Playground Philosophy

For some strange reason, I am always one to get into trouble. To be clear, its not destructive trouble. It is simply the kind of trouble that garners a loud "Michael!" from my beautiful wife every now and again. This is typically in response to something I say aloud that probably shouldn't be said aloud. Its not my fault I speak what almost everyone else is thinking. I've received many elbows, scowls and/or "Michael" in church services, shopping malls, restaurants; pretty much anywhere. It must part of the "Voitian" DNA, which one day I hope to author a book about. I am trying to be more conscious of my initial verbal reactions to things, but its just so hard. If I can twist the words of musician and singer John Mayer, sometimes you just need "to say what you need to say." As I write, this I can already feel a future elbow to the ribs.

My inability to withhold my initial reactions to particular situations or interactions has often brought me into various social media muddles. Besides this blog (which I have neglected since its inception), Facebook is the only social media realm I currently engage. Facebook is always chocked full of opinions, rants, raves about a variety of issues; most popular topics include politics, foreign policy, puppies, cheeseburgers and whether or not a certain "selfie" should have been posted by that 48 year old gentleman still living with his mom. Within the past month or so, Facebook has been flooded with commentary regarding the Israeli-Gaza conflict as well as the absolutely brutal terrorist network known as ISIS which is systematically killing all religious minorities, including women and children. As a person that has trouble withholding my initial reaction to situations or interactions, I have quickly and passionately entered the fray via Facebook.

My heart has grown incredibly heavy regarding the ongoing conflict in Gaza. It's grown even heavier when I learned of the thousands of refugees trapped on a mountainside in Iraq due to ISIS' relentlessly brutal  attacks. This morning I was having coffee with a very wise and intelligent man that has very quickly become a good friend. Last night, he was at a concert at a nearby Christian camp. As the concert commenced and people were "loving the music," he shared how he could not stop thinking about those refugees trapped in Northern Iraq. It's as if he compared the dire and despair-filled situation of so many men, women and children in Iraq to those singing and joyful at the concert in sunny, warm and safe Pennsylvania. When he finished sharing this story, I shared my similar anguish over the situation. I shared the anguish and despair that hit me full force yesterday as I drove to the local grocery store to pick up a few things. While driving, my heart was for those whose lives have and continue to be  snuffed out. My heart continued to grieve and feel the pain of the loss of life in Gaza and Israel. My heart and mind bordered on utter, all out despair.

In the past few weeks, I have randomly and passionately posted via Facebook about the horrendous and mounting death toll in Gaza. I've posted articles from CNN which have reported and estimated a 70-80% civilian causality rate among the thousand or so that have died. These posts have been met with push back. They've also been met with silence. I presume the silence to be one of two things:
1.  Some do not want to give their comments for fear of not knowing what to say or how to say it.
2.  Others would rather not think about it or - let's be honest - don't care.
Alongside of receiving push back or hearing little commentary about my posts, I've also been directed to articles that have been posted on people's Facebook posts. Such articles are written by political commentators attempting to give the "truth" about the Gaza and Israel conflict.

I respect the differing opinions and push back I have received. However, I will be honest and  say that it has been very hard not to revert to spouting off my initial, passionate, sometimes misguided, intensely opposing responses. It has been especially hard to withhold my thoughts on the perspectives of fellow Christians. In response to the Israel and Gaza conflict, it appears that people are presented with two choices. People can either back Israel and say they are justified in their response to Hamas' defiant and violent actions or people can back Gaza. As I see these dominant options emerge and people taking different sides, I want to scream: "Seriously?" When I see fellow Christians follow suit, I want to smash my computer screen.

This two-option scenario that appears to be presented to us, I would dub  "Playground Philosophy." When fights broke out on the playground in elementary school, we often argued about who started it while we sat in the principal's office or stood out in the hallway as our  homeroom teacher berated us. In regards to the situation in Gaza, are we really going to argue over who started it and who is justified and then choose the appropriate side? In my mind, this approach is tragic because when we engage in the taking of sides and diligently argue for our perspective, we forget the people caught in the middle of this horrific warfare. Those are the people that don't have a voice. They are simply caught in the middle of it all with their families while we make cases for justification. When we hear of a school being accidentally bombed because there were nearby Hamas militants, why is our first inclination to call Hamas cowards because they hide among the innocent? Yes, there is evidence of Hamas engaging in such activity. But why are you not grieving over the loss of those precious children? When humanity in general is engaged in combat and people  are losing their lives over a longstanding, unresolved power struggle, why in the world do we default to taking sides and simply being okay with loss of life in general?

Post all the articles and commentary you want, people - children, women, men - mothers, fathers, daughters and sons - are dying. People, made in God's Image, are either caught in the crossfire or they are ensnared by the "Myth of Redemptive Violence (See Walter Wink - The Powers that Be ). However, you want to argue or justify this warfare, all of it is an affront to the God of Life. As I have been grieving for the innocent and posting my cries for them. Yet I have not posted these laments because I am taking a side. I post these laments because I do not want people - especially fellow Christians - to lose sight of the real tragedy. I believe people have pushed back for numerous reasons; among them being "Playground Philosophy" deeply intertwined with various political and religious convictions. When I have cried out for the innocent, some have immediately assumed that I have sided with Gaza. In the schematic of "Playground Philosophy," there are only two options and since I posted an article about the loss of innocent life in Gaza the assumption is made that I am on Hamas' side. 

I do not pretend to think I know everything - in fact, I know I don't. I do not know everything about the Israeli-Gaza conflict. I have Christian friends posting articles and commentary justifying Israel's actions. I have Muslim friends I dearly love posting the opposite. Things are quite confusing for a great many people regarding this whole conflict. But one thing that should NOT be confusing is the God of Life as revealed in the Jesus. God is for life. God is pro-life for the entirety of a person's life. To lose sight of this, I believe, is to lose sight of Jesus. 

As I think about my beautiful wife and my wonderfully, unique and precious daughter, I cannot help to think that all of our arguments and perspectives would be a lot different if those were our family members and children caught in the middle of war. I imagine all of our arguments turning to dust in the moment when we held our spouse or child in our arms for the last time. God, have mercy!

My friends, If I am an idealist, then so be it. If being an idealist means that I am wholeheartedly grasping onto the truth of resurrection and restoration for this entire world, then call me an idealist all you want. If I am an idealist for crying out for innocent men, women and children, then call me an idealist.

I'm not on any side.
I'm on the side of Jesus and doing all I can to discern what that looks like.
I'm on the side of life, not just at conception.
I'm on the side of seeing and partnering with God to restore His good world.
Save us O' God!

"It's Okay"

It's amazing that an entire year has come and gone since my last post. Good for me on keeping up on things. Having just started seminary this past summer I think it is safe to say I am back into the rhythm of writing as I have no choice. With seminary, it is either sink or swim. The more you put work off, the quicker your bright orange, metaphoric floaties deflate. Ah, who could forget those ridiculous floaties Mom made you wear? I always wondered why my father was look at me with a sense of compassion and perhaps a bit of embarrassment. Enough of those silly thoughts, time to rip out that which is on my heart as of recent.

Much has transpired over the past few years when I struggled staying consistent and diligent in posting my thoughts on various topics, including some very personal struggles. I appreciate everyone's willingness to read, comment and encourage during that long, difficult season of life. My journal and this blog served as a way to express what was going on within the depths of my soul. My intention was not to be a downer. My intention was to wrestle through the confusion and inner turmoil in hopes of personally working through depression as well as encouraging others regardless of their mental state. If it helped, then I am grateful to Christ for granting me the courage to share it even as I trembled putting such words and thoughts out there for all to see. Exposing one's heart is incredibly dangerous as you are putting yourself out there for all to see and opening yourself up to criticism and judgment. But I have nothing to hide before anyone, especially God.

Recently, I came across a quote from the late and legendary Ernest Hemingway. He writes, "The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places." I assume when he references the world, he is subtly referring to our lives within our world. Even so, this is a profound thought. I immediately copied and pasted this sentiment as soon as I came upon it as it is not only powerful, but definitely sermon worthy. As the church, and I personally, have entered the beautiful and expectant season of Advent, this statement continues to reverberate in my conscience. 

Advent is a season of expectation and hope ultimately leading us to that little podunk, overlooked town called Bethlehem where the Lord of Glory broke into human history in the Christ child. While we would love to cast all sorts of doubt about His divinity, everyone would be foolish to think that this child in the manger (that stanky hole in the earth where animals feasted on their daily slop) had no effect upon our world. Regardless of how hard you try, we are continuously being invited back to that manger whether we accept the invitation or not. Yet even while we marvel at our enlightened, arrogant, human centered understanding of the world, the church has continued to proclaim that the infant in the manger was God with flesh and blood, skin and bones. The Divine became enfleshed in the simple and ordinary. For centuries, the church has not relented on this bold, mysterious and sacred proclamation. 

The God who flung creation into being enters the human and cosmic predicament. 

The God who breathed His life giving Spirit into the dust of the earth to create humanity, becomes human Himself. 

God fully and completely identifies and engages in solidarity with....us.

A few weeks back I sat in the surgical waiting room with the wife of a man in our church undergoing a pretty serious heart procedure. We made small talk, laughed a bit and conversed about the seriousness of the operation. She spoke of her trust in God throughout this process. But as I looked in her eyes, I saw concern. I saw uncertainty. I saw fear. After a bit of a break in the conversation, I looked at her gently saying "It's okay. It's okay to be afraid and uncertain." In the very instant I spoke those words, tears came to her eyes. In tears she reached out to hold my hand while promptly saying "Thank you."

This vulnerable moment culminating in her "Thank you" revealed a great truth. The truth that the greatest gift people have to share with each other is their humanity. Giving people the space and freedom to be human is a sacred act. When we speak of Christmas, we immediately refer to God coming to save us through the cross. We move from the manger to the cross in what seems like .4 seconds. 

But what if we stayed at the manger this Christmas? Ironic that the church celebrates Christmas Day and quickly moves to whats next on the agenda. Yet according to the liturgical calendar, Christmas is literally a twelve day celebration.

What if during those twelve days we stayed at the manger?

What if we beheld the child proclaimed as the God-man? 

And what if in doing that we realized the beauty of God affirming our humanity and entering solidarity with the plight of humanity?

What if we brought all of our tears, brokenness, uncertainty, fear to the manger and in silence heard the voice of Christ whisper "I know. I'm here. It's going to be ok"?

As the world has broken us time and again, we recognize that the world will end up breaking this child.

But it is precisely at his weakest, most vulnerable point, that He is at His strongest.

When Christmas Day finally arrives, may we bring our honest selves before the Christ child in the manger. 

May we wait.

May we draw strength from the God who affirms our humanity.

And may we allow God to thrust us out to into the world so that we may be "strong in the broken places" for others as He was for us.

Welcome Home

"Mike, it's only when you learn to embrace yourself and your brokenness that you will find wholeness." This statement, a paradox to be sure, has been stirring in my mind ever since it was spoken by a dear friend and mentor just a few short weeks ago. Even as I write these words not only do I continue to wrestle with that profound truth, but I continue to struggle in making it a reality in my life. How does one embrace something that he has not viewed with high regard? How does one embrace himself when for so long he's learned to meticulously identify all of his flaws and shortcomings and mask them by constantly striving for perfection? Honestly, how does one embrace that which he slowly trained himself to dislike? Now keep in mind that multiple past and present factors have contributed to my current view of myself. I didn't wake up one day wanting to dislike myself nor do I purposely choose to do so. It has become a learned reality. And yet over the past few years, months and even days I get the distinct feeling that God is quietly calling and challenging me, through all the distractions, confusion, and angst, to embrace and accept myself as He embraces and accepts me for who I am. We sure do read alot about God's love and grace, but when it comes to embodying this reality I wonder how far short we often fall.

The other night I sat amongst a group of men sharing life and sharing struggles. I spoke of my utter reluctance to identify myself as one who is broken. What's ironic about this stubborn reluctance is that it sometimes feels like it isn't a conscious decision, it has simply become second nature. My friends brought forth great encouragment. One in particular challenged me to verbalize not just my identity, but my brokenness as well. He actually went ahead and did it for me, yet proceeded to say that even though I am broken, I'm not defined by it. I'm ultimately defined by what God has to say about me. After hearing such words, I wasn't sure how to process it all. I've heard this countless times before and yet I keep coming back frustrated because I fail to allow it to become a reality in my life. I've read countless books on God's love and grace. I've been enraptured by the Biblical story of redemption and rescue by a loving God, but it's almost as if the words fail to take root within my soul. It's almost as if I fail to let God speak for himself. I project my dislike and disdain for myself onto Him thinking that He feels the same. It seems that I've wandered from the voice of God and allowed my voice to speak louder about me than His own. Can I get a witness?

Jesus, the master storyteller, tells a parable about a son who disowns his father, goes off to a foreign country, squanders his inheritance and hits absolute rock bottom with no money and little food to eat. When the son reaches such a destitute position, he decides to humbly make his way back to his father to perhaps work as a hired hand. Keep in mind that in the 1st century Jewish world when a son asked for his inheritance before his father had died he was pretty much telling the patriarch of the family in no uncertain terms "I wish you were dead." For the youngest son to pull such a stunt and now with no other option but to crawl back to his father, most, in Jesus' audience, hearing such a story are probably thinking of the shame that will be heaped upon him by both his family and community. But in the story, as the youngest son makes it within view of his father's house, the father literally runs out to meet him, hug and kiss him. Now Jewish men didn't run and they certainly didn't run out of the house to greet a wayward son. Yet in Jesus' story the Father embraces his broken son, simply grateful of the fact that he is home.

As I reflect on Jesus' parable, I can't help but wonder if the problem wasn't so much the son just wanting to go party and live it up, the problem is that he lost focus of all that he had in his possession at the start. The younger son seems to have missed the fact that he had everything he had ever needed, especially the love and affirmation of His father. Which makes me wonder if I, like the younger son, have gone away looking for wholeness when it's been right in front of me all along? I wonder if I have kept myself from "going home" because such a journey would require my admitting that I am flawed, weary, and broken. The Christian Mystic Meistar Eckhart once said this "God is at home, it is we who have gone out for a walk." I believe God is calling me to embrace my brokenness, pick myself up, and make my way back home. The hope that I'm given is that God will be waiting for me to appear on the horizon so that He may run out to great me with open arms. The hope is that God will affirm and restore me as he whispers "Welcome Home!"

Falsehood

It is now mid-October and as I write this I'm amazed and somewhat mystified at the fact that it has once again taken me so long to post on my blog. Since college, writing has always been quite a chore for me. Various factors have contributed to this struggle, none more greater than the vice of perfectionism which is the constant striving to present myself as flawless and without error. For many, my beef with writing may seem silly and insignificant compared to the more difficult internal struggles that others face. In no way am I trying to draw undue attention to something so minuscule in hopes that people will sympathize with me. Instead my hope is to draw out that which fuels this constant unrest within my soul because sometimes things are never what they appear to be on the surface. Sometimes our wounds go much deeper than whats on the skin.

Recently, while traveling to Buffalo for a brief "vacationary" (gosh, is that even a word?) stint, I had the opportunity to listen to a dialogue between Rob Bell and Peter Rollins. For those who don't know, Rob Bell and Peter Rollins are two young, influential voices within a controversial, yet exciting movement known as the "Emerging Church." Although space and time prohibit me from going into biographical detail about their life and work, I will say that I was greatly impressed and moved by the thoughts of Peter Rollins. Most intriguing was the argument about our "false" selves. Rollins argues that people, in all societies, have this incredible tendency to create, sustain and live from a "false self." We tend to put out this image of ourselves that is not true of who we really are because it's almost as if we're afraid to be revealed and perhaps rejected for our imperfection and brokenness.

As I listened to Rollins' arguments, my mind drifted and I couldn't help but think of all the ways in which I've attempted to fortify, sustain and live from a "false self." Even now as I struggle to write, I wonder if I'm living from this "false self" that is trying its hardest to make sure that everything is perfect and pristine so that no flaws in my thinking or writing will be revealed. I know this may seem insignificant, but I think it reveals something deeper not just about me, but about all of us. The truth is we're afraid to be us. We're afraid to be who we truly are. If that's the case, maybe that's what makes the journey of faith so arduous. Because it's a journey that takes us to the core of who we are and who we were created to be.

Theologian and Pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer once said "When Christ calls a man, he bids him to come and die."

In answering the call of Christ, may we allow our false selves to die.
May we both discover and learn to be who we truly are.
And may we know that we are loved despite our brokenness.

"Overdue Joy"

I know, I know...It's been way too long. It's been approximately six months and a few days since my last post. I'm not exactly sure how to explain my extended absence. In all honesty, lets just say that personally and ministerially things became quite difficult to the point where 'faith,' 'hope,' and 'joy' were seemingly hard to come by. I admittedly bring this forth not to launch a "Mike Voit Pity Party," but to allow you to fully enter into my journey of life and faith. As you are well aware, things are not all roses and peaches or lamb and tuna fish (thank you to the movie "Big Daddy" for that analogy). Life is difficult and I am not one of those people who chooses to sweep that reality under the rug. I refuse to pretend. I refuse to play happy, unfazed Christian. Instead my desire is to acknowledge that which is broken so that God may bring healing, hope, and comfort not just to myself, but to others who struggle as well. I believe the late Henri Nouwen, profound author and theologian, refers to this person as the "Wounded Healer."

So here I am, wounded, yet still standing. And today I can honestly say I have joy. It's been a long time. I told a dear friend this morning of my renewed sense of purpose and hope and to hear his response was like a breath of fresh air. He, like many others, has walked beside me through this journey. Struggling, wrestling, grieving, hoping. He has hoped when I felt hopeless. He has encouraged when I wanted to quit. And he has loved, when I felt like a disgrace. Yet he hasn't been the only one. I can't tell you the love, grace and persistence my wife has shown during this stretch. My wife, as always, has been a constant reminder of God's presence through this entire time. I give thanks not only for my wife and for my dear friend, but for the numerous people who truly acted and responded as God's church. In all of my angst and frustration with the church at times, you all give me hope that the church can be a beautiful agent of restoration and hope.

As I write this, I'm humbled by the response of so many in regards to this blog. Over the past few months and even days, I've heard from countless people about their anticipation of my next post. I never thought my writings and musings on life were all that special. I don't consider myself a great writer or expositor of life and faith. I feel very much like a little kid playing with crayons when it comes to speaking and writing about such things. For those who have made comments and for those who have encouraged me to keep writing (even if it hurts!), this blog post is for you. Know how much you and your encouragement is appreciated. You really have no idea how much it means to me. Thank you for believing. Thank you for hoping. Thank you for being who God has made and called you to be.

As I end this somewhat random and long overdue post, let me say this...

May we embrace life in all its facets in the hopes that God will be all that He says He is...faithful, loving, and present.