I'm not the only one

"I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind
There was something so pleasant about that place.
But it wasn't because I didn't know enough
I just knew too much
Does that make me crazy?
Possibly
My heroes had the heart to
Lose their lives out on a limb
And all I remember is thinking, I want to be like them
Ever since I was little, ever since I was little it looked like fun
And it's no coincidence I've come
And I can die when I'm done
Maybe I'm crazy"
by Gnarls Barkley

My parents reared me to always speak my mind. This trait has served me well at certain times, and at others this habit has placed me in a lot of hot water. I'm passionate and emotional. I've cried in front of everyone I know and a lot of folks I've never met. I'm willing to not be right 100% of the time. I've always dreamt vividly and tried to put my effort into causes that truly matter (at least, I thought they did at the time). I've often failed, and there have been so many moments in my life of which I am deeply regretful. With the recent loss of my job, and due to a lot of time spent in thoughtful reflection and prayer, something is beginning to emerge from within me that is growing more and more unsettling. This dis-ease and dis-satisfaction I feel is gaining clarity and strength.
I had a conversation with two men who proclaim to follow Christ. I sincerely believe that they do their best in that worthwhile pursuit. However, I'm troubled by the reaction I got from them when I commented about the state of affairs in the American Church regarding a certain issue: the divorce rate amongst people who claim to be "Born Again." [For those of you unfamiliar with the term, Born Again generally refers to the idea that the person has had a personal experience with Jesus and surrenders/dedicates their life to his teaching and his way of life. In other words, these folks pursue Christlikeness.] One thing that Jesus teaches is that what we may give up on due to perceived limits or lack of resources is never impossible according to his abilities and imagination. (See: Matthew 19:26; Luke 1:37)
Anyway, when I asserted that I would like to see the day when our church no longer needed its Divorce Recovery program due to lack of need, they laughed. I believe the exact response was, "Yeah that'll happen, Ben; the same day Jesus comes back!" I know they believe that Jesus is returning. What pissed me off was their disbelief that something seemingly impossible: that increasing numbers of married couples, both of whom are committed to Christ, could actually remain married, and, consequently, the number of divorces within the walls of the American Church would dramatically decrease---this unbelief, this lack of faith, this all-too-common practice of regarding the sayings of Christ as cliches fit only for dismissive remarks when we don't know what to say to someone whose life circumstances have left them void of hope and left us otherwise speechless---this was the attitude that angered me so. Am I crazy? Am I that mentally ill to assume that when Jesus said something then, he meant it to still be true today? I've been searching for years for the one thing to which I could give my life. One cause. One mission. My heroes have lived on the fringes of what the majority would consider impossiblity. Take a flippin' risk. Believe in something. Preferrably something bigger than yourself. Maybe you'll even have some fun.
There is something pleasant in stepping out of the traffic, so to speak, long enough to figure out what you are crazy enough to get your self into.
So maybe I'm crazy. I just need a little faith, right? (Matthew 17:20)
A speck of hope?
I know too much to pretend to be unaware. I believe too much to be inactive. This doesn't make me a better person, nor does it mean I'll ever be completely successful before my time here on earth is finished. It just makes me committed. Maybe they'll commit me! Maybe I'm crazy. I know that I'm not really in control anyway. If nothing else, it gives me something to do. "And I can die when I'm done."


Ben Wilcox