I’m no longer Christian or American

This week, Republicans picked Mike Johnson to lead the House of Representatives. Johnson’s beliefs align with Matt Gaetz, Marjorie Taylor Greene, Lauren Boebert, and the rest of the narrow contingent that seems to increasingly pontificate on what it means to be Christian and American. (Hint: You have to agree with them on everything.)

Most importantly to his backers, Johnson believes–against all the proof that says otherwise–that Donald Trump won the 2020 election (presumably, “by a lot”). Johnson’s led with his faith, mentioning God several times as he was introduced. He’s on record as referencing the “so-called separation of church and state.”

His allies include Greene, whose Twitter profile leads with the fact that she’s a Christian, and Boebert, who was tossed out of a theater recently for fondling a man she wasn’t married to–but proclaims her Christianity every time she gets the chance.

What unites them most, is their worship of Trump, the good Christian role model who bragged about grabbing women by the crotch, tries to rile up his base to crush anyone who opposes him, and has promised vengeance on detractors when he re-assumes office. Trump loves Jesus so much, he wanted to shoot protestors (but just in the legs) so he could stand in front of a burned-out church holding a Bible.

This is the face of Christianity in America. It sees Jodi Picoult’s books as harmful pornography that needs to be removed from every library in the land, but believes Donald Trump has the first amendment right to hint to followers that something needs to be done to any judge or court worker who opposes him.

Their Jesus is draped in red, white, and blue and has a physique like Barry Bonds in his playing days (but is white as Pat Boone). He supports Trump in all he does, doesn’t see a problem with Putin’s Russia, and looks the other way when members of Congress give their dates public hand jobs and ditch their husbands for tantric sex gurus.

Given his Trump support, the real Jesus–the one good Americans worship–admires Chinese President Xi for ruling two billion Chinese people with an iron fist and thinks Hamas is very, very smart. He doesn’t have time for losers and despises weakness in all its forms.

Though he declined to throw the Romans out so the Israelites could have a political empire, the real Jesus wants his new disciples to crush the libs, hunt down all the RINOs, and force people to follow Trump in the name of freedom. Anyone who disagrees can rot in hell–or a jail cell. When regains power, Donald Trump will be the instrument of the Jesus’s mighty patriotic wrath.

For the record, I’m not some angry atheist who gets off reading Noam Chomsky and bows to a statue of George Soros on the way to a gay orgy. Twenty years ago, I was considered conservative. Some considered me fascist. I only vote for Democrats because Republicans stopped being conservative and got a hard on for authoritarianism. I realize I have no standing in front of God. I’ve recognized my shortcomings and worked hard to correct them. I try to take my faith seriously.

Jesus didn’t die for all that weak-ass bullshit. He wants strong, upright Christian soldiers to cleanse America and the world (then pose with an arsenal on their card celebrating his birth). In short, American Jesus would nod vigorously at Donald Trump sneering at my weakness and stupidity and calling me a loser.

It seems we have entered a time when these beliefs are required to be Christian and American. God’s mightiest American prophet has proclaimed it to be so.

When God sends me to hell for these transgressions, as his prophet will dictate, I’ll go with my head held high.

There has to be a purpose to the struggle

In the book of Job, Job gets his ass kicked by Satan, as allowed by God. After that, his wife tells him to curse God and die. Then three friends come and compete to tell him how bad he must be to suffer misfortune. Then, some kid, filled with the certainty that comes from not living much, condemns the friends for not condemning Job hard enough. Then God comes and dresses him down for daring to question what the hell this entire mess is.

I’m not Job. Compared to many others with chronic conditions, I have it easy. I just had ten days of relative normality–which just came crashing to a halt this morning. The hollow feeling is back, accompanied, as happens, with pain that slides around my body, finding various places to linger. I feel hollow.

And though I have work to do, it’s the last thing I want to involve myself with. I want to just exist on the couch or in bed all day. Anything else is too much effort.

I’m blessed to be able to work through the day, even if it’s hard. I’m blessed to have walked a lot last week–to have been able to go to a trade show and participated. I’m blessed for ten days of relative normality.

And yet now that I’m back in the mud again, that blessing also feels a little like psychological torture–a taste of what could be before we start things up again.

I have no idea whether God is doing this to me or just allowing this to happen. At the moment, he feels like the wicked witch asking me “How bout a little fire, scarecrow?”

But the simple fact is, this is my reality. God allowed it or ordained it for a reason. God also gave me a brain and desire to persevere for a reason. I don’t know what it is, but there’s a purpose to my pain. Faith requires doubt. It’s not certainty. It’s the belief in a truth that doesn’t seem visible, or even likely. And if I’m honest, it’s not my best thing.

And yet, this morning, as pain swirls about my body and I face a full day of work, followed by three more, it’s what I have. Though I’m lucky in the level of my affliction, I’m still afflicted. It’s still hard.

There has to be meaning in the difficulty. There has to be payoff for the struggle. My effort to try to make my invisible affliction invisible must be worth something. Bitterness and anger would be the easiest thing in the world–and who could blame me when my body feels used up?

But if there’s a reason God allowed this, I can’t give into my impulse to let the difficulties spew on others. My only way forward is to honor whatever purpose there might be in the difficulty by making an extra effort to be human and humane.

I believe that for whatever my other faults are, God will see and honor my efforts to be decent about this.

This is my reality today. It’s up to me whether I try to use it as a prompt to make things better or to make other people feel my pain.

If this is what God assigned me, it’s up to me to do my best.

The invisibility of some disabilities is an added burden to those who suffer

Today is the last day of Invisible Disabilities Week (October 15-21). I’d have probably posted about it, but I was in Las Vegas for a work conference. I walked a lot, meaning maybe the worst of the series of crashes I’ve had might be over. Or, I might wake up feeling caressed by the pain demon that’s been my companion most of this year.

In this blog post, Carrie Kellenberger, an incredibly brave and resilient person who seems to have all the diseases, talks about her experience with disabilities. In one of the pictures, she’s shown sitting in a wheelchair, something she often needs, then standing next to the wheelchair smiling, one leg bent backwards in a fun pose.

Though the blog post mentions the pain involved in that simple pose was brutal, you can’t tell by looking. She looks like a healthy, thriving young woman. Therein lies one of the problems with chronic conditions: though you struggle with them daily, you don’t want to let them define you. One some level, that would be defeat.

For whatever reason, I’ve had a tough year with Fibro. The last six weeks have been especially tough. I curtailed participation on a personal trip, but toughed it out through a couple business trips. I’ve worked at least part of every business day, including a day where the pain across my entire body bounced between four and eight all day long.

I don’t want to let the damned fibro win. I don’t want it to define me. Though I have a fraction of the battle Carrie Kellenberger has, my approach is similar to the one in that picture. I want to tough it out–for you not to know I’m struggling.

It’s not just the physical pain, either. It’s the psychological burden. How do you put your best face on when your body feels like it’s made of pain? How do you keep your game face when inside you’re weary and you feel weak and useless and angry? How do you face a long future where every day might be a gray haze of pain?

I’m incredibly fortunate. Even my worst times are relatively tame compared to others. Accessibility isn’t a problem for me. Having just spent a business week traveling and in Las Vegas, I’m blessed in that regard. (There were a couple days, though, when I rationed my trips up and down the 17 steps in our townhome because of the pain.)

Next time you’re flying and that healthy-looking person is boarding early on a wheelchair, maybe they’re carrying a weight you can’t image. When you’re in public and someone pulls out earbuds while they’re talking to you (something I’ve done recently), maybe they aren’t blowing you off for the latest Taylor Swift song. They’re probably doing their best Sisyphus impression.

The last thing they need is your (or my) stink-eye.

Job, God, and body-wide pain

Though the Psalm says to be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord, I gotta admit: my patience is running low. It’s already been a bumpy year Fibro-wise. Nothing horrible, just the equivalent of paddling into a headwind almost every day. Sometimes that headwind’s been a gale.

The last two weeks have been particularly hard. Until the day after my shingles shot, I didn’t realize it was hyperbole when I said “Everything hurts.” The day after my shot, literally everything hurt and I spent a day where my pain level across my entire body bounced between 4 and 8 out of ten.

Three days later, I had my first acupuncture session, which caused another round of body-wide pain. Apparently, I have a crapload of toxins or other bad things that’ve been building up since the Nixon administration. They all got stirred up, generating pain. Then, three days later, they got stirred up again by my second session. Fortunately, I don’t have another acupuncture session until late next week. I’ve been told it’ll be worth the pain at the end. Right now, I have to take that on faith.

Then I got my Covid shot–another two days (and counting) of body-wide pain.

In the book of Job, Job never actually curses God and dies, as his wife suggested he do. That didn’t stop God from getting after him for his reaction to his troubles. If God got after Job, I deserve to be made into a smudge on the sidewalk for some of my response to far less than Job went through.

I’ve hurt a lot over the past couple of weeks. It’s been ponderous, man. I’m weary. My mindset is as black as a bag of licorice jelly beans. I recognize my growing irritation with life and understand the effort I need to put into not letting it spill out on others.

I also recognize there are people who would view my bad days as a walk in the park.

But I’m supposed to take heart and be strong and wait patiently, uncomplaining, on the Lord? I’m struggling not to lose my crap when people do something irritating. That’s as much strength and heart as there is right now. The best I can do is recognize that my patience is wearing thin and adjust for that.

It’s possible that’s not enough, but it’s what I have right now.

Whatever’s happening to me right now, God either designed it or allowed it. If what I say I believe is true, I need to believe there’s a purpose to my experience. At the moment, it’s hard to see above the pain to keep that in mind.

The God of Job would sit me down for a vigorous talking to. He would intellectually undress me and leave me completely convinced of my own lack of worthiness in front of Him. Alternatively, I’d like to think He’d point out my shortcomings–and they’re there–but in a softer tone than telling me to stand up and be a man in front of Him.

Honestly, right now, I don’t know how I’d react to that lecture.

I believe the book of Job is symbolic. I don’t necessarily believe there was a God named Job whose life went to hell when God goaded Satan into asking permission to torture him. I think God allows the bad things that come with free will. I don’t think He deliberately sets out to torture us, but he sure as hell allows us to torture ourselves and each other.

If God allows the bad things that happen, and if He is love, then I have to think He is with us in our suffering, even if we periodically allow the pain to amplify the worst in ourselves.

Anyone can be kind in response to kindness. God calls us to be loving in response to hatred.

I have to do think he’s willing to do the same for us, especially if things are hard.