Death’s Funnel to Life
Going down to get back up.
I thought, for whatever reason, that saying “yes” to Christ would be like coming out of a cave and into a wonderful panorama view of possibilities and a straight path forward. It’s been a long while since that decision was made. If that precise moment was stretched out on a timeline mapped out over rocks and grass, I wouldn’t be able to tell you where in the vast lands it was located but I know I’m countries away. I’ve walked a long distance and it’s as though I have shed 100 skins with 100 unique lives attached to them. I understand the severity of such a decision. People die for such a choice, not just in the spiritual sense. It is written that “the truth shall set us free” but it forgets to mention that freedom is hard and unnatural. It says that we must die to live but who would really understand such things unless the journey was started? One can describe the oxygen levels on Mount Everest but it doesn’t translate until the air is breathed. What I have learned in a couple decades is that the saying “yes” doesn’t lead to a world of endless possibilities. It leads from endless possibilities into the narrowest hole like a funnel pulling one down with the weight of gravity. Saying “yes” then feels like one million “no’s.” We are no longer our own. There is a path and the freedom of that path is the fact that it’s been carved out for us. The only way down? Death.
I understand that’s not the most attractive pitch to the masses but it’s also not my pitch. And that’s the thing about the funnel, the more you go down, the less is yours. The other strange thing that happens is- the more you die, the more you understand that what you considered ‘you’ was not in fact you at all. It was a version of you; an unshed version. I suppose I should not speak for you and only speak for myself. I have found that nearly everything is opposite in the Kingdom of Heaven. Carl Jung once said, “The modern man can’t see God because he doesn’t look low enough,” and there’s a truth to that. We want to look up in the clouds, (and that’s a fine place to look) but the Kingdom is often found in the minuscule choices we make every single day. The people of old expected their Messiah to come on chariot of gold. He came to them on a donkey. They thought He’d be born of royal blood and perhaps be hoisted like a scene from the Lion King in front of palace gates. He was born in secret to Joseph and Mary in something that would hardly be suitable as an AirBnB rental. For whatever reason we may look up to those with 12 million followers on digital platforms. He’d have twelve. The world doesn’t open up, it shuts down. The path becomes narrower and narrower, not because one is forcing themselves less of it. It’s just how it works. If you’ve ever prayed for the Kingdom, then from my experience, less comes and more is taken. At least at first.
American Christianity is different from the world. Sure, there are places in America that you can take a bit of a hit for being Christian and that is becoming more and more evident. Yet there are places that such a choice is not celebrated as a cultural norm. A Buddhist is not rare in Thailand. They put on the clothes of their culture and their religion is no different. You can easily find a Shintoist in Japan. It’s been a bit of a culture shock coming from Seattle to Tulsa, for example. A Pastor is ordering his drink at the counter as I write. A man in sandals and a Christian shirt sits with his Bible open and his legs crossed. Now there is a full on conversation taking over the entire cafe centered around ministry. It involves everyone from the barista to those in line. Saying “yes” to Christ joins the greater collective, at least in this section of town. At the same time, I have never been more out of my element. Perhaps saying “yes” here joins the collective culture that, rather than being pushed out, you are welcomed in. Maybe more opportunities come. Maybe more trust rather than less is hoisted upon you. That, no doubt, is a wonderful thing that I wish upon everyone. Maybe if you grew up here then there would be less to shed so I can only speak for myself. I’ve had to shed everything.
Down the funnel like an upside down mountain I go. The world does not open up, it shuts down. I’ve shed my assumptions, my strong held beliefs, my community, my time, my passions, my preferences, my cities, and my own version of peace. The further I go, the less is required for me to carry. All of the “my” phrases ironically stay in the past as if hooked on some rock while sliding down the edges. I become both less of myself and more of myself. I slide down yet am elevated up. I wonder if this is a version of “my burden being light,” because who thinks of being burdened by anything when gravity takes the lead? Do we think that a backpack is heavy when we have jumped from 10,000 feet? I write this not to say it’s not devastatingly hard at some points in the fall upwards. I, for example, liked my old version of myself. There was a choice at any given time to stop. I could choose not to continue down. I could climb back up to where I was, but isn’t that the brutal part of this illustration? It’s harder to go back to where you’ve been once you’ve let gravity slide you down through a more and more narrow path.
At the end of the funnel, where does it lead? Are we forever doomed to say “yes” by sliding down? Or does the metaphorical slide eventually open up? At the bottom do we find who we were intended to be? I suppose I’ll tell you if I ever reach the bottom but I have a feeling, by that time, I’ll be long gone and better for it.