Confessions on Light in Questions

I have a confession to make.

I haven't posted on this board since I introduced myself months ago, and I haven't even picked up my bible since then.

Come to think of it, I haven't picked up a bible (except that teen Bible to find the funny devotion about the cat in the microwave -- long story) to actually sit down and read it in about two years.
This thought occurred to me today. While I haven't been posting, I have been at least trying to keep up on what everybody else is posting, and contemplating that. After reading this most recent post (on John and shying away from holiness and practicing the trumpet), I figured it was about time to say something other than my name and what I do for a living.

For some reason, that line in John (and that last post, which interpreted it beautifully) struck a chord with me. It seemed to say that we shrink even further into our weird little selves when we're angry at God or the church, because God is perhaps the light and we don't want to expose ourselves in that light.

I completely agree.

My only problem is, I so rarely find that light in church... and I've discovered that the times when I'm angriest at God are when I'm somehow involved in a church.

Church and I had a bit of a falling out a while back. Okay, not a bit, pretty much a huge falling out. I tend to find God elsewhere, in unconventional places, sometimes even in sinful places.
Mountains, breezes, the black outlines of winter trees against sunsets, laughing, cursing, a good beer buzz, pedestrians smelling roses in front of sorority houses (another long story), questions... Most of all, I find God in the questions.

I find light in the questions.

Now, please understand, this is a personal prejudice of mine, and is perhaps some kind of strange neurosis... but church tends to block out the light for me. Or, perhaps a better explanation, I'm not good at looking for, finding and recieving light in church.
I don't think I hide from it...or if I do, I don't do so consciously, because it seems that I find that light in so many other places. It took me a while to discover that it wasn't God that I was angry with, it wasn't God I was falling out with, but church.

...which is maybe why I like talking about religion so much...it makes me ask questions, makes me examine myself, makes me find that light again, even if I have been hiding from it.
I hope you all find holiness in light wherever you go (even in 6x6 practice cells).

...and sorry it took me so freakin' long.

Finally, a response...

These thoughts might be very disconnected, and they may not make sense.
Reading the gospels like this, pieces at a time, makes it very clear how different John is from the Synoptics. Maybe it's because it's the last thing I read, but what's sticking in my mind now is John. "For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed." This is so amazingly true. Maybe it's just me, but any time I drift away from the church for any length of time, I find the thought of God really negative. I don't want to think about church or God or religion...I just don't want to think about any of it. "But those who do what is true may come into the light, so that it may clearly be seen that their deeds have been done in God." This makes me wonder. It's so hard to know if what we do is done through God or just in ourselves. I spend hours a day practicing trumpet. Is God in all of that, or is it something else pulling me away from Him? It's hard to find holiness in a 6x6 practice room. Is there such a thing as neither one or the other? Are there actions that have nothing whatsoever to do with God, but that aren't detrimental? (Wow, that was quite a tangent.)
John's cleansing of the temple comes early. That's interesting to me. I can see wonderful symbolism in the beginning and the end. As in John, at the beginning--the old corruption and broken ways are being tossed aside. Something new is coming, and the trash we've filled the temple with has to go away now. The cleansing of the temple is probably one of my favorite parts of the gospels. It's such an amazingly prophetic action, and I find a new emotion of love and strength each time I read it.
I wish we had more of an account of Jesus growing up, even if it's not really vital, I guess. There's one year that Anne Rice writes about in Christ the Lord out of Egypt, but I'm not really sure if I liked that book. Has anyone else read it?
Sorry for the rambling and focus on John. Thanks if you read this far.

souls.

some all saints/all souls grenadian traditions inspired a blog post on my personal blog. it sort of talks about some of amanda's afterlife questions too... but doesn't really answer anything. i don't think clear answers are attainable from our perspective. for you amanda, and for all of us, i pray that in searching there might be insight. but even more so, that there might be peace. so check out my blog if you want. the link is over on the side: abby's reflections... will post on the second set of readings maybe next week... lot of love.

I can't honestly say I have any answers about the afterlife. I definitely don't claim to know what happens beyond death. But I'm reminded of a conversation I had with a friend while I was abroad. I was strugggling a lot spiritually...I had just come off of a semester at school in which I was very relgious, had a lot of very religious friends and subscribed to an evangelical Christian outlook. I had gradually been realizing I just couldn't accept this belief system, and was realizing I'd have to go back to Davidson, where I had never been 100% happy anyway, and face these friends with whom I no longer shared their beliefs. But I was also just struggling with what I believed and if there was really any meaning out there. And I said to my friend, "Life is so tragic. We live, we make all of these connections and friendships and experiences, and we make it through struggles together, and we build so much...and then it just ends. It's just over. We die. This is so tragic! It's almost like a cruel, cruel joke." But my friend came back with, "It's tragic, but in a way, it's also beautiful, because we know we just have one life, and that's what makes everything meaningful." So we decided that life was beautifully tragic....tragically beautiful. And I really think it is...life is a gift, it really is. It is something that is given to us briefly that is to be celebrated and enjoyed and shared, and the more you give of yourself and the more you love, the more meaningful and rich your life is.