Fed up

This is not easy for me to say.  But I’m going to come right out and say it – I think I’m fed up.  And I think I’m fed up with god.

I’m not about to go and start worshipping goats.  I won’t be taking out a subscription to the British Humanist Society, or seeking a personal relationship with Richard Dawkins.  But I’m at a point on the Christian journey where I have to confess, the temptation is to sit down in the middle of the road, preferably with a melodramatic foot stomp beforehand, and announce, in the manner of my three year old, “I’m TOO TIRED!  I am NOT doing this ANY MORE!” (seriously, that’s a direct quote.  My child is nothing if not emphatic).

What am I tired of?

I’m tired of trite answers, appalling exegisis, and tying everything up in a nice neat little bow.  I’m tired of constantly having to define and explain myself – to Christians (yes, I’m a feminist, yes, I’m a liberal, no that doesn’t make me wishy washy or mean in any way that my faith is inferior) and to non-Christians – anti gay, anti-feminist, anti – well, everything.  Don’t get me wrong, some of these anti’s (though less than many imagine) are important, but if we’re claiming to follow Christ, we need to be known more about what we’re for – love, liberation, freedom – that what we’re against.

And I’m tired of smiling and pretending that it’s all ok when it isn’t.  Please don’t get me wrong – I have a wonderful hubby, a beautiful son, and amazing friends – I’m well aware that I have it better than so many people.   But I’m also feeling battered and bruised from an appalling year, and I’m tired of the fake smile when you want to scream.  I’m tired of claiming blessing in the minutiae of my own life, when millions of people face situations of horror beyond my possibly to even imagine.  Why’s God blessing us when they’re starving?  I’m tired of ocming up with answers for a God who seems to be silent when the whole world is screaming out for his presence. I’m tired of pretending that there’s a reason for everything, when sometimes, the world is just. shit.

I’m not fed up of Christ.  And I’m definitely not fed up of the way I see him shine through people – the amazing saints at my church, dear friends and others who constantly proclaim to me a Christ who works in, not despite of messiness.  So maybe what I’m tired with is actually myself. The expectations I put on myself – this is what a Christian looks like, this is what a Christian believes.  If I’m claiming to love Jesus – the ultimate rebel – maybe being fed up isn’t a bad thing.

I didn’t really make any resolutions this year – I was feeling somewhat cynical.  But if I’m allowed a late one, maybe this is it.  To allow myself to be me – in all the brutal, messy glory, God has created me.  To question, to shout, to wonder, to be angry, to be elated – to follow Christ on this journey, wherever it leads, not as some kind of model of how I should be doing it, but just as me.  Maybe, it’s then that “fed up” turns into transformative.

Here’s hoping!

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