A Life Preserver Better Thrown

For Kelsey

If life is a story and faith is a journey, like I tell the students in my church, then there are moments of tragedy and speedbumps in the road that greatly affect our lives and our faith. Most of these times come without much, if any, warning. Others can be plainly seen crouching in wait on the far horizon, practically inevitable, either because of our progressing situations or simply our stubbornness against changing course. All these times can be our teachers. I believe they can lead us into a deeper understanding of who we are, at our core. They can shed more light on the face of our soul.

Right now, a beautiful song by the great poet, Rich Mullins, has begun to play on my iTunes. "Hold Me Jesus." In this song, which I have listened to at least a hundred times, the chorus whispers, "Hold me, Jesus, because I'm shaking like a leaf. You have been King of my glory - won't you be my Prince of peace?" And in a world where so many of us see and condemn this "my...my...my" cultural Christianity, I'm struck tonight by Mullins' aching request. Glory can seem an elusive thing, but all in all, I believe it's pretty easy to come by. But peace...

Peace is tougher.

My glory. My peace. There's no selfishness in this song. Only need. There's no rejection of God's sovereignty or worth. Only the recognition that, now, in this moment, in the midst of this time of pain, there is a desperate desire for my identity to be wrapped up in the One who bestows both glory and peace, strength and hope.

Perhaps one of the most overused little verses of Scripture is the twenty-eighth verse of Romans, chapter eight. "We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose." Most of the time this verse is butchered, not in misquoting, but in blind-to-the-situation spewing. It is normally handed out by a person who has not truly attempted to identify with another's pain, and is instead throwing this verse at it like a tiny life preserver into a churning sea. Whether or not they believe the truth in this verse, they really haven't stopped to consider the connection between the truth and the pain.

Growing up, when I experienced the breakup of a relationship, I heard this truth quoted plenty... and despite good intentions, I was extremely irritated by people who tried to comfort me by telling me that everyone goes through these kind of things. In other words, my pain is nothing unique, so... I shouldn't be so upset? I should stop moping around? I should get over it because it's embarrassing otherwise? I was never quite sure why anyone would try to make common my pain - how does that help? I suppose some were merely trying to identify with me, and to be sure, it can be quite difficult to bestow comfort if we feel we can't bridge the gap to someone's pain. However, making common that person's pain normally only comes across as insulting.

Whether or not my friends and family have experienced a similar, or the same, painful situation as the one I may currently be going through, that does not make common my pain. It does not detract from the anguish, it does not remove the sour discontent in my gut, and it does not dam the tears from spilling down my cheeks. While the painful situation may be a common one, my pain is unique. It is real. And it is all I can think of right now.

There's something to be said for distraction and reasoning. Job's friends had good intentions, that's for sure. But the saying rings with truth, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." Sometimes, I think embracing the pain - wrestling with it and showering it with our tears - might be the better way to deal with our pain. For sure, 8:28 is no remedy nor is it advice on how to escape pain. It's simply a word of assurance. Good will come. "Hold on," God says, "because I'm here. I know you. I created all things, so I'm well-acquainted with human emotion and thoughts of regret and bitterness and confusion. Just hold on - good is coming."

And so, may you know peace, and may you experience it in fullness. May you know its calm, and may you find healing from the grace in which it wraps you up, and may you understand that though it will be long in coming, it will indeed arrive. Just hold on.

At Vacation's End

One hundred posts deserved a vacation - an escape from the blog. And that's exactly what I took - a blog vacation. Since the inception of this thing, hardly a day would go by when I wouldn't feel an idea seize me. I would be in my car, sitting in traffic and listening to some song ... or leaning back in my chair at my desk trying to decide what item on my to-do list to tackle next ... or simply lying in bed, unable yet to sleep, staring up into the darkness, ideas spinning in my mind like the blades of the ceiling fan.

I'm happy for the ideas - the way they blindside me. Growing up, it was made clear to me by my parents and my own experience that "nothing is free in this world." But the ideas are ... and maybe that's a picture of grace.

More than a picture. Maybe that grace.

Nevertheless, August and September, when you work for a traditional church, are oftentimes hectic months. The last eight weeks have been spent writing Sunday School curriculum for the whole church, creating, planning, and establishing three new Sunday morning Bible study classes for the Student Ministry, putting together a fall calendar, and coping with the return of 800 grade school kids to the church school, which includes a lot more activity in the new building where my office is located thanks to a brand new dining service. Seriously, these kids are eating grilled salmon, wild mushroom soup, organic fruit, and a whole load of other healthy, expensive foods that make the corndogs and nasty, slimy burritos from my high school cafeteria seem like the nutritional equivalent of child abuse.

Around Wednesday, the new amount of work can begin to weigh me down, but, strangely enough, by Sunday I'm ready for a new week, if only in anticipation of scratching more things off my to-do list. The problem has not been the busyness, but my response to the busyness. A few days ago, in one of those recurring reflective moments, I began to ponder how my life has (it seems almost involuntarily) reordered itself. I thought back to my days in New England, and even before that during college, when I would seek out quiet places and carve out hours of time to sit and read the Bible and Brennan Manning or Phillip Yancey books. I realize now much of my motivation to do so came from the false understanding that in some way I was earning my sanctification like a student earns a degree. But it occured to me that despite the motivation, these times were sacred for me, and no matter my level of understanding, I was communing with the Holy - I was participating in a beloved relationship.

And then came seminary ... and a shift in understanding ... and the struggle to authenticate my relationship, my times of communion. I would not trade anything for this time, even though I've discovered a bit of a nuerosis in how I approach - or fail to approach God - these days. But, hence, a reordering of my life. A new city, a new job, and a new marraige doesn't always help such a situation either. However, I sit here tonight on my couch in my living room, in one of these reflective moments, and I see that it doesn't hinder the situation either. It only changes it.

The correct response would be to change with it.

And so, a vacation from pouring out the reflections in my head has, if anything, freed me up to better embrace the busyness, and, ironically, it has brought me back into touch with the spirit of this thing, this blog. That is, to quiet myself. To get in touch with the wonder of life and report on it, not really for others so much as for me.

The relationship continues unabated ... and for now, so will the writing.

Summer in the City

It is a disconcerting thing to wake up, morning after morning, in a big city. Especially one like Houston. It is not that this sprawling megatropolis has not grown on me in some respects, but it is so big, spread wide as far as the eye can see from the vantage points of highway overpasses, hectic with little slow down, and sweltering hot. Instead of a peaceful backyard, I wake and unfold the blinds to view painters and lawn workers moving back and forth along the apartment community sidewalks between my porch and other units less than a stone's throw away. I grab the dog's leashes and lament every morning that I cannot let them simply run wild, which is what I'm sure they long to do, but instead must hold them back so that, in their desperate pull on the leashes, they look like sled dogs trudging through snow.

Except that there is no snow ... no countryside at all, really. Concrete mostly, and little spreads of grass.

It's not that I'm unhappy with where we live - our apartment and area of town - or with Houston in general. There are pros and cons to every city, every town. What I miss is the quiet. I miss long expanses of grass. Choruses of birds singing and not drowned out by weed-eaters, generators, and cars blasting by on the highway. I miss slowness. I miss calm.

The rigors of apartment life in a big city are nothing to complain about, really, so don't take this entry as proof of discontentment. It is a hope for adjustment as much as change. I want to live now, and not mourn the things I don't have. And yet...

This is my one hundredth post on this blog. One hundred entries. One hundred posts ago, I was living in Waco, attending seminary, searching for belonging in that place, living alone, feeling strangely part of a city and a small town all at once (Waco is strange in that way). I created this blog then to encourage myself not to shy away from expression, and to be mindful of all the little wisps of wonder that meander into our lives.

Sometimes I feel like that desire has been squelched by lost time and the big city. But it has not. It's still there, under the surface, and even my discouragement is proof of it.

Such a wish for slowness and rural country is helping me with my writing of late. The piece I'm currently at work on finds the protagonist debating his existence in a large city, and weighing the merits of retreating to a quieter, more homely place. But, of course, on the page I work now, he's still in the city, still searching, still struggling to find purpose in the midst of a thousand distractions, things that seem to lie in wait overnight and seize our attention as soon as our heads lift off the pillow and we swing our weary feet to the floor.

Leigh and her sister are visiting a friend in Wisconsin this week, and with mountains of work to do at the church in preparation for a new season of worship and activity, I'm stuck here in Houston. Driving her to the airport this morning along Beltway 8, my eyes fell sadly on rows of towering power line structures disappearing into the distance, and the way the scorching August sun glared off of them and created liquid-like waves of heat upon the asphalt. In that moment, the giant, metal towers could have been prison bars.

I realize wonder is an elusive thing, but sometimes I think I am just too lazy to seek it out. It's going to take some initiative, living here in the big city. For my sake, I hope I've got it in me.

No More Hiding Places

Several years ago, one random summer evening, I was participating in perhaps one of the greatest young evangelical past times: a hide 'n' seek game in the church. Now, unfortunately, the location was actually known as the "Family Life Center," which was separate from the old, creepy sanctuary with the rows of musty-smelling pews that so often draws hiders during an intense game. However, the large, two-story center contained plenty of challenges for the seeker, with nook-searching hiders able to choose from classrooms, choir robe cabinets, bathroom stalls, and even the elevator. I remember it being a great game...

That is, until, about an hour and a half in, my friend, Stevie, found the perfect hiding place. The place no seeker would ever look, unless they were a die hard investigator of every tiny crack and crevice in the building. It was also a place no other hider would have dared venture into, simply because of how unsafe the spot was, not to mention how soiled anyone who squeezed into the spot would most certainly get. But into this space Stevie squirmed, and sure enough, after every other hider was located, and everyone was prepared for yet another round, and they and the seeker patrolled the building again and again calling out for him, we heard Stevie shout in reply.

"I'm here!"

"Where are you?!" we all yelled, amazed yet also annoyed that we hadn't found him.

"Right up here."

"Where?!"

"Above you."

His voice was muffled, and it sounded as if he was on a different floor, but there were only two floors. For a moment we suspected he had somehow gotten on top of the elevator, but a quick inspection proved this was impossible without removing barriers that were bolted down.

We finally found him only because he tired of toying with us. He had stolen away to a small closet space, and had spied a hole in the ceiling tile. Though it was hardly larger than a dinner plate, Stevie had wriggled through and balanced himself precariously on the rafters above the second-floor ceiling. As long as he stayed quiet and still, no one ever would have found him. Had he not finally decided to show himself, not even the greatest seeker among us would have discovered him.

It occurs to me that despite the impressive measure Stevie went to to conceal himself (he eventually emerged from the hole covered in ceiling dust and grime), he ruined the game. No hiding place was good enough anymore, and no one would be able to top him. Not only so, but now every subsequent seeker would be suspicious enough to grab his or her flashlight and inspect the hole to make sure no one had stolen his idea. But this was not the biggest problem.

The goal of a traditional game of hide 'n' seek is to be found ... eventually. For the hider, it is to be the last found - to prove yourself the best at staying out of sight. For the seeker, it is to find everyone, no matter how well they conceal themselves. Stevie introduced a fatal flaw into the game, and while impressive, he made it impossible for either goal to be achieved. He would never be found, nor would any seeker eventually search him out - at least not without help from the fire department.

I think of this experience when I consider the weight of authenticity and honesty when it comes to life with God, specifically in worship. We know we are living the opposite of honest when we are hiding things from our friends, our family, the people in our churches, even our own memory. Whether this involves things we have done, doubts we are afraid to make known, or questions that challenge our very core beliefs and understandings, I think any one of us can, without much pause, think of several things we are currently hiding.

Why are we hiding? Because we don't want to be found out by anyone, someone, everyone. We're afraid of the judgment, or the confrontation, or the fallout.

If Jesus came to seek and to save, then hiding seems to be of no use. I really don't think we're going to find that perfect hiding place that we can squeeze our dark parts into so that they may never be found. In reality, no matter how much I've hidden from other people, I have succeeded in hiding absolutely nothing from God, and if it is him who I am seeking to worship and follow and live for, than I'm just making it harder on myself by trying to conceal even the smallest of things from him.

Authenticity in worship is coming to God with open hands, so that he may see all the weapons of selfishness you've been clutching. Authenticity in worship is coming to God with open minds, so that he may search you and know all the doubts and fears and hopes and prejudices and biases and judgments and longings that have been swirling around in there. He's already aware of it all anyway. Authenticity in worship is coming to God without pretension, with speech that, while respectful and honoring, is not masked by flowery words toward him if flowery words are not what's currently overflowing from your heart.

Worship is not found in music, hymns, prayers, or even a wonderful, contemplative silence. These are merely expressions of a present state of worship. Worship is being real with God, whether individually or corporately. It is found in connecting with God in a way that is free of pretension and the worry that something - some part of you - doesn't belong.

No matter what most of the plastic, me-first Christians in our world today may believe, the actual safest place for the darkest parts of our lives is lying exposed before the feet of our God. It is only there that we may truly touch home and cry out, "Free!"

A Voice of One Crying from a Dead Church

For a long time now, I have been reading a lot of blogs that contrast good churches vs. bad churches, and/or address the symptoms and evidence of what constitutes a dead or dying church. There is so much written in cyberspace about this subject it would not surprise me if I found out the subject dwelt within its own sort of cyber-subculture ... and I would place money that such a network would be pessimistic in tone and outlook.

To be a part of a church or mega-church that is more concerned with image or status quo safety, or to look around and see the many churches and "Christian organizations" that seem to have this following-Jesus thing all wrong, is indeed a frustrating thing. We want to see change. Some of us want to incite that change. Many others want to discuss that change. Unfortunately, few of us actually desire to work toward that change, and to dig into the work so completely that we shut up about the problem long enough to involve ourselves in the fix.

I realize by writing this entry, I immediately align myself with one of the former groups. However, I've decided that if I'm going to write about this subject, I might as well be as honest as I can...

The thing that frustrates me even more than dead or dying churches are the many people who label such churches this way. Call them cynical, or pessimistic, or just judgmentally sardonic, but rarely are these people apt to give a particular struggling church or mega-church a chance if an alternative congregation/community is, in their opinion, getting it right where the others are getting it so wrong. Whether the alternative community is emergent, relevant, innovative, or all of the above, to a person who has learned how to judge the Church, it is simply one thing: greener pastures. In essence, it is the congregational equivalent of a white flight. A neighborhood changes in outlook or becomes too crowded, invaded by people different from me, and I look to the suburbs outside of town where it is safer and I like the look of the landscape a lot better, where people think like me and don't mind my condemnation of the old neighborhood because, instead of staying there to enact change, they escaped to the greener pastures as well. The more I apply this metaphor, the more I see the new, hip, alternative congregations as the greener pastures, and the old model churches (or, even sometimes, the mega-churches) as the old neighborhood many of us are leaving behind for the cause of returning Jesus, and true Christianity, to the Church.

How do we justify planting new congregations if we abandon old ones to do so? If there is a place with a "need," fine. But if the need is just to plant a church that isn't as frustrating or backward, I'm not as quick to appreciate the plant. Did anyone try to affect change in the old community first? Or were they just too close-minded, too set in their ways?

I realize some of what I'm writing here is biting into my own thoughts and behavior, but I read so much subtle (and sometimes non-subtle) condemnation of the mega-church Christian subculture, and rarely, if ever, read of the dangers of escaping these churches that might have some things - if not many things - wrong with it.

My church is one that many of the blogs I read would label as dead or dying. Our attendance is down, as many people are leaving as are visiting, we are consolidating bible studies and Sunday classes because we don't have enough of any one age or station in life to meet on their own. There are people in our church that see missions as nothing more than giving money, and we are involved in very few direct outreach programs to the community. All in all, for many people in my church, life on Sunday morning is lived much different than life during the week. Such criteria is the fodder for these blogs, and it screams, "Abandon this church and find yourself a relevant community that is making an impact!" And a part of me would love to, but then, whether like a loyal captain or Lot's wife, I look back and think, "What will become of them if I, too, leave them behind?" Do I just cut and run and leave them to die? Do I do nothing ... when I certainly could do something ... anything ... EVERYTHING I can to try and save the church?

Maybe this entry is simply the squeaking voice of a person too scared to abandon a sinking Titanic unaware of the certain death that awaits ... or maybe it is of a person who is not ready to give up on a community of people who might have a lot of it wrong, but is still a community with blood running through its veins, with a life that can still be seized and lived toward impact. I do not agree that a dying church is not worth saving. I do not even believe that a dead church (containing whatever criteria makes them that in your opinion) is not worth saving. My church may not be relevant right now, but we're working on it. Who knows whether we'll get there, but there's more to serving God than simply correcting our motivations.

The Man Who Knocked On My Open Door

Yesterday, a man came into the building of the church where I work and knocked on my open door. He spoke in rapid phrases that never quite formed into complete sentences. He immediately took to calling me "Bowen," I suppose because he spied my last name on the nameplate next to the door. He sat down without being asked (not that I wouldn't have offered) and proceeded to tell me about his prison time, how he did not deserve the manslaughter rap or sentence, and many more things that all came out garbled and rushed despite his friendly, talkative demeanor. For the life of me, I cannot remember what he said his name was.

I think it is depressing that I knew almost immediately why he was there - money. He told me several times that he had talked to the pastor, whom he called "the rev." However, a few times before he could get in to see anybody, security had escorted him off the premises (please remember, this is also a school). I think it is even more depressing that often while he spoke, I was thinking about how I was going to get out of giving him money. Now, this was not necessarily because I did not want to give him money. In reality, I had no money on me (unless you count the forty or so euro I have leftover from the honeymoon in a envelope in my desk). Also, since the main church offices have been relocated during a remodeling project, I had no idea where the safe is even if that was the procedure when people come asking for money.

He circled the point several times, that he was asking me to place my trust in him and give him something so he could go get some food. He smelled distinctly of alcohol - at first I thought I was imagining it, but there was no mistaking the odor as he talked on and on. Finally, after bouncing back and forth between his incarceration, receiving some sort of help from Jeff Bagwell and Ken Caminiti (before he died), and the stingy ways of people in River Oaks, he finally laid it all out and asked for money. I shrugged regretfully (only halfway an act) and told him I had no money to give and that, when the pastor returned from the trip he is currently on, he might come back and speak with him. However, I mentioned that I did have some snack food, being a youth minister and all, and I led him out of my office and to the youth room refrigerator, where I gave him a root beer, and then to a closet where I found - it's lame, I know - an unopened jar of peanut butter. I apologized to him that I had no bread or crackers, but, though he seemed annoyed, he thanked me nonetheless, and I followed him to the door. After noticing some of the Hispanic remodeling workers, he made some crack about immigration and how he needs a job too, then left.

I returned to my office and to the e-mail I had been composing, and I felt like a failure. For several reasons, I guess. I know, obviously, what I could have done and what I couldn't have, but I work in a place that, simultaneously, people try to take advantage of (inside and out), and people look to for help when no one else wants to provide.

What do you do when you can't tell the difference for sure? How far do you reach out? How close can someone come to actually doing the things Jesus did?

A Standard Easy to Break

Last Wednesday evening, during the discussion time with the youth at my church, I wrote the simple sentences on the dry-erase board. "I am individual. I am community. I am a Christian."
Then I spoke about the difference between community and conformity, and explained that much of the "community" expressed in Christian circles and churches is not true community at all, but conformity.

I have read a lot of blogs lately that have been calling out the American Church on everything from its exclusivity to its politics to its legalism. There are people, Christian and non-Christian, who are fed up with the cliques, the seemingly close-minded acceptance of policy, and the hypocritical standards, to name a few things. Regarding all these issues, I wonder if our view of sin and mercy is deeply skewed, so that the above things are natural outputs from our churches today.

In my youth group (and more broadly, in my church as a whole) growing up, there were several things that could open a chasm between you and other people. The first, and most obvious, was sin, especially committing a sin that was popularly spoken against and avoided. To associate with someone who tripped and fell below the standard became much more difficult - it was almost impossible to view them in the same holy light as you had before. Another way to drive a wedge between yourself and others was to question things - anything from the existence and/or actions of God, to the historicity of Jesus and the science behind his resurrection, to the certain code of morality supposedly upheld in Scripture. To question such things meant you were doubting something, and doubting something meant lack of faith, and wavering faith, in any arena, was yet another way to plummet beneath the standard. Therefore, association with those struggling to accept carte blanche was just as difficult. A third way to divide yourself was to simply be a part of a family that held an overall different political, social, or denominational outlook. The size of this division varied depending on how radically different you family was from the standard, but woe to you if you were on the extreme - you might as well have been living in a leper colony.

The fourth fool-proof way to drive a wedge was to suggest the offering be taken up at a different time or that the pulpit might not be necessary.

I explained to my youth that part of being a Christian - of following Jesus - means that you have come to a place where your individuality should perfectly meet with a community. Hence, becoming part of a church should never challenge who you are as an individual, but you should be able to bring all of who you are - talents, ignorance, resources, questions, skills, fears - to the group without worry that you will be forced to change the way you are and how you think about one thing or another. After all, Jesus never seemed to demand a change of individuality in a person, but simply how they act and associate with others. A friend of mine said it best once: "God glories in diversity." And, I believe, the church is at its healthiest and most loving when it has learned to accept everyone as different - people who are at different places in their journey, struggling with different issues and situations, seeking the best way to personally connect with the God in whom they have placed their trust.

Conformity, on the other hand, is losing your individuality for the sake of the group. Shaving off the parts of you that don't gel with the group so that there are no hiccups, no speed bumps as you cruise to where you're going (even if you're actually going nowhere in particular). Unfortunately, there was a lot of conformity in some of the churches I grew up attending, and it is a deep-rooted problem that pervades many churches today. That is why it is so easy for me to think up the things that would be certain to drive a wedge between a person and the rest of the group.

That is not to say that, growing up, there were not people who lived above such things, who cherished community and did everything they could to preserve it. And I'm sure there are people that are the same way in your church communities as well. But, I wonder, how often do you find yourself working and living toward conformity rather than true community, whether because it is easier, less stressful, or is less likely to cause problems of a foreign nature.

Don't read me wrong - I am not arguing against behavioral, moral change. Salvation does spark change within every part of us, but my understanding of individuality goes much deeper than this. We are the persons God made us, with personalities all our own. The last thing we want to do is bring all of who we are to a group only to have them squint at us as if they are gazing at us from an insurmountable distance, confused or shocked and peering back at us from the other side of their road to eternity.

In third grade we made fun of a kid because he spoke different, had a bit of a mean streak, smelled funny, and didn't socialize in the normal way. He grew up right alongside me and some of my friends, and to this day I struggle to see him for who he is rather than who I once determined him to be.

Faith in the Mystery: Part Three of a Response

Only a week since I ranted on trilogies, and I now post the third installment of my own monster blog epic. *Sigh* We are our own dissenter...

What makes a person a Christian, and by this I mean a true Christian? In my previous entry, I attempted to describe the stunted, culture-driven Christianity in which so many Christians become entangled and the majority of Christianity's critics point at as obvious reason that the Christian faith causes more problems than it solves. So, now, removing all the excess baggage - all the bias judgment and fundamental misguidance and loss of original purpose - from Christianity as we so often encounter it today, what, truly, makes a person a Christian?

Perhaps the following will serve as the remainder of my response to both the anonymous poster (mentioned in part one) and Kuvachim (the Xanga blogger I addressed in part two).

There are two "first-of-all" points that must be taken into account. Number one, anyone whose Christian faith crumbles into nothing if you were to remove their cultural identity from it has not discovered what it means to be a true Christian. Secondly, because of the personal nature of faith, one cannot claim said person is not still a Christian, because the Christian faith is something much greater - and much simpler - than cultural identity, and, for example, while it is not at odds with me being an American, it is not defined anymore by this reality than by the fact that I am right-handed or have freckled skin.

With that in place, it is obvious that determining whether a person is a Christian shapes up to be a difficult task (as far as certainty is concerned) for anyone other than God Himself. There is, however, a couple of things that allow for discernment.

According to Scripture, Christians did not come up with their name. It was rather a label; early followers of Christ as the Messiah were name-called "Christians." Why? Because the term basically meant something to the effect of "little Christs." It was a slightly derogatory, toss-off term that, strangely enough, summed up what Christ-followers appeared to be in the eyes of non-followers as well as what they considered themselves to be in their own eyes. Little Christs. A version of Christ drawn with slightly less drama. A "Christian" was easy to define..

Belief: A person whose priorities have shifted (mentally, spiritually, religiously, theologically, etc.) so that they now consider the followship of God to be most deeply marked by devotion unto Jesus of Nazareth, a crucified enemy of the Jewish Temple as well as Rome, who they claim resurrected from the dead and ascended to heaven, and has bestowed - upon those who follow him as the true Messiah - his Spirit, that which serves as a deposit of his continual presence, as a promise of his guidance, and as that which empowers and leads his followers in their faith.
Lifestyle: A person who, affected by their shifted priorities, now understand the call to humble themselves in the same way the Messiah humbled himself (to the point of death and beyond), and to worship the God of the Jews (Yahweh) as one in the same with Jesus (His Son), and to consider nothing in the present life, including political or religious allegiance, as important as this truth in which they have place their faith.

Beyond this, the term "Christian" did not really apply , thus making it a successful label, as any good name-caller knows not to make a slur too complicated (and, to be honest, the above definition contains a creed-like clarity and attention to detail that rings of someone who views the early Christian across a centuries-old distance). Ultimately, the followers of Christ adopted the label as their own. Indeed, it is a strange faith that finds its followers adopting a slur as its name and a ghastly Roman device of execution as one of its main symbols.

In seeking to answer the question, "What makes a person a true Christian?," one cannot go about adding anything more than what is collected above. A true Christian, in essence, means somebody that is marked by Christ both in belief and lifestyle. Not someone who is marked by Christ and cultural definitions of "Christian" morality (distributed by evangelists, books, politicians, or even the Church). Whether or not such definitions would hold up with how Jesus lived and what he taught, they still have nothing to do with being a Christian.

Then why do so many Christians insist on specific moral obedience? Because, at its core, this is part of the lifestyle of a Christian - refraining from sin and humbly seeking purity is at the core of being marked by Christ. But being marked by Christ is not driven by morality or even purity. It is driven by Christ and Christ alone.

Kuvachim wrote of leaving behind Christianity because it has become watered-down and because Jesus' divinity is questionable. I smile at his decision, not because I agree with it, but because he has at least sought to determine the right way to God, instead of swallowing what cultural Christianity feeds him. Me? Well, I seek to leave cultural Christianity behind every day, but I also strive daily to retain my faith in Christ, which is inseparable from my faith in God. And it is indeed faith, because I have been marked by Christ, and therefore my beliefs are constructed by my faith in the resurrected Jesus, even though there is no perfect proof for such an event. After all, that is why they call it faith.

The tag-line of my blog is, "Holding on to God for dear life," which comes from a song by Bill Mallonee called "Songwriter (Numb)." I think it is a beautiful picture of active faith - of belief and lifestyle marked by Christ. The final verse...

"In spite of all my ties I was drifting
Now the kids, they are full grown
And just because you've got an address doesn't mean you've got a home
And they say that it's a cruel world
Some cite it as a sad fact
They say God, He must not give a damn, and God says, 'Well I don't know about that'
'Cause I keep hearing whispers
Telling me everything is gonna be all right
You put some goodness back in and you take your stand and you hold on to Him for dear life..."

This all sprang from faith vs. proof. I don't believe God is provable. I do believe in God, and I have faith in Him. Faith is our way of holding on to Him, and I believe that Christ is the handle by which we cling.

Faith in the Mystery: Part Two of a Response

During the first week of March, around the time that pop-and-fizzle bottle rocket of a documentary, The Lost Tomb of Jesus, was making waves in the media and creating an annoying (although short-lived) buzz in the ears of archaeologists, biblical scholars, Catholics, and evangelicals alike, I sat down and wrote a blog article entitled, "Leaving the Runway." Click here to read it. In it, I struggled to separate what it looks like to live the Christian life by proof, and what it looks like to live the Christian life by faith. I received some varied comments, and in a subsequent post, I responded to one side of the argument, addressing the concerns of an anonymous commenter who challenged that there cannot be a separation between faith and proof. Click here to read that response.

But there was another side to the argument, one put forth by a Xanga blogger named Kuvachim. His point of view was - and I will do my best to summarize in a sentence or two (forgive me, Kuvachim) - that "Christianity" has become much too worldly and saturated by cultural and societal desires and impulses. Furthermore, Jesus, being a physical man, will not ultimately provide a strong enough leap for faith, because it takes very little faith these days to believe Jesus walked this earth. "However," as Kuvachim writes, "it takes total faith to acknowledge that there is a God, therefore I left Christianity, because God is where the faith is at."

There are several things to consider regarding this young man's view (click here to read his comments in their entirety). Let's start with the intimation that Christianity has become "watered-down." This is what Kuvachim writes, referring to the documentary: "I can see how this can be upsetting to the older Christian community, but to be honest, I doubt the younger generation will do much about this. Most likely, they will let it be, as Christianity gets further watered down by rationalism, proof and science. Is this good or bad, I do not know. In my personal opinion, Christianity is watered down to the point where it is unsalvagable without reversing time, or entering into some 'dark age' once more."

Kuvachim - and I hope he will forgive any assumptions that betray his true thoughts - is writing out of a specific understanding of Christianity - the mainstream, popular one. The Christianity he is referring to is the Christianity that most Christians - at least in the Western Church - live in on a weekly basis, and what most non-Christians consider to be what that particular faith system is all about, what it upholds and purports. This Christianity is a faith system that, despite recognizing and existing by its lawful separation from government, still adopts governmentally-charged societal issues (race, abortion, homosexuality, definition of a family, etc.) as plumb lines for its followers. It is a faith system that concerns itself with specific definitions of morality, and fuses to this question the anxious thought of whether this or that definition is consistent with the will of God (and, sometimes, vice versa). And, by these things, it is a faith system that is ultimately concerned with self, both individual and, where two or more are gathered, the worth of the group. As a result, that which goes against the accepted practices and beliefs (which are chained, of course, to that hammered-down stake of moralism) of this brand of Christianity immediately finds itself the enemy of the system, the outsider denied access to the "joy" within.

The Christianity Kuvachim writes about is worldly Christianity, and, ironically, it is most zealously defended by people desperate to escape the world. It is not faith in God, but faith in obedience to morality so that God will not hate us. And, alluding to Kuvachim's other point, the person of Jesus (not to mention the divinity of Jesus) gets all wrapped up in this system. The scariest thing about worldly Christianity is how viral it is, and how effectively it has engulfed true Christianity, true faith. Even now, in attempting to write an unbiased and balanced response, I am battling opinions and biases within myself indoctrinated in me by the worldly Christianity influence in my religious upbringing. Indeed, such a system settles around us daily, and can be quite hard to shake away from our thoughts and actions. The Apostle Paul called it our "nature," and I do believe the equation to worldly Christianity is simply "human nature + Christian belief." It's the inverse of what C.S. Lewis calls "Christianity-and-water."

So, if true Christianity were "worldly Christianity," Kuvachim's view would certainly be a valid one, and few would argue his reasoning for leaving such a faith and disregarding Jesus. After all, the tricky thing about that faith system is that it holds out Jesus Christ as the perfect example - the very heartbeat - of its principles and direction, just like true Christianity.

Unfortunately, what I have described above (however poorly or confusingly) is not true Christianity. I am quite unworthy and unlearned to try to unpack what is "true Christianity," but, then again, I don't think there's much unpacking needed here. Simply put, true Christianity involves a growing understanding that, as humans, we are to empty ourselves. Of what? Of everything that comes between us and God: our love of material things, our worship of other people, even our hard-and-fast doctrines and rules on how to follow Him.

That last part is the rub. Most Christians rarely achieve that. I know I haven't.

Kuvachim writes that he has left Christianity, but still seems to maintain faith in God. If it is worldly Christianity he has left, wonderful. I'd love some tips. The problem is, from his comments, I have gathered that he has left more than the worldly corruption of Christianity, but also part of what makes marks a life as truly Christian. He mentions leaving behind the person of Jesus, because, by becoming a man, there has come a whole mess of problems associated with following Jesus. As the documentary reveals, there is a lot of science (whether or not it is "good" science) and history that can challenge our accepted evidence that Jesus was resurrected, the core, foundational belief of a Christian.

And this is where faith vs. proof comes back into play...

...To be continued ... for the sake of length...

The Hitching Post

The first few days of life after getting married (not counting the honeymoon, because life certainly isn't running in the normality gear during those whirlwind days) are strange ones. The equilibrium, while intact and maintainable, is certainly confused. In other words, you feel as if you should feel strange, but, strangely, you don't feel strange.

Right now, I'm sitting in my office at the church, and the iTunes playlist from my wedding reception is playing (and Yellowcard's "Only One" has just come on, and while the sentiment seems to fit, I'm wondering why Leigh thought it was a tune appropriate to our laid-back, soft time of dancing), and I'm looking at this blog screen for the first time in almost a month, and I don't feel all that different, but I know that I am different. For one thing, I'm still aware of this ring around my finger. I've never really been a ring-wearing kind of guys, unless you count that ugly, gold pinkie ring sporting my initials that I bought when I was a desperate-to-seem-cool teenager at Six Flags Fiesta Texas (which I thankfully lost soon after), or that silver James Avery promise ring I wore up until college when I gave it to a girlfriend (who, whether I should have taken it as a convenient omen or not, subsequently lost it).

But this ring around my finger is a peculiar thing. It's plain white gold, already becoming scratched, and certainly isn't an attention-drawing accessory, but I do remember that it stands for something sacred, something sacramental (yes, yes, I would be a Catholic if I were only a bit braver and more tolerant). I'm wondering how hard it is going to get to remember what this ring stands for ... or to even maintain the ability to notice this little silver thing at all. I suspect that is one of the things that happens in so many marriages - he or she loses sight of the sacramental - or, for a more ecumenical word, holy - factor of it all. The memory of the vows, the ceremony, the promise, the worship of that day kind of fades away.

Leigh was telling me the other day, while on our way to the airport for our honeymoon, that it is important to recollect out loud to each other all our memories from our wedding: the rehearsal, rehearsal dinner, ceremony, and reception - all of it. She explained to me that two of our friends, who I like to call Jenny Squared (I have to write out "squared" because Blogger doesn't offer superscript), had told her that if you don't continually share your memories of the wedding with each other, soon it will fade from memory, and the loss will hurt. They assured her that it goes by so fast for the bride and the groom that calling moments back to mind, again and again, is imperative. I'm less than two weeks removed from that day, and I could not agree more. It did go by awfully fast.

There's a small, deep anxiety within me that I will not be able to maintain my recognition of both the vows and the beauty of my union with Leigh as time goes on. I look around me at different couples that are struggling, that have called it quits... I watch movie after movie and show after show about fizzled marriages... I read about them, I hear about them, I sometimes can even watch them crumble right in front of me... and I wonder how in the world I will ever be able to succeed where so many others have failed.

But then I remember two things. Number one, it is not about "I," but "we." I cannot succeed, but we just might have a chance. After all, isn't that what bearing with one another and submitting to one another is all about? Number two, we serve a good, loving God, who, as I was reading just yesterday, invites us not only into a relationship with Him, but one marked by providence and provision. Not the popular name-it-and-claim-it, God-wants-me-to-be-successful-and-realize-my-potential crap religion, but a faith that calls me into humility, to realize it is not by any special deed or flowery incantation that God will notice and condescend to me, but simply because I come before Him, admitting that I don't really get it, and can't really do it, but - and, of course, this is the key that even fewer of us turn - I will blindly trust in both His power and desire to do it in my stead.

Yesterday morning, the Liturgy of the Hours (there's me being Catholic-ish again) brought me to Psalm 37. "Commit your way to the Lord, trust also in Him, and He will do it. He will bring forth your righteousness as the light and your judgment as the noonday. Rest in the Lord and wait patiently for Him..." (v. 5-7a). A selfish person would fixate on being made righteous in the eyes of everyone else, especially his or her selected enemies. On the contrary, I suppose a humble person would simply take comfort in being made righteous before God. And, in the end, that is what I want for Leigh and I, and what I believe this centuries-old, prayerful song is promising.

So, let it be. Let it be.

___________________

Here are some of my favorite pictures from the wedding. You can view a lot more by going to www.chasingfeathers.smugmug.com. I've got to quickly plug Rachel, our photographer. She did an amazing job, and if you're in the central Texas area, you should definitely hire her for whatever, weddings, parties, grocery store trips, lynch mobs, whatever... Oh, and Sabrina, my buddy, you did a great job, too.



It was a good day...

Leaving the Runway

Last night, I spoke with some of the youth at the church about "The Lost Tomb of Jesus," the docu-drama that has created an incessantly annoying buzz in the worlds between the media and academia, especially archaeological, scriptural, and theological studies. To read more about this ridiculous documentary, go here, or here, or, for more scholarly information and links, go here.

What was interesting to me is what has been going on inside me, in my mind and my spirit, while I debate and refute this documentary and the claims it makes. I explained last night to the youth that when stuff like this pops up in the news and culture, Christians will normally react in three different ways. 1) They will spiral into a pissed-off realm of reactivity and begin lambasting Hollywood, Jews, skeptics, science, and whatever and whomever else they feel has done the cultural and media equivalent of stalking down the aisles of our churches and slapping our pastor in the face. 2) They will become increasingly paranoid, whether because they worry that something discovered might shatter their faith, or that their weak faith won't be able to stand up to the pressure that some discovery, valid or not, will do when it invokes its own defendants hungry for a debate of the facts. 3) They will embrace the dialogue, excited for the chance that some people will take themselves and their religious interest serious enough for a while in which a calm, collected Christian might be able to persuade them to tweak their worldview to include faith in a mystery.

Inside, while I'm explaining all this, I feel uneasy, because I suspect I am undulating somewhat between the latter two. I feel as if I am bouncing back and forth sometimes. It is hard not to be paranoid. Belief built on faith and not proof has a tendency, at times, to cause trepidation in a person if someone claims to have proof to the contrary. As much as I believe this whole "discovery" is, in reality, completely incorrect in what its proponents are claiming it is, I still cannot shake some of the residual paranoia that finds its way into my bones, and, uniting with my love of dialogue and debate, threatens to make me like the first kind of Christians mentioned above.

Why is it so difficult to leave behind this desire for proof? Why does faith in the mystery sometimes feel like a burden rather than a blessing? The ambiguity of the gospels, the selectivity of the New Testament writers, the odd faith of it all, can be hard to maintain at times, and even harder to live convincingly before those who feel that they need more, who feel that they need proof.

As I spoke with some of the confused youth last night (that seems to be a pattern most Wednesdays, that I leave some of them more confused than when they came in), I tried to illustrate the purpose of faith beyond proof to them, as it is central to the Christian life. "It's like a plane taxiing down a runway," I explained. "The runway is proof. It's grounded. It's solid. It's sure. You're almost certainly safe on the runway. But, if you're going to get from here to your true destination- if your faith in God is going to fly - then, eventually, you have to take off. You have to leave the solidity of the ground for the freedom, and hopeful uncertainty, of the wide open sky. Otherwise, you'll just taxi around in circles and never get anywhere."

If we are to fly, the proof must fade into hope. In both is faith, but the goal of faith is found somewhere on the other side of the horizon.

You Will Search For Me, But You Will Not Find Me

It was hard enough for me to believe there could possibly have been such a ridiculous pairing of star-crossed lovers on the ill-fated voyage of the Titanic, but now James Cameron is just reaching. Click here for an article about the filmmaker's upcoming documentary about finding the bones of Jesus in some back-alley neighborhood on the south side of Jerusalem. Intriguing? Sure, until you start to listen to all the archaeologists and (of course) clergymen who are disputing the find, which, by the way, isn't even new.

It is interesting, however, the similarities between many Christians and many skeptics today. Both kinds of people jump at the slightest morsel of information or revelation that validates their belief (or disbelief). For Christians of weak faith who embrace any little affirmation of mystery or scientific validation of a biblical claim, it seems they find comfort in the opinions of others, even though faith is not about that at all. When such things are completely stripped away, I wonder if such a weak faith would still remain. If something does remain, then that is true faith. Grow in that.

The same is true, however, for skeptics, which, I know, would make many of them shudder at the thought of having such a deep-rooted personality trait in common with the very people they do not - perhaps cannot - be like. Any long-shot discovery that, however pathetically, might poke holes in the traditionally-held belief of the religious, they pounce upon and expound on it as if it were world-shaking, faith-shattering FACT. There have been several in recent years. To name a few, the sacred feminine claims of The Da Vinci Code, or more specifically the one in a million chance that Jesus played Romeo to Mary Magdalene's Juliet; the Gospel of Judas and its purported real true story behind Jesus' death and purpose, nevermind the writing was more fragmented than readable, and it joins hundreds of other Gnostic gospels and first century writings; and now this documentary rumbling its almost laughably academic way toward its March 4th airing on The Discovery Channel.

We are the same. You, a skeptic, and me, a man of little faith, who still feels that surge of pious excitement when some obscure archaeologist reports finding a petrified piece of cypress log on Mt. Ararat, or a day missing from some ancient calendar record dated around the time of Joshua.

When will we both heed the words that were spoken first to the disciples and the temple police in their confusion and doubt, and then to us in our zealous yet futile search for proof? - "You will search for me, but you will not find me."

Observations from the Couch

It appears that I am down for the count this weekend. My throat is raw, scratchy, sore, and, to use the appropriate medical term, "just plain icky." My olfactory is filled with all manner of things it should not normally house. I'm drinking orange juice and putting my faith in the not-so-miraculous powers of Sudafed, Benadryl, and Ricola. I need to sleep, but I find it hard to sleep in the middle of the day no matter how exhausted I am, unless it is Sunday (for some reason, I can sack out on Sunday after church like a grizzly bear beginning its hibernation).

So, in the meantime, I am posting the response from the Focus on the Family offices to my - how shall I describe it? - letter of complaint. I wasn't sure if they would respond, and the fact that they did rather promptly brings me to a bit more respect for them than I had of late. However, I'm not so sure that the basic point of my letter was received, because the woman's defense seems like a standard one - almost a faxed in response. After reading so many of these magazines, something I have realized is that my concept of what can motivate "godly behavior" does not have to be something devoid of darkness, pain, or angst, whereas their opinion is that something in pop culture cannot serve as a godliness motivator if it doesn't almost explicitly proclaim black and white biblical truth. I've written on this dilemma before - to read more, go here.

Still, it is encouraging to know we are both seeking to help students, even if we completely disagree on how it should be done.
___________

Letter of response:

Thank you, Bo, for contacting Plugged In.

We appreciate your taking the time to share your concerns regarding the reviews in our publication. In response, it’s important to understand that Plugged In is not written for teens, pre-teens, or young adults, but rather for *parents* who need help sorting out their kids’ entertainment choices. You might be surprised at the number of Christian parents who haven’t a clue as to what their children are encountering “out there” on a daily basis. Plugged In seeks to lay it all out for them as dispassionately as possible. This is why our writers go to great lengths to identify every aspect of a film, television show, or CD, even down to the smallest detail, that might possibly constitute a problem for concerned moms and dads. Once parents have the facts, they can make wise, discerning decisions of their own with regard to their families’ entertainment options.

In addition, it would be impossible to discern whether movies, TV shows, or music are positive or negative – helpful or harmful – without making value-based decisions, or judgments. In fact, a large part of “learning to discern” is evaluating whether the actions portrayed or the words presented motivate us toward godly behavior, or toward actions that are sinful. As our statement of faith and guiding principles explain, Focus on the Family’s values regarding family life, sexual morality, music, movies, and other issues are grounded in the teachings of the Bible rather than the changing opinions of contemporary society. Please be assured that we do not wish to condemn or alienate those who disagree with biblical principles. However, in our efforts to reach out and minister, we cannot compromise our beliefs or change the direction of our ministry simply to accommodate differing views.

Again, thank you for expressing your opinions so honestly. God’s grace and peace to you in the days ahead.

Amy Campbell
PluggedInOnline.com

Pa Rum Pum Pum Pum

Come, they told me, pa rum pum pum pum
A newborn king to see, pa rum pum pum pum
You work so busily, pa rum pum pum pum
To-Do Lists aren't for kings, pa rum pum pum pum
rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum

How to honor him, pa rum pum pum pum,
When I come?

Little baby, pa rum pum pum pum
I've work so hard for you, pa rum pum pum pum
I've forgot my gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum
Church work makes me so busy, pa rum pum pum pum
rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum

Shall I throw out my lists, pa rum pum pum pum
'Till there're none...

Advent begins this week, Sunday marking the first new Sunday of the Christian year, and I am captured in dozens of little lists. I've got youth activities planned, volunteer meetings scheduled, mail-outs to make, and a dramatic Hanging of the Green service which looms over this week (I've still got to learn my lines! ... I've got to check if that girl can play Angel 1! ... Will everyone be able to make it to our one rehearsal?! ... Will everyone know their lines?!).

During this season of the year, stress can consume us before we even have a chance to remind ourselves (or be reminded) of the focus of season. Christ is coming! Christ is born! We begin the year again anew, and the mystery of the Incarnation is what must captivate us, not the hectic schedules and flurry of programs and events. But how do I practice such reflection while I sit here at my desk, surrounded by an army of to-do lists and little reminder Post-Its, besieged by calendars and staff meeting notes?

I suppose blogging is a bit of a release, and in these brief moments of typing I am able to reflect on this power struggle of the mind and heart. On one side, the requirements of a community plunging into the busiest time of year for services and events. On the other side, a tiny, shivering baby lain in a feeding trough in the darkness of a cramped barn.

Which will prevail? I sit at my desk, wondering and waiting with baited breath.

Flight

I stand upon the precipice, leaning at the edge. There is a strong updraft gusting; it tries to keep me from leaning too far. But for the familiar fear residing in my mind, my whole being desires to separate from the ground under my feet and soar into the wild, boundless sky. It is an unknown, frightening blue sea, but no more dangerous than the dusty dirt beneath my feet in which I have placed far too many footprints.

I know I cannot simply jump. My mind won't allow it, nor will the updraft. I am held fast in place, flirting with the edge, unable to free myself. Unable to fly. I have done all that I feel I can - I have stepped to the edge and peered out into the sky. My heart is filled with a desire for so many possibilities that do not exist upon land, but are rumored to lie somewhere within the wild blue stretching out endlessly before me. To get there, however, will take more power than I possess on my own. Strength to overcome my own hesitation and the guarding, gusting wind here at the edge.

I do not need merely a holy nudge, but a holy shove. A confident push that will separate me. Perhaps I will only plummet to the rocks far, far below, but even in such a crash there is more wonder and excitement than when I fall here on land. Falling here is but a pathetic scrape of the knee. Falling out there is a glorious destruction. Everything out there is better, is truer, is wild and unpredictable.

Deep down, beyond my present fear, I believe a real life is one lived in flight. I need this wildness. I need the unknown.

But first, I need a holy shove.

Politicians

Whatever happened to, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all?" Whatever happened to being the "bigger man" and responding nobly to idiotic statements and verbal attacks by simply saying nothing at all? It's that whole turn-the-other-cheek thing - I don't think it ever really caught on.

It is interesting how John Kerry is trying to sound nobler by insisting he was attempting to make a joke about the president, not the troops, as if this would make him less childish. It is interesting how the White House has jumped upon Kerry's idiocy like a starving man on the last doughnut in the box. It is interesting how each political person's criticism or support of the statement sounds manufactured and condemnatory rather than honest - sounds focused on polls rather than human dignity and troop conditions.

It is bitterly amusing how much I act like these pathetic, rival bullies. I misspeak, then defend, then misspeak again even worse. I rail against others, other people and other churches, for having a completely skewed idea of the kingdom of God, and later I get the feeling I am no closer to understanding it than they are. No matter what, I rarely know when to shut up, stop grappling for leverage, and simply be still.

Woe is me, a politician of the faith.

"I pledge allegiance to a country without borders,
without politicians,
watching for my sky to get torn apart.
We are broken, we are bitter, we're the problem,
we're the politicians,
watching for our sky to get torn apart."
- Jon Foreman (Switchfoot)

If You Want to Catch the Squirrel...

This morning, I preached/spoke/taught (what's the difference anymore?) in the church school's lower chapel, which consists of Kindergarten through fourth grade. It was strange to stand up and see my church's sanctuary filled to the back with little munchkins, stranger still to find myself speaking to them, and even stranger to see most of them engaged in the message. However, what was most surreal about the entire experience is that the message which, I admit, I threw together in a couple of days, somehow morphed into the story of my life, unbeknown to the crowd of rug-rats and their teachers.

The theme of the chapels for this year is "the fruits of the Spirit," and I spoke about patience and self-control using my parents' two dogs, Gracie and Molly, and their continual epic struggle against a devious wild squirrel as a means to communicate the importance of stepping back and learning to wait on things rather than rushing right in.

I explained that the consequences to rushing in and not thinking things through can oftentimes be painful, much like Gracie, when she somehow manages to scrape her way up onto the lowest nook of the tree, sprains her paw almost every time when she has to hop back down. And I am not much different...

It is extremely difficult to be patient, to wait on things. When I get a bright idea, I normally take off after it and decide that, if I'm going to think it through I'm going to do so only in the time allotted on the way and if not then screw thinking anything through at all. I feel like this sometimes happens to Leigh and I, as well as with my work in the youth group, but lately I realize that my entire psyche is geared this way, to chase before I know the prey, to shoot before I even see the target.

It occurs to me (as I'm sure it occurs to other people a lot earlier in life) that impatience is at the root of much of our division and animosity. It could be argued that the mishandling of the War in Iraq (no matter how much you may think it was or was not mishandled) came from mere impatience on the part of those who knew we needed to do something about Hussein's regime (and I have just realized, as a complete side note, that Hussein sorta rhymes with "insane"). The same could be considered for many of the problems in the denominational splits, specifically Baptists, over the past several years. Impatience leads us away from an amicable solution - it does not lead us there faster.

And, in my mind, this all spirals back to me, and my inability to wait on the good things and to control myself from chasing after the bad things. And even if I do decide to seek after the good things with more vigor, I transition from battling impatience to battling procrastination, which I suppose, is just impatience in another form.

Life is not easy. Simple, yes. But never easy, at least not for someone who truly wants to embrace it. In doing so, there comes the subtlest of struggles, from the need to tweak relationships, overcome disagreements and misunderstandings, reassess ideas and accept failure, and learning each day how to walk a straighter, narrower line in regard to all the hundred million buzzing flies of distraction that play incessantly before our eyes. To be impatient in any or all of these circumstances is to turn our backs on the goodness and worth of the world. To embrace the world and seek its goodness - to embrace life - is to overcome our desire to have everything immediately.

It is a truth I hope at least the children caught, if not me as well. There's no need to leap into the tree. Just let the squirrel be, because, if we remain patient, eventually it'll have to come down, right?

I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord! - Psalm 27:13-14

A Contemporary Psalter

I've found it cathartic that the Psalms for at least the first half of this week's Daily Office have been of the "Song of Ascents" variety, and most have dealt with the psalmists deep, heartfelt cries to God out of the depths of despair, confusion, pain, and complacency. Here are some statements that mark several of the psalms so far this week:

"In my distress I cry to the Lord, that he may answer me..."
"I lift my eyes to the hills - from where will my help come?"
"Look on my misery and rescue me, for I do not forget your law. Plead my cause and redeem me; give me life according to your promise."

Indeed, the problems of many of these psalmists (and the people several of them surely represent) are different from what I go through today. However, this week these psalms have served as both a salve and a reminder of present frustrations. Leigh and I are both frustrated with the lack of close friends we have here in Houston. It is understandably depressing when I lament my lack of confidants, as I am brand new to this town. However, Leigh has grown up here and even she finds it difficult to name people near our own age that we can spend time with, discuss relevant issues, and experience the benefits of community together.

Stepping out of seminary and back into the real world can be quite depressing. You find quickly that most of the issues and subjects you cared about with great passion - many times with tears and sweat and feelings not unlike the passions of the psalmists - the real world you are reentering doesn't really care about at all. There aren't a lot of people around me - even in the church - that would enjoy discussing the Trinity, or even something lighter like the relationship between Scripture and theology, the value of art as an expression of faith, etc.

Mainly, Leigh and I both miss having like-minded friends. Community is shaped by many people, and I do not deny this. I would not want my community of believers - a.k.a. the church - to be solely made up of people near the same age (as many mega-churches are doing these days by breaking up their congregation into sub-groups with their own pastors and worship areas). However, there is something to be said for spending time with people who are facing the same concerns and ponderings as your own. There is not much I hold in common with the middle-aged father of three who makes six figures and lives in an upscale suburb. To assume a relationship with this person is going to meet all of my needs - and his - is ridiculous.

There are gaps in my church community, and I'm not referring merely to the floundering youth group, which averages one student on Wednesday nights and three on Sunday morning. There are no college students, only one or two occasional attenders who qualify as "college-age students," and very few "singles" (I hate the term as well, but this is the title most churches attribute to unattached men and women between the ages of 23-34).

It is difficult, because I look at nearby communities like First Baptist, Second Baptist, and Lakewood, and I see them getting bigger and bigger. Second Baptist is perfecting the splintered congregation, going so far now as to buy out an upscale shopping center near their church that will become their new "Singles" class hub. Not unlike the psalmists, I battle feelings of bitterness and jealousy all day long. I don't want River Oaks Baptist to splinter, but I do wish we could grow and become a more cohesive community, representing all groups and allowing for growth both across age-group lines as well as within.

These are the present frustrations - these are the things that perpetuate the tightness in my chest and the sorrowfulness that visits me in the late evenings when I pray tight-fistedly for growth (yes, even numerical growth) in my community, if only to have a strong home to which I can run and be completely, gracefully understood.

I punctuate this post with the words of an occasional modern-day psalmist:

"Will you comfort me in my time of need?
Can you take away the pain of hurtful deeds?
'Cause when we need it most there's no rain at all
and the dust just settles right there on the feed.
Will you say to me, 'A little rains gonna come,'
when the sky can't offer none to me.
'Cause I will comfort you when my days are through,
and I'll let your smile just off and carry me."
- Ryan Adams, from the song "In My Time of Need"

Of Jesus Camps, Dixie Chicks, Jerry Falwell, and the Pope

Lately, I have been stopped by the observation of how often Christians (and sometimes it is more accurate to place that title in quotation marks) misspeak, and cause mild to massive uproars. If it is not Pat Robertson and his misguided, bigotry-is-the-new-devotion attitude, then it is Pope Benedict XVI reading a point-of-view that probably could as well have been foregone. It is wearying that much of "mainstream Christianity" expression (which, sadly, is what most of what the secular world views as what Christianity is all cracked up to be) is spent either inserting or attempting to extract the proverbial foot from the mouth.

The latest, besides the Pope's pseudo-innocent blunder which enraged Muslims around the world, includes Jerry Falwell stating, in so many words, at a "Voter Value Summit" prayer breakfast, that Hillary Clinton would be worse for the U.S. as a president than Lucifer himself. Nice one, Jerry. Chalk up yet another point to your illustrious foot-in-mouth record.

As much as these incidents make me want to write, in bold letters, STOP SPEAKING FOR CHRISTIANS EVERYWHERE, YOU CLOSE-MINDED MORONS, AND LEARN TO SHUT UP AND SERVE PEOPLE, I have realized something even further: misspeaking is not reserved to media-friendly Christians, and looking like an idiot can come in a variety of ways. Take the Dixie Chicks, who are still trying to ride the wave of publicity that came from their anti-Bush, anti-Republican, anti-war comments in Great Britain some time ago (there is more I could write here, but a good friend has dealt with their lunacy already, and his thoughts are quite good). Or Bill O'Reilly, who makes idiotic statements just about every night. And Howard Dean doesn't fair much better. Mel Gibson, Danish cartoonists, Germaine Greer, Tom Cruise ... the list goes on and on and on.

But it seems "Christians" have a talent all our own when it comes to hating and claiming the things of this world. A new documentary is heading to theaters (it might even achieve a wide release) called Jesus Camp. Get ready for a storm of protests and praises, most of which will be misguided, I suspect. And then there is The Nativity Story, almost certain to be an assault on the mystery and innocent beauty of Advent, yet will probably become evangelicals' next lovechild (especially now that the high from The Passion of the Christ has worn off and Mel Gibson has moved from savior to bigot according to the media). Where and when will it end? And where do we, as Christians who are even afraid to claim that title anymore, run for refuge in a world that has forgotten humble, loving service of others for mass media proclamation and proselytization?

I have but one hope. It is that somewhere beneath all the noise and misspeak and bigotry and the claiming and pillaging of loyalties, there is a thread of peace and compassion and selflessness that runs steady through it all. In a world where too many churches have become dens of robbers, there might still be a community, however disjointed and disconnected, that seeks to be a "house of prayer." Amidst the chaos, there is a quiet hope that only a few of us might hear.

"Here on the New Jersey shoreline, in the greed and the glitter of those hi-tech casinos, some mendicants wander off to a cathedral, and they stoop in the silence and there their prayers are still whispered..." - Rich Mullins

"Enter through the narrow gate, for broad is the gate and wide is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it, but small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it." - Matthew 7:13-14

The Substance of Things Hoped For

When did confidence become synonymous with faith? At what point did a a person's belief in God hinge on how much he or she took at face value, and how little was questioned? Such a question has become almost like a riddle to me these days, as if the answer might come like a punchline, and I would have to nod, scratch my head, and mumble, "Ohhh..." when falls the answer.

As I have shared in earlier posts regarding my own journey in and through faith, I was once taught that Hebrews 11:1, "Now faith is being sure of what he hope for and certain of what we do not see," could be translated by injecting the word "certain" in place of "hope," thus rendering the verse, "Now faith is being certain of what we are certain of and certain of what we do not see." In other words, with faith there are no questions, because if one is certain, one needs not seek clarification.

As is often the case, the NIV sits somewhere between a good translation and a bad one. The NASB works well, especially in the use of the word "conviction." And, as is often the case, the Contemporary English and Holman Christian Standard versions fail miserably in capturing the mystic nature and weight of this single verse. To test most of the translations, go here and have a ball.

It is the King James Version that wins the gold ribbon in my opinion. It reads, "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." Many who read this might shrug and mutter, "What's the difference?" Perhaps I am nit-picking diction, but this version of the verse frees me rather than binds me. I do not mean to imply that I'm trying to manipulate Scripture so that I might have it read the way I want it to. On the contrary, I mean only to rescue Scripture from a Western thought-process that seeks facts over story, definition over mystery.

In our society, in our culture, we desire answers. We want results. We need proof. We bank on reasons. This is a remarkably different mindset than the days of the Old Testament, and even the days of Jesus, where Hellenistic (Greek) culture was already washing across much of the civilized world. Mystery was accepted in OT time. Not all things needed proof. The facts of a story were not nearly as important as the story itself. This is why there is so much vengeance, lament, doubt, and challenging of God in the Psalms and the Prophets. People were not expected to shut up and take everything with no questions, no concerns, no emotion exhaled. Apologists will point to the reason for the forbidden tree in Eden being that God did not want humans to be puppets and therefore blessed us with free choice, but then they will try to boil the movement and existence of God down to provable facts. What kind of freedom of belief is that? I've got news for them (and all of us): it does not, and will never, work that way.

God dwells in mystery, and he does not condemn us when we do not understand, when we doubt, and when we question. He wants us to wrestle with him - why else would he stalk Jacob in the wilderness? He boomed at Job, not for his questions, but because his questions had left the realm of doubt and moved on into despair. And, in the end, that is what the opposite of faith is - despair. Not doubt.

So, let me wrestle with my God. Let me collide with him. Let me question his ways, and seek to understand the sobering truth: that I will never fully understand him. On the other side of these things lies the substance of things hoped for, true faith.