Many Christians have gravitated toward the thrill of naming or renaming themselves. This mimics a trend in business and society. Maybe it started when domain names began growing scarce. Suddenly obscure and invented words became cool. Whether in business or religion, the times are changing (faster than ever).  We are challenged to have an identity that will fit and take us into the future. But my question is: Does a focus on choosing names distract from the more important issue of who we really are? Can a new name really provide a new identity? Could this focus increase the tendency to change on the surface or fake a new identity?

The disciples were first called Christians, and later they started using that name for themselves. As gatherings, some were called followers of the Way. Others were called by the house where they met (the group that meets in Joe’s house). Just descriptive terms. What if people gathering to follow Jesus together stopped naming themselves anything but lived out something real and waited for others to identify them?

Ever heard of people buying cool domain names and then trying to make a business model to fit them? Is that what it’s like when we give new churches hip names and then try to grow up into them?

I love names, really. But names seem to be part of the virtual reality I’ve gotten used to.

Today is one of those days when doubts and fears rise up unwelcome and undeniable. All I can do is admit and accept them. They are part of the journey I’m on, and, honestly, they are usually related to my attempts at control and a related loss of trust in God.

There are some reasons on the surface. I’ve been busy with countless small and large projects. Some were important and others not so. I worked my way through a list of things and just finished my US taxes last night. During all this activity, I may have let some of the highest priorities slide (like time listening to the Spirit and enjoying real people).

Even so, we’re continuing to make great relational connections. Thursday nights (my semi-volunteer English class) are a weekly highlight, and I’ve had good times talking with friends. Not to mention, the detailed projects I’ve been doing sort of needed to get done, and I’m happy to have cleared my desk.

It’s funny how success can bring out a kind of fear and challenge to my trust. Along with each small success, I sense new responsibilities. Frankly, I think the feeling of responsibility frightens me, so I retreat into meaningless diversions to avoid the “pressure.”

I have issues.

I was reminded again of Peter walking on the water. He was doing the hard part, but then he looked at the waves — got scared — and sank.

I’d love for my life to change the world. Stepping out on the big water sounds exciting and I’d do it in a minute. But the little waves get me. I turn my attention from Jesus and sink NOT because of the great, deep ocean but over the ripples on the surface…

I just read a great post about the mystery of God at Adam Moore’s blog (quoting Peter Rollins):

…revelation ought not to be thought of either as that which makes God known or as that which leaves God unknown, but rather as the overpowering light that renders God known as unknown. This is not dissimilar to a baby being held by her mother – the baby does not understand the mother but rather experiences being known by the mother.

I have lain awake nights struggling back and forth as my desire to connect with God clashes with the shallow images that come to mind. I’m sometimes reminded that atheists think God is just a reflection of myself, and in those moments I can’t help but wonder if they’re right. I don’t want to worship an image of God, but I want to experience intimacy with God.

The referenced post also quotes Meister Eckart’s prayer:

God rid me of God.

Rid me of my false images of God that are familiar and easy to talk to — almost like talking to myself — and leave just reality.

Brennan Manning writes about this topic in Ruthless Trust. (The book that inspired the titles of this blog.) He has a chapter entitled “Thinking Big” where he writes about the mystery of God. The chapter is so rich that it’s hard to choose a quote. He’s also writing about the glory of God as impenetrable light. Here’s a sample related to what I just wrote above:

The human tendency toward projection–ascribing to God our thoughts, feelings, and attitudes about ourselves and others–is unmasked in all its absurdity. Distorted images and caricatures of God as vengeful, whimsical, fickle, and punitive (images that cannot fail to engender anxiety, fear, scrupulosity, and unhealthy guilt) are exposed for what they are–puny and pathetic human constructs. The same judgment is passed on the illusion of control. When life is tranquil, relationships intact, finances secure, and physical health flourishing; when the enemy is not at the gate; when the war drums are not rattling; when the Calvin Klein perfume advertisement for Eternity for Men seems plausible–then a sense of complacency, self-sufficiency, and personal command of one’s destiny deludes and lulls us. But the reality of the kabod (the infinite glory of God) shatters every delusion. As previous certainties desert us, we become vulnerable and open. The glory of God makes possible the primordial act of religion: the realization that we re not sufficient unto ourselves, that we have received our life and being from another…we freely ratify our condition as creatures. Through this fundamental act of dispossession we acknowledge the illusion of control and open ourselves to the reality of God.

On a lighter note, Manning jokes about his first year of teaching theology in a university. He writes:

Exuding a brisk air of professional enthusiasm and a suffocating spirit of hubris, I expostulated so brilliantly on the mystery of God that after one semester, there was no mystery left.

I’m reading Divine Nobodies: Shedding Religion to Find God, by Jim Palmer. I’m not going to summarize it. I’m trying to kick the habit of writing long posts, as you can see. The book is a great read. He started winning me over in the Pseudo-Introduction when he admitted that he often sits in a reclining chair in the garage, with the door open, and startles neighbors walking by (he has a “very short driveway”). Here’s a quote:

I’m starting to become more familiar with God’s voice…He is what I’m looking for. The risks are worth it. I can’t control or predict God, but I trust him enough to allow this journey of knowing him to take me where it may lead, even if I don’t know where that is until I get there.

A growing number of people are discovering the journey of relational Christianity on the other side of religion. Jim Palmer tells his version story by writing each chapter about a different person–a “nobody” in worldly terms–who helped show him the way.

I can’t recommend this book enough.

Divine Nobodies

Jim Palmer. Thomas Nelson 2006, Paperback, 224 pages, $13.99

It’s difficult to piece together our story on a blog as I go. The other day I thought it’s like following a golf swing (God’s golf swing). A golf swing is one long, sweeping stroke not a series of episodes. It’s difficult to break it down in real life. I’m sure it’s easier to do so in hindsight, although it may be a long time before the stroke we’re living within is complete.

I usually don’t know where the events of the day (or month, week…year) are leading, or if it will lead anywhere “significant” in the end. The force at any one point in a golf swing is not pointing toward the ball but along a tangent. The motion along the outer edge of a swing is exciting and powerful, but only the one who sees from the center of the swing knows if and when it will connect and where the ball is going.

That’s because at any given point in a golf swing the force is not directed toward the end result. The only other way to know is to stay with the trajectory until the point of connection. That’s our hope and what we’re about in this sometimes foolish seeming hope that God is in control.