I was originally planning on uploading a treat for you all, but you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. A friend of mine and I are starting a new project I hope you will find informative and exciting. It just didn’t work out today, so we’re hoping for tomorrow. Stay tuned! In the meantime…
I paint every day. This is a hand-painted woodcut I did not long ago. It’s available in my etsy and eBay stores (click above!). I like the mood this piece captured for me. I often get that my paintings are “lonely” and “serene”. For me, those two terms are not mutually exclusive. Even though I come across in my blog as a tormented type of person, I take some comfort in the fact that the effect I might have on my environment is at times serene. I hope I upset, disturb, annoy and offend that which needs to be upset, disturbed, annoyed and offended. And I hope I bring a sense of serenity into places that need it, including the many, many lonely people out there who are friendless, community-less, or church-less.
This morning I got up early to paint. I’d already had the coffee pot set to have my coffee ready and waiting for me when I got up at 5:55 am. Pitch black out! But the light from the kitchen revealed huge white flakes of snow falling. My daughter Casile was ecstatic! I took a couple of shots of her going down the driveway to catch her bus. I tried to capture the size and beauty of the flakes.
I have no interest in maintaining an organization. By now in my life (I just turned 50), I have no energy for trying to be something. I’m not interested in our church trying to become something or accomplish something. When I go home, I like to be with my family, sit down together over a meal, talk about the good, the bad and the ugly in our lives, watch a movie maybe or some TV, maybe see some friends, and sleep with my wife. That’s about it.
I’ve been thinking about roles. I don’t ask Jesse to please act like a good son. What the heck does that mean? I let him be who he is, and his particular and vastly interesting style of sonship emerges out of that. High risk high dividends. I don’t ask Casile to be a good daughter. I don’t ask her to act like a girl. I don’t ask my friend to please act straight. And if I should ever, ever tell Lisa that she needs to act like a good wife, “DECEASED” will appear across everything I do. So I don’t expect people to behave like good Christians. It’s an insult to who they already are. I don’t require our community to be presentable as a good church. It’s an insult to what it already is. And I can’t believe how offensive it is to so many.
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It isn’t even right for me to say that pastors need to be weak. That implies that there’s some kind of underlying agenda to the weakness.
It would also be wrong for me to say that pastors should let their weakness show. Again, the problem with this is that there’s an agenda behind it.
It is even worse to require pastors to show their weakness so that it will help others. Agenda again.
The fact is pastors are weak. And any honest human being who lives with authenticity, truth, and with integrity, looks weak. I believe that God became a man, that he became weak. Or, rather, that his weakness was embodies. And that this wasn’t some kind of ploy, some kind of tactic in order to accomplish something. It isn’t like he “took on” weakness, cloaked himself with it, covering over his strength and power with the appearance as though he were Clark Kent covering Superman, doing the mundane until his superpower was needed. The weakness of the cross IS the weakness of Jesus and the weakness of God. Truly weak. Not fake pretend. As Paul insists over and over again, it is the cross which is the power. It is the weakness which is the strength.
So pastors, if you are weak, and you are, be honest! Don’t just share a time when you resisted a temptation. Tell about the time you didn’t. Don’t talk about how you struggled with God but got through it. Tell about how you’re not sure what you believe anymore. Cry. Laugh inappropriately. I’m just encouraging you to be yourself and to be yourself openly. Come out of the closet. You are going to offend people guaranteed. But you’ll feel better. And some people will want you to be their pastor. Maybe. Of course, I know plenty of people who can’t admit they’re weak, even to themselves. That’s a whole other problem.
This is one of my paintings. You can buy my paintings HERE and HERE.
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This is a painting I did this weekend. We have lots of crows around here and I find them fascinating creatures. They are the subject of many of my paintings. This is a common site around here. This and other paintings are available in my eBay store and my etsy store.
I read an interesting article on James Blunt, “The Blunt Life” written by Austin Scaggs for Rolling Stone Magazine (an October, 2007 issue). I was moved by it. But probably not in the way intended.
I don’t know why I was surprised, but this James Blunt guy that my daughter listens to singing those sweet heart-breaking love songs is quite the hedonist. I think he’s talented and I do like a couple of his songs. My favorite one is “Goodbye My Lover“. That one pulled my heart right out the first time I heard it. Sing that at my funeral Lisa. Anyway… back to my point. Blunt lives full-time on Ibiza, the Spanish isle in the Mediterranean, the world-renowned “bacchanalian paradise“, where “Ecstasy-fueled parties rage on well past sunrise“. Scaggs met up with Blunt and his friends already wired and getting ready for the night-long party, drinking vodka and beer. This pre-gaming was just the beginning of a “bizarre, drugged-up journey, which began hours ago with drinks“. Although the winters die down and Blunt turns more seriously to writing his songs, “the wild summers afford Blunt his other favorite pastime: partying like a depraved animal.” One of his songs, “1973“, was inspired while Blunt was still “shitfaced outside the legendary club Pacha“. The club they went to that night was wild and loud and things turned into a frenzy “as the drugs kicked in“. He’s considered “a pro in this manner of debauchery“. This party went on until 9am. Then they went back to a pool-side Cabana and the party lingered on until 2pm. Blunt enjoys “pushing the limits of his endurance (he hardly sleeps) and testing his psychological threshold (he enjoys his drugs).” Even though Spanish is the language spoken on Ibiza, he’s only learned one sentence, which is the Spanish for “Please wear a condom!” … “most likely through hearing it repeated so often“. Scaggs overhears Blunt tell someone, “Yes, in fact I am a sex-addict.” He plans on maybe slowing down in about five years, but for now he’s going to play hard. I found all this very, very interesting. Don’t you?
But what I found most interesting was a subtext I detected… I think. Something else is going on. I didn’t realize this, but the song which made Blunt rich and famous, “Beautiful“, is actually written about an experience he had where he met an old girlfriend on a bus, and it tore his heart out. Scaggs noticed a photo of a stunningly beautiful young woman on Blunt’s mantel. Scaggs asked Blunt who it was. “An ex“, Blunt responded. But Scaggs finds out it was her… the “Beautiful” girl. Blunt couldn’t seem to talk about it. “It obviously affected me. It’s a bit heavy.” And in all the talk about girls and models and sex, Blunt admits that he doesn’t like to go home alone.
When I finished the article, I was sadly struck by the possibility that this guy’s heart has been broken by Beautiful. He’s spending his life, pouring it out, because her absence has ripped a hole in his heart and nothing can seem to repair it. He can’t eat. He can’t sleep. He numbs himself all the night long and surrounds himself with people all day. He still loves Beautiful! My heart breaks for him. I like him. And I have a deeper appreciation for his music now. But I don’t know, maybe I’m exposing more of my own romanticism. Ya. That’s probably it. Never mind.
This is a painting I did recently titled “Separated Friends“, available in my eBay store.
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I’m discovering that it is dangerous for pastors to blog. Just like it’s dangerous for church communities to be open about their struggles. I started journalling over 20 years ago, having been strongly influenced by the famous Benedictine monk, Thomas Merton. I’ve never stopped. I’ve got stacks of black journals, the summary of all my joys, sorrows, victories and struggles over the years. So the transition to blogging was very natural. In fact, my journal writing has suffered since I started blogging because I am writing my journal publicly now.
I have news for those of you who know me: I haven’t changed. Since I started blogging, I’ve had more people pitying me, feeling sorry for me, and being offended by me than ever before. I’m now being labeled wounded, depressed, heretical, not pastor-material, sabbatical-deprived, hedonistic, and more. I get this at least once a day it seems: “David, I’m concerned for you!” Yoohoo! It’s still me. I think every pastor is wounded. Scratch away at the bandages, whether plain or fancy, and you’ll find the wounds. Guaranteed! The difference with me is I’m trying not to wear the bandages. I’m trying to be open and honest about what I’m going through. I’m a very human pastor in a world of unbearable suffering and I’m telling you about it. That’s all.
Some people have criticized our community: “Your people are really hurting!” “There’s just too much pain there!” “You guys don’t have the victory!” “The Holy Spirit has left that place!” “Your church has no joy!” Whatever. You name it, we’ve been called it. I don’t think our church has any more problems or suffers any more than any other community. I’ve pastored several. The uniqueness of this community is that it is open and honest about what it’s going through. We try to be transparent. This way we can effectively bear one another’s burdens because we actually know what the burdens are. And we love each other enough to care and try to lighten each other’s load. There’s no joy more complete than experiencing love in community.
Ya, I’m wounded. Ya, we’re wounded. And I’m thankful my friends know it and actually help me! And I can help them. The painting is one I completed recently.
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David Hayward is an artist trapped in a pastor's body, stripping to the essential.
