For a season when I resolved that church was only just worthwhile, I would show up to a service, sit by myself, and leave immediately afterward, as a way to avoid the seemingly inevitable rejection that standing around awkwardly waiting for anyone to do better than half-sincerely shake my hand would leave rotting in me. I lowered expectations, and avoided pain. >
A friend of mine who straddled a double occupancy of volunteer pastor and career carpenter recently explained that his church had been less than supportive of the numerous hours he was putting into the community, whereas his construction company gave him increasing responsibility, encouragement and backslapping. “Why can't i get that kind of commendation at church?” he asked. >
Enter the adage that those who haven't lived and risked haven't lived; that those who have loved and lost, have still done a greater thing than those who were too afraid to do the first. How do these maintain, however, if you feel as if your risks get you hurt consistently; that your best efforts are stepped on; if you've lost love too many times to try again? Perhaps your ideals were unrealistic at best; lies at worst: relational realities that threaten infections in the deeper cuts of intimacy.
And you ask why we so quickly settle for cheap thrills and empty sex as if the answer isn't obvious? >
I, however, got a hand up this summer. >
I seized a much craved chance to share some experiences with a sincere group of people. I saw lightning explode over a warm-wind-swept ocean that played itself like a stage in the dark. I challenged a hike that had teased me with its trek until i quit its jeer at the end trail head- legs burning. The sensations left memories like the fingers of energy searing the sky or like the burnt lines on the vision of the retinas turned toward them. Only camaraderie made the moments as indelible. >
At a campfire we shared near-death experiences, believing that life wasn't something to shake a fist at for giving us 25 years, but to celebrate: each of its days walked under our feet was a gift. Every chance that we survived had to be grace.
And this is what I wrote after the campfire: >
“I'm thankful... for the characters learned, for becoming known, if only a fraction, by others. You can moderate expectations instilled by disney dreams, 'rom coms' and capitalistic ascent, but there are some goods, some “perfect gifts”, perhaps, that are pure and good enough that they must not be ignored, pushed aside, depreciated or even moderated and lowered. To know and be known, to find community is surely one of these.”
