“MY PERFECT WORLD”
Image: Portrait in blue painter’s tape courtesy of Marty Balencie.
Originally published in The Cathedral Church of the Advent’s Magazine, No. 2, Fall 2016: “The Creativity Issue.”
Jury duty seemed like a great idea when I received the summons. I had a few days off from playing shows and the courtroom antics in movies have always intrigued me. I wanted to be selected since deciding someone’s trial outcome is a great responsibility. After all, justice should be upheld, and only half of us were going to be chosen to determine what path the defendant’s life would take. Thirty of us answered the lawyer’s shower of questions. How did we feel about marijuana legalization? Had we ever been pulled over? Did anyone in our families struggle with alcohol or drug addiction? What other crime had we seen in our families?
We openly confessed our connection to those who struggled with alcohol addiction or attempted suicide. People shared about friends and family who had been convicted of murder, rape, and molestation. I hesitate to talk to strangers in my favorite coffee shop, much less tell them the dirty and shameful secrets of my or my family’s life. However, there we all were, listening as people shared the most joyless moments they had experienced. I realized in that moment just how wide the gap was between the worlds I grew up in and the one I was hearing about in the courtroom.
I grew up the son of a pastor, and if the doors were unlocked to the church building, I was there. My childhood mostly consisted of my three brothers and I running through the acre of woods in our backyard. The creek that ran through it was the setting of hours of swimming, catching minnows, going hunting with our BB guns, and going “off the grid” with a hatchet, making trails to far away lands. My parents loved me unconditionally, punished me for the things I did wrong and rewarded me for the things they were proud of. There wasn’t a moment I regretted, and I had no fears—aside from the irrational monster that lurked under my bed at night.
My brothers and I weren’t yet molded by the world’s opinions. We lived free of judgment, lies, and insecurities. We lived in a world where we didn’t have to hide or have our guard up at all times. It became very easy growing up in that safe environment to be cut off from the harsh realities of the world. Looking back, so much of that culture sheltered my brothers and me from the pain and suffering people just over the hill were dealing with on a daily basis.
In my twenties I developed a deep interest in self-evaluation, self-expression, and honesty to a fault. As a result, I experience a rub between my two worlds. The first consists of the life I grew up with as a child and still encounter in much of church culture today. The second is made up of the realities and hardships that produce raw, unfiltered emotion. That rub has boiled down to this question for me: Why am I scared to admit having strong emotions or to ask seemingly objectionable questions inside church walls?
A while back, I found myself explaining to a mentor just how much I was questioning the church culture I was currently experiencing. It was impossible for me to support the churchgoing experience that involved nothing more than an hour-long, simplistic service where many of the churchgoers used dishonest self-preservation tactics to maintain worth and value, where vulnerability was too much for God to handle. Because of these sentiments, God didn’t seem so real to me anymore—at least not like he did when I was a kid. I had become accustomed to operating on the fear that people might find that monster under my bed and mock it.
In preparation for recording my debut album a year ago, I wrote a song titled “My Perfect World.” In it those two worlds finally had the chance to go head to head, and I hoped the finished product might provide a few answers for my discouraged soul. Verses of seemingly endless problems, issues, and cultural insensitiveness essentially wrote themselves. After all, twenty minutes in any courtroom will provide enough processing material to overcome any writer’s block. It seemed as though there were too many problems to know where to stop. Wrapped around the complex verses, a simple chorus emerged, “Kyrie Eleison.” These words from an ancient Christian liturgy translate to a simple, yet profound cry: “Lord, have mercy.” Lord have mercy for the issues caused, problems created, hatred harbored, and sadness inflicted.
“My Perfect World” calms my soul. It certainly has not fixed all the problems, but it slowly helps me make sense of my worlds. It gives me hope for tomorrow. It gives me hope that maybe the problems do not overwhelm the one who has the answer. Perhaps the answer is simple: Return. Return to the childlike faith Jesus references in Matthew 18 that is free from judgment, insecurities, and walls guarding pride. Love without hesitation or reservation and live as children imitating their Father. Hold onto truth while allowing true, vulnerable emotions. Be slow to offer quick fixes to complex problems.
For God does not lose sight of his children. The questions that baffle reason, the sadness that cries harder than listens, the anger that blows up calmness, they do not catch God off guard. May we, as his children, extend this confidence, power, peace, and love when we encounter our own fellow jurors. And if we fail at this extension, may we always return to one prayer: Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.