Letting Go and Letting God?
I was in the foyer after a Thursday night service putting on my coat when I bumped into a teenager named Shaq. Shaq's looks were true to his name-at 15, he was huge and softhearted. Usually he had a big koolaid smile but that night he looked confused, anxious.
"Let me ask you a question," he said suddenly. "They keep telling me that God has a plan for my life-that's all I keep hearing. But no one will explain that to me." He paused momentarily.
"Helen, do YOU think God has a plan for my life?"
I was stopped in my tracks. His brown eyes said a thousand words: I'm lost, I'm guilty, I'm confused.
Helen please tell me all this is real and not a lie.
Unfortunately, I was still indoctrinated. I gave him a compassionate, well-meaning, but pat answer:
"YEAH.." The awkwardness made my voice crack. "Suuuure-of course God has a plan for your life."
"Well, how do I know?"
More pat answers. "You pray...you have faith.." I don't remember the rest of what I said, but I remember him looking more confused than ever. He was visibly struggling in his soul with this. The burden of this divine plan was a heavy load. As I stood there, a conflict was going on inside me. My heart said to set him free with the truth of what I knew (at the time) but I still thought that the "God's plan" theology was legit. I wanted to alleviate his pain but I was still afraid of God's wrath-which I thought would be unleashed if I led this boy "astray" so the only answer I had was to point him towards God and let God sort it out.
Shaq was an example of how the "God's plan for your life" myth ruined people. I saw this boy go from being full of life and goodness to a schizophrenic-like person standing at the altar spouting jibberish -ahem- I mean speaking in tongues- with his eyes closed and his hands lifted in the air. I was there when he first "caught the spirit" and it wasn't long before he was totally off the deep end. Now I spoke in tongues, too... but poor Shaq was cathartic. Granted like the rest of us, I knew he was "improvising" but it was very extreme. From the time he stepped in the chapel door he was mumbling and gurgling. In the worship services, when"tongue-time" was over he continued in his cathartic state until the end of service. then when service was over he would snap back to normal in time to return to the real world.
And Shaq never stood a chance to discover his own beliefs or grow in his faith. The pastor had his eye on him since day one. Shaq was to be the prototype for the new hip-hop youth ministry he wanted to start. Every service he'd call Shaq out from the crowd and bragged on him for several minutes. He took Shaq under his wing to mold him into a young version of himself. I must say it was painful to watch.
Shaq was right to be confused. The "god's plan" myth was a cloud of mystery. People you look up to and respect tell you that God has a plan for your life and you think it must be true since they are saying it-and saying it with confidence....
This myth about God's intentions put unbelievable pressure on me. It felt more like impending doom than a hopeful future. Everything became about aligning my desires with God's desires-which was weird since God never let me in on his idea of what his desires were for me.
I began shadowboxing through life until I hit something and told myself it must be God. Life always felt like I was Hanzel or Gretel waiting for God to leave a trail of breadcrumbs for me to follow.
I couldn't help Shaq because I was still figuring things out for myself. The christian culture felt so much bigger than me and more powerful. I knew even then if I told Shaq that he was God's plan he would turn on me, as weird as it sounds. When it came to challenging the group theology, stirring the waters in a different direction you didn't have a chance. This was church-and this particular church was pastor charlie's church-and noone was going to dethrone him in the eyes of his loyal disciples, even if he was brainwashing Shaq and ruining souls. One hint of resistance to the group and the church culture would swoop down on me like a bald eagle and drop me into its nest to be eaten alive by its spawn. My heart slowly drifted away from the system the following months and one day turned into my last.
By the time I left he was the darling of the church, knee deep in it all. I knew his mind was gone when sitting next to him one sunday he asked me how I was doing. I told him that I had a migraine, which I did. The band was playing loudly and it felt like someone was kicking me in the head. He acted as if I was contagious because, as he said, "You gotta speak to your headache."
(Another myth, the "call what is out of what is not" myth)
By that time, he was already superstitious about verbally stating the obvious, becasue words were majic. Supposedly, whatever you say becomes reality.
Shaq helped me to see how crazy it all was and that if I wanted to follow what my heart and common sense I would have to let all this go. I would have to pack my bags and leave the abusive husband that was my religion, my belief system, my destiny, and my god.
"Let me ask you a question," he said suddenly. "They keep telling me that God has a plan for my life-that's all I keep hearing. But no one will explain that to me." He paused momentarily.
"Helen, do YOU think God has a plan for my life?"
I was stopped in my tracks. His brown eyes said a thousand words: I'm lost, I'm guilty, I'm confused.
Helen please tell me all this is real and not a lie.
Unfortunately, I was still indoctrinated. I gave him a compassionate, well-meaning, but pat answer:
"YEAH.." The awkwardness made my voice crack. "Suuuure-of course God has a plan for your life."
"Well, how do I know?"
More pat answers. "You pray...you have faith.." I don't remember the rest of what I said, but I remember him looking more confused than ever. He was visibly struggling in his soul with this. The burden of this divine plan was a heavy load. As I stood there, a conflict was going on inside me. My heart said to set him free with the truth of what I knew (at the time) but I still thought that the "God's plan" theology was legit. I wanted to alleviate his pain but I was still afraid of God's wrath-which I thought would be unleashed if I led this boy "astray" so the only answer I had was to point him towards God and let God sort it out.
Shaq was an example of how the "God's plan for your life" myth ruined people. I saw this boy go from being full of life and goodness to a schizophrenic-like person standing at the altar spouting jibberish -ahem- I mean speaking in tongues- with his eyes closed and his hands lifted in the air. I was there when he first "caught the spirit" and it wasn't long before he was totally off the deep end. Now I spoke in tongues, too... but poor Shaq was cathartic. Granted like the rest of us, I knew he was "improvising" but it was very extreme. From the time he stepped in the chapel door he was mumbling and gurgling. In the worship services, when"tongue-time" was over he continued in his cathartic state until the end of service. then when service was over he would snap back to normal in time to return to the real world.
And Shaq never stood a chance to discover his own beliefs or grow in his faith. The pastor had his eye on him since day one. Shaq was to be the prototype for the new hip-hop youth ministry he wanted to start. Every service he'd call Shaq out from the crowd and bragged on him for several minutes. He took Shaq under his wing to mold him into a young version of himself. I must say it was painful to watch.
Shaq was right to be confused. The "god's plan" myth was a cloud of mystery. People you look up to and respect tell you that God has a plan for your life and you think it must be true since they are saying it-and saying it with confidence....
This myth about God's intentions put unbelievable pressure on me. It felt more like impending doom than a hopeful future. Everything became about aligning my desires with God's desires-which was weird since God never let me in on his idea of what his desires were for me.
I began shadowboxing through life until I hit something and told myself it must be God. Life always felt like I was Hanzel or Gretel waiting for God to leave a trail of breadcrumbs for me to follow.
I couldn't help Shaq because I was still figuring things out for myself. The christian culture felt so much bigger than me and more powerful. I knew even then if I told Shaq that he was God's plan he would turn on me, as weird as it sounds. When it came to challenging the group theology, stirring the waters in a different direction you didn't have a chance. This was church-and this particular church was pastor charlie's church-and noone was going to dethrone him in the eyes of his loyal disciples, even if he was brainwashing Shaq and ruining souls. One hint of resistance to the group and the church culture would swoop down on me like a bald eagle and drop me into its nest to be eaten alive by its spawn. My heart slowly drifted away from the system the following months and one day turned into my last.
By the time I left he was the darling of the church, knee deep in it all. I knew his mind was gone when sitting next to him one sunday he asked me how I was doing. I told him that I had a migraine, which I did. The band was playing loudly and it felt like someone was kicking me in the head. He acted as if I was contagious because, as he said, "You gotta speak to your headache."
(Another myth, the "call what is out of what is not" myth)
By that time, he was already superstitious about verbally stating the obvious, becasue words were majic. Supposedly, whatever you say becomes reality.
Shaq helped me to see how crazy it all was and that if I wanted to follow what my heart and common sense I would have to let all this go. I would have to pack my bags and leave the abusive husband that was my religion, my belief system, my destiny, and my god.
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