Dysfunction Blindness: Why I Keep Opening the Fridge Part II

On Monday I ended with a clip of one of my favorite comedians. While I don't look to Louis' nihilistic approach as a source of hope, he is an expert at digging up human nature. Warning: Late night broadcast levels of swearing.

This particular clip nailed me between the eyes. It got me asking, "Why?"

"Why do I want to check facebook?"

"Why do I want to pick up my phone right now?"

"Why am I eating yet another one of those yummy pumpkin bars my wife made?"

"Why am I checking facebook again?"

Why is a question with difficult yet simple answers.

"Because I'm afraid and lonely."

"Because I'm afraid and lonely."

"Because they are AMAZING. But also because I'm afraid and lonely."

"Because I'm still afraid and lonely."

Not that all my use of social media is driven by emptiness. But if we're going to assign arbitrary numbers, I'd dare to say about 85%.

It's tempting to ignore the reasons, nothing to see here folks. That is after all what I'm good at. But the call to redemption, to daily become more of who I was made to be, haunts me. Words from God's ancient spokesmen come to mind:

My people have committed a compound sin:     they’ve walked out on me, the fountain Of fresh flowing waters, and then dug cisterns—     cisterns that leak, cisterns that are no better than sieves.

The question lingers, "So, hows that working for you?" Not so well as it turns out. For all our hyper-connectivity and over abundance of food, those who buy into culture wholesale, myself included, don't seem all that full of life. If following Jesus seems to be lacking any transformative power, it has more to do with the fact that I  go to inadequate sources to medicate rather than go to the one I've touted as worth my devotion for life-altering healing.

While He doesn't give me more than I can handle, and while He does comfort me in my severe disfunction, He also keeps me seeing the painful tension between way things are alongside the way He will make them be. Continually asking the question, "Why?" keeps before me the insanity of self-medicating attempts and the building of broken cisterns that come so naturally.