Why I feel like a hypocrite
For all my talk about community, for all of my focus on how love comes around and is best known through a tight relational body, for all my belief that true friends get in your face - no one has asked me the difficult questions recently.
Not that my friends haven't been calling me or responding to my calls. I've not been neglected or trotted off to failure. The cold, lonely hands of time are not within sight or sound. I haven't been left begging for contact in the streets or hungry for conversation.
But I haven't been asked the difficult questions. I haven't been handled aggressively, shaken for all my fruits. And a large part of that is my intentional fault.
Really, who wants to be rankled? Who wants to be condemned, abused, mistreated? Who wants to be uncomfortable? Who wants to worry that a slipped word in conversation can lead to an ill-proportioned gossip-monster?
But I think the problem is, who wants to trust? Who wants to stop doing what he feels is convenient, comfortable or pleasurable? Who wants to be held accountable?
God is not mocked, we reap what we sow. I think, in some ways, I've sown the whirlwind.
I need a confessor. Good Lord.
Not that my friends haven't been calling me or responding to my calls. I've not been neglected or trotted off to failure. The cold, lonely hands of time are not within sight or sound. I haven't been left begging for contact in the streets or hungry for conversation.
But I haven't been asked the difficult questions. I haven't been handled aggressively, shaken for all my fruits. And a large part of that is my intentional fault.
Really, who wants to be rankled? Who wants to be condemned, abused, mistreated? Who wants to be uncomfortable? Who wants to worry that a slipped word in conversation can lead to an ill-proportioned gossip-monster?
But I think the problem is, who wants to trust? Who wants to stop doing what he feels is convenient, comfortable or pleasurable? Who wants to be held accountable?
God is not mocked, we reap what we sow. I think, in some ways, I've sown the whirlwind.
I need a confessor. Good Lord.