On Southern charms and churches.

Lindell gave a sermon tonight on Hope. His comments set off a wisp of something Tillich-ian, so I've spent the last 20 minutes searching through my shelves for a book of Tillich essays I have, that I finally realize I must have left back in Chicago. Sad.

Anyhow, I don't often think of Hope in the theological sense. I use the term, "hope," and I act the verb all the time, in a colloquial sense. I hope that this or that thing happens--that the traffic is good on my way to work, that I get my favorite seat at church, that I get time to stop at Starbuck's before class.

As Lindell talked of our Hope for heaven, and for Christ's love in our lives, I realized. I have so fiercely guarded my intellectual faith from the vagaries of sentimentality, that I haven't been living in the Hope that is promised me. Much the same as my scorn has robbed me of a place in the Body, my insistence on maintaining a faith devoid of emotion has taken from me the experience of Hope in Christ.

I've been unbalanced. Did I know it? Did I feel it? I don't know. It'd be too easy to say yes.

I feel as though my corners are being sanded, my rough edges made smooth, by the charms of Southern religion. There's something very relational down here, that extends into the church in ways that don't have Northern corrolaries. The South is rife with passion (used both for good and evil), that when laid upon worship can either be ridiculed or greatly admired--an honest soul does a little of both.

More on that later. My eyes close as I type.

And so it is done.

I've decided to let myself off the hook.

I first went to James River six weeks ago, less than 24 hours after I arrived in Springfield. Since then, I have been in constant debate with myself over the role that JRA will play in my life. It goes something like this:

You love the worship...no, you hate the worship, you stand there like a nerd while everyone waves their hands around, but you're too reserved to...ok, but you love it, even if you feel like a nerd...oh, I wish he would stop with the God will bless you if you bless Him stuff--good budgeting is a blessing, there are no magic tricks in math...will you ever feel comfortable in the worship?...please God, please God, don't let anyone lay their hands on me...Crap! Someone's touching me, Father, I'm trusting You on this one...These people are so kind...I so totally feel more at home in a church than I've felt in a very, very long time...but this place is majorly more conservative then I am...I can still be myself, not everyone in a church agrees with everything...God, where do you want me?

The reality is that there's plenty at JRA that I disagree with. But I'm naturally argumentative. I have never been to a church that rates my complete complacence. That's just not ever going to happen. I think God loves me in spite of, perhaps more so (!), because of that analytical annoyingness I bring to things. But, and this is a huge but. This church is teaching me to love Christians. My scorn for all things Christianica has been the single most destructive facet of my faith since its inception. I am shocked and amazed that God would choose a pentecostal megachurch as the vehicle of lessons about love for my fellow Christians.

But I think He's doing just that. And I'm not too hard-headed to recognize and accept that. Thus, I'm letting myself off the hook. James River it is. Now for the volunteering and tithing discussions.

Runaway Believer.

I ran out of a church service tonight--though not for the first time, and probably not for the last.

Singing about how I've been found, and saved, and loved, I just lost it. Thoughts raced along with my heart. I love these people....they are good people...I can't lift my hands like that, it's not that I can't, it's just...why is there always an undercover cop here...what does it mean to be found...God, so much, so much love for you...there's no such thing as certainty...wouldn't it be nice to fall to all of this, just to once feel certain...I'd always know, I've always known, that I am not one for certainty...I am Hesse's "nomad"...just lift your arms, you know you want to...you could get married, and have kids, and volunteer at this church, and never have to question again...you'll always question...I miss being able to talk to Jake...so many Christians around me...I miss my friends in Chicago...I wish I had Christians like me to talk to...Father, I love you......

...I need air. That's when I bolted. Walked around the building, the size of which thankfully gives a good lap. I watched the rest of the Q&A session from the flat screens in the lobby, and tried to figure this all out. Something's not right. I feel it. But what?

I read, and think so much about issues of spirituality that such questions are never easy to navigate. That's not a dis on reading and thinking, but a warning. If you want to hold an autonomous faith, you need an informed faith. An informed faith can rarely be a simple faith.

I'm so acutely aware of the lobbies on my heart and mind. I know the argument that will be lobbed at me by the evangelicals, and the responses volleyed back by the less-enthused (be they non-Christians, or Christian non-evangelical sects). My mind is in constant spiritual motion, weighing, and debating, and balancing, and trying above all to love. I need to carve out some peace. A moment of still in the storm.

Why do I come back to this place that so obviously stands against so much of what I believe about Jesus? I'm addicted. I think because it's big and shiny. Like Vegas. Addicted or not, the litany is convicting. The place smells rank with prosperity doctrine. John Lindell claims a certainty about spiritual issues that I think is troublesome on its own, but can so easily foster self-righteousness, and intolerance on the part of attenders. I think that Jesus would be unhappy with the way that money is used to create an ultra-trendy atmosphere of secular Christianity.

On the other side of the scoreboard, Lindell is a kickass preacher who has a knack for saying what needs to be said about sin. Those people are good people, who whole-heartedly believe in their mission, even accepting that they (like myself) sometimes have a flawed understanding of Christ's mission--they are the most loving and inviting people in any of the dozens of churches I've been in.

Discernment. I need discernment. There's an answer here. And a method of seeking.

as we love ourselves.

Just got off the phone with my Dad. He and my stepmom attended a meeting tonight at their ELCA congregation about the ELCA's new guidelines pertaining to homosexuality. As my stepsister is a lesbian, my Dad and stepmom have had to face a lot of hard questions during the past few years. Is homosexuality a sin? If so, is it any worse than any of the other sins we all engage in on a daily basis? Civil unions and/or church marriages? How should the church relate to homosexual people? Should homosexuals be allowed to hold positions of leadership within the church?

As he told me stories of the anger and venom for homosexuals displayed at the church tonight, it clarified for me the ways in which I need to continually stretch and challenge myself to show tolerance for these different ways of worship that I am seeing in the pentecostal church. Not only the different ways of worship, but also the theologies, and issue opinions of the Christians I am meeting.

That sounds an awful lot like I'm equating the Assemblies of God with homosexuality. I'm not. I am generalizing a lesson I'm learning about love, compassion, and a willingness to explore the issues impartially until I've gathered enough evidence to be partial. Even then, "the greatest of these is Love."

To rail against the laying of hands as "weird" or "cracked" or "completely batshit crazy," as it is tempting to do (trust me) when someone's got a deathgrip on your forehead, would be just as arrogant and unloving as those men railing against loving homosexuals, or, for that matter, as it would be to discount those same men for their beliefs about homosexuals. Love for all. Note that I'm not talking about a sliding scale of Truth, here. Just an acceptance of our own feeble understanding of Truth, the humility to admit our own uncertainty, and a whole-hearted endorsement of the one thing that does seem to be universally acceptable, Love, as we figure this all out.

On a final note, pertaining to homosexuality, I will be impressed when John Lindell stands in his church and preaches love for homosexuals, and an end to violence towards them, be that in the form of physical or verbal abuse, withheld love and tolerance, or any other insidious manner in which the hatred is manifested. I understand that JRA doesn't endorse homosexuality as a behavior and a lifestyle, and would never ask them to forsake those beliefs to preach acceptance of either of those facets. But what a powerful moment it would be for the pastor of the second largest congregation in the Assemblies of God to speak the truth that we are to love homosexuals, as we love our selves. I pray for that moment.

Please keep your hands in the ride at all times.

I think I was molested by the Holy Spirit tonight.

Let me set the scene.

6:45pm, the main auditorium at James River is dark, worship music plays as a backdrop to the prayers of the punctual faithful. I slide into my usual seat in the third row, center, past a man who is beaming widely as I try gracefully to not end up in his lap (I'm thinkin' accidental premarital lap-sitting is not kosher here). As I slide by, I gesture to the seat two down from him, and ask if anyone is sitting there. He practically shouts back "You are!" More awkward beaming. He seems nice. And excited. This guy has enthusiasm coming out of every mentionable orifice of his body. He's practically vibrating with joy. Definitely one of those people on the airplane who will catch you in an endless conversation about cats, and Disney World, and Max Lucado.

The service begins, and we're singing. I love singing worship songs. Though I probably look like a presbyterian, the musical worship is the most emotionally-engaging segment of the services for me. Also, I am becoming more comfortable with the whooping, and hollaring, and arm-waving of which I have previously blogged. So things are going well. And then the Disney extra starts screaming. Shouting, screaming, crying, laughing. He's up, he's down, he's doubled over the seat in front of him, sobbing. Then he's waving his arms, and clapping.

I. am. shocked. The first time he screamed, and sank to the floor, I think I audibly gasped the words, "Oh, Father" in a sort of silent prayer for deliverance. I blinked, and found myself in the same place, so I guess God saw fit to have me stay put. I then started a debate with myself over whether God would ever see fit to zap a cocktail into my hand. He didn't, despite fervent prayer, so...

A few songs later, we break into small groups to pray. My group is comprised of Disney, and a kind-looking older couple named Krissy and Ray. Krissy and Ray ask that we pray for their sons to come to the Lord. I pray for the Lord to give me greater acceptance of people who are different than me (yep, sure did). And Disney gives a highly-energetic, and consequently mostly unintelligible, monologue about a college, and a job, and something about a mop. He follows that by another only slightly more intelligible diatribe about "lifting up our children." We begin to pray. Disney's impassioned pleas go on and on, with increasing intensity. Finally, he stops, and Ray picks up the intensity, and continues to climb.

Let me point out that at this point, the intensity is downright feverish. Ray is almost shouting out his prayers for me, with a chorus of loudly hissed "amens" and "yes lords" from Krissy and Disney. Then, suddenly, he grabs my forehead, and really starts belting it out. "Ohhhh, Lord, Father, Sweet Jesus, guard this child of yours, and lead her heart to your spirit...Ohhhhh Lord." His fingers tighten around my skull as his prayers grow in passion. Krissy's hand is on my back. "Oh yes, Lord, help her." Disney, meanwhile, begins to laugh hysterically. I mean, laugh hysterically. I can hear him, with my eyes closed, bend over, he's laughing so hard.

I. am. wigged. Two people are physically touching me. The third is having a mental breakdown in front of me. All of them are shouting out prayers like Jesus himself is passing down the aisle. I'm standing in the middle of all of this, trying to wipe the "I had botched plastic surgery, and am now permanently surprised" look from my face. Pandemonium. I recovered my face well enough to smile, and thank them.

It'll be a few days before I can fully process this.

The courage is in the dark.

Had a really fascinating conversation with a professor yesterday.

When I first went to James River, I told her about it, and she said "What?! Did they do anything weird to you?" And I thought, well, not anything nearly as weird as asking me that question. Since then, we've talked once or twice briefly on the topic of religion, usually when I mention something going on at JRA. Yesterday, we had a full-blown discussion on faith, Christians, and Christianity. The one thing we agree on-- Jesus was a badass.

The things we disagree on, and there are many, seemed to center around two issues. The first is that the behavior of Christians is not always an accurate indicator of the spirit of Christ. The second is that faith does not have to be at odds with free thought. That is, she felt that the bad behavior of Christians was proof of some inadequacy of the faith, and that church is inherently controlling, and thus all who attend must be controlled to think, feel, act a certain way.

Understanding that the behavior of Christians is entirely separate from the realities of the Christian faith is a simple cognitive endeavor. I've understood that for years. But as this professor described the feeling she got as she walked into a church, how she felt like so many of the people were just faking it, and how their judgmentalism made her want to cry, I understood that, too. I've lived that, too. Recently. It's hard to love people to their pieces, particularly when those pieces aren't so great. What's harder still is to consider that what you think you know isn't true, just isn't quite right. Maybe those pieces aren't so bad after all. Maybe we share a level of imperfection--a few jagged edges, a cracked surface.

Churches can be controlling. They can instill a certainty that's just not there, which in turn instills a self-righteousness amongst "the body" that very often erodes the love it intends to spread. However, to live as though all faith is controlled, and thus unacceptable, is to be controlled by a fear of faith. The courageous thing is to consider the possibilities.

The reality is that every day when I leave the house, something could happen to completely turn upside down my view of the world, and of spirituality. But that's the chance I take, and one that I must take, if I am to live my life and my faith in an autonomous way. What would my faith be if steeped in certainty? If nothing could change it, nothing could be added or detracted to my understanding, my faith would be dead. It'd be worthless. I could never be convicted by a Truth, if unable to be convicted by an idea of a truth.

As we talked about these things, I shared that some of what I was encountering at JRA was less than open-minded, less than reasonable. Her responses were pretty predictable. "But I told you that you couldn't just walk in there, that they'd want to assimilate you."

And they have assimilated me. They have changed me. But that's not bad. Maybe as a factor of our rugged American individualism, or of our very Western, very suspicious regard for proof, we are change-averse, particularly, and most insidiously, when it comes to our self-concept. We know what we know, and we like it that way. We mock politicians who change their minds, and deride celebrities as they "re-invent" themselves.

But again, if unchanged by what's going on around us, can any of us claim to be drawing nearer to Truth? The nature of God is unchangeable, the goodness of Christ is unchangeable. Our understanding of those things is, and ought to be, completely malleable. As we are imperfect, our thoughts are imperfect. The process of perfection is one of open seeking, unfettered by that imperfect understanding of where we'd like to go. The courage is in the dark.

The Road

I'm feeling joyful.

The sun is high. The sky is blue. There's a breeze moving new air into my lungs, and my life. I feel complete, and content.

I have always scorned those who would say things about the ways in which God can suddenly change everything in a life. For instance, the idea that some massive shift occurs in a person when he or she accepts Christ. I've argued that there is no massive shift--at least not an immediate behavioral shift. Humility and love and obedience--these are things that take time. I have said that there's no change, no shift, no cosmic equation for salvation. And yet, I'm beginning to question that wisdom.

Maybe it's not a cosmic shift. Maybe it's less mystical, but just as real. A sort of gargantuan revelation. An opening of the mind to an alternate reality. An awakening. A falling away of the scales over one's eyes. A new type of seeing.

I feel that God has done that for me with regards to Love. Not that I now see everything there is to see of Love. But that I see it in a different way than I did a week ago, or five days ago, even. My perception is different. My behavior could still be lousy, but now I'll know that I'm being unacceptably lousy.

This is certainly an interesting road.

As am I.

So much. Impact Outreach with Northpoint Church on Saturday morning. 9am service at Christ Episcopal Church on Sunday, followed by the 11:30am at James River (guest preacher: John Bevere). Met a fascinating couple, raised Chicago Catholic, making their way at JRA. Went again for the 6pm Sunday service. Great conversation with Laur about the Christian church from an outsider's perspective.

How to break all of that down?

Well, firstly, I think it's clear that I have a strange hobby. So be it.

I can write about the rest of it later, I want to talk about one thing right now.

I have had a problem with the Christian Church for a long time, because I have had a problem with Christian people. Not all of them, but a specific subset of them: the Christian-y Christian. The Christian-y Christian is the one who will buy wholesale into anything that his or her pastor tells him, and will literally buy any book with Max Lucado's name on it. He or she has seemingly forfeited the right and ability to think on her own. Her voting record is her father's, or her pastor's. Her apologetics are torn from the pages of popular Christian authors. He listens to Christian radio exclusively, and complains incessantly about how racy the secular world has become, without taking the time to gain knowledge of that world. He gives out bible verses for all situations, and tends to think of any new person not as an individual to care for, but a possible case for salvation. He has non-Christian friends, but only in so far as he is currently trying to convert them, and believes that he could never be close friends with someone who doesn't know Christ.

I have had an unending scorn for these people. I believe that their unthinking faith destructs the cause of Christ in the world, and makes it harder for non-Christians to get to know Christ, which in turn delays progress towards Christ's Love.

My scorn has often made it hard for me to be a part of any church. It has soured my time in the pews, and filled me with hatred when I should have felt joy. Though I could easily look at my own life, and judge that my imperfections were but part of a whole in the process of perfection, I could not give the same equanimity to others. That's too bad...what a loss.

I did not expect that a charismatic Missouri megachurch with which I can find ten million flaws would show me the path to Love. The shock has mostly passed. I now barely balk at the arm-waving, and shouted prayers, and laying on of hands. I see people who know a passionate Love, where before I might have seen the passionately deceived. I trust the pastor when he says that he speaks from Love, to the sinner's heart.

That's not to say that I don't still see the flaws. Nor to say that those passionate lovers are not also Christian-y Christians. I don't agree with everything that John Lindell says. Ultimatley, I think that the True faith looks drastically different from what he has built. But my thoughts and feelings towards them are shifting. I'm becoming tender. The balance is falling towards Love, away from scorn. I find myself wanting to defend these believers against the scorn of my atheist or agnostic friends. I might believe wholly that they are wrong about many aspects of the faith, but they are a part of the body. As am I.

Muddy Waters.

I am sad. Really sad.

I went to James River's Newcomers' Dinner tonight. All was going fairly well (minus a weird statistic involving the optimal age window in which to indoctrinate children with Christian theology), until the end. I began a conversation with a wonderfully kind and accessible woman. And somehow, in the middle of it, I remembered why I tend to prefer non-Christians.

See, Christians and I, we're fine as long as we stay on the pop-freeway. "Did you see the season finale of Army Wives? Oh my gosh, they found Pamela's stalker!" We're also fine when I pretend to be one of them. "Yeah, I just feel that the Lord has really been speaking to my heart about spending more time in the Word."

The trouble comes when I speak as myself. "I won't lie, I'm really struggling with this church because I wonder if the ways in which money is used for trendiness is really what Jesus intended. I hope that's not offensive. I'm just having a hard time with it." Also, apparently I make far too many references to books I've read.

I don't want to single out my conversational Christian because I think that she's great. She's clearly kind, and devoted to her family, and her Lord. If I could stop being me, she's exactly the kind of person I'd want to be best friends with.

But as she talked, my heart sank. First, because she insisted that the church "has to be trendy to keep up" with the world around us. Then, because she told me that thinking is good, reading is good, but "too much of either can muddy the waters." As though there's any amount of either that could topple God. The more I read, and think, and experience, and ask questions...the closer I come to Christ. Maybe not the comfortable and trendy middle-class conception of Christ. But the real, radical, raw, and sacrificial Christ of the Scriptures.

I want so badly to be able to belong to a Church. In all honesty, I don't know that I'm made for church. Maybe I need to make a quick weekend trip to The Journey for a re-charge....

Hey, Joe.

"...I don't have to listen to crackpot theologies, and unsettling religious diatribes from them..."

Ouch, I'm like the Joe Wilson of evangelical Christianity.

I see, I mean, you know, what I had meant was...

Jesus loves. He loves, and He saves. And we know it. We search for it. We spend our lives assigning meaning--we try to find work that we love, friends who understand us, and partners who help us to grow. We write poems, and compose songs, and paint paintings, all in search of some central truth, something within us that might make it all make sense. Being made in His image, we search for ourselves, and in so doing, we find Him.

And so. To turn God into a vending machine is unsettling. To pretend that our whims are His desire is disturbing. I once prayed that God would give me a "radical faith." At the time, I wasn't sure what that meant; in retrospect, I think He answered. The implication of praising God for good weather, and work, and wellness is that God chooses to suspend the "natural" workings of the world in order to better suit the world to our wishes. In reality, I think that Jesus wishes that we would do better work in His world.

That is, even assuming the constancy of sin's consequences (that people will be dishonest, and mean-spirited, and cruel, and that regardless of our own contribution to this milieu, we will have to deal with the fall-out), Jesus expects us to seek Him. And in seeking Him, to eschew many of the pleasantries of the secular systems of economics, and entertainment, in order to put His whims to work.

Thus, seeking under this assumption means something very different. More on that later. Needless to say, I need to go a little easier on the Christians. Rome wasn't built in a day.

The Thrill is Gone.

Just got home from JRA's prayer service.

I prayed for Anna and her stepdaughter, Allison, and for Margaret, that she and her daughters receive a message from God during an impending conference, and for Bob, that his slowly-healing eye condition go away during the service tonight. Also, that God's presence would settle down around the new Wilson's Creek property, that God would bless a young couple as they move to Mexico to pursue full-time missions, and for an East Coast Italian's quest to start churches in the (apparently) unsaved Catholic-dominated Rhode Island. I prayed that Joan's daughter sell her house, and that Elmer's cancer be banished. And I prayed that God would give me compassion for all of these people. That He would give me the courage to follow Truth.

I think the least likely to pan out is Bob's eye. Nothing against Bob. He was a GREAT guy--kept murmuring "Yes, Lord, oh boy, yes..." and rocking from side to side. He believed.

Service was hard tonight. When I'm tired, and tonight I am exhausted, it's harder for me to practice love. All of the things about the people around me that I might normally be interested by, or be challenged to accept out of love, become colossally naive and troublesome. Tom and his "oh boy, oh Lord's" become trite. Joyce, and her prayer for some cosmic message seems shallow. The whooping and hollaring, and arm-waving, and shouting grates on my sense of awe in the Presence. References to the "unsaved" Catholics, and rhetoric that reduces Christ to a simple transaction curdles my resolve.

Nights like this break my heart. They call into question my devotion to some how, some way, finding a place in The Church. Most of my faith has been lived outside of the church. To tell it honestly, I prefer a great number of non-Christians to quite a few of the Christians I have met. Not that the nonsies are any more right about life than the chosen, just that they aren't taking the time to be really wrong about something I love so much. That is, I don't have to listen to crackpot theologies, and unsettling religious diatribes from them. I appreciate that.

So I think my JRA days may be numbered. Maybe I'll go back to the Episcopalians. I've got a real yen for a good "And also with you." Interestingly, that exchange (Peace be with you; and also with you) was incredibly jarring to me when I first started attending the Episcopal church...

Buckled in..

I was on my way to the university library today, to bore myself to tears with several readings on infant intelligence testing, when...

...I heard that Chris and Conrad were going to be playing in Springfield's town square tonight!!!

For any non-Christians reading this, or Christians who boycott religious music, feel free to check out their uber-popular version of the Hillsong hit, "Lead me to the Cross." This song is all over the radio, and the concert was free, so...

...One street led to another, and I found myself chillin' in downtown Springfield. My under-aged housemates showed up as well, sipping rum and coke out of Taco Bell cups. I sat next to them staring out across the crowd on an absolutely gorgeous late summer night in Missouri. Ornate, and dilapidated historical buildings line the square on all sides, and a rectangular fountain bubbles up on the East end. Shade trees line the South, West and North perimeters, with a platform standing in the Northwest corner of the square. The concert was timed perfectly with the fading of the sky, and I couldn't help but sink back into my own thoughts while the people around me chattered on over the canny sound of music bouncing between the buildings.

This place is changing me. I wrote once, but erased, that Southwest Missouri is a pressure cooker of spiritual proclivities. I mean that Christianity is such a part of the goings-on, of everyday life, of academic discussions, and Labor Days, and nights out on the town, that a person can't help but heed the call. Whatever kind of call that may be.

My aunt has this husband who is really gung-ho about Jesus. So much so that his spirituality can come off as very pollyanna sometimes, and not in a good way. I once asked him what was new--he said, "The mercies of the Lord are new each morning." And I've always held that statement as representative of the worst kind of transgression in faith. I have attempted to live a faith that is deeply real above all else. A faith that doesn't know platitudes. One that can't be parodied, and defies easy classification or explanation.

While I still fully endorse these efforts, I fear that I've misstepped. Is it possible that in my attempts to make a faith that bends, I've created something of a faith that breaks? What I mean is, I think I may have become permissive in situations in which I ought to have been steadfast. I didn't want to become that pollyanna Christian who covered over all manner of grittiness with prettiness, so I made a faith that accepted all manner of sin.

I'm not sure this is what I've done. And I don't want to change the way that I interact with Reality. I like that I am not afraid of the "harder problems." I like that I have made people feel comfortable being themselves, however "bad" they think they are. But I do need to know if I've broken some things best left intact. Would I even have these questions if not for being in the "buckle of the bible belt"?

There, He is with us...

I'm beginning to realize that my search for spirituality in Missouri is not, and cannot be, conducted solely within the church. The culture of Christianity is so pervasive down here that it stretches from the sanctuary to the university to the art gallery to the gay bar. Which brings me to Friday.

I was invited out by a couple from my grad program to get sushi, and take the First Friday Art Walk, both of which were fabulous, and went a long way towards making me feel more at home in Springfield. They also provided additional support for my belief that Jesus lives in Missouri. Literally, I think He might have a hide-out in the Ozarks or something. I have just never seen such in-your-face Christianity than on the streets of Springfield.

It's Friday night. We're out, seeing and being seen in the downtown area, checking out some fabulous art. As we pass the Little Theatre, there's a sign that says "Free Art, Free Music Inside." I'm so there. We stand in the back of the auditorium as the band warms up, and I'm thinking that this is just like college--cool hipster musicians chillin' in a historic theatre, playin' some tunes. Then comes the music. And the arm-waving. And the shouts of "Amen." And I realize...I have been taken. These people are testifying. Right out in the open! I cannot imagine a situation in Chicago in which you would walk in right off the street to a performance of a praise and worship band. I am floored, my friends are laughing at me.

We leave the theatre, and continue our trek down South Ave., where every block has a gift. First a table of people handing out pamphlets with titles like "Your Soul...Your Choice," and "How He Loves You." Further down, some guys with guitars are wailing out verses about Jesus' awesome sacrifice. A block later, the Christians are silent, holding signs that say "If you marry a divorced woman, you're committing adultery." Holy Shit! Where's the bus back to the North?

The art gallery, too, is steeped in Christianic iconography and language. Photos of people who have lost loved ones are on display, their stories typed and displayed below each photo, many of them talking of the ways in which God's love sustains them. T-shirts are on sale, with biblical references and crosses thrown across the front in trendy fonts and colors. This is like no other gallery I have ever been in.

After we leave, the couple I'm with, a lesbian couple, invites me to a bar to have a drink and chat. It is a gay bar. Though I have been in many gay bars in Chicago with my homosexual friends, I recognize immediately that 95% of the people I've met or come into contact with in Springfield would frown upon my taking this invitation. "Frown upon" is probably a charitable phrase. Ignoring that, I know that if I have instilled a high enough degree of trust and acceptance so as to reach the inner-echeleons of my new friends' lives, I'm doing something right, something Christ-like.

So I go have a drink at the gay bar in Springfield. The people are nice, my drink was on the house, and woudn't you believe it, we had a fantastic conversation about Jesus. Turns out, the bartender's girlfriend moved here from some other podunk town in Missouri, where she had been a youth minister! We all stood around for the next hour or so, talking about being Pentecostal, and being Episcopalian, and above all, being thoroughly fed up with the way in which The Church is failing to love people. Sure, maybe we came at the issue from different viewpoints, but we found some common ground, some Truth. Where two or three gather in His name, there He is with us...

Waning Fast-ly.

I'm closing out my third day on the Daniel Fast. I have been given superior knowledge, and it's that I am not a cheerful faster. I'm a crabby faster. And a hypochondriacal faster. Like so: I will just DIE if I don't eat something real.

I am alive. I proved my delusion wrong.

I feel bad for complaining about fasting, so I try to just go with the very subtle eye-rolling while I eat, and an occasional sigh. But then I feel bad for being unhappy at all. This is supposed to be about spiritual wisdom, about seeking God through self-denial.

Whatever it's about, it's not fun.

Spiritually, I feel that the process of denying myself has in fact caused me to more often seek out Christ in prayer. Nothing incredibly profound...so far, things like "Jesus, I know you had it much harder, but I really want some Chinese food, I think I'm going to die, be with me." And then I imagine that we both have a good laugh, and I go back to this god-awful rice and beans mixture I made.

I also understand now how much pressure this kind of thing can put on a person to actually "force" a spiritual experience. When you've had nothing but whole wheat tortillas, and kidney beans for a couple of days, you start to feel the devastation of what it would mean to get to the end and not have any major spiritual breakthrough. I suppose that if you are really into fasts as an act of submission this wouldn't be as much of a concern. But I want some wisdom, damnit.

As a final note, I can say that as a result of the fast, I have spent more concentrated time in the scriptures. I'm not sure if that is also a residual effect of the need for justification (i.e. anything that will help to crank out a vision from all of this), or just increased attention to spiritual issues in general, or if it's a spirit-given desire to be with Him. My impression is that it is the latter.