Wow, Ray Boltz is gay?
Like this Ray Boltz?
Huh. World is full of surprises.
Controversy, controversy, politics and trolitics, as the old Girl Scout rhyme says. Going through my newsfeeds for the day I realized something; only in parts of the world where things are good does the news consist primarily of arbitrarily famous peoples business. In part of the world where the news is all about how many people died and what disease is popular and which war is happening–not only do I have no idea who’s famous, but I don’t know who those famous people are sleeping with, either.
Oddly enough, I appreciate that luxury.
Was looking through my tag cloud–you know, that bundle of randomly sized words over there–>
and discovered that free music and Christianity are the two things I blog about the most. God is moderately addressed. Jesus is mysteriously absent from the cloud. Hm.
So I was thinking about that, and reading some old blogs and realized that yeah, I don’t really talk much about Jesus in this blog. I suppose because this is a forum for my gripes and grumbles, mostly, and I don’t have any about Jesus. I can bang the drum and fuss and muss about Christianity and its many unintentional let downs any day. I can complain about the politicization of God and the commodification of spirituality and the dubious relationships and manifestations that art has developed in their wake all day long and for many many pages.
But Jesus. Hm. What I think and believe and feel and experience about Him–that’s private. That all goes in my real-life, ink and paper, private journal. Because it’s good. And I have learned to keep the good and beautiful things in my life to myself–they’re too precious and too tender to be smashed by unappreciation.
(To which you may say, but what about that thing you spend most of your time doing. You know, evangelism? To which I reply, yeah, but that doesn’t count right now and in my current state of mind. I’m talking about the deeper, more intimate parts of my relationship with Christ, not that getting to know him rush, which is not so much beautiful as it is awesome, and in this culture, often exciting/entertaining. I’m talking about being a roadie vs. turning up to a gig with a ticket you won…and probably being presumptious/pretentious in the process but its not intentional. Just roll with me here…)
I tend to do that a lot, I think. Bad habit. I feel a bit hokey expressing happiness and joy for some reason, and so I tend to reserve that for people and forums that I really trust, instead developing(I think) an undeserved reputation for being even-tempered, servant hearted(whatever that means) and deep yet fairly joyless.
Someone once compared me to this.
I smiled politely at the time, then went home and cried in that bizarre mixture of fear, anger and sadness that comes from feeling grossly misunderstood. (The same way I do when someone complimentarily calls me ‘aggressive’, ‘strong’ or worse, ‘hard’.)
See, nobody ever calls the oracle just to say hi. Nobody ever loves the oracle–although people do use the the things she says and the way she is to go away and love other people. The oracle, meanwhile, sits at home looking after other peoples children and baking cookies and serving up hokey old platitudes to feed other peoples needs. Nobody ever really wants the oracle. They just use her to meet their needs and walk away until the next time they need somebody to miraculously turn up and show them how to do something they already know how to do.
No black woman wants to be told she reminds anybody of the flipping oracle. It’s about two steps away from being compared to this;
And here I go bitching and moaning again.
Maybe I should just start writing about Jesus, damn the vulnerability of appearing a little less hacked off with the world and a little more happy with my personal life. Bump introspection, I am learning the hard way to keep all of that to myself unless it’s all beatific and nice. And while I’m at it, I should probably write a lot less about Christianity and whatever other things are pinching my nose.
Meanwhile, the next person to compare me(kindly or otherwise) to any wisdom spouting black woman on a screen, page, or personal need meter is getting a red pill up the nose.
What all this has to do with Beyonce and those other idiots will be shared eventually, I promise. Then again, maybe not.
Hope y’all are having a good night.