A shackle is never enough.

"Because a shackle is never enough
to hold a man, but only his body,
and because the body must be made
to hold the man, to join with the chain
until the grip is overwhelming,
they took you from the prison
and sold your labor, your body..."

These words are written by a Southern poet, a favorite of mine, called Jake York. When I read them, I like to let them roll around in my mouth for awhile--to repeat the words again, this time slower, this time with different stresses--until I feel at one with them.

I like this poem, an "Elegy to James Knox," mainly because of the first two lines. Though the rest of the poem goes on in heart-breaking detail to describe Knox's death at the hands of white men, the first lines speak of freedom. Freedom is interesting. It's simultaneously exciting, and terrifying.

After Nancy Alcorn spoke today, I went to have her sign my copy of her book "Echoes of Mercy." As I waited, I thought, "What in the world am I going to say to this woman about how she has changed my life this weekend? What can I offer her?" When I finally got to the front of the line, I see her looking at me expectantly, and I blurt out "I think you're awesome, and I find you terrifying..." Yeah, great, Ashley. "I meant, your words are a little terrifying." Thankfully, she gets it, "Because you realize you have a responsibility." I reply, "Yes, freedom is terrifying." I get back to my seat, and flip to the page she signed. It reads: "To Ashley: Christ paid for our FREEDOM! Live in it! [Nancy Alcorn] Prov. 3:5-6."

The part that she didn't hear, and that I just barely caught myself as it flew out of my mouth, comes right after the "and I find you terrifying." I mumbled, "I don't really spend a lot of time in Christianity." Officially, I meant that I don't spend a lot of time submerged in Christian culture, as I have been this weekend. But even given that wishful interpretation, it was an odd moment for such an admission. Odd, but not coincidental.

As I had listened to her speak, I realized that I understand much less of this Christianity stuff than I thought I did. See, I have plenty of knowledge and information about Christianity. I have read the greats from the original--Chesterton, Lewis, N.T. Wright, Tillich, Kierkegaard, etc. I can talk an impressive game about Christ's love. In many respects, I am more theologically advanced than many of the Christians I have met. I have considered myself "saved."

But as I listened to her talk about Christ, and the redemptive power held within His sacrifice, and the freedom found therein, I realized (not for the first time this weekend)...I don't know shit. And then everything went up for grabs. Who is this Christ I say I've been saved by? What does He come to do, exactly? What have I meant when I've said that I've been saved? And most importantly....how have I not felt this freedom, this love, this redemption? I've read about it, I've explained it to others, I've written about it. But I've just barely tasted it.

The world slid sideways, and I thought, I haven't submitted. Or have I? I have said, as I did last night, that I'm all in the mission of showing Christ's love to the world. But I'm still holding Christ at arm's length. I am making a promise to a mission, to a job. I truly believe that the person of Christ showed an unparalleled love that is the answer to the world's woes. I truly believe that we need to show the love of Christ to others, as that is the answer to hurt.

But I'm not making a promise to Christ. Or I'm trying to? I'm afraid that what I have done is to make a decision based on a behavioral model (ie. act like Christ). But I haven't made a decision based on a personal model (ie. be with Christ).

I'm lost in my own mind again.

These crazy Pentecostals are messing with my head again...