this post isn't to change your mind on anything. If you look at Jesus as if He is your best friend - good for you. I guess what I'm writing about here is an honest look at the state of my deconstruction. I'm not scared to call my approach to faith what it is anymore. I've got the podcast which creates a beautiful opportunity for me to explore the more intellectual avenues of deconstruction, theology, faith, and social justice. But who would I be if I didn't say exactly what's on my mind in terms of my own deeply held thoughts?

The truth is, I don't view Jesus as my best friend. Perhaps I never have. Perhaps I did but I'm glossing over history with the kind of paintbrush that makes things all look tidy and consistent in the present. I don't know. But either way, it's okay. I think I've mentioned before that I watched a beautiful series on Netflix called "The Story of God." It was narrated by Morgan Freeman (which was sort of meta, as it sounded like God was narrating his own story. Bravo Netflix). But what I noticed was a rich reverence woven through the exploration of each religion's origins and traditions. The gorgeous sound of the Islamic call to prayer, the deep respect that Native Americans and Indigenous people of other countries had for their spoken traditions, the incredible respect held by the researchers looking into the origins of the Abrahamic religions. The thread woven through was one of reverence, respect, awe, and somehow despite the diversity and difference presented in each faith or tradition, there was a thread of something familiar. It was a story of origin, of connection, of searching for a way of being in the world that was good. 

Then Joel Osteen stepped on screen for the first time. He was there as the standard-bearer for American Evangelicalism - a faith that should be the closest relative to mine. His teeth, impeccably capped and whitened, made me grimace, but none so much as the words that came out of his mouth. I felt like I'd just switched channels to a Tony Robbins thing. I hated it. Where were the reverence and awe? It felt cheap and tacky but dressed up in a suit that undoubtedly cost thousands.

Today, in the height of the Black Lives Matter protests, I saw another cringe-worthy moment. Mega-church pastor Louis Giglio sitting with rapper LeCrae of all people, explaining the "Blessing" of slavery and reframing "white privilege" to "white blessing". My stomach sunk. It is a statement Giglio has since offered up a sincere apology and said he sees no blessing in slavery. Thank God. But still, I see something in the institutions of Evangelicalism as something deeply problematic: something more like Tony Robbins than Jesus. Something more like a fast-food franchise than a slowly-grown, deeply held, intentionally-built ethos that asks "how might I model myself off the life of Jesus? How can I make this world better?"

Jesus isn't my best friend. He is the highest-held model and ethical ideal in my mind. He is my God. Yes. But I won't bring Him down to sibling or bestie level.

My best friend and I (or ex-husband, however you want to phrase it), we sit and binge Netflix shows. We talk trash. I run things by him when I want a second opinion, but I know I can ignore his advice if I want. I don't base my ethical and moral decisions on what he would want me to do. My other best-friends - well at this point in Covid lockdown, we drink a fair bit of prosecco or gin and talk about our love lives a lot.

Again. Not doing that with Jesus. Although praying about what decision is right - that I do.

The Bible calls Jesus the firstborn of many brethren. But let's look at sibling relationships: I'm the eldest in my family. Of the five of us, I really only have semi-regular contact with one (if you don't count the odd snapchat or text). She is a free-spirit and a gifted public speaker. She is generous and a hard-worker. She is fabulous with kids and her wardrobe is phenomenal. There are things I admire about her.  But I don't build my life around her and she certainly doesn't build hers around me.

What am I saying? Jesus isn't my sibling. He isn't my bestie. That's not a role I would ever reduce him to.

This realization has made me understand, for the first time in my life, that there is a jarring misfit between me and the contemporary church.

But why use "de-Calvinisation" in the title of this blog when you weren't even raised Calvinist, Kit?

A few weeks back I blogged on the five pillars of Calvinism. There at the top of the list is the doctrine of "Total Depravity." It's one that Evangelicalism is still very much steeped in; that since the fall of mankind in Eden, we are all born with a sin nature; totally depraved, enslaved to sin, selfish and self-serving, determined to act against God.

We hear it in altar calls. We hear it in the speeches of Billy Graham, who has been held up as the greatest evangelist of the modern era. Over the last few years I've been sitting with this uncomfortable question though: is it possible to follow Jesus without subscribing to a deep and wounding sense of self-loathing. Of inadequacy. Of "I can do nothing without God." I first started to wrestle with this when I was reading my ex-husbands Gay Conversion Therapy manual. I realized my own sense of inadequacy, fear of doing the wrong thing, feeling of being the wrong thing without the approval of the church - it was all internalized shame gifted to me from that Calvinist belief I had marinated in since childhood. It paled in comparison to the internalized sense of homophobia he carried. But that's another story, and another blog post (How I survived gay conversion therapy).

Side note: I wasn't raised Calvinist. It's just a belief that I see deeply steeped in the "Come to Jesus, all ye sinners" narrative."

Then I heard a podcast. The guest was Richard Rohr, and I can't even remember what else he said apart from this sentiment: why do we start our faith in Genesis 3 with the fall of mankind, when we could start it in Genesis 1 where God repeatedly looked at creation and said "It is good. It is good. It is good."?

So perhaps I'm a Franciscan now? Maybe? I don't know. All I know is reading Genesis one and letting those words wash over me felt healing. Because here is what I know about humanity:

1. No loving parent looks at their newborn and sees sin and depravity. They see beauty, even in those first weeks when their kid is funny looking - Let's be honest. We are told God is love, but then told that we are depraved and He hates sin (thus he can't stand us). Furthermore, we are told the Bible never contradicts itself. Well, it just did. If God, whom we are supposed to call Abba Father, is love, then he loves us. Or He is a hateful parent who alienates and estranges his children from the get-go until they can earn their way back. I'm a mother of two children. I know which parent I am. And I am infinitely less good than the divine good.

2. All of us are doing our best. I loved watching Game of Thrones. Because every character had redeeming qualities and also the ability to do awful things. Yet we wouldn't call them awful. (Okay, Joffrey doesn't count. Straight up jerk, that one!). I believe all of us are doing the best we can with what we are given. Can we all do better if given the right resources? Yes. In "Little Fires Everywhere" featuring Reese Witherspoon and Kerry Washington, the latter yelled, "You didn't 'make good choices, you had good choices." And wow, it's true. That's privilege in one sentence.

3. Not many of us believe we are inherently bad people. Why is it that religion steps in, and before accepting us into its exclusive club, makes us admit that we are terrible and hopeless, and sinful without God? Surely, if God is God, and if Jesus is the human incarnation of the divine, then there should be good enough reason to follow him without self-hatred and shame. I believe there is. I don't believe we need to think of ourselves as the scum of the earth before we reach for a more merciful, honest, compassionate, anti-corruption, anti-exclusion, self-sacrificially loving existence. Do you?

So look. This is an intensely personal post I'm just putting out there because I need to get what's on my mind off my mind before I finish crafting a ghostwritten book on infant and pediatric craniopathies!

Here's what I believe about myself now.

I start my faith in Genesis 1. I am good. I am not perfect, but I do not hate myself for that. Jesus is a divine being I approach with reverence, not familiarity. I do not follow Him because I hate myself. I follow Him because I love humanity. I believe that Christianity that builds itself on instilling a sense of self-loathing or shame in its adherents is inferior because it is not built on the immensity, infinitely expansive, compassionate, merciful, intentionally diverse nature of God and the world He/They created.

So yeah. That's me right now. This is the state of the de-calvinisation of Kit Kennedy as at June 17, 2020. Let's see where we are next year!

Peace

Kit K

P.S. Here is the song I referred to. You're welcome.

[embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7-NOZU2iPA8[/embed]

Why I don’t seek certainty anymore

For me, faith was always about certainty. Certainty that the world worked a certain way. Certainty that God would always come through for you (if you prayed hard enough, worked hard enough, didn't sin, fasted if the situation warranted it, and were generally the good girl). If you were a good evangelical, you would reach other people for Christ, and this often came through a formulaic approach based on the godlessness and hopelessness of all humankind, and the goodness and all-powerfulness of God. 

Cool. Except for the fact that I prayed hard enough, worked hard enough, behaved well enough, fasted if the situation warranted it and was generally a good girl. A really good girl. If you knew my story, you'd probably know that I've had more things go wrong in my life than many. I firmly believe that there should be a cosmic quota for heartache and misfortune, and I've passed it. Waaayyy passed it. So why am I the happiest I've ever been?

I think its because I've shifted from certainty to uncertainty. And it's beautiful. Do I know all about God? Nope. Not even close. Am I always seeking to understand God, and  connect with the divine? Yep. Do I seek to live out my followership of Christ in the truest, most compassionate, most dedicated way I can? Yep. Does this bring me certainty about the world? Heck no.

Am I okay with that? Absolutely.

You see certainty, for me, brought about a deep sense of unease. If I was so certain that my doctrines were correct, and that everyone else was wrong and needed to convert to the movement I was in in order to be right, then I needed to wrestle with what I saw around me. My perfect God was missing a lot. He was not intervening in a lot of situations despite the endless prayers and supplications of His devout followers. He was turning a blind eye to abuse, a lot. He was making life really hard for the people who followed Him. If I was so certain that this version of God was the right version of God, and this version of philosophy and spirituality was the right version of it, then I had to earnestly want all my friends and family to convert to this extremely difficult way of being in the world.

I...didn't. Couldn't. And a new way of interacting with God began.

Let's be fair: it began with a bit of a shitshow. I catapulted past that cosmic quota on hardship (that doesn't exist). And the final straw came when my marriage transitioned. I say transitioned because it became a friendship that just works. To say it ended would elude to me losing my best friend and confidante. I didn't. He's gay though, and that is a bit of a pivot. So we separated.

In that moment, the vows that I had relied upon were broken. I stared in the face of potential abandonment once again, and guess what: it didn't happen. He stuck by me the best way two separated people could. We share a house, and co-parenting duties. Our relationship has changed, but he did not run for the hills. My friends gathered around me, and I realised for the first time in my life that I didn't want friends who rejected him or whose interactions with me were based on conditional love or the perception of me being weak and hurt. Because although he was my ex-husband, he wasn't the man who wronged me. He loved me enough to give me a chance to find love again while I was young. He loved me enough to plunge us both into uncertainty, knowing that it would force us both to live authentically.

Yes, he needed to live authentically for obvious reasons. But he knew something about me too: I'd been making myself smaller in order to stay in his shadow, like a good, submitted, complementarian wife. He wasn't going to let me do it for the rest of my life. So here we are: two single people parenting two presidents-schoolers, and about to take on the world of dating and its uncertain as heck.

In that moment, when we first separated, I went "huh. Can't control a bloody thing, can you? Best just roll with it."

Then Covid19 hit. And I thought "huh. Can't control a bloody thing, can you? Best just roll with it."

And then we moved to a whole new neighbourhood, in a whole new city, and we aren't giving out our address for the first time in our lives. We waited until after the Melbourne lockdown was over to make the move, knowing making friends in Covid19 is difficult, but then the second lockdown started 48 hours before we arrived. And I thought, you guessed it, "Huh. Can't control a bloody thing, can you? Best just roll with it."

I mean I could have tried to control everything, to line it up with my "certain", "non-negotiable" or "tried and true" ideas about the world. But that would have been fruitless, wouldn't it. It would have taken up a crazy amount of energy, reduced me to frustration, and perhaps given me another walk with the black dog.

Here's the problem I see with seeking certainty: it's very hard to distinguish between certainty and control. In fact, sometimes when we say "certainty" what we mean is "control - fitting everything into a box I can understand and compartmentalise, keeping people and ideas where I want them so I can feel safe." And control, frankly, is a myth. You can't wrap the world up in a neat little bow, claiming you understand all of its in's and out's, its workings, timings and cosmic rhythms.

You can't make people do what you want them to do and have that relationship be one in which both parties are healthy. For one person to have control over anothers actions takes away from the personhood of the second party. It costs part of their individuality, and agency over their choices in order for them to fall in line with what the person-in-control wants them to be.

And it's a lot of work to maintain that inauthenticity, or that control. It breeds distrust, dissatisfaction, and all the disses.

So I'm embracing uncertainty. I know I do not understand God and the universe. It makes seeking those answers fun and fascinating. I know I can't control anything, so I connect with my own integrity and what I deeply feel to be true in any given moment and do the best I can. I embrace the idea that I may be wrong, and that's okay.  When I'm faced with curveballs, I'm learning to go "Okay. Can I control this? No. So how do I respond best? How do I act in this moment that allows me to still be in my integrity, in my boundaries, and in line with what I feel to be my purpose?"

I like it. I like it better than certainty. A God I don't understand is so much easier to seek after than one I think I've got locked down. A person I can't control is so much more freeing to be around because they can be their authentic selves and I can be my authentic self. The energy once spent on good behaviour and fitting in is so much better spent elsewhere, don't you think?

Anyway, that's my thoughts for today. They may be influenced a little bit by Keith Kristich's session on the podcast...but I have to wait until next week to post that. Stay tuned.

I'm currently listening to the sound of children playing, looking out over a city skyline on a sunny winters day. All is not how I thought it would be. But its pretty darn great. And I am happy. And this is a moment worth marking.

I hope you are well in this crazy time. 
xo 
Kit