I'm Just Me--Unique and Wonderful Me

A little update on what's been going on with me: 1. I still haven't found a job; 2. I missed my opportunity to get the classes I needed to get into the Rad Tech program at Mesa College; 3. I'm scheduled to take the PTCE on September 25th. Instead of studying for the PTCE, I've been reading a book that has had my head spinning, my heart pounding, and my blood boiling. It is about IQ tests: how they came about, why they came about, and what they historically have been used for. As I currently understand it, I have no IQ. No one has an IQ. IQ is a failed construct that should have been discarded along with the categories of feeblemindedness that it once engendered: idiocy, imbecility and moronism. Now my thinking has taken a new turn. What if Hans Asperger's ideas concerning autism are as flawed as are Francis Galton's concerning intelligence? If that is so, then I am not autistic, and neither is anyone else. What has been called "autism" is merely an arbitrarily selected portion of a universe of human diversity. Galton and his many philosophical descendents are essentially eugenicists. They believe that some human attributes are "better" than are others. For example, it is better to be white than black; it is better to be tall than short; it is better to speak English than to speak some other language. People who know how to live in a wealthy enclave of an anglophone country are apt to be judged more intelligent than are those who grew up in a poor, agrarian, non-English-speaking backwater. Even though Asperger never wrote that poor children were more likely to be diagnosed autistic than were wealthy ones, the same psychologists who applied Alfred Binet's and David Wechsler's ideas--without their reservations--have served to identify, and to describe, those on the so-called Autism Spectrum in this country. Since our penchant has been to identify and weed out undesirables, and since our ethnocentric perspective has tended to identify as undesirable those who least resemble us, it stands to reason that those attributes least contributing to a mainstream identity are most apt to be labeled "disorders". It is undeniable that my natural bent is toward big-picture thinking and excelling in tasks of a technically- rather than a socially-demanding nature. Does that mean that I am “autistic”? Not necessarily. The lines are drawn somewhat arbitrarily between alleged “disorders”. What can be said with relative certainty is that each person is unique and so comprises a unique set of attributes. Some of those attributes will prove advantageous in adapting to certain environments (be they social or physical) and some won’t. The fact that certain of my attributes make social adaptation difficult as opposed to easier does not mean that I am “sick” or “malformed”. It simply means that I am presented with certain challenges in life that certain other people aren’t. Chances are that they are presented with certain life challenges that I am not. God has promised that we will never be “tempted” beyond what we can endure: “No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.” (1 Corinthians 10:13 NIV) He has not, however, promised that we will not be challenged by circumstances beyond what we can bear. That is simply a part of life.

The Matrix of Church Organization that Pastor Mark Claims Doesn’t Exist at Narratives Church

People are hard-wired (from conception, probably) to respond socially to one another. Because I am autistic, I don’t fit into either the world’s matrix or the church’s. Whereas Jesus attempted to persuade a fragmented society to function more as a family, today’s church seems to be bent on forcing today’s human family to function more as a fragmented society. Autistic persons, homosexual persons, religionless persons, and transgendered persons all seem to fall through the cracks of conservative evangelism (so-called). Note that I said “religionless” and not “atheist” or “agnostic”. This is because it is my bedrock belief that conversion happens when God’s revealing behavior interfaces with a human being’s seeking behavior, not when a church’s preaching behavior interfaces with his or her sinning behavior. Religion does not result in faith any more than irreligion does.

Pastor Mark Miller, a man I love dearly but with whom I most emphatically disagree on many topics, has it in his head that his church is different because his church doesn’t have programs or fixtures. I say that’s a load of crap. Narratives Church is precisely like every other church in the basics: a particular group of people gather in a particular place at a particular time to do particular things. That’s doing church. I’m not saying it’s bad; I’m saying it’s not different. I love the people at Narratives--but, then, I loved the people at Faith Chapel, Trinity Church and The Vineyard too. I left each of these places because either a pastor or the Holy Spirit told me to. No, I was not kicked out of any congregation. I was asked rather to choose to which congregation I would belong. I simply couldn’t convince the leadership of any local church that some populations “belong” in multiple “congregations”.

The people of northern Mexico “belong” to a group that transoccupies the Border Region. They have existed as a people for thousands of years; the “nations” that today claim their allegiance--and their land--have existed for only a few hundred years. The “borders” that these so-called nations (a true “nation” is a people with common roots) have established between themselves bisect the lands that these peoples have traditionally occupied. Hence, by creating laws that criminalize normal human behavior, they in turn create a class of criminals that did not previously exist—-the Illegal Alien. I find it ironic—-at once comical and infuriating—-that Americans at once practice this kind of cultural insensitivity and also decry transsection of Native encampments within South Africa. Who are they to criticize apartheid in the South African Homelands and yet criminalize transborder migration in America? The problem does not lie in the fact that Chicanos migrate the length and breadth of their traditional homelands. It lies rather in the fact that Americans define themselves as “those who were born within our borders”. That policy alone designates those Chicanos whose mothers were in the northern part of their territory when they gave them birth as “Americans” and those whose mothers were in the southern part of their territory when they gave them birth as “Mexicans”.

People who buy into the World System of political identity—-the Devil’s “us and them” mentality—-are a booger in the nose of church progress. This same sort of thinking, apparently, pervades so-called Christendom. I can’t “go to” this “church” if I’m a “member” of that “church”; if I start a “program” at this “church” then I can’t expect people from that “church” to participate. Jesus did not establish churches; he established His Church. He established a worldwide brotherhood (and sisterhood) of people like himself who have a living and personal relationship with God. Pastors try to “run” their “churches” as though they were businesses. They need butts in their pews and dollars in their plates so that they can lease/buy their buildings and operate their fixtures. They behave as though ministry—-if it happens outside of their established organs—-interferes with the conduct of their business! Once again, the Religious Institutions of Man seek/serve to frustrate the revealed purposes of God in the world. All of this is done in the name of “Christ”.

I know what Pastor Mark wants to accomplish with Narratives Church. I think that he’s got a great vision there. I want to see him succeed. He has it in his mind—and I know that God put it there—that ministry does not consist of someone preaching to the lost that they must be saved. The lost will never come to church anyway. They have no reason to. The lost coming to church is like the destitute Chicano coming to the border crossing—-they have nothing but their ignorance, their filth and their poverty to offer America, so why would the Americans let them in? In another sense, it is like Americans going to Mexico. If Mexico has nothing but ignorance, filth and poverty, who would ever want to go there? Fortunately for American tourists, not all Mexicans are poor. The point is that Mark recognizes that true Christian ministry happens when a preacher persuades his followers to go out into the byways of their own communities and love the people they find there. Not everyone they meet will be an unloved person seeking a better way to live. As a matter of fact, very few will be. [This is one of the great fallacies of the so-called “evangelical” movement: some people actually think that “saturation preaching” will reap a harvest of 100% church membership within a given region. That is a load of crap. Most people will never know Christ. It’s a sad fact but a fact nonetheless.] However, those who are seeking a better way may find it because of the example of those whom Christ has touched. This is the aim of Conversational Ministry.

Trying to shove your worldview down another person’s throat has a name: rape. It is an ugly word and one that elicits in most people a feeling of uncleanness and violation. Rightly so. Even so, it is the tactic most often employed by those who desire to “advance the borders of God’s kingdom”. They will never accomplish so noble a feat using such tactics. Jesus never said to “witness to” your neighbor. He never said to “preach to” your neighbor. He never said to “compel your neighbor to adopt your cultural values”. He said to “love your neighbor as yourself”. Do you want to be called wicked? Don’t call your neighbor wicked. Do you want to be refused employment? Don’t refuse your neighbor employment. Do you want to have bombs dropped on your country? Don’t drop bombs on your neighbor’s country. I could go on and on. Do people really have to wear little bracelets, saying “what would Jesus do?” in order to remember to treat other people as though they were human? We all know what love looks and feels like, so why do we find it so difficult to do it?

There are nasty people in the world—agreed. These people are rightly called “enemies”. But Jesus said “love your enemies”. Treat your enemies as though they were friends. Love them the way you love your own family. Do you drop bombs on your friends? Do you shoot loaded weapons at your family members? Then why do you treat your enemies this way? Christians don’t shoot. Christians don’t bomb. Do you want to know whether you are a “born-again Christian”? Ask yourself, “do I love my enemy or hate him?”; consider, “do I protect my enemy or shoot at him?”. If you love and protect your enemy, you are a born-again Christian; if you hate him and try to kill him, you are just another lost soul, calling himself a Christian.

I have a confession to make. I am not a Christian. I am a lost soul who has been masquerading as a Christian for about thirty-something years. I hate my enemies. They anger me when they do their nasty enemy things. I spend an inordinate amount of time fantasizing about all of the horrible, nasty things I could do to “fix” them. A Christian would never do that. He would spend that time praying for their salvation—that God would reveal Himself to them. If I know and love God, and you know and love God, then we can know and love God together and be friends, not enemies. Mark Miller may be a true Christian. I don’t know. I can never be sure about anyone but myself. That is because, whereas God looks on the heart of Man, I can only see his outside. Sure, he looks like a Christian and he acts like a Christian. But only God and Mark know for sure if he is a Christian. In fact, I can never really be sure about myself. God told me once that I don’t know my own heart. This seems odd to me. I am my own heart! How could I not know it? Yet, He said that. So, it must be true. He calls me by name and He loves me—this much I know.

I didn’t “go to church” today. I considered it. I cleaned myself up and dressed for it. Then I didn’t go. No reason. I just didn’t. I decided to sit and write down these thoughts instead. It seemed a better use of my time. That’s because I don’t actually do anything once I get to “church”—there’s that word again. I greet the people I love who attend there. I ignore a lot of other people whom I’ve never met or who never impressed me very much. I once pledged that I would not let that happen but I hate crowds—-even crowds of Christians. So I gravitate toward the few close “friends” that I have and ignore the many potential friends that I don’t yet have. As much as I detest this behavior, I don’t blame myself for engaging in it. I blame my human nature for tending towards it. Prior to the greeting, I sing a few lame songs and afterward I listen to an equally lame sermon. Every few weeks, we share little servings of bread and grape juice. That’s it—-going through the same lame motions as I have at so many other churches before. As I said before, people are hard-wired to behave in predictably social ways. I am apparently hard-wired to behave in signally antisocial ways. When I have interfaced with my maximum number of “others”, I simply go on “overload” status and begin to ignore the superfluous hordes that continue to engulf me. I have nephews and nieces whose birthdays I have never memorized for this very reason: once Allison was born, my memory was used up. Danny, Mary and Andrew—-and Sam and Eli, for that matter, are just shit out of luck. I can’t remember their birthdays to save my life because I was “full” at Allison and so cannot remember any more.

Mark Miller is studying for his doctoral degree in something or other. He will jump through a few more figurative hoops and he will be able to call himself—-and listen to other people call him—-“doctor”. Then what? Where is the trail leading to? What does he hope to accomplish long-term? I woke up thinking about this matter this morning and I cannot seem to shake it off. Sure, at one end of the road is my mother’s womb and at the other is some sort of quasipermanent repository for my earthly remains. But what is the point of all of this seemingly purposeful behavior? What is it leading to? I have decided that “where” one winds up is less important than who one is when he gets there. It isn’t the “stuff” we learn or the “things” we do that define us ultimately. It’s the people we turn into in the process of going to those “places” and doing those “things”. This is the whole purpose of being in relationships with other people and working and learning and all of the other stuff we do when we are on the earth. Each of us is evolving into another sort of being. The important question to ask is, “what sort of being am I evolving into?”.

If you’re in a rut—-and it is a good rut—-by all means stay in it. I don’t want to dissuade you from living in your great rut. However, if you’re in a bad rut—-or one that just doesn’t seem to be leading anywhere good—-then by all means lets get together and find a better one. One thing is for sure: I don’t seem to fit into any of the ruts in Mark’s Matrix. There are ruts for married couples with children, married couples without children, single men, single women, people between certain ages, youth of various ages, and small children. Everyone, logic seems to dictate, should be able to fit into one of those ruts. However, the “couples” ruts require both husband and wife to participate. Suzanne attends a different “church”. So, how about the single men’s group? No, they’re doing “single-guy” things that a married bloke like me just wouldn’t do. So what about people of various ages? There is no rut for people my age! We’re all either married with kids, married without kids or single. Whole families may participate, apparently; individual family members need not apply.

At the last “church” I attended before Narratives, I was a singer. My “place” was in the choir. Narratives doesn’t have a choir; it has a worship team. I thought my place might be on the worship team but Mark says it isn’t. So, again, I have no place. It isn’t intentional—-it just is. It’s like the gym I go to. I’m excluded from many games of Wallyball® because of my slow, clumsy, uncoordinated movements. They don’t so much exclude me as they exclude anyone who is slow, clumsy or uncoordinated. I just happen to be those things so I wind up being excluded. It isn’t fair; it isn’t right; it just is.

I “kick against the pricks”, so to speak. I swim against the tide. I raise a ruckus when people exclude me and, in the end, I wind up being excluded because I raised a ruckus. But I believe that I’m serving the Cause of Christ by doing so. God expects all people to love and accept all other people and that means autistic people and queer people and dumb people and all of the other weird, ugly kinds of people that exist in the world. You don’t have to be young or beautiful or strong in order to be loved in God’s kingdom; you only have to be a person. That’s what I’m trying to teach the world, and that’s what it refuses to learn.

My earlier example of the border between the U.S. and Mexico brings me to my final illustration here. Just as Chicano people exist and try to live in a realm that transcends the Border, so God wants humanity to inhabit a realm that transcends the differences that we perceive between ourselves and one another. If the program doesn't accommodate a particular person, adjust the program! Throw out the program! Invite the person and find a place for her! If a family in the neighborhood has two moms and no dad, will you reject them because they’re Lesbian? Do you think the kids of that family—-or their schoolmates—-will want to attend your youth group? Be inclusive, not exclusive. Don’t worry about pushing doctrine; Jesus never taught us to do that anyway. He just wants us to love our neighbors as we want to be loved. He doesn’t reject me; you reject me! God doesn’t call queer people an abomination; you call them an abomination! Some people have gone so far as to identify black people with Magog in the Apocalypse! Anything to justify their inhumane treatment of other human beings!

Just as I didn’t come to faith because of a preacher but because of God’s own revealing Spirit, I don’t’ believe that I can “bring” anyone else—-even my own son—-to Him. I will certainly pray for Brian. I will certainly beseech my God—-on my knees if necessary—-to reach out to him and save him. But it is up to Brian to seek Him out and find Him. I can’t do that for him. God never promised that whole families—-let alone whole nations—-would ever come to know Him. Indeed, He said that he came to bring a sword that would divide father from son, brother from brother, and truth from error. So how is it that so many believe that their entire families are “saved” or that America is a “Christian” nation? America is not a Christian nation and it never was! The Boy Scouts of America is an organization that I support precisely because it has helped my own beloved son to grow and to thrive. However, its Oath and its Pledge stick in my craw every time I stand, raise my salute, and recite them. It is impossible to serve both my God and my Country! As long as the BSA excludes gays and atheists from participation, it is a hollow travesty of what it could be. Does it mean to suggest, by this behavior, that these groups comprise people who have no need of salvation? Does it suppose that gay and atheist boys would not benefit from membership in an organization such as theirs? Or, if it is only leadership that they exclude them from, does it suppose that others’ sins are more grievous than its own? Sin is a human universal: everyone has some. Only a hypocrite regards another's sin as more grievous than his own. God is clear: all sin kills.

If I had any courage, I would quit the Boy Scouts, the Church and 24-Hour Fitness immediately. I would disassociate myself from any organization that discriminates against any person or group of persons. It isn’t right; it isn’t fair; it just is. But I’m not courageous. I’m a coward. If I refused to relate to anyone who did not accept everyone else, I would be a true loner. This is because everyone rejects someone. Look to your Bible if you don’t believe this is true: Jesus never rejected a single person who came to Him for help. He related to everyone He ever met as a beloved brother, sister, mother or father. He loved little children. He loved animals. He was thoroughly good and there was no wickedness in Him at all. Not like anyone else I’ve ever met. Including myself.

“So,” you may ask, “why don’t you just go back to the church where you sang in the choir? There’s a place for your there, isn’t there?” No, sadly there’s not. I’ve already become everything that I’ll be allowed to become there. I’ll be accepted as a chorister, certainly, but that’s not all I can be, nor is it all that I aspire to be. I want to be a soloist. I want to be a teacher. I want to be an elder or a deacon. I will never be some of these things because I don’t fit into the right ruts. Scripture dictates the sorts of people who can serve in some of these capacities and I don’t meet the criteria. But other capacities, like teachers or soloists I’m certainly qualified to serve in. I’m just not accepted. And so, I found myself doing the same things that I now find myself doing at Narratives: showing up, singing, listening, greeting, eating and drinking.

I guess in the end that the lesson here is that it matters less what I do when I go to church than it does who I am when I go to church. If I don’t like who I’m becoming, maybe it’s time to try another church. Maybe I’ll never find that church. It’s all about what growth medium best enables me to grow into the person I need to become—and, again, what people I am best able to help grow into the persons they need to become.

This Thing I Do

I ruminate. I sit in an empty room and talk. Not to myself but by myself. Not to any particular person always but sometimes. The person is not there, generally. If the person is there, his or her responses mostly serve to distract me from my ruminations. They rarely affect my thinking or what I have to say. So, why all the verbiage? Why the chewing and tossing, if not to hash out a semblance of agreement with another mind? Perhaps, I suggest to myself, it is because my own thoughts conflict with one another. I am ambivalent. Not neutral, mind you—ambivalent. Or, as one of my brothers once suggested, “I am bivalent”. I have two valences—one positive, the other negative. On any given topic, the positive voice argues with the negative and vice versa. Do they ever reach a consensus? Generally, they do. That’s the point. This, apparently, is how I think things over. I argue with myself—aloud. It drives my wife nuts. Especially when she is trying to sleep or to concentrate on some problem she is trying to solve. She will walk into whatever room I am in, turn on the light (because, finding visual stimulation distracting, I often prefer to ruminate in darkness) and announce that I have awakened her yet again from a most profound slumber. “I was just about to find out the answer to my dream and you blew it for me again!” I’m devastated every time she says that. No, really. I am. I don’t do this to drive Suzanne crazy. I don’t want her to be crazy. Our son deserves to have at least one sane parent and the jury’s still out on whether that might be me. I just can’t help myself. This is how I function. Moreover, I don’t seem to be able to function unless I do this thing I do.

This Do In Remembrance of Me

It is now somewhat more than fifteen months since my dear mother died. In the aftermath of that sad event, while I expected the buzzards to circle, I never expected my siblings to disturb my grieving. However, Tom proved himself capable of even the most perverse invasion when he questioned its sincerity. “Are you so self-absorbed,” he asked, “as to imagine that you somehow knew the real Mom whilst the rest of us only knew some figment or fragment of her? You knew her less than anyone if you suppose that she believed in your god! She was her father’s daughter!”

Today I realize that, while I may not have known the real Jet Seegers, vis-à-vis those known by each of my siblings, I certainly glimpsed a side of her that none of them did. For our dear mother, although she held nothing of her tender mercy back from any of us, only allowed that part of herself that she wished to expose to be seen by any individual to whom she related. Never as transparent as my own simple self, she was as mysterious as she was complex. It is only by gathering our notes of our respective conversations with the woman who was our mother that we can hope to piece together some idea of the wonderful person that she indeed was. Too, it is only by trusting one another to faithfully supply those contributions to that remembrance that we can finally see her in the full light of day.

God uses—perhaps I should preface that with a confession of personality: my God uses—even such woes as grief for one’s mother to reveal Himself to His children. For today I realize that, while I may not know the real I AM vis-à-vis those known by my several brethren in Christ, I certainly know Him uniquely, as do each of them. This is why He instituted the Church: it is only through our fellowship with one another that we can hope to remember the once-holy image of the Holy One Who gave His Life for us. We must continually share with one another faithful recitations of our testimonies of pilgrimage and grace in order to glimpse His likeness in the true light of day. If intrigues or schemes bring us to exaggerate one detail or underemphasize another, the image we derive will be as distorted as that which, without the aid of others’ perceptions, each of us perceives on his own.

When friends and acquaintances undertake to grind political or philosophical axes, they may withhold valuable details of the image He has revealed to each of them. I should say “to each of us” here since I am no less guilty than is anyone else of that particular sin. Each of us wants to emphasize certain attributes in his respective testimony for fear that his brethren will only perceive what God is and not what He is not. Were our love perfect, as His is perfect, no such hindrance would occur. As Brother Paul so ably pointed out, “perfect love casts out fear”. Again, what prevents us from loving as perfectly as does Our Lord is fear that arises from our own selfishness. Further proof that our shared journey of faith lies along the road to Christosis.

An irony that I discovered some time ago is that I am stymied in my quest for selflessness by my very concentration upon that theme. Did I instead focus on that which Our God reveals of Himself to me, my quest would resolve of its own accord. Hard as it may be to believe, I actually argue with Him at times, reluctant to pursue the paths that He sets before me because they seem too arduous. I would have been perfect long ago had I only been perfect in my faith and obedience. The only thing that prevents me from seeing my God as He truly is is the same thing that prevented me from seeing my mother as she truly was: me. I can’t see them when I’m always looking at myself. Even if I only regard my self while praying that it will disappear, my focus remains on my self and therefore not on Him.