It's a book full of filthy words and controversial ideas that you might not agree with. But enough about the Bible, the book is called Disquiet Time and Cathleen Falsani is one of the editors (along with Jennifer Grant) of this quirky, beautiful, often empathetic collection of "Rants and Reflections on the Good Book by the Skeptical, the Faithful, and a Few Scoundrels." I recently asked Cathleen a few questions and this is what she had to say:
You wrote a book about grace called Sin Boldly. I always like to ask: How did you first encounter grace, or was it a concept that was always there for you, as a Christian?
I think seeing and experiencing grace is something I was (and we all are) hard-wired to do from birth. I couldn't tell you the first time I encountered grace but I'm sure it was long before I had the language to call it "grace."
Reading Disquiet Time, to me, was a solitary experience compared to reading other Christian works. There was a different mouth-feel to it, if you will. I never felt like the writers were over-spiritualizing their experiences or hedging on their honesty. It was refreshing. To what do you contribute that type of honesty and freedom?
It was likely the result of a two-part invention: we (Jen Grant and I, as editors) offered them the total freedom to "speak what we feel, not what we ought to say" and the authors — each one of them — had the guts, courage, and audacity to take us up on it and actually write from the deepest places of their hearts and minds. To a person, they opened a vein and didn't self-censor. I think that made all the difference in the world.

Was there a piece in Disquiet Time that you felt explained, or explored, something in a new way to you personally? (For instance, your piece, Slut!, was an eye-opening look to me at the girl who would be called Salome.)
It's terribly difficult to narrow it down to one piece, but I can say there is one in particular that I keep returning to almost daily: Susan Isaacs' chapter "The Bible: Full of Sound, Fury, Sarcasm, and Poop Jokes." I adore Susan, her mind, sense of humor, and humble faith. It's the passage in there that talks about Jesus employing sarcasm — my native language — that gave me the gift of seeing his humanity in a different way, a facet I hadn't noticed before, and one with which I resonate deeply but long had thought (and been told by some of my coreligionists) didn't belong in the life of a Christian — particularly not in the life of a girl or woman trying to follow Jesus. Take that, naysayers!
One thing I see in Disquiet Time is a freedom to explore and question one’s faith. Why do you think it is that we’re so uptight about doing that as followers of Jesus?

In a word: FEAR. We're so afraid of "doing it wrong," of doubt and doubting, of misunderstanding, misinterpretation, questions-without-answers, and not knowing that we'd rather "fake it" than authentically, genuinely, honestly engage with scripture on its own terms and ours. It's as if we somehow believe God doesn't really know what we're thinking or feeling about what we read in the Bible (or anything else for that matter).
 
I always like to know what fellow writers are reading. So, what’s on your bedside table right now, Cathleen?

Watch for the Light: Readings for Advent and Christmas, The Soul of Rumi by Coleman Burks, Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts, Wild by Cheryl Strayed, Main Lines, Blood Feasts, and Bad Taste by Lester Bangs, and Why I Wake Early by Mary Oliver.
11:20:00 PM
We all have this place inside of us that we store it all. The socially unacceptable, the irreligious ideas, the things that would lose friends and uninspire people. Questions, worries and doubts that we know we can’t share, but ache to say. That place is quickly cramped and uncomfortable, tearing at its seams.

It’s hard for me to find a church. I want to, but when I go, I just end up leaving angrier than when I came. The judgment, the silly rules, the passive-aggressive jabs. It’s weird when you’ve been on the inside. You see things more clearly. Know all the abominable tricks.

Some friends and I got together the other night to talk about that. How we could maybe get that need met with each other. The Church without the junk. Well, not that kind of junk anyway—not the plastic kind. But full to the brim with the real deal. All those socially unacceptable, irreligious ideas. That was when I realized that’s what I’d been longing for all along.

The superficial judgment I felt in church, the rules I balked at, and the jabs that made me want to jab back weren’t the main things keeping me away. They were symptoms. They were walls that kept me from my soul’s need to unburden itself.

In my relationship with God, I found freedom. I found permission to tell the truth, because a) God’s not fooled by my self-righteous act, and b) God loves me anyway. It was no wonder that I wanted that from the local gathering of fellow Christians that I attended: The freedom to share the unshareable.

It’s only unshareable because we’ve so spiritualized our churches that we can’t actually be honest with one another. We have to fake it. I don’t want that anymore. Frankly, I don’t need that anymore. It makes me soul sick. (There’s a vast difference between loving correction and nitpicking, moralistic narcissism.)

Our hearts yearn to be heard without fear of judgment. Our souls feel tight and cramped in the phony religious box in which we’ve allowed ourselves to be placed. True worship flourishes in raw truth. When we dump our doubts and fears out on the floor, a warm, wet mess for all to see, and watch them shrivel and die in the light, a song of praise finds our tongues.

Our deepest hurts lie hidden because we refuse to acknowledge that others can bear them. We refuse to acknowledge that they even exist so—like unseen plaque in our arteries—they build up like a dam, threatening death to our faith and fellowship.

To openly hurt, to stand naked for all to see, is no easy feat. It takes Gospel guts. It takes a full knowledge of God’s love for us, and that he has paid for our sins. That Jesus’ death wasn’t a band-aid, but the full cure.

To have those that accept us with no judgment as we stand before them, every blemish visible, is a gift beyond measure. In Genesis, God looked at his perfect creation and said something was missing. He said, it’s not good for man to be alone. Was that an accident? Did God forget to add a dash of self-sufficiency? Of course not. We were purposefully made to need others.

That need is where our desire to be heard comes from. It is the very reason we have that place in us that we store it all. We’re waiting for someone who will listen. We’re waiting for open ears and open hearts. It’s the only thing that will allow us to shrug off that burden.

So, watch.

Listen.


And don’t just unpack. Look for opportunities to take part in the wonderful, filthy business of helping unpack the pain of others also.




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10:38:00 PM

They keep telling me I’m forgiven. A choir of trumpet-wielding Angels could sing the message to me in three-part harmony and I'd tell them I'd have to think about it. But sometimes it sneaks up on me. The message finds its way through the maze of pride in my crinkly brain and sets up shop. Then I wonder why I ever questioned, what I ever thought could be better than full acceptance based on the work of another—Jesus himself.

That lasts about a day. 

It's a vicious cycle.

I start wanting to do something in return. That's not a bad thing, mind you. That's where it should come from--a response of love to an act of ultimate love. We love him because he first loved us, and all that. It's the part where my perfectionism starts me rolling back down that hill, Jack and Jill style. Then I need to hear the gospel all over again.

Vicious.

I know, I’m neurotic. But that’s what makes sense to me. It seems illogical for me to be less than perfect, even if I’m loved no matter how badly I screw it up. Because then I feel like I’m just phoning it in. I'm taking advantage of God's grace. But then I fail and fail and fail. I feel like one of those ropes that dogs tug on, and there’s a bulldog on both ends and neither will let go.

Really vicious.

That’s been a recurring theme in my life since I became a Christian. God tells me to trust him, and I'm like, "No, I totally got this, man." I feel like Rocky in that first movie—where he lost—getting knocked down by the bigger, stronger, faster and better boxer of my own sin. Eyes swelling shut, I keep getting up. My pride won't let me do anything less. I get a few good punches in and the bell rings. Sweet mercy. I can call a day. I can say I’ve had enough. Where’s that towel? All I can think about is rest (and maybe those few good punches), but when the next round starts, I find myself rising, stumbling toward failure. Bell after damnable bell, I fight, until I'm done.

But I don’t win Apollo Creed’s grudging respect. I don’t get the girl. I don't get an adoring crowd. I get nothing. I’m bloodied and beaten and I’ve lost. Because I tried to do it myself.

All that said, I admire the irrational need I have to be perfect. I see it as some misguided outcome of my sanctification. A twisted desire to move more quickly into purification. So it’s a go… What’s that? It’s pride? –Laughs dismissively- It’s not pride. It’s just…

Crap.

Yeah… it's pride.

Here’s the thing: I do know we're not capable of achieving perfection. It’s literally like thinking that if you try hard enough you can fly. And I’m not using hyperbole. No exaggeration here. I mean that. Literally. Because, if you’re like me, you don’t always fully grasp that this is exactly how far we are from achieving perfection.

Not possible.

But I still try to do it alone.

I want to add a but. Yeah, I know it’s impossible, but It doesn’t hurt to try. No, it doesn’t hurt to try. Not at all. Not if you love being mentally and physically drained, feeling like a failure and finally running away because you can’t go on anymore.

That’s the other option. Seriously.

God didn’t come and live a sinless life and die a sinner’s death as some sort of backup plan. Drastic measures highlight a drastic need. That need is ours. While what God wants is perfect, it can’t be done by us. It had to be done for us.

But I still try to do it myself. 
And, so, for the billionth time I will, with a sour stomach and aching head, go to God and ask him what he wants me to do. How I can please him. Maybe I'll listen this time when his reply to me is the same as the one he gave to those who asked in John 6:28-29: “Then they said to him, ‘What must we do, to be doing the works of God?’ Jesus answered them, ‘This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.’” 

Apart from him. I can't do it. And that hurts.

So, while my ego is left shredded on the floor at the knowledge that even my good works are like filthy rags (Is. 64:6), he goes on, trying to get me to see the hope in this: John 15:4: “Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.”

My will. My strength. Worthless apart from him. (John 15:5)

BUT... 

When I let him love me, in that love I find myself changed. You will too. You’ll find that you love more and forgive more easily. You’ll have strange bouts of patience and find yourself giggling at inappropriate times. Because, as a branch, you got nothing. But when we're connected to the Vine, we grow and produce good fruit.

It’s not guilt that guides us. It isn’t shame that pushes us toward the finish line. It is love that constrains us. (2 Cor. 5:14)  Stop putting all your energy into yourself and start putting your trust in Jesus. Anything else...

Impossible.

But, with God…





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10:31:00 PM
Check out this new post on Dropping Keys' website: "My pipe-dream is now a reality," where Kimm Crandall talks about the big changes taking place there. ow.ly/FasJZ
8:45:00 PM


A pastor acquaintance of mine once came in and collapsed into the chair across from where I was sitting with another friend. He looked at us and said, “I’m done. I don’t want to be a pastor anymore.” He was tired of wearing the masks. I told him, “Don’t play the games,” but I wasn’t that religious about it. I think he thought I was joking—or that I was crazy (I get that sometimes.) But I was deadly serious.

Church should be the place where sinners gather to lick our wounds and encourage one another with the Gospel. Instead, church is a costume party, and everyone’s dressed as the best person there. As someone has said, it truly is the most dishonest hour of the week. There have been plenty of times that I felt like I could be more honest with the gas station attendant than with my congregation.

I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of playing games.

I’m a sinner, and not just in the winking way we acknowledge that before other Christians. I’m corrupt to my core. (You too, by the way.) I sicken myself with the things I do and think and say. Most moments of most days I doubt my worth and would probably corrupt myself further just for a moment of your acceptance and friendship. My neutral gear is to run away and hide. Things get hard, I’m not going to seek you out, I’m going to be in a hole, feeling sorry for myself. I’m getting better, but not because of trying harder.

Grace frees you up. Before, it was all about keeping rules and looking good. No matter what was going on inside, I needed to keep up appearances in front of the lost, because that was my witness. And I didn’t want to send a poor soul to a fiery eternity in Hell by not always pretending everything was great, did I? There was so much guilt I couldn’t stand it. And all that smiling and pretending only served to either convince people we were lying (because some can see right through our masks) or that there was no way at all they could be good enough to come to God (because they believed our lies.)

People used to come up to me as a pastor and talk about how great my marriage, life and relationship with God must be. I would often just laugh. But sometimes I just couldn’t let the compliment pass and I pretended like it was true. Then I’d spit out some nonsense about praying more or studying the Scriptures more diligently. While they were applauding me, I was tumbling down the mountain of a crumbling marriage and church.

I did so many things wrong that I can't even begin to recount them all. But I won’t pretend to erase it, because of the Gospel. It’s important to me to stand up and say I'm screwed up, because very few people do. I’m good at the religious game. I could slip into that role and play it like a champ. To be clear, I’m capable, but not able. The longer I was in that world, the more I realized that playing the game—while it would give me longevity among certain Christians, as well as admiration—was downplaying the Truth.

The gospel saved my life years after the Good News of Jesus saved my soul. I had a high view of my sin and a low view of the gospel. I would sin, and find myself ashamed before God once again. I couldn’t imagine that he was so patient that I couldn’t out-sin his grace. Could it have been that I just had a high view of myself? How foolish was I to think that I could out-sin God’s love? Writing those words, words that once brought me to my knees in fear and shame… Now they make me want to dance in giggling joy at the silly idea of out-sinning God’s ravenous love—the core of the Good News.



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10:45:00 PM

I saw an info-graphic type deal on Facebook today that, to sum it up, said ethics is not something one has to be a Christian to have. That’s a fact. But, that the argument has to be made at all shows that we Christians are somehow proposing that only Christians can be truly ethical.

That’s just not true.

And it’s fairly easy to empirically show that it’s not true. (Do I really have to waste precious space explaining that non-Christians do good things, too?) So the question becomes why we would be so vested in spreading the lie.

I’m glad you asked.

We espouse Christianity as a life of rules one must follow to appease a watching, angry God. Therefore, our faith is then about doing moral things. And if that’s the case (and it’s not), then how moral we are dictates how close we are to God. So, to imagine a world where a non-believer can be just as moral as a Christian seems ludicrous because “being better” is the domain of Christians.

That’s a corruption of the message of the Bible, but if one believes it then it becomes crucial to think the falsehood that non-believers cannot be moral.

There are lots of non-Christian jerks, and there are lots of Christian jerks. (The fact that there are lots—and lots—of Christian jerks alone should bear witness to the fact that we believers don’t have an ethical leg up on anyone else.) Ethics are everywhere…

…And ethics is not the message of Christianity.

The above is a message of fear, and faith in Jesus is the opposite of that.

“There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love. We love because he first loved us.” 1 John 4:18-19

The Christian faith is about love. To put a finer point on it—God’s love. The message that Jesus gave for us to tell has zero to do with our own morality or ethics. As a matter of fact, it is a message which demolishes any notion we might have that our goodness means a thing (and that's part of the reason we hate the message of grace). The Good News of Jesus only makes sense after one understands the very bad news that our very nature separates us from God and that there is nothing you or I can do to earn God’s love. But that’s why God came. That’s why Jesus chose crucifixion and shame—his great, ridiculous love for us. 



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11:12:00 PM
We seem to believe that guilt is the ultimate motivation. “If you really loved God, you’d come to church more often… you’d stop smoking… you’d give more.” Guilt is our go-to when we need or want something. No, not just in the church, but certainly there. We Christians know how to use it to our advantage. And that's not a good thing.

THE GUILT LEASH

Guilt is not an emotion that we should want to rid ourselves of. While it's not pleasant, it serves positive social and moral functions. It motivates us to right wrongs and to repent. But guilt is a weird emotion, and so potent that it can become dangerous in the wrong hands.

I love talking to people who have just discovered grace--that God's love is unearned. A lot of silly, superficial "rules" go out the window and the freedom is dizzying. They are like newborn chicks, and I mean that in the best possible way.  They go boldly at times, but at others they are hyper-conscious of their surroundings, nervous that they might be taking grace too far.

Like with most of our learned behavior, a lot of it has become such a part of who we are that we don't see it as negative until someone else points it out. A lot of times, all those curious chicks need is permission to be free. Guilt so warps us that we don't even know what freedom looks like. We're so used to the pull of that guilt leash that we're always waiting for its sudden yank against our necks. With God, there is no leash, only loving arms.

You feel guilty? Go to God. Still feel guilty? That's a lie.

GUILT IS AN ALARM

Guilt serves much the same purpose that pain does in the body. If you've got an awful ache in your gut or your big, Fred Flintstone toe, then that's probably pointing to an issue that needs to be taken care of. Guilt is even a type of pain. And it's presence signifies that there is an issue that needs to be resolved.

Maybe you were rude and you need to apologize. 

Perhaps you took something when someone wasn't looking.

Could be that you gave in to temptation again.

Guilt. It's a sign you should do something about it. But what if you already have and you still feel guilty?

People who have lost limbs often talk about an odd, phantom pain where that appendage once was. Is that pain real? Your brain thinks it is. That's sort of how unhealthy guilt works. You've apologized, you've returned the stolen merchandise and you've asked forgiveness. There may be some actual consequences to your actions that you need to take seriously (jail, for instance), but guilt is over and done.

REGRET, NOT GUILT

Guilt is a proclamation. It is the firm fact that we have committed a wrong. Regret is simply the knowledge that you messed up coupled with a desire to do better next time. It is a permanent mental stop sign against that behavior. It's not the same thing as guilt at all.

But do you see how stinking amazing it is to no longer be found guilty of that which we are clearly guilty? That's God's forgiveness.

It should be the kind of forgiveness we strive toward as well.


People will be quick to remind you of your sins. And you will want to spiral and feel guilty all over again. You can still have regret over your actions, and act accordingly--as is healthy--toward a wronged individual. (For instance, if you stole from someone, you will have to work long and hard to earn back their trust.) But forgiveness crushes that heavy weight of guilt on your shoulders to bits and whisks it away forever.

So, understand, if you still feel guilt, it's just a lie.

Our false guilt is a symptom of other's need to control.
Our false guilt is a symptom of our need to control.
You can't be in control. Life doesn't work like that.
It's okay to be where you are. 

You can't be good enough to gain God's favor. The Creator of the Universe stepped into the Creation, becoming a man, perfect, sinless, to become sin and die in our place. Do you think He would have gone to such lengths if less porn and praying more would have cut it? 

The Good News is that Jesus' death and resurrection made forgiveness possible. Not just a little forgiveness until the next time you botch it up. All the forgiveness. Jesus traded his perfection for our sin because of his great love for us. That means, if you belong to him, you're clean. 

No more useless guilt. 

The only guilt you should allow in your life is that which sends you back to God when you mess up. If you screw up, you're going to feel it, and guilt can make you run from the one against whom you've sinned. But not if you know that He will always be there with open arms. Your forgiveness is a foregone conclusion. Repentance just brings you back to him after you mess it up.

No condemnation. I'll say it one more time: Guilt brings you to God, then it's done it's job. If you're forgiven, and you're still feeling guilty, that's a lie. Don't let someone steal your freedom. Don't let them control you.  





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10:45:00 PM


 
Did you know that coffee was almost a sin? In the 16th century, the clergy called coffee satanic and asked Pope Clement VIII to ban it.  Clement tasted it, decided he liked it, and decided not to ban it. I can almost guarantee you that if coffee hadn’t been to that cat’s liking, it would’ve went down in religious culture as something we just “know” is sinful. Because that’s how superficial sins like that become a thing.

It’s funny how the little decisions we make about right and wrong can affect generations to come. (Think about those poor souls at Starbucks who wouldn’t have jobs had Clement thought coffee was disgusting.) Romans 14 gives us instruction on how to handle it when we disagree on things that aren’t vital to the faith. It’s some really great advice that we often misuse (or ignore completely).

Romans 14:1-4 says, “Accept the one whose faith is weak, without quarreling over disputable matters. One person’s faith allows them to eat anything, but another, whose faith is weak, eats only vegetables. The one who eats everything must not treat with contempt the one who does not, and the one who does not eat everything must not judge the one who does, for God has accepted them. Who are you to judge someone else’s servant? To their own master, servants stand or fall. And they will stand, for the Lord is able to make them stand.”

There’s a difference in saying that your conscience will, or will not, allow you to do a thing and saying that thing is indifferent from God’s word. Our preferences are just that. Ours alone. That runs the gamut from political candidates to certain foods to music preferences. It can be most anything.

It’s said that Moody once confronted Spurgeon, pointing at his cigar and saying that it wasn’t honoring to God. Spurgeon responded by poking Moody in his rather round stomach and saying that it wasn’t honoring to God either.

It’s hard to keep our preferences to ourselves. I get that. Some of those things are so personal and our reasons are so spiritual to us that we get the idea that others are sinning if they don’t do them. That’s why Paul’s advice is so important to us. He’s giving us a way to deal with it. It may not be the answer we want, or the one that’s expedient to our circumstances, but it’s what God told him to say.

We lack respect for one another to a humungous degree in the church. Our personalized Christianity becomes the only one that we can imagine one having, and that’s not cool. We’ve got to respect the weak brother and the weak brother has got to respect the strong. Why? Because we’re family, and God said so!

Unless someone is going around telling others that they’ve got to do something aside from accept God’s free gift of Salvation to belong to God, then we need to chill. It’s not our job to make everyone like us. We’re not policemen, we’re brothers and sisters. So assigning ourselves the duty of correcting every nonessential is both a waste of time and disruptive to the community of believers we should be. Doctrine should be kept pure, but whether someone wears jeans to church or votes Democrat should be something we shrug at and move on.

Love is how Jesus said the world we know we belonged to him. A supernatural, otherworldly love that overlooks the things that the world deems important. A love that transcends, race, creed, sex, religion or political party. We’re so bad at that. I’m writing this because I’m so bad at it and I do my best thinking on paper, and I’m hoping I’ll say something inspiring to myself here.

I want so badly for us to fall in love with each other. And that doesn’t begin with the other guy. It’s on my shoulders and I want to take that responsibility very seriously. I want to love you, warts and all. I want to care about your soul whether you agree with me or not on any given subject. I want to love the jerks and the selfish and the rude and the disingenuous because Jesus loves me and I’m made up of far worse adjectives than those. I’m so not there, but God knows I want it (well, sometimes). And that’s all I’ve got to give. But, with Jesus, it’s enough.



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10:45:00 PM
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