Forever Yours

Greatest Hits

2011-08-12T23:20:00.002-05:00

As grad school approaches and I consider what to do about blogging over the next three years, I want to continue reflecting on what I’ve written since I started this blog four years ago. Although it is entirely self-indulgent, I have composed a list of my ten favorite posts from everything I’ve written. In the vein of Charlie’s “Greatest Hits” list from Lost, these aren’t necessarily my best posts or even the most commented; they’re simply posts that I remember writing, that were significant to my life, and that paint a good picture of the journey I’ve traveled since starting at ACU. In chronological order (since any other order would be arbitrary), and with quotes and commentary, here are my ten greatest hits:

Children of Hope (January 2008) – “I have never felt as passionately about the need—no, the duty—no, the very definition of Christians to be lived out in the world as I do tonight.” This night was the culmination of a few months of feeling God calling me to greater commitment and greater surrender than I had ever given him. I still don’t know why something finally clicked the night I watched these orphans sing in our coliseum, but the immature, unfocused angst I see in this post planted a seed that has radically changed my faith through the years.

Thief in the Night (March 2008) – “And can I be completely honest? Call it a 'teenager-who-thinks-he's-going-to-live-forever' syndrome, but I think that I am honestly reaching a point where I can say that I'm not afraid to die. And why should I be? Why should any of us be?” Confession: every time I take a long trip anywhere, the thought crosses my mind that there’s a good chance I won’t survive the trip, so I always try to leave my affairs obsessively in order whenever I depart for the sake of whomever I would be leaving behind. I wrote this post before a plane trip to New York, and I remember thinking (this makes me laugh) that it would make a great last post if I died on the trip.

Material Meltdown! (April 2008) – “Here’s my question, and I am begging anyone who reads this to offer an answer: What do I do right now? How does a freshman at a small, private university answer Jesus’ radical call to be free of materialism?” I remember this day vividly; it was my first theological crisis in college. I shot off an email to about every minister I knew trying to figure out how on earth they had arrived at any sort of peace on the question of materialism. Even now, I still don’t have great answers for a lot of the questions I raise in this post.

Living Boldly (April 2008) – “God wants us to wake up from the slumber of humdrum Christianity into the passionate storm of radical living. He wants us to feel, possibly for the first time—real joy, real pain, real love.” I remember the conversation at Lifegroup that led to this post, which eventually developed into my first sermon, which I delivered at the Kingwood Church of Christ.

God’s Most Beautiful Creation (October 2008) – “I'll admit that, despite the incredible view and feeling of accomplishment, I was distracted on the mountaintop. Call me ungrateful, but I couldn't help realizing that I was only looking at God's second or third most beautiful creation.” I wrote this after a backpacking trip with one of my best friends. Reading this still makes me smile.

Christian Themes in (Noticeably) Non-Christian Media (April 2009) – “I think that the reason films like Fight Club and Little Miss Sunshine are so popular is because they've tapped into real, accurate, biblical truths and presented them in stylish, shocking ways.” Something that comes up often on my blog is the interaction of Christianity and pop culture, and more specifically, film. I love watching films, and the problem is that some of the very best and most profound films are the kinds groups like Focus on the Family don’t like. I’ve always wondered what is the healthiest way for us to engage culture, especially when culture says more than the preacher does.

Unbelief (September 2009) – “Then there are times when God, in all of his love and mercy and faithfulness, must slap us in the face and leave us wondering, even if only for a moment, if we have every really known him at all.” This came after another slow epiphany in my life: I started to understand grace. The Church of Christ is (very unfortunately) known for being a group that does not emphasize grace, so many of us who grow up in the CoC have a second conversion experience when we finally start to “get” grace.

The Language We Use (Intro, Profanity, Sarcasm, Gossip, Conclusion) (June-July 2010) – “Because we know that God will or will not be glorified through our speech, Christians cannot afford to speak without giving appropriate weight and consideration to our words.” My goodness, I love this little series I wrote in one of my more relaxed summers. This is probably one of the boldest posts on the blog, and I’m surprised (but pleased) by the way I didn't hold much back.

Overcoming Fear (August 2010) – “I believe fear and faith motivate me to take entirely different paths, so I cannot simultaneously listen to my faith and my fear when making a decision.” This post came about as a result of me doing one of the most difficult things I had ever done. I was elated with the feeling of overcoming fear, and as a result, I have often looked back to this post to remember that feeling of faith whenever I face difficult circumstances.

Graduation (May 2011) – “Here, then, is how I think I (and maybe you, too, if you want) should live.” This is really the culmination of my blog as well as a nice summary of what I learned in college. I wrote it very quickly (it came easily) over graduation weekend, and I think it is a great way to end.

2011-08-10T01:29:00.003-05:00

I just spent a solid four and a half hours reading through the entirety of this blog in order to compose a "Best Of" list, which will be published soon. But before I write that up, I wanted to offer a few observations about my blog. Yes, this is probably self-indulgent.

- I just cannot believe how much my beliefs and opinions have changed over the last four years. There are a few posts from my freshman year that I cannot even imagine ever having written. This, of course, is one of the purposes of a blog or any journal: to chronicle how my thoughts have changed. I just didn't expect things to be so different.

- On the other hand, it was hilarious to run across certain lines from my freshman year that I could have written yesterday. Some things never change, I suppose.

- It was fun to see my voice gradually grow closer and closer to how I think now. As I made it through the posts chronologically, I gradually became more and more comfortable with the writing and with the ideas expressed.

- Holy cow, my friends are not joking when they call me verbose.

- I put much more time into this little project than I ever anticipated. There are certain posts through the years that took me literally hours to research and write, and I'm very pleased with the cumulative result. I really do love writing, and it makes me smile to be able to read posts from four years ago and still find the ideas raised interesting.

- Reading the comments from my friends and thinking about what those comments say about my friends (especially as they changed over the last four years) was as interesting as anything I wrote on the blog itself.

"Lost" and the Sacraments

2011-08-03T22:18:00.002-05:00

NOTE: If you have not watched the television series Lost in its entirety, I strongly advise against reading this post. It spoils the ending of the series (a series I cannot recommend enough), and most of my discussion of the show won’t make much sense unless you have watched it through to the end.

I have been meaning to write this post since May 23, 2010, when the series finale of Lost aired, and it has been brewing in my mind ever since. Although we are more than a year removed from Lost, I believe the series has stood and will stand the test of time. But let's get to the point I want to make: the final episode of Lost was a beautiful, near-perfect metaphor for the sacraments and why sacramental worship is such an essential part of my relationship with God.

PART ONE: LOST

Remember the final episode of Lost? Everyone was waiting to see how the show’s creators would tie up all of the show’s mysteries and dangling plot threads, but instead the creators focused almost entirely on providing an emotional reunion and conclusion to the show’s characters and relationships. Some viewers were (justifiably) angry at what they saw as a cheap, lazy way to avoid the nearly impossible task of answering the show’s countless questions. But others, like me, were willing to accept that the show had always been at its strongest when it focused on the journeys of each of its fascinating, dynamic characters; for us, the mysteries weren’t really as important as saying goodbye to our Lost friends was.

Over the course of the final season leading up to that finale, the show simultaneously covered plots occurring in two different universes. One universe continued the story that had been covered by the first five seasons; some people were trapped on the island, some had gotten off the island, quite a few had died. The other universe provided an alternate reality; the plane never crashed on the island, which essentially erased all of the developments of the first five seasons, and we watched all of the characters interact with each other in a completely different setting. The big reveal in the finale—for both the audience and the characters—was that this second “alternate” universe was actually some kind of afterlife that all of the characters created together, some kind of purgatory that allowed them to see each other one last time after they died and before they all passed together into the final afterlife. As Christian Shepherd explains to Jack:

“This is a place that you all made together so you could find one another. The most important time of your life was when you were with these people. That's why you are all here.”

OK, so this has all been set-up for where I really want to go. The show had an absolutely brilliant method of awakening each character in the alternate universe to the knowledge that he or she had already died and was in an afterlife. Until that finale, most of the characters in the alternate universe assumed it was simply life; they were completely ignorant to everything that had already happened in their lives (that is, everything that happened over the course of the show) and were comfortable in what they assumed was normal life.

What it took to wake them up was a reliving of the most significant moments of their lives from the other universe, the original universe. Take Kate, for example. In this alternate universe, Kate eventually arrived at a situation in which she needed to deliver pregnant Claire’s baby. As she coached Claire through the delivery, suddenly she had a flashback: Wait, I’ve done this before! I already delivered Claire’s baby, on the island! And when she remembered that event, she suddenly remembered everything else that happened in the original universe: her life before the island, her experiences on the island, her relationships on the island, and everything that happened in between the island and her death (which we did not see on the show). And that knowledge informed her of a future reality: she would be reunited with the other castaways in the church. She became enlightened and reclaimed her identity, and after that, she walked around with an infectious peace; she knew she was in an afterlife, and she had no reason to be worried or afraid any longer. All that remained was to meet with the other castaways, whom she now remembered.

And so it was with every other character who made it to this purgatory: essential moments from their lives were relived, and that experience was powerful enough to wake them up to the reality of everything that had transpired and everything that would transpire. Desmond saw Charlie swimming outside of his window; Jin and Sun performed a sonogram with Juliet as their doctor; Sawyer and Juliet touched hands; Charlie saw Claire with a baby; and one by one, all of the characters had flashbacks that woke them up to remember who they were, to understand where they were, and to anticipate what was going to happen. When the characters had those moments of enlightenment, they became completely serene and blissful; they realized they had arrived at a happy ending and would soon be reunited with those they loved.

It is important to note here that what the characters needed to wake them up was a complete re-experiencing of the original events; to simply tell them, “You’re in the afterlife,” would not have been enough. They needed to see, to taste, to smell, to feel those moments that were so foundational in their lives again to remember them.

PART TWO: THE SACRAMENTS

In the faith tradition in which I participate, the Churches of Christ, we practice two primary sacraments: baptism and the Lord’s Supper. (This is the case with most Protestant traditions.) It has always been very difficult to explain why the sacraments are so incredibly essential to the life of the Church and the life of individual believers—or at least it was until the finale of Lost aired. Why do they matter? What do they represent? Why do we spend so much time talking about how to do them correctly? The sacraments are essential because they are much more than just wine and bread or water; they simultaneously encapsulate multiple realities, multiple moments in time that are foundational to the story of God’s involvement in human history.

When I participate in the Lord’s Supper, three things happen simultaneously: first, in the present, I eat bread and wine with other believers, and I recognize my place in the Body of Christ through the reconciling work of his sacrifice (I Corinthians 11:17-34). Jesus is there with us in a very real way. Second, as I eat the bread and the wine, the visceral sensation of that taste flashes me back to the original Lord’s Supper, and suddenly I remember that Jesus walked the earth, that he invited people to table fellowship throughout his life, and that he broke bread with his disciples (Luke 22:19-20). Like Kate delivering Claire’s baby, my present activity reminds me of something foundational in my past, and I remember that Jesus ate the Supper. Third, that sudden enlightenment allows me to see what is going to happen in the future: we will be reunited in perfect worship at the wedding feast of the Lamb (Revelation 19:1-9). We know the ending of the story, and that ending is a good ending.

When I participate in baptism—and here I’m describing believer’s baptism through immersion, which is the tradition in the Churches of Christ—three things happen simultaneously: first, in the present, I am washed in water, and I am being saved from death in that moment (Acts 2:37-9). Second, as I am physically lowered and raised, that visceral sensation of being entombed in the water and then rescued from it flashes me back to the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus, and suddenly I remember that Jesus was killed on a cross, was buried for three days, and came back from the dead, and that through his sacrifice I was saved (Luke 23:44-24:12). Third, that sudden enlightenment allows me to see what is going to happen in the future: we will be saved, being raised from the dead and brought to new life (I Corinthians 15). Once again: we know the ending of the story, and that ending is a good ending.

As it was with the castaways, the knowledge of everything that is happening and has happened and will happen restores my sense of identity. The Supper reminds me that Jesus invited me to his table, that I have an important place in the Body of Christ, and that I have a standing invitation to the eschatological wedding feast. Baptism reminds me that Jesus saved me through his actions around Easter, that I am being saved as I invite him into my life, and that I will be saved when the dead are raised. I no longer have to wonder where I stand with God or what he is going to do with me; my place is clear. And simply speaking about these truths is not enough; we need to physically relive them, to taste and feel the reality of what occurs.

And, as it was with the castaways, that knowledge is a source of overwhelming peace and joy. No longer are we slaves to the imprisonment of sin and death; we have been set free to live lives of worship and authenticity. We know how this is all going to turn out. This is why the sacraments are so important to me; I need a constant reminder of what God is doing in my life, what God has done in the past, and what God will do. I fall asleep from time to time and need to be reawakened to reality.

Because there are times when I can empathize with Locke from season two:

LOCKE: If it's not real, then what are you doing here, Jack? Why did you come back? Why do you find it so hard to believe?
JACK: Why do you find it so easy?
LOCKE: It’s never been easy!

Senior Year Reflections

2011-07-09T23:21:00.002-05:00

I have fewer iPhoto albums from my senior year than I do from any other year of college, and I’m not surprised. As a freshman, everything about college feels fresh and exciting and photo-worthy, but as a senior, everything feels well worn and comfortable—so comfortable, in fact, that everyone resents having to look forward and far away to figure out exactly what to do next. Senior year was, at least for me, a strange juxtaposition of realizing that college was ending just as I was finally starting to get college. This assigned every dinner, every group study session, every birthday party a sense of urgency: enjoy this, enjoy college, because we won’t have it much longer. But “enjoy” is a poor choice of a word, since what we feel is something much more profound than simple happiness or pleasure. “Cherish this,” maybe, or “hold tightly to this.”

My senior year was the first year at ACU where I struck some shadow of a balance between all of my various responsibilities and relationships. Simply put, I experienced fewer commitments but greater commitment. My resume of on-campus involvement over the last four years may be atypical, as it started very full and actually shrank every year. This year, I continued with my family at Southern Hills and led another lifegroup, I worked as the Greek tutor and picked up some hours at a dorm office, I dressed like a Ninja Turtle for Sing Song, I went on a Spring Break Campaign to Seattle, and I ate some delicious meals with friends in the ACU Locavore club. But my shrinking list of commitments also translated socially: as is the case for most students, I spent time with a narrower range of people than in the past as I tried (maybe subconsciously) to invest in my most significant relationships. There were still all-nighters, and I’m sure I dropped the ball in relationships more often than I like to remember, but I rarely experienced the burden of being stretched too thin this year, and for that I am grateful.

I found myself clinging much more tightly to my friends and family this year, and I think it had something to do with that approaching transition out of the familiar into the unknown. Graduating single among some married or soon-to-be-married friends contributed to this yearning for closeness, as I found myself wanting (as I’m sure we all want) to know without a doubt that I was not alone, that someone knew me, that I existed outside of myself because I had impacted another. This affected my perception of church and the concept of church family, and thus I believe it is absolutely essential for followers of Jesus to give and receive the relationships we are promised in the community of God (Mark 10:28-30). The church I eventually seek (whenever I settle down somewhere) will undoubtedly be characterized by close, active family relationships.

If I thought I would have my personal belief system established by the time I was a senior, I gave up on that expectation pretty early into the year. This was the first year when I finally understood in my gut what God means when he says, “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts” (Isaiah 55:9). I had to take many different worldviews much more seriously than I had before, and while my most central beliefs remain unchanged, I had to start negotiating with some of my marginal beliefs. If nothing else, I think I gained a bit more humility in my perception of my own ability to get God completely right and to represent him well to the world. My generation generally values humility in the interactions between people of different perspectives, and it’s tough to navigate between what is and isn’t worth fighting over.

One of my beliefs under the knife this year was the role of women in the community of God, a debate that is slowly beginning to rage in many Churches of Christ (see posts: "'Half the Church'" and "Are Women 'Oppressed'?"). As with many different difficult topics, this was a problem I had never felt much pressure to engage, but it finally became a crisis for me in the fall after I attended a few classes at ACU’s Summit. Thankfully, I have good friends and mentors who have been willing to debate or lament with me, and their patience as I stumble towards something like a cohesive worldview has personified the patience of God to me.

In the midst of such questions, the biggest process of my year was researching, applying to, and choosing between graduate schools. Before I could do that, though, I had to craft some sort of career plan for my life (or at least for the next three years), and I’ve thoroughly chronicled that difficult process on this blog (see, for example, this post). In all honesty, my decision about what to do after graduation was one of the most difficult and exhausting decisions I’ve ever had to make, the kind where I picked apart each option so much that eventually I was just tired of all of my choices. Although I did finally settle on a path with which I am very pleased, the entire process was a significant reminder for me that God is not as much concerned with what I will do or will become as he is with forming relationship with me as I am right now. I have too often ignored the present out of an eagerness to be prepared for the future, but the God of the Bible often provides outcomes or solutions we never would have expected. In other words: try as I might to do everything I can to prepare myself to serve God in the world, I think I tend to miss the ways God has actually been subtly forming and directing me for his own purposes.

That being said, this was also a season in my life in which I began to cling very dearly to a personal eschatology, that is, my beliefs about the end times and the culmination of history. Romans 8:18 and the passage that contains it have become one of my most crucial pieces of scripture: “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” There have been times when my beliefs about God’s ultimate purposes in the world (and his promises about how those purposes include us) have felt like water for my soul. We absolutely can have hope that, in the end, all of this will have been worth it—the pain and suffering of this life will be like the pains of pregnancy, which are quickly forgotten when the new child arrives with joy (Romans 8:22). And with that knowledge, we can believe that things are getting better, even if we have every reason to doubt.

Finally, in light of that eschatology, I have been struggling for about a year and a half with the question of prudence vs. boldness, both of which the Christian must keep in a delicate balance (see post: "Prudence"). I have felt the restlessness of wanting to act but waiting on God’s timing, and I have often wondered whether my decision to wait and be still demonstrates faithful patience or cowardly apathy. I do not want to sit on the sidelines, but neither do I want to live with a rash anxiety that is out of rhythm with God’s slow and steady activity in the world.

I cannot count how many times this year I had to shake my head and think, “If someone had told me on my first day of freshman year that I would eventually be having this conversation / making this decision / suffering this loss / praying for God to do this, I would not have believed it.” If nothing else, I have learned that my feeble attempts to anticipate God and his activity in the world typically result in me feeling surprised and amazed by what he actually does. This was a year in which both the laughter and the tears—and there were tears—were a reminder that we live in a world in which the light of God is breaking through the darkness of sin and death. It was a very good year.

A Poem for Lucas and Rebecca

2011-07-08T23:03:00.004-05:00

A few weeks ago, two of my favorite people, Lucas Wright and Rebecca Hopkins, got married. I was one of Lucas's groomsmen, and his mom asked each member of the wedding party to use our unique talents and gifts to prepare a blessing for the couple at the rehearsal dinner. Although 40 MPH winds tried their best to tear apart a lovely dinner, the weather calmed down long enough for us to enjoy a sweet time of sharing.

I chose to write a poem for the couple, and I had the idea to use music as a metaphor for their marriage. Lucas is a very talented musician, and living with him for two years gave me countless opportunities to hear him use his gifts for playing guitar and singing. Marriage also makes me think of the end of time (see Revelation 19), when all will be made right and we will celebrate Jesus, so I tried to incorporate the music of worship in heaven into my poem as well.

Here, then, is the (slightly polished) poem that I wrote for my friends:

When a husband takes a wife, they sing the world a song.
For some, the discord of conflict makes every note sound wrong.
But others who persist with love can sing in perfect key;
The sweetness of their union mutes the world's cacophony.

On the day you say, "I do," you start with staff and clef;
You write a melody in all the memories you've left.
Laughter will be your eighth notes; dancing, your do-re-mi,
And even when you cry together, you'll still find middle "C."

If life knocks you out of tune and notes feel out of place,
Speak only words that heal, with arpeggios of grace.
And when your joy crescendos into soaring heights above,
May your undergirding rhythms be the pulse of selfless love.

One day when all is said and done and the end is close at hand,
We'll all be reunited at the wedding of the Lamb.
That white-robed choir of saints will worship with knees on the floor,
But we'll recognize their song as if we've heard it once before.

For if the song you sing the world is a tune of joy and light,
It's a song of praise to God above, an ancient hymn of life.
As you join with those who went before and each one still to come,
You add your voice to that great choir—an eternal song of love.

2011-05-25T21:35:00.003-05:00

For anyone interested in hearing brief stories from my summer internship with Lifeline Chaplaincy, I have started a (temporary) blog that will be dedicated entirely to this job. That blog will not be replacing this one, though, so I may update here periodically as well throughout the summer (on topics unrelated to my internship).

It certainly isn't pretty yet, and I don't even have a title, but I've put up a couple entries. Happy reading: http://brentbailey2011.blogspot.com/

2011-05-18T00:26:00.002-05:00

I have reached a time of many transitions. On Saturday, I graduated; on Monday, I arrived back at my parents' house; and on Friday, I will move into the home of a host family to begin my summer internship. For anyone keeping score, here's another quick update on my life (and a follow-up to some of the decisions I've referenced on the blog this semester).

I applied to three grad schools, was accepted into two, and had to choose one to attend. Choosing between schools was probably the most difficult decision I've made thus far; it involved countless prayers, an ongoing unofficial tally of advice from others, a hastily-planned two-day trip out of state, and a terrifying period of time in which the decision honestly could have gone either way.

Ultimately, I decided to attend ACU to pursue a Master of Divinity for the next three (0r so) years, and God has granted me peace about the decision (for which I am very grateful). With that decision settled, I have also started filling in the margins with other decisions about employment, housing, and other grown-up concerns that require enormous amounts of paperwork and phone calls. And with those matters settled, I can finally begin to feel excited about the opportunities I have in Abilene—some new, and some continuations of old.

I don't want to get ahead of myself, though, and right now I'm focused on my summer. I was blessed to get an internship with Lifeline Hospital Chaplaincy, an organization that has served my family in the past and will hopefully give me a growing experience and a chance to be with people in very difficult circumstances this summer. I'll be working in two hospitals in the Houston area. This summer also includes a few weddings and a couple of births, so it is a very exciting time.

Last note: I'm not sure what the future of this blog will be for the summer or for my time in grad school. I'm certainly going to keep journaling this summer, but that may be exclusively offline; and I'm going to maintain a blog in grad school, but I don't know if that will be here or at a new location. Whatever happens, I will let you (whoever you are) know about it.

Graduation

2011-05-15T00:20:00.002-05:00

I don’t really know what to call this list. It’s not really a list of the top ten things I’ve learned about life in college, although it came about as I tried to brainstorm how a list of the top ten things I've learned would read. It’s really more of a confession about policies I’ve tried to implement in my life based on mistakes I’ve made, seeing as I’ve made a lot of mistakes, especially in the relationship department. Or maybe it’s a soapbox about the kinds of behaviors I think would make the world better based on my limited experience in the world. Whatever this list is, I’ve tried to avoid the verbosity that typically characterizes this blog by keeping the entries succinct. Here, then, is how I think I (and maybe you, too, if you want) should live:

1. Regard every single person whom you encounter as a human. This includes civil servants and people whom you would otherwise dehumanize with labels such as "creepy" or "jerk" or anything else that ultimately means "less valuable than me." If life is a novel, you are not the only character. You are not even the main character.

2. Find support. Find a person whose very presence decreases your stress and reminds you that you are valuable, capable, and loved—but don't expect too much of this person and forget that s/he also has his/her own life, in the vein of rule #1.

3. Be upfront. In any sort of enduring relationship—especially with roommates and romantic partners, current or potential—honesty is the best policy. Do not ever assume that the other person knows what you are thinking, and don't play dumb when you know that the other person's perception of what you are thinking is inaccurate. But remember rule #1.

4. Enjoy the people you are with. Never be disappointed with the turnout of a social function you plan. So what if you expected thirty and ended up with ten, or five, or two? The people you are with are worth your time and attention.

5. Establish firm boundaries regarding how you handle your time, relationships, etc., because order is a source of peace and contentment. Then, know when you have to cross those boundaries, because there will be times when you should.

6. Make good choices. This item may seem to undermine the credibility of this list; we should all do this naturally, but there are countless occasions in which we knowingly do things that are not in our best interests or the interests of the people around us. For example: intentionally breaking rule #3 is a bad choice, even when it’s easier to do so. Choose good, and expect the best.

7. Give people the benefit of the doubt when at all possible. Have I mentioned rule #1? Unless we’re talking about avoiding real potential danger, overestimating rather than underestimating others (their integrity, their intelligence) tends to heal relationships and prevent bitterness.

8. Appreciate beauty. Do not ever, ever, ever let the cynicism of the people around you prevent you from appreciating the value of something. The world has plenty of cynics, and everyone is just trying to find something Beautiful anyway, so cherish your ability to see beauty even when others can’t (or won’t).

9. Do something that matters. Don't get so distracted with the day-to-day fun of living in the moment that you never do anything of substance. Find something that is worth selling out to, and then sell out to it. As with rule #8, those who mock your dedication are probably trying to find their own Worthy Cause anyway. At the end of every day, ask whether your corner of the world is a better or worse place as a result of your presence.

10. Love unselfconsciously. My favorite quote, from Shanley’s Doubt: “There are people who go after your humanity, …who tell you the light in your heart is a weakness. That your soft feelings betray you. I don't believe that. It's an old tactic of cruel people to kill kindness in the name of virtue. Don't believe it. There's nothing wrong with love.”

"Please Be My Strength"

2011-04-28T00:03:00.002-05:00

I wrote in a previous post about my theme songs for 2009 and 2010, which were John Mayer’s “Stop This Train” and Jason Morant’s “I Will Run,” respectively. 2011 now has a song as well.

I grew up pretty privileged, so injustice has always been somewhat of a foreign concept to me. I could usually recognize it and even speak against it, but it was far away. It happened to those background “other people,” and the unnamed perpetrators of injustice appeared in my mind like fairy tale villains who were obviously up to no good.

As it turns out, the world is not a perfect place. Naïve as I may be, this year has presented me with image after image, story after story of injustice taking place in many different spheres of my life, both around the world and down the street. It’s everywhere, and it’s the kind of thing where I can’t ignore it any more because to do so would be inhumane. On one occasion, I even got to experience a form of injustice myself. I’m sure I’ve unknowingly been the perpetrator of injustice towards others.

What I’ve learned is that the hardest part of injustice is not what you’re denied. Obviously, it is incredibly painful to live without universal human rights, without basic needs met, without compassion, or without anything else that people shouldn’t be (but are) denied. No, the very hardest part of injustice is the feeling of utter helplessness it causes. The deepest scars of injustice are not cuts and bruises; they are despair and grief. When those in power reign unjustly, clichés about “doing anything you set your mind to” and “overcoming any obstacle” become worthless because people really have been defeated.

We must not miss the significance of a God who “loves justice,” (Psalm 11:7), a God who “works righteousness and justice for all the oppressed” (Psalm 103:4). We must believe it “unthinkable that God would do wrong, that the Almighty would pervert justice” (Job 34:12). And we must look forward to the reign of God in his Kingdom, when “with righteousness he will judge the needy, with justice he will give decisions for the poor of the earth. He will strike the earth with the rod of his mouth; with the breath of his lips he will slay the wicked” (Isaiah 11:4). When you’re a privileged kid in a youth group, you read Deuteronomy 32:35 (“It is mine to avenge; I will repay…”) with a sort of mischievous smirk. But when you’ve seen the hopelessness of injustice, you realize that its victims need a God who will speak up on their behalf.

I discovered the song “Please Be My Strength” by a band called Gungor during a particularly difficult experience this semester, and I watched it ascend quickly to the top of my iTunes “Most Played” list. You can find the mp3 for $.99 on Amazon by clicking here. I hear it as a plea on behalf of all of those people who, for whatever reason, cannot speak up for themselves; and it has become for me a prayer that God would restore my hope in his glorious, eternal purposes even as the world attempts to convince me that all of this will not end well. The chorus is simple:

“Please be my strength; please be my strength.
‘Cause I don’t have any more; I don’t have any more.”

God will restore justice, you see, and for that reason we do have great hope. As I tweeted yesterday, the feeling of despair when you're powerless against injustice wasn't part of God's plan. It won't be here forever. Don't get used to it.

Seattle (Spring Break 2011)

2011-04-02T00:04:00.002-05:00

A few weeks ago, I traveled to Seattle with 15 other ACU students on a Spring Break Campaign. I had heard good things about this trip from students who traveled to Seattle in prior years, but I was very pleasantly surprised with how deeply I came to know (or at least feel like I know), care about, and desire to return to Seattle over the course of the week. Our primary work was with various homeless shelters around the city.

The situation in Seattle for unhoused people is very unique. Seattle is very liberal and very unchurched, and they are extremely generous towards the unhoused. On many occasions, I spoke to people who said something to the effect of, “I came from [insert faraway city], but when I needed a fresh start, I knew to come to Seattle.” In other words, Seattle has gained a reputation for being a good place to be unhoused (if you have to be unhoused). There are multiple places in which you can get hot meals three times a day with no questions asked—including one effort, “Operation Sack Lunch,” that cooks and serves 100% organic food (!) for hundreds of people daily. There are free beds available at night, free showers available in the morning, and free buses in the afternoon to take you where you need to go.

It is easy to get cynical in such a city when you begin to think about how the system could be abused, especially when you speak with individuals who are entirely content to live off of the charity of others for the rest of their lives. But that cynicism kind of evaporates when you talk to someone…and another person…and another person, all of whom aren't real great at conversation, and you start to recognize the staggering percentage of Seattle’s unhoused population that is (in many cases, severely) mentally disabled. And then you start to marvel at the infrastructure of a city in which people who need help can eat day-old Starbucks pastries for free with their lunches. I left with many questions about how the rich ought to use their wealth in relation to the poor, but I could not deny that the people who work tirelessly every day in order to make sure David and Ricky eat were doing something good, the kind of thing my heart tells me Jesus would be about.

Late one evening, we went out on a “Search and Rescue” caper sponsored by one of the local shelters, Union Gospel Mission. A handful of us loaded up in a van, fairly uncertain about what was about to go down but full of adrenaline from a combination of the mystery, the cold, and the dark. Our driver was an older man who had told me he had started working recently with a shelter for battered women and children, and because he was an avid backpacker, he had been taking the children on backpacking trips. This required him to get licensed to drive a 15-passenger van, and once he had that license, other shelters started recruiting him to drive (like for “Search and Rescue”). His co-pilot and navigator was a guy I had gotten to know a few days before, a permanent resident of UGM who was recovering from drug addiction.

With the back of the van loaded full of blankets, socks, jackets, socks, underwear, sandwiches, and even a vat of steaming white hot chocolate, we pulled out into the night to seek out (“Search”) and offer aid and prayers (“Rescue”) to various people around the town who, for whatever reason, hadn’t made it into a shelter that night and were sleeping outside. Our co-pilot knew the hotspots, and usually we’d drive up to find one or two people but end up passing out goods to 8-12 people who wandered over. The hot chocolate especially was a roaring success.

The entire ride that night was an adventure, but one experience was particularly moving for me. At one of our earliest stops, a man named Pops accepted some hot chocolate. We had a long conversation, and I learned that he was a photographer who loved photos of nature; he explained that he had even camped near one lake for a week trying every morning to get a perfect sunrise shot. About 10 minutes into our conversation, I lost my breath for a moment because I noticed how incredibly similar Pops looked to my own grandpa. The resemblance wasn’t perfect—he was missing a few teeth, and he was a bit wider around the middle—but his eyes were a close enough match to distract me for the rest of the conversation.

It was one of those unexplainable moments in which I felt a deep, intense connection to this stranger I literally met underneath a highway. Any lingering biases or prejudices against unhoused people vanished as I asked more questions, suddenly filled with curiosity about who Pops was, where he’d been, what he’d experienced, who his family was. We didn’t have much longer to talk before I had to load back into the van to head to our next destination, and he turned down my offer to pray for him. As we pulled away, I couldn’t stop thinking about how Pops had suddenly become a human to me. It was deeply troubling, as I realized with shame that I was still stuck in the mentality of seeing unhoused people—or, if I’m honest, any people outside of my particular way of life—as projects, as demographics, as opportunities. No, Pops was a human, and his resemblance to a man I know well helped me see that.

I could talk much longer about our experiences from the week, but highlights include a Sunday night Compline service at an Episcopal cathedral that nourished my spirit, an evening devo overlooking the Seattle skyline in which we were challenged to question whether God’s mission really needed every ACU graduate to move to DFW or stay in Abilene, the kindness of numerous strangers who showed us where to find food and everything else during our Urban Plunge, and a dinner at the Northwest Church—the church, I haven’t even talked about the church!—in which every table included a church member with an incredible tale of God’s redemptive work in his or her life.

I am extremely grateful that I had the opportunity to visit Seattle, a place whose climate is as different from Abilene’s as its politics, culture, and religious demographics are, for the week. As my good friend and co-campaigner put it, it was great to see “a place where the kingdom of God is breaking in in a big way—the people just don’t have the vocabulary to describe it.”

2011-03-07T00:47:00.000-06:00

When the Spirit sees fit to grow me through whatever means he chooses, a battle wages in my soul.

I hear the voice of my weakness raging: “Consider yourself. It is not worth this pain or this grief. Be content with the man you are; resist this trial, and remain steady on the path you are traveling. Do not abandon who you are now, or you will have lost yourself completely. Consider yourself, consider yourself, consider yourself: you are as good as you need to be, and even if you aren’t, he says he has grace enough for you. Stay here. You are comfortable and you are safe; you ought to desire nothing else. You belong here, don’t you? This is who you are, and this is where you should be. Consider yourself.”

But I also hear the confident voice of the Father: “Precious child, you have to trust. I am drawing you deeper into a relationship with Truth and with Love, and I am carrying you the entire way. You need only to trust. This will not end in defeat, because I have won the battle. It will be worth it; I cannot show you now, but you will be grateful for this journey. I am your creator, and I know you. I am your father, and I love you. You must trust my love. This is not going to be easy or pleasant, but I am always in control. I am always faithful. Please, please, please trust me.”

Spring 2011 Reading List

2011-01-15T11:19:00.003-06:00

I bought my books for the semester last week, and I'm not even sure that I can use "book" in the plural: I have one textbook for a psychology class and a Bible commentary on CD for a Bible class.

That's the bad news. The good news is that this (finally) frees me up to do some of the reading I had to put off last semester. I still don't know whether to consider reading one of my hobbies because I rarely read for pleasure when I've got dozens of pages of class reading. Nevertheless, here's a list (in no particular order) of books that I might try and engage this semester, most of them recommended by others. Feel free to recommend any other books:

- The Wisdom of Stability (Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove)
- Bound & Determined (Jeanene Reese) - written by an ACU professor I greatly respect.
- The Pursuit of God (A.W. Tozer)
- The Ragamuffin Gospel (Brennan Manning) - lent to me by a friend in high school and still sitting on my shelf. I need to accomplish this book before I graduate.
- A Thread of Grace (Mary Doria Russell) - her The Sparrow was probably my favorite book of what I read last year.
- Gilead (Marilynne Robinson) - recommended by many.
- Who's Afraid of Postmodernism? (James Smith)
- Love is an Orientation (Andrew Marin)
- Predictably Irrational (Dan Ariely) - I had time to read one chapter last semester, and it was fascinating.
- In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manual (Michael Pollan)
- Les Miserables (Victor Hugo) - started this over the Christmas break, but grad school applications and reading for my short course got in the way.
- The Mayor of Castro Street (Randy Shilts)

As is my habit, I'll blog about anything I find particularly compelling. Happy reading!

Semester Eight

2011-01-15T10:49:00.003-06:00

I should really have something profound to say here.

My first "Semester [#]" post was for the spring of my freshman year, and that was three years ago. Three years may not sound like a long time, but when I'm 21 and those three years have been incredibly formative, it makes my head spin a little to think that I started at ACU in 2007. There are times when I think about trying to explain my life now—the content of my conversations and prayers—to the 2007 version of me, and it makes me laugh.

I'm sure I'll grow much more pensive and philosophical as graduation approaches, but right now, I'm simply content where I am and ready to begin my final semester. Or I probably should say "continue my final semester," as I've been in Abilene for a week taking a short course that finished up yesterday.

Here's the course load this semester, in 9 hours of goodness:

SEX AND PERSONAL ISSUES OF SEXUALITY - This class has a big reputation on campus: first, because it covers a controversial (at least "seemingly controversial") subject, second, because everyone who takes it can't believe that people actually try and live their lives without having taken this course. I just finished the class, and it was (a) exhausting, mentally and emotionally and (b) very helpful and deeping. The course combined marriage and family therapy, spiritual direction, and sexual ethics to shine light on a topic that is too often associated with darkness. I'm very grateful that I was able to take this course.

THE BOOK OF ACTS - My final Bible class, which is so hard to believe. I've never taken Tony Ash before, and it feels strange that this will be my only time in the Bible building this semester (since I've practically lived there in semesters past).

CHILD ABUSE: RECOGNITION AND RESPONSE - The final class for my psychology minor, and my very first night class. Honestly, I chose this class because I needed a class that would fit into my schedule and complete my minor, but my mother is a strong believer that we should cherish all of our learning experiences (even those that aren't specifically related to our plans) because they may pay off in some oddly specific way in the future. In other words: taking this class certainly isn't detracting from my life, and there may be a day when I'm really glad I took it.

...and that's it. Since I took a short course, I'll only be taking two actual classes this semester, and then I will be a college graduate. That, more than anything, blows my mind: come May, I'll have a piece of paper that immediately places me among the elite, globally speaking.

Also on my plate this semester: Greek tutoring, working some desk shifts at one of the dorms, lifegroup, Southern Hills, Sing Song (depending on some scheduling conflicts), a Spring Break Campaign to Seattle, the ACU Locavore Club, and some other potential God-working-in-my-life opportunities. I'll also be waiting for responses from the grad schools to which I've applied and making decisions about what to do in the summer and fall.

This is going to be a very significant semester. God is good and on the move.

2011-01-05T23:49:00.003-06:00

Because I've recently been having a lot of conversations with people about my plans for the future (which tends to happen when you're a semester away from graduation), and because sleep doesn't seem to be coming any time soon for me tonight, I thought I would update any readers of this blog on my current plans—knowing, of course, that the man in relationship with God ought to wink a little whenever he discusses the plans he's created for himself.

My last post was a prayer that I had to write and pray in order to find the confidence to finally push "Submit" on my applications to ACU Graduate School of Theology, Duke Divinity School, and Yale Divinity School. I'm after a Master of Divinity, a robust three-year degree that covers everything from Greek to church history to theology to different kinds of ministry and is often described as being as spiritually forming as it is academically equipping (if one will let it be). Various experiences have revealed to me that I feel most alive, useful, and "this-is-what-I-was-created-for" when I am teaching, so my ultimate aim is to complete doctoral work and become a professor (of biblical text? of theology? I'm not sure yet) or—at the very least—find some other outlet to fulfill that teaching vocation (and I'm using "vocation" here more in the sense of "identity" than in "career").

The three schools I've applied to are very diverse, but all have so much to offer a budding minister. I'm presently thinking that I will engage in some kind of hands-on ministry before I teach full-time, but I'm uncertain about what exactly that will be (though I do have some strong leanings). Obviously, there's a lot that goes into a decision about grad school: finances, living situations, aspirations, and, oh yeah, getting accepted, so it will be a long time before I'm able to give a definitive answer about where I'll be come September. (Let me reiterate: when I say "give a definitive answer," I am winking heavily, as I just don't think that definitive answers about the future are a luxury given to followers of God.)

I must say that God has been giving me the enormous grace of having a peace about my future plans. As I continue to pray the prayer I wrote, I am really starting to believe ("believe" in the sense that it affects my emotions and not just my intellect) that God will be with me wherever I go and will be active in my life.

A Prayer for College Applicants

2010-12-31T17:17:00.003-06:00

Father,

I submit my will to yours with the knowledge that yours is greater.

Give me the grace of knowing that I am your beloved child and will be your child regardless of the school I attend or whether I attend school at all. Grant me the joy of knowing that you will be present wherever I am. Give me the peace of contentment and fulfillment in every season of my life.

Have mercy on me when I believe that membership in any circle, approval from any board, or any letters after my name could make me more worthy of your grace and love. Have mercy on me when I believe that those would make me more valuable than any other person. Have mercy on me when I believe that the favorable or unfavorable opinion of any person determines my worth.

When you will reveal your will to me, give me the wisdom to obey. When you will not reveal your will to me, give me the wisdom to wait.

May the chief end of my life be to glorify you and to enjoy you forever.

Amen.

Violence in "True Grit"

2010-12-29T21:54:00.002-06:00

NOTE: This post contains very mild spoilers from True Grit. If you’re waiting to see that movie, you may want to skip this post.

I watched the 2010 version of True Grit with some of my family yesterday after watching the 1969 version last week in preparation. One of the most prominent differences between the two films was the approach to violence. In his review of the film on Focus on the Family’s Plugged In Online, Paul Asay writes that the 2010 version, which was created by the Coen brothers, is “more violent” than the original.*

I think he’s wrong. The new film is no more violent than the old film; it’s just bloodier. If you compare the events of the original (which, by the way, is rated G—a rating that still meant “all ages admitted” in the '60s) with the events of the new film (rated PG-13), they’re almost exactly the same. The Coens simply don’t share the sensitivities of the 1960s in their presentation of those events.

For example: in both films, one man chops off the fingers of another and is then shot. In the 1969 film, it all happens very quickly and with very little blood spilled. In the 2010 film, the scene is very raw and gruesome: we see the knife sever the fingers, we see the gun fired into the man’s face (leaving a large, bloody bullet wound), we see blood splashed onto the gunman’s face, and then we see a shot of the severed fingers in a pool of blood on the table. Needless to say, it’s all very difficult to watch.

In other words, there’s the same amount of violence in each film: the same number of people die, and the same wounds are inflicted. But in the 2010 film, we feel the violence much more. It's not glamorous, and we have to stare at it and comprehend it. We take everything that happens much more seriously because the stakes are much higher.

In all honesty, I prefer the Coens’ raw approach to violence. Walk with me through the comparison I’m about to make, because it may be a stretch, and it’s certainly a work in progress: One of the main reasons pornography is so toxic is that it gives someone a cheap substitute for sexual intimacy that is entirely alien to God’s plan for holy sexuality. Any couple in a healthy marriage relationship will tell you that marriage is a lot of work but that sex within the context of a marriage becomes something much deeper and more profound than a physical act. Pornography removes the commitment and the work—and, subsequently, the deeper and more profound components of sexuality. Pornography becomes desensitizing.

Still with me? Here’s where I’m going: people watch movies for a temporary escape from reality and an emotional ride, even if the emotions involved are simply exhilaration and happiness. You can experience stronger emotions within the span of a good 2-hour movie than you may experience in an entire year of real life. I cried when I watched Pixar’s Up, and it was one of the few times that I shed a tear that entire year. I don’t think this escape is a bad thing or a problem, but I don’t want us to become desensitized to the content of our entertainment. When I watch the 1969 True Grit, I get a thrill from watching Rooster Cogburn gun down a bad guy, and the cartoonish violence prevents me from recognizing what a gruesome, brutal act it is. It's a win-win for me: I don't have to deal with tricky ethical questions about his actions (or the negative consequences), and I'm exhilarated because the events on the screen are so much more momentous than those in my daily life. But when I watch the same scene in the 2010 True Grit, that thrill is dampened because I'm conscious of how gruesome the action was. Suddenly, it's not as fun.**

I’m writing this simply because I don’t want us to fall into the trap of thinking that movies that are less bloody are necessarily less violent, or that movies with less nudity are less sexual, or that movies that are more censored are necessarily safer to watch. Whether I watch the 1969 True Grit or the 2010 True Grit, I’m going to be getting my thrills from watching men shoot each other and chop off fingers. The main difference, it seems, is whether that violence will be quick and clean or bloody and painful. Maybe movies that provide the emotional thrill ride—the kind of rapid-fire thrill ride only possible in a movie theater—of watching bad guys get gunned down without acknowledging the brutality of what's happening are the real problem.

In either case, suddenly I have to take very seriously the question of whether the benefits of watching the film are worth the costs. After all, the lives of many men—or, in the case of both the 1969 and 2010 versions of True Grit, a guy’s fingers—are at stake.

I would love your thoughts here. What do you think about gritty films that approach issues like violence and sexuality with rawness? Are they more or less potentially dangerous than films that may contain the same content but handle it with less realism? If I'm going to watch a movie where fingers get chopped off, should I watch a glamorized version or a gritty version?

* http://www.pluggedin.com/movies/intheaters/truegrit.aspx

** I know that some would say here that a more gory film is necessarily more desensitizing than a gentler film, but I think it’s essential for us to determine which is more dangerous for us: that we watch so much gruesome violence that we become desensitized to blood and gore (a la the Saw films), or that we watch so much cartoonish violence (a la old westerns) that we become desensitized to the awful things that people are doing to each other. And when I say "dangerous," I don't mean that violent movies will necessarily move us to commit acts of violence; but when we should not pretend that watching a violent movie will not nudge us a tiny bit closer to darkness, and we ought to measure carefully whether it is worth it.

The Perfect Gift

2010-12-29T02:33:00.001-06:00

As I was unwrapping gifts with my extended family on Christmas, my grandmother announced to the room that she had a gift for my grandfather, something he had been requesting for many years. My grandparents had celebrated their 60th anniversary only days before, and this intensified the alacrity with which I always anticipate any opportunity to peek at the inside jokes, memories, and significant events that cultivated and sustained their decades-long marriage.

The small box was adorned with glossy paper and thick ribbon, and my grandfather caught my grandmother’s infectious smile when he felt the weight of it. I briefly panicked when he tossed the box into the air and caught it again, but he was already in on the joke and knew not to worry about the fragility of the box’s contents.

When he had removed the wrapping and opened the lid, his smile stretched into a wide grin, and he tipped the box forward so that we could all see what it held: it was empty. My siblings and I, who often tried to trick each other on Christmas with misleading packaging and extraneous contents, began to wonder just what my grandmother was up to, but my grandfather happily confirmed what he had received: “An empty box!”

“Every year,” explained my grandmother, “when I ask your grandfather what he wants for Christmas, he says he doesn’t want anything: just an empty box. So, this year, I decided to give him what he wants!” My grandfather has reached the age at which laughing is laborious for him, so it is a special privilege to provoke him to the authentic type of laughter that is difficult to stop. He had been laughing during her explanation, and the rest of the family joined him when we understood.

My grandmother’s gift did for my grandfather what we all anxiously try to do for each other with money and things: to manifest our mutual affections and acknowledge the honor of knowing each other. It was the perfect gift.

Pursuit

2010-12-07T23:39:00.002-06:00

At Gibeon the LORD appeared to Solomon during the night in a dream, and God said, “Ask for whatever you want me to give you.”

Solomon answered, “[...] LORD my God, you have made your servant king in place of my father David. But I am only a little child and do not know how to carry out my duties. [...] So give your servant a discerning heart to govern your people and to distinguish between right and wrong. For who is able to govern this great people of yours?”

The Lord was pleased that Solomon had asked for this. So God said to him, “Since you have asked for this and not for long life or wealth for yourself, nor have asked for the death of your enemies but for discernment in administering justice, I will do what you have asked. I will give you a wise and discerning heart, so that there will never have been anyone like you, nor will there ever be. Moreover, I will give you what you have not asked for—both wealth and honor—so that in your lifetime you will have no equal among kings. [...]” Then Solomon awoke—and he realized it had been a dream.

This story forces me into Solomon's shoes, leaving me to try and discern how I would answer God's offer. But I don't have to wonder: I was asked the same question on the day I was born, and I have seventy years to give my answer.

Are Women "Oppressed"?

2010-10-23T22:46:00.004-05:00

When I mentioned the oppression of women in Churches of Christ to one of my friends from the same faith tradition in a recent conversation, he stopped me to ask whether “oppression” wasn’t too strong of a word to describe the situation of women in many of our churches. This post certainly isn’t directed at him; rather, it’s meant to help me define for myself and anyone else why I said what I said.

In my limited experience living within two major church bodies, I have, in fact, come to believe that women in Churches of Christ are oppressed. It’s important for me to note that I’ve arrived at this conclusion without making any decisions for myself about what I do believe the defined role of women in our churches should be—in other words, I believe that women are oppressed regardless of whether I Timothy 2:11-15 should be obeyed literally. I’ll identify three reasons I make this claim: first, because we have far exceeded even the most conservative prohibitions against women; second, because we place inconsistent prohibitions on women; and third, because we have not handled the problem of scriptural re-interpretation with the urgency it requires.

First, the traditions of the Church of Christ have prohibited women from roles that even a strictly literal reading of the text (and a belief that our church traditions ought to be determined by a strictly literal reading of the text) would allow. If I Corinthians 14 and I Timothy 2 are our guide for determining traditions, it is understandable why women would be prohibited from preaching, leading prayers, etc. in the public assembly. But there are plenty of other roles and duties from which women are prohibited that have nothing to do with authority or leadership. I am talking here about duties like the passing of trays for the distribution of the elements of the Lord’s Supper.* These are roles which may not even be associated with a particular gifting of the Spirit.

If scripture does not prohibit women from serving in these roles, then we can no longer claim that our sole motivation for excluding women is scriptural fidelity. We have to examine why else we would exclude women from certain duties when the Bible does not—why do we speak a strict “no” where the Bible is silent? I believe we avoid this uncomfortable task of honest self-examination because of its potential to reveal a toxic sexism that has turned church life into a boys’ club with no girls allowed. And if that sexism is present at all, we may go a step further to wonder whether our interpretation of I Corinthians and I Timothy is the cause—or, God have mercy, the result—of it.

Second, the necessities of church life have often forced us to require more of women than we “officially”—and by that I mean doctrinally, or traditionally—allow, placing women in a distressing situation in which we affirm and benefit from their gifts while claiming that they should not be allowed to express them.

My good friend Shannon Williamson wrote a very honest post on her blog about the “Mental Gymnastics” that we put women through. Here is the beginning of a lengthy paragraph that demonstrates the confusion experienced by a woman who has received gifts from the Spirit:

“My whole life I've been learning how to perfect the mental gymnastics of being a woman in the church of Christ. I should pray fervently. In fact, to be a real woman of God is to be a prayer warrior, and pray for those who are broken hearted, sick or hurting. But I just can't do it out loud when there's a baptized man around. Unless it's before a meal and the people I'm with are really close to me or kind of progressive. And I can pray in front of the men I'm closest to who are my spiritual brothers when were in the library or at my house or a coffee shop. Just not during a church service….”

In all but the most traditional Churches of Christ, this seems to be the situation. People readily recognize and sheepishly admit the spiritual gifts of the women in the congregation, but they only ask the women to express those gifts in very specific circumstances: either when a man is not present to do the job, or under slightly different conditions, or with the expectation that there will be negative feedback. The problem is that each of these circumstances trivializes the woman and dishonors the Spirit's working through her. In the first case, the woman (and her gift) is essentially presented as an understudy or a substitute for the man, who would have been given preferential opportunity to serve regardless of his own giftedness. In the second case, the presence of different conditions (such as allowing a woman to speak as long as she does not use a podium, or allowing her to sing without a microphone) completely invalidates the legitimacy of the gift and the ability of the woman. In the third case, the situation becomes more about the issue and people’s opinions of it than a celebration of the Spirit.

And in any of these cases, the problem is inconsistency. We’re discovering that it doesn’t always work to silence women, but we’re afraid to discern whether their role can be officially expanded. We’re telling women that God gives them gifts in other areas, but then we’re affirming their suspicions that maybe God has gifted them in traditionally male roles, too. And we’re putting women in the wearisome position of having to wonder (because of what they’ve been taught) whether the service they do (because the church asked them to) is dishonoring God. It's inconsistent, it's disingenuous, and it's unjust.

Third, we have not given nearly enough weight and urgency to the question of whether we need to change the roles our tradition has designated for women. John Wesley, an 18th century theologian, suggested that theological reflection has four sources: scripture, tradition, reason, and experience. In the Church of Christ, we have typically relied upon scripture as our only source of authority. Nevertheless, when reason and experience seem to argue strongly for a greater role for women in church life (reason, because of the equality which women theoretically find outside of the church building, and experience, because of the increasing number of women who are willing to admit that they feel called to certain types of service), we at least need to re-examine how we are using scripture.

Notice that I am not suggesting we remove our priority on scripture; I am only suggesting that we reassess our interpretation of scripture in light of our present crisis. Jamey Walters, a graduate from the ACU Graduate School of Theology, recently wrote an excellent post about how we should and should not use scripture, ultimately suggesting something very uncomfortable: "We must fundamentally alter our understanding of what Scripture is and how it functions in the life of the Church." Again, I want to stress that I fully endorse the superiority we assign scripture; but I am concerned that there are certain ways of reading and using the text—such as strict, literal obedience to particular passages—that may demonstrate greater concern for tradition than for actual biblical truth. As before, I ask whether our treatment of women is controlled by or is controlling our interpretation of the text.

I Corinthians 12:7-11 teaches that we are given gifts for the “common good,” and this means that if we are going to silence someone who believes she has received a particular gift from the Spirit, we had better be very sure that we ought to silence her. On the other hand, this means that if someone has received a gift from the Spirit, her duty to use that gift for the body of Christ does not depend on her desire to use it; rather, in full submission to the body, she must allow her gift to be expressed. I am afraid that we have either relied too heavily on authority ("Someone smarter than me decided that women shouldn't participate, and they were probably right") or fear ("We might be wrong to give women a greater role, so why risk it?") as support for continuing our current practices without question.

To conclude, I will call more of my terminology into question, this one coming from a previous paragraph: is the situation of women in Churches of Christ really a “crisis”? If our current practices communicate undue inferiority to women, exclude them from fully participating in the body of Christ, and silence certain gifts of the Spirit, then I believe we are experiencing the very definition of a crisis in the body of Christ.

*Though I’m unsure of the source—I believe it was a story told by Jeanene Reese—I’ll never forget the poignant statement of a woman who, having been raised in a particularly patriarchal Church of Christ, commented that women were expected to prepare and serve every meal during the week except the communion feast of Jesus.

Prudence

2010-10-21T23:29:00.002-05:00

“There is an imperceptible line between prudence and cowardice.
We call on prudence for the sake of safety and laziness,
we call on prudence in order not to compromise ourselves,
in order not to risk anything personal...
We all talk of prudence, Lord, but not a prudence that is yours,
which in vain we search for in your gospels...” [1]

“There is…a time to be silent and a time to speak…” [2]

"'All Christians know that the colored people will receive equal rights eventually, but it is possible that you are in too great a religious hurry…' Such an attitude stems from a tragic misconception of time, from the strangely irrational notion that there is something in the very flow of time that will inevitably cure all ills. Actually, time itself is neutral; it can be used either destructively or constructively. …Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of men willing to be co workers with God, and without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always ripe to do right." [3]

"[David] said to Nathan the prophet, 'Here I am, living in a palace of cedar, while the ark of God remains in a tent.' ... [And the LORD said,] 'Are you the one to build me a house to dwell in?'" [4]

So, how do you know the difference? When does dilligent prudence become selfish apathy, or pathetic cowardice? How ought you to know when God wants you to build and when he does not?

[1] From a prayer by Luis Espinal, which I read here: http://halfthechurch.wordpress.com/2010/10/07/between-prudence-and-cowardice/

[2] Ecclesiastes 3:1,7

[3] From Martin Luther King's "Letter from a Birmingham Jail"

[4] II Samuel 7:2-5

2010-09-22T14:01:00.003-05:00

What do these careers have in common?

Preacher
Bible translator
Administrator in a non-profit organization
Counselor
Clinical psychologist
University professor
High school teacher
Writer

"Half the Church"

2010-09-21T16:22:00.002-05:00

“There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but the same God works all of them in all [people]. Now to each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good.…The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts; and though all its parts are many, they form one body. So it is with Christ….God has combined the members of the body and has given greater honor to the parts that lacked it, so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other. If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.” – I Corinthians 12

I have once again entered that uncomfortable territory that some would call “theological crisis.” As Christians—and in my case, as a Bible major who feels intimate loyalty to the Church of Christ faith tradition—we can often afford the luxury of ignoring certain theological issues for which we have no clear answer. What happens to all of us, though, is that life experiences pull certain questions from the realm of “issue” into the realm of “crisis,” and we find ourselves needing to think a lot more seriously and personally about questions we never had to answer, usually with a great sense of urgency. For example, many Christians never have to give much thought to the issue of abortion; but what happens when a girl in your youth group confesses on a retreat that she has already had two abortions? Suddenly, the church has to think a lot more deeply about the issue and try and arrive at some conclusions. The end result, hopefully, is a more informed and nuanced faith.

In my time at ACU, I’ve had the luxury of ignoring the issue of women’s roles in the Church of Christ. I’ve heard many different perspectives and grown uncomfortable with “what I’ve always believed,” and the result is that I'm very slow to speak up against women showing authority in worship—but I'm also slow to advocate for their greater involvement. I never felt any urgent need to dedicate serious time to the issue. Call it the arrogance of a male or shallow faith, but there’s my confession. That was until today. Today, the issue of women’s roles was presented to me with such pathos that it finally shifted from “issue” to “crisis” and left me heartbroken, confused, and unsettled.

This morning, as part of ACU’s Summit, I attended a class led by Dr. Stephen Johnson called “Half the Church: Calling and Vocation for Women in Churches of Christ,” and I was deeply moved by what I heard. Dr. Johnson essentially performed live a podcast he created from sound bytes recorded in interviews with four women: all in their mid-20s, all raised in Churches of Christ, all thankful for their heritage, and all feeling a deep calling into ministry.

I would encourage everyone with any interest at all in this topic to listen to the entirety of the 40-minute podcast he created from these interviews at http://halfthechurch.wordpress.com/. I don’t know why the podcast, whose production style (it's very well done) may remind listeners of the NPR program This American Life, was so poignant to me, but I don’t imagine that I’ll soon forget certain parts of the podcast: like Naomi’s story of what happened when she brought her new husband to her home church for the first time, or the tension that Amanda has accepted as part of life, or a particularly disturbing use of the word “entertainment.”

The simplest response—and the response that would allow me to maintain my status quo—would be to say that these women are some kind of aberration, that they are mistaken or misled in their sense of calling. I could question their motives, their wisdom, or their obedience.

But this seems unfair for a few reasons, beginning with the absolute credulity and support with which we typically respond to a man’s call to ministry. Rarely do we question a man’s motivations for entering ministry, and even more rarely do we advise a young man that he may be erroneous in his perception of a call in his own life (a mistake which has, if we’re honest, led to some terrible ministers). The response for women is typically the opposite, as they often have to work too hard to prove their calling, and we question their motives the entire time. Some men enter ministry ambivalently or flippantly; women can't get away with that.

Another problem that keeps me from ignoring these women is the fact that I know so many of them. I know female students at ACU who are extremely gifted in ministry and who have a profound confidence in their calling to ministry but who also feel strong loyalty to Churches of Christ. This does not cause them to have an agenda, to join the feminist camp, or to beat down doors insisting that we must change the system. Rather, it leaves them profoundly confused—why would God call them to serve in a system that will not allow them to serve? How are they supposed to answer that call in a way that honors God and honors Christ’s bride, the Church?

Ultimately, the reason that I can’t ignore these women is I Corinthians 12 and the truth that every gift of the Spirit is absolutely essential to the life of the body of Christ. If these women have truly received legitimate gifts from the Spirit and we are preventing them from expressing those gifts, then they aren't the only ones who suffer. Paul’s use of the body parts metaphor means that the suppression of anyone’s gift is an injury, a disability, an illness to the entire body. “If one part suffers, every part suffers with it”—and he’s not talking about empathy, he means that you and the preacher and the janitor and the secretary and the blue-haired ladies and the fourth grade boys all suffer when a sister is suppressed. We do not simply contribute our gifts to some nebulous, external body of Christ; we are the body of Christ, all of us, and we had sure better hope that we aren’t handicapping ourselves by silencing any gifts.

This means that, for now, I’m back in theological crisis, and my typical answers to the problem aren’t satisfying any more. I'm stuck in the tension between loyalty to a tradition that has dictated a certain role for women and the realization of how dangerous, how painful, that role can be. I've grown tired of what one woman called the "mental gymnastics" of trying to let women express their gifts without breaking (sometimes arbitrary) rules. I'm experiencing the difficulty of interpreting an ancient text and trying to discern what it means to be obedient to its timeless author. My mind and my heart don't always seem to agree. And more than ever before, this is so, so important to me.

Where does this end? God willing, I'll arrive at a more informed and nuanced faith.

2010-09-10T14:26:00.002-05:00

From pg. 90 of Victor Hamilton's Handbook on the Pentateuch, 2nd edition (thanks to Dr. Rodney Ashlock, who teaches my Pentateuch class):

"But we should observe that [Genesis] 16:3 reports that Sarah resorts to surrogacy only after she and her husband had been living in Canaan for ten years; that is, only after they have exhausted their attempts at the normal methods of reproduction do they turn to Hagar....Possibly their mistake is seeing the promise of God not as a privilege, but as an obligation. Instead of saying, 'We're going to have a baby!' they say, 'We've got to have a baby!' And whenever one sees the fruit of God's promises as something to be achieved rather than received, all sorts of options present themselves."

How different would our lives be if we saw God's as a privilege instead of an obligation? Regardless of the call—to foreign missions, to self-imposed poverty, to childbirth, to babysit your neighbor's dog—we could thank God for inviting us along instead of lamenting our imprisonment to a way of life. We could surrender our control over the situation, and we could fully trust that God will bring about whatever needs to happen.

Overcoming Fear

2010-08-29T23:07:00.002-05:00

I’ve always hated limits in my life, maybe to a fault. I know there are certain limits I can’t do anything about—I’ll never be taller than 5’9”, and I’ll never have more than 24 hours in a day. But I’ve always hated limits that I can control because I would never want to miss out on any particular kingdom-of-God opportunity due to my own unwillingness. A big part of my experience in Papua New Guinea last summer was coming to terms with what exactly I was willing to sacrifice if it meant doing good work for the kingdom: could I give up warm showers? (Yes, and I guarantee that you wouldn’t miss them, either, after a week.) Could I give up modern conveniences like cell phones and the internet? (Yes, with some relish.) Could I give up regular communication with my loved ones? (That’s a little harder.) Jesus says some interesting stuff about the sacrifices we have to be willing to make in order to experience the freedom that enables us to follow him radically in Luke 9:57-62.

To be more specific, I’ve always hated the power that fear has to limit my dreams and visions for the future. I believe fear and faith motivate me to take entirely different paths, so I cannot simultaneously listen to my faith and my fear when making a decision. That does not mean that a faithful person does not experience fear; but it does mean that the faithful person has learned to listen to his faith instead of his fear. I don’t want to miss out on an incredible story that God could be trying to write through my life—I don’t want my decisions to be based on a lack of faith.

The fear I’m talking about is when you know what you need to do for the sake of your own relationship with God and his kingdom but don’t do it. Maybe you need to leave a job that is completely killing your spirit. Maybe there’s an important conversation you’ve been putting off for weeks...or months...or decades but can’t put off any longer. Maybe you have a dark secret that has gone unconfessed for far too long.

I don’t know what your greatest fear is. Fairly recently, I was empowered to do something that very well may have been my deepest fear, the line I had drawn in front of God and said, “You can bring me this far, but I’m going to stop right here.” It was one of the most liberating experiences of my life. When you witness God’s faithfulness through a happening that had always seemed like an impossibility to you, you gain a deeper understanding of his faithfulness that makes it much harder to fear again: “If you carried me through this, God, I can’t imagine anything that you wouldn’t carry me through.”

The funny thing about God’s frequent commands throughout the Bible to people that begin, “Do not be afraid,” is that God never says, “Do not be afraid, because things aren’t really all that bad, okay?” God doesn’t try to convince his children that the situation is better than it is or that they’re stupid for feeling afraid; rather, he counters their fear by reminding them of his presence and power. To Isaac, he says, “Do not be afraid, for I am with you” (Genesis 26:24). To Jacob, he says, “Do not be afraid to go down to Egypt, for I will make you into a great nation there” (Genesis 46:3). To Joshua, he says, “"Do not be afraid...for I have delivered into your hands the king of Ai, his people, his city and his land” (Joshua 8:1).

In other words, God’s response to fear is to take the focus off of the situation and the person (who is probably not capable) and redirect it to himself. There’s a formula: “Do not be afraid, for I.” The antithesis to fear is not numbness or recklessness; it is faith. Faith assures us that, regardless of what happens, God will be present.

So, how do we overcome fear? It seems counterintuitive, but I believe the first step in overcoming fear is admitting that you are afraid. Admitting our fear can feel like a lack of faith; if I believe in God’s power, then I shouldn’t feel afraid, right? The problem is that we often give virtuous-sounding names to our fear in order to hide how we feel. Instead of saying we’re afraid, we just say we’re being careful, or thinking realistically, or showing some maturity, or trying to avoid rushing into something. At our worst, we confuse fear with genuine godly wisdom, the kind of wisdom that gives us pause before we do anything significant. Think Proverbs 14:16: “A wise man fears the LORD and shuns evil, but a fool is hotheaded and reckless.” There’s definitely a difference between prudent caution from God and faithless fear from Satan, but that difference can be difficult to discern. As painful as it can be, there is much to be gained from our own acknowledgment and confession of our fear.

I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that one of the best speeches I’ve ever heard about fear—one to which I have returned on countless occasions—was delivered on the first episode of the show Lost. Kate asks Jack why he’s not afraid, and here’s his response: 

“Well, fear’s sort of an odd thing. When I was in residency, my first solo procedure was a spinal surgery on a sixteen-year-old kid. A girl. And at the end, after 13 hours, I was closing her up and I...I accidentally ripped her dural sack. It’s right at the base of the spine where all the nerves come together. Membrane is thin as tissue. So it...it ripped open. Nerves just spilled out of her like angel hair pasta. Spinal fluid flowing out of her and...and the terror was just so crazy. So real. And I knew I had to deal with it. So I just made a choice. I’d let the fear in. Let it take over, let it do its thing. But only for five seconds, that’s all I was gonna give it. So I started to count: 1...2...3...4...5. And it was gone. I went back to work, sewed her up, and she was fine.”

For the individual who believes that God is in control and does care, there is great freedom to be found in actively surrendering our fear. Whenever I’m dreading something, I try to imagine myself immediately after it is over: regardless of whether the situation goes really well or really badly, God will still be faithful and will provide for me. And when I’m not worried about the outcome of the situation itself because I know that God will be faithful, I have a much easier time surrendering my fear and doing what needs to be done.

On the other hand, I don’t want to make it sound like courage is only about doing difficult things. I’ve had to learn that courage also involves dealing with the consequences of our actions—even when we do whatever we were afraid to do, the positive and negative results will be very real and very present, and courage means accepting that truth. The same assurance that allows us to overcome our fear also allows us to handle the consequences.

If I’m being honest, the scariest part of this whole discussion may be the fact that God offers us the same encouragement that he has offered throughout the ages: “Do not be afraid, for I.” The very best excuses that I’ve tried to use in order to avoid confronting my fears have always fallen short when compared to God’s faithfulness. I’m certainly learning the danger of living my life from a place of fear instead of a place of faith; fear will not get us anywhere that we want or need to be, and God wants better for us. He will be faithful, and that calms my fear.

BOOK RESPONSE: "Doubt" by John Patrick Shanley

2010-08-28T18:15:00.002-05:00

WHY I READ IT: I've seen the film Doubt a few times and have read the play. A friend wanted to watch it today, and I decided to share some thoughts about it.

DISCLAIMER: As usual with book responses, I'm going to discuss the plot heavily, so read at your own risk. The film is almost identical to the play, so I'll refer to both indiscriminately.

If you're looking for a film that will inspire good discussions among friends, look no further than Doubt, which tells the story of a priest, Father Flynn, who may or may not have been involved in an inappropriate relationship with one of the altar boys. Despite the ambiguity of the situation, a certain nun, Sister Aloysius, becomes convinced that he is guilty and seeks to remove him from the parish while a younger nun, Sister James, struggles with uncertainty and shifting loyalties.

(I'll note that while the film deals with some difficult topics, it does so in such a tactful way that I've recommended the film to a number of people without hesitation.)

There are a number of themes explored in the story, but what I noticed while watching today—and what I'll write about in this response—is the different ways of handling doubt that are represented in the film. The play opens with a sermon by Flynn about doubt in which he suggests that "Doubt can be a bond as powerful and sustaining as certainty," and the two nuns spend the entire play trying to determine how exactly they should respond to their own uncertainty about Flynn's guilt: they have some scant evidence, but mostly they have suspicions and what Aloysius calls "experience." It's important to note that what the nuns are considering is extremely important, because the safety of a boy and the reputation of a respected priest are both on the line. This means that their uncertainty is something they can't easily ignore or push aside, and what the author does is present us with two different approaches to handling doubt.

Sister Aloysius immediately assumes absolute certainty about Flynn's guilt. As soon as she has reason to suspect that he has acted inappropriately, she sets out on a war path to force a confession and have him removed. Any evidence that supports her conclusion is greedily grasped, while all of his (legitimate) objections and explanations are scoffed away. Near the end of the film, Aloysius even admits that she does not have proof, but she insists, "I have my certainty." On the one hand, we appreciate that she has a responsibility to protect the boy if she has any suspicion; on the other hand, we start to recognize that she may be more interested in her own certainty than she is in the boy himself. It is only at the very end of the film when Aloysius confesses her doubts that we realize she clings to certainty as a defense against the discomfort of doubt; she doesn't want to live in the tension.

Sister James, on the other hand, responds to her doubt with innocent trust. It doesn't take long for Flynn to convince her that he did no wrong, primarily by appealing to her natural compassion. Knowing that James believes Flynn, Aloysius later accuses James of cowardly seeking "simplicity" over justice and truth—she believes that James would rather have things return to the easy way they were before the accusation than to pursue and root out (potential) evil. We, too, may have reason to think that James is simply naive and cowardly until the end of the film, when she tells Aloysius, "I wish I could be like you...because I can't sleep anymore." We then realize that James' innocence isn't naivety at all; rather, it's a willingness to live in the midst of her doubt despite the difficulty and to trust love and compassion. She isn't certain, either.

It isn't difficult to make the application to people in churches: like the nuns, we're dealing with something really, really important ("something" being the potential salvation of souls), but it's something that can't be easily proven. So, like Sister Aloysius, some of us deal with doubt through certainty, regardless of how confident we feel or how much proof we have, because it's a lot easier to just feel absolutely certain than it is to acknowledge the difficulties of believing. Certainty, of course, can go either way—absolute devotion to a belief system, or absolute rejection of it. Others of us nestle into the uncomfortable sleeplessness of acknowledging our doubt while choosing to believe, though we may not be as sweetly innocent as Sister James. In either case, we must lean heavily upon the grace of God.

I want to close with something Father Flynn says to Sister James, which is one of the best things I've ever read:

"There are people who go after your humanity, Sister James, who tell you the light in your heart is a weakness. That your soft feelings betray you. I don't believe that. It's an old tactic of cruel people to kill kindness in the name of virtue. Don't believe it. There's nothing wrong with love."

NEXT BOOK: I'm ankle-deep into Discerning Vocations to Marriage, Celibacy and Singlehood, a book that I think should be required reading for anyone planning to get married or stay single, which means...everyone.

BOOK RESPONSE: "Revolutionary Road" by Richard Yates

2010-08-22T21:55:00.002-05:00

WHY I READ IT: I saw the movie Revolutionary Road around last Christmas, and I bought the book the next day. I will warn any readers of this blog that it deals with very heavy (read: R-rated) material, but some of the questions (and answers) it raises resonated deeply with me.

DISCLAIMER: I'm going to get into plot details, so if you're going to read or watch this book/movie, you may not want to keep reading.

Do not let the effeminate cover or seemingly banal subject material fool you—this is a troubling and even devastating book. I especially appreciate Roger Ebert's review of the film,* which includes this synopsis: "It shows a young couple who meet at a party, get married and create a suburban life with a nice house, a manicured lawn, 'modern' furniture, two kids, a job in the city for him, housework for her, and martinis, cigarettes, boredom and desperation for both of them." Frank and April decide that they will move to Paris in order to escape their boredom and desperation, but then things get very complicated and messy.

The reason I love this book is that deals with the question of what to do when you are stuck inside a system that is obviously broken. Frank and April Wheeler feel entirely stifled in a system—namely, the prison of 1950s suburbia—that is all about keeping up appearances and never breaking too far away from an established pattern. They never meant to settle down; their first child came as a surprise, and it was almost unwittingly that they slipped into the suburban lifestyle themselves. They consider themselves observers on the outside, pretentiously amused by the fervor with which their neighbors and co-workers have bought into the way of life. April suggests that they move to Paris: she’ll work, and he’ll have time to find himself. But then April gets pregnant with a third child, and Frank finds an approaching promotion at his boring job more appealing than he would have expected it to be.

I believe the problem with the Wheelers is that they are insightful enough to know that they aren’t satisfied but lack the imagination to create anything better. Again, I appreciate Ebert’s description: “The Wheelers, Frank and April, are blinded by love into believing life together will allow them to fulfill their fantasies. Their problem is, they have no fantasies. Instead, they have yearnings -- a hunger for something more than a weary slog into middle age.” The Wheelers don’t have dreams; they have only dissatisfaction, which poisons them. Once the plan to move to Paris is abandoned—a plan, I'm convinced, that would not have cured their dissatisfaction—Frank finds himself forced by necessity (babies gotta eat) to keep on living within the system he hates; April, on the other hand, refuses to re-enter the system and instead does something terrible out of her desperation.

I think Christians at ACU experience the same thing all the time, especially if they’re Bible majors. When you study the Bible thoroughly and engage in conversations about what Christianity has been in the past and potentially could be, it's easy to start to identify problems with the system of Christianity that is prevalent in the United States today (Exhibit A: a post I wrote freshman year entitled "Church"). And this is not simply a topic of conversation for rebellious, free-thinking college students; Christians of all ages can accurately identify ways that many modern churches miss the mark. There's the question again: what do you do when you realize that the system is broken?

There are, I think, three ways that people respond to that dilemma. The first is April’s response: to become overwhelmed in cynicism. Folks, this happens all the time at ACU and is, I believe, a significant part of the reason so many people leave the church in college. It starts with critical insight that quickly becomes something more vile. Legitimate concerns ("Is a large construction project the most Christlike way for a church to handle its finances?") turn into caustic sarcasm ("Nothing says 'bride of Christ' like a coffee shop and a bookstore in the building, right?"), which turns into disgust and abjuration. The problems of the system become unacceptable and unforgivable. There are certainly situations in which the only way to respond to a broken system is to abandon it, but I think it’s tragic when the imperfections of American Christianity cause people to abandon relationship with God altogether. That’s too big of a jump.

The second common response is Frank’s: to sink back into a system you despise, out of necessity. As an idealistic freshman, maybe you decided you would do lots of radical things for the kingdom of God, but as a senior, you become overwhelmed with thinking about providing for a family and not ruffling too many feathers and trying to find some consistency, and eventually you’re right back where you started, ignoring the problems of the system for the sake of convenience. I haven’t decided whether to join the camp that calls this “safe and prudent” or one that calls it “cowardly.”

The third response is rare but so incredibly essential: imagination. I’m indebted to Randy Harris for this idea. The ideal way to respond to a broken system is to imagine and believe that a better system could exist and then to live into that new reality. This is what Jesus did: he invaded the world, he followed the rules and customs as much as he could, and he completely undermined the broken values of the system by living a new one. Poor people were supposed to be treated like royalty, so in Jesus’ reality, they were brought to the banquet. Sinners were supposed to receive grace, so in Jesus’ reality, he talked with them and forgave them.

So, I’m convinced that we should not respond to a broken system with sarcasm (then again, I don’t think sarcasm is useful for much) or with feigned ignorance; we respond by genuinely believing that something better could exist, and we live in that faith. Don’t focus on the ways that Christians are missing the ideal; believe that the ideal is possible, and bring it to life.

There are other reasons I appreciate this book so much, like the way I see so much of myself in some of Frank's less appealing qualities. The story also deals with rich themes about gender roles, duty, and freedom. But the book is most valuable for the warning it provides about what can happen if you become dissatisfied with a system.

WHAT I'M READING NEXT: Mostly textbooks, as classes start tomorrow. I'll be reading on my own again ASAP.

*http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20081230/REVIEWS/812309997

Summer Reading

2010-08-22T21:00:00.003-05:00

Wow! It's almost been a year since I've written a book response, which is a shame, because I have certainly been reading in that time. I like to write about books I've read on this blog as a record for myself, as encouragement for others to read certain books, and as a way of finding other people who may be interested in discussing a book we've both read.

For example, I started 2010 by reading Cormac McCarthy's The Road, a moving book about the relationship between a father and a son in desperate times. For my theology class this spring, I read Samuel Beckett's play Waiting for Godot (or I guess I watched it), Tony Hendra's The Messiah of Morris Avenue, Albert Camus' The Plague, and Mary Doria Russell's The Sparrow, which, despite its (very) dark subject matter, has become a favorite of mine.

But it seems like my college lifestyle never leaves time for personal reading when classes are in full gear, so I had been looking forward to the time I would have in the summer to catch up on reading. Since school starts tomorrow, I don't have time to devote an entire discussion to each of these books, but here are a few brief thoughts on what I read this summer:

A Million Miles in a Thousand Years (Donald Miller): Whereas Blue Like Jazz was an wide collection of many different threads of thought, Years offers one primary idea about life and story. And though it's a quicker read than Jazz because its focus is more limited, the point he makes is very significant—one that could finally motivate you to take the leap of faith you've been putting off forever (whether that leap is proposing to your girlfriend or quitting a job or moving to Africa).

Revolutionary Road (Richard Yates): I'm about to write a full post on this, but it will suffice to say that the book upon which one of my favorite films is based became one of my favorite books as soon as I read it.

The Hunger Games (Suzanne Collins): A friend recommended this young adult science fiction novel to me, and it was very enjoyable. It was more violent than I expected or typically prefer, but it was definitely a page-turner.

Twelve Years a Slave (Solomon Northup): Holy cow. My grandparents have been encouraging me to read this book for years, and I finally did when I stayed with them this summer. Northup was a free black who lived in the north during slavery but was kidnapped and lived as a slave for twelve years. I expected that the story would be an eye-opening account of the injustices of slavery, and it certainly was, but I did not expect that the story itself would be so enthralling, full of heartbreak and suspense and humor and pathos. A remarkable book.

When You Are Engulfed in Flames (David Sedaris): As a listener of NPR's This American Life, I was curious to read a book by one of the show's frequent contributors. Sedaris's vignettes are funny and poignant, and I was interested to read the perspective of someone whose worldview is very different from my own.

The Meaning of Matthew (Judy Shepard): A very difficult book to read, written by the mother of a victim of a vicious hate crime who became a human rights advocate. The story was troubling on two counts: first, because of the tragedy of Matthew's death and the unimaginable pain it causes his family. But second, because of his family's unwillingness (or inability) to forgive Matthew's attackers. Obviously, I can't imagine how difficult it would be to forgive in their situation—but near the end of the book, we read the entirety of Matthew's father's closing comments at the trial of one of the attackers, and I could not help but feel saddened by the man's deep anger.

Father Fiction (Donald Miller): My second Miller book of the summer. Miller makes many good points about fathers and men and responsibility and identity, and if nothing else, the book made me very grateful for my own father and his positive influence in my life.

Children of God (Mary Doria Russell): Although I did not enjoy it as much as the The Sparrow, this sequel dealt with many of the same theological questions and provided a satisfying (maybe too satisfying) conclusion to the problems raised in the first book. I may have tried to read this dense book too quickly.

O Me of Little Faith (Jason Boyett): This book was mentioned on Mike Cope's blog and deals with frank questions of doubt and faith. I may dedicate an entire post to this book and the sentiment it represents. I still haven't decided how I feel about it.

Intimacy with the Almighty (Charles Swindoll): My summer ended on a retreat with some of my church family, which was based around this book. It is very short, but it provides a good introduction to pursuing a relationship with God through spiritual disciplines. There are certain ways that Christians have interacted with God since the first few centuries of Christianity, and this book describes four of them.

I'm not sure whether I'll have much time for reading this year (I typically don't), but here's what's on my list based on recommendations from others and my own browsing: The Moral Vision of the New Testament by John Hays, Predictably Irrational by Dan Ariely, Who's Afraid of Postmodernism? by James Smith, Knowing God by J. I. Packer, Gilead by Marilynne Robinson, The Pursuit of God by A. W. Tozer, and Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis.

What books have you been reading lately?

Semester Seven

2010-08-18T00:02:00.002-05:00

It's a very strange experience to be a senior.

Because on the one hand, I feel more comfortable at ACU than I've ever felt. This is the first year that I didn't have to move into a new place of residence—I continue to live in the same house in which I lived last year with three excellent, encouraging men. This is the first year I haven't really felt any of the first day jitters because I'm used to how the classes at ACU work and know what to expect. And this is the first year that I'm not overwhelmed by the upcoming semester because I know there will be enough time for everything that matters. As I've watched the freshmen arrive on campus and make their ways around, I've been thinking about the stresses of freshman year—of trying to figure out where you'll sit at chapel, wondering whether you signed up for the right classes, thinking you've got the world figured out, and realizing you don't have yourself figured out at all—and how different it feels three years in.

On the other hand, I've finally started to realize that ACU won't last forever—and in fact, it won't last much longer. I was speaking with a friend recently and we both lamented the brevity of college. At the same time, though, we acknowledged that part of what makes the college experience so special is the knowledge that it won't last forever, that you can live boldly because you know the mistakes you make (probably) won't follow you for the rest of your life.

As I usually do, I want to describe my expectations for the classes I'm taking this semester. My schedule wasn't finalized until today (yikes!), primarily due to the discussions and prayers and decisions about my future plans that have filled the last three weeks of my life. I hesitate to write on this blog about my current plans, just because they seem to be changing every day, but I'm growing in certainty about the general direction in which I'm headed.

I can say that I'm going to be majoring in Biblical Text with a minor in Psychology, and the bulk of my senior year will be psychology classes. Here's what I've got lined up for the fall:

MARATHON TRAINING - I needed a final P.E. class and decided that I might as well get credit for something I'd probably do anyway. So, for the third year in a row, I'll be running (or at least attempting) the Dallas White Rock Marathon in December. While I'm not looking forward to this class's start time (7:30 am on Mondays and Wednesdays), I am excited to train with a group for this marathon—normally I train alone. And I'm glad to finally have Odies Wright for a class since I've lived with his son for a year.

DEVELOPMENTAL PSYCHOLOGY / INTRO TO PSYCHOLOGY / COGNITION AND LEARNING - I honestly don't know much about the three psychology classes I'm taking, so I don't have particular expectations for each class. Regardless of how directly my psychology minor plays into my future plans, I think I will benefit from the knowledge down the road, so I'm excited to take the classes. My Abnormal Psychology class this summer was fascinating, so I'm hoping these three will continue the trend. I've heard good things about all three of these classes (and their professors).

HISTORICAL BOOKS OF THE O.T. - I am finally, finally getting to take a class with the legendary John Willis. John is an Old Testament genius and has been teaching at ACU long enough that my father had him for a Bible class when he was a student here, and I can't wait to learn from him. I only lack three classes for my Bible degree (two Old Testament courses and one in New Testament), so I'm thrilled that I was able to squeeze Willis in at the end. I have yet to be disappointed by a text class at ACU.

THE PENTATEUCH - Again, this is a class where I'm more excited about the professor than the class itself, regardless of how interesting the subject material will be. Although I didn't intentionally plan it this way, this course will be my third class (technically fourth, since Hebrew lasted two semesters) with Rodney Ashlock, a professor I've come to appreciate and admire. It's always fun to take text classes that include a mix of Bible majors and other majors, and Ashlock does a great job of balancing the two audiences.

Outside of the classroom, I'm optimistic about this year because it is full of potential and significance. I'm not starting any major new commitments this year (jobs, clubs, etc.), which means I'm more comfortable to work within the spaces I've already established. I'm once again tutoring Greek students (which was a wonderful experience last year), leading a lifegroup, and participating in the Southern Hills church family. Though the year doesn't feel as fresh and new as previous years have felt, there's something to be said for finding a place of homeostasis and enjoying the opportunities that familiarity breeds. I do have a potential opportunity to participate in a kind of ministry that would stretch me more than anything I've experienced, but I'll keep mum on that for now since there's still a lot of praying to be done and decisions to be made. Regardless, I hope and expect this to be a year that will grow me and further establish my identity as a beloved child of God.

What Do I Believe?

2010-08-14T22:35:00.005-05:00

If you want to know what someone believes, you examine his actions and not his rhetoric. (There are a dozen famous quotes out there that say the same thing, so feel free to substitute.) So, if you want to know what someone believes about how he ought to treat homeless people, don't ask him what he believes; watch his interactions with homeless people.

In the same way, if you want to discover what you truly believe about something, then don't ask yourself what you think you believe. Watch your gut reactions, your expectations, your unconscious behaviors—those will paint you a much more accurate picture of your beliefs than your words will. So, if you are a Christian who claims to believe that all Christians should tithe, but then you don't tithe, something doesn't line up between your stated beliefs and your practiced beliefs. It seems to me that our practiced beliefs are much more important than our stated beliefs—not because what we do is more important than what we believe, but because our actions tend to reveal what we truly believe.

I say all of this because I'm currently experiencing a crisis of belief: what I claim to believe is not being accurately reflected by my actions. Let me explain:

I (claim to) believe that I am a dearly beloved child of God. I believe God loves me because he is love and that he cannot love me more or less because of anything I do or become or produce or perform. I also believe that I am most completely fulfilling my purpose—which, to me, is the most important pursuit in life—when I learn to receive God's love. And because God's love is not dependent on my own actions, it does not matter whether I become extremely successful and influential or spend my life peeling potatoes in a kitchen; in either case, what matters is that I learn to receive God's love and, by so doing, bring him glory.

Here's the problem: the last few weeks of my life have involved countless conversations and preparations regarding my plans for what I'll do after I graduate, and the amount of stress I have experienced has not been appropriate for someone who claims to believe that "what matters is that I learn to receive God's love." My stress level seems to reveal that what matters to me is being extremely successful, maybe wealthy, and highly regarded by my peers—as if I believe that these should be my central pursuit in life.

So, where's the breakdown in my beliefs? Where is the disconnect between my stated beliefs and my practiced beliefs? More importantly, what do I do in response? I think the answer is to continually train myself to hear God's truth above the noise of the lies of Satan and to prepare myself to counter those lies.

In the meantime, I worry, and that's no good.

"Desperado" Songs

2010-07-25T22:01:00.002-05:00

I grew up in a Seinfeld family and find myself continually comparing real-life situations to episodes of the show. One of my favorite story lines involves Elaine’s boyfriend Brett, who is completely entranced by The Eagles’ song “Desperado.” Whenever he hears the song playing, regardless of his circumstances, he stares into the distance and sits in silence. One one occasion, this leads to one of my top five Seinfeld lines, as Brett rebukes Elaine for interrupting the song: “Elaine, could you just not talk for one minute?” Elaine tries to pitch “Witchy Woman” as a replacement song, but it doesn’t take.

There are a handful of songs that are to me what “Desperado” is to Brett: songs that exhaust me, that level me, that force me to pause and listen regardless of my circumstances. The only reason I ever skip these songs on my iPod is to ensure that they remain special and rare to me. Their significance to me is usually based on their influence in my life (at very specific times) and not their musical merits, although these are all very beautiful songs. These are not necessarily my “favorite” songs; rather, these songs incite my greatest emotional response.

This may not interest anyone, but for my own sake, here are my “Desperado” songs. Allow me to gush:

“The Cure for Pain” by Jon Foreman - This was the song that inspired the list. There are certain occasions when a song plays that just perfectly fits your situation and your mood; this song seems to fit perfectly every time I hear it. Plenty of other Foreman songs could have made the list (“Learning How to Die,” “A Mirror is Harder to Hold,” “Southbound Train”), but this one is essential to me. I get chills every time I hear the opening chord, which sets the tone for a song that manages to capture an emotion I can now only describe as, “You know, it’s when you feel like...like how ‘The Cure for Pain’ sounds.”

“He’s Always Been Faithful” by the Zoe Group - A simple a cappella tune that has never managed to go mainstream in Church of Christ worship, this song was at the center of a pivotal moment in my life. I can’t think of any other event in which a song spoke so powerfully to my situation, and every time I hear the song I’m back in that moment.

“Hosanna” by Jason Morant - I don’t even try to listen to this song unless I’m by myself and can sit in silence for the entire 8 minutes. I may not be exaggerating when I say that this song is devastatingly beautiful; it leaves me tired. The minimal lyrics paint a wonderful picture of Jesus, and it includes what may be my favorite song lyric of all time: “When he talked, the angels stopped to listen.”

“It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” by Josh Groban - I didn’t originally plan to include Christmas songs on this list because I usually only enjoy Christmas music in December (I find it annoying any other time of year), but I’m always moved by the slow pace of this arrangement and the (not overbearing) inclusion of a choir. This is one of the songs that I reserve for very special occasions, and it’s one of the reasons that I so look forward to the Christmas season.

“Silver Bells” by Relient K - I certainly didn’t plan to include two Christmas songs on this list. Nevertheless, this song somehow embodies to me everything that makes Christmas my favorite time of year. The classic lyrics (which came from 1950 and include such old-fashioned charms as “Children laughing, people passing, meeting smile after smile”) combined with Relient K’s relaxed piano/guitar arrangement represent to me the joy of celebrating traditions, new and old alike, in the Christmas season.

I am eager to hear your “Desperado” songs. Which songs command your attention?

Chills at VBS

2010-07-12T22:26:00.003-05:00

I got chills tonight at VBS.

I wish I could say something really profound caused it—like a kid saying something really meaningful, or a volunteer stretching himself past his comfort zone to touch a kid's life. But no. I got chills when I was listening to the kids' Bible story.

That's not supposed to happen when I'm a volunteer. When I'm a volunteer at VBS, I'm supposed to keep the kids from talking during the stories. I'm supposed to laugh with Steve Ridgell (one of our shepherds) when he's dressed like Joseph and knowingly smile when he says things like, "I was a servant in Potiphar's house, but Mrs. Potiphar wanted me to be her boyfriend." I'm hearing the children's version of stories that I've heard since I was a little kid at VBS and have since studied in much greater detail, and, well, I'm not supposed to react emotionally anymore, right?

But I did, and it was when Joseph (Ridgell) told the kids about how he got out of prison. It's just so masterfully written. Joseph, who has been falsely accused, aids a fellow prisoner (a cupbearer) and asks the man, when he is released, to tell the Pharaoh about his situation. After being released, the cupbearer forgets Joseph for two years—two years in which Joseph's only hope in prison is the presence of God—until Pharaoh has a dream and needs an interpreter. The cupbearer suddenly remembers that Joseph has a gift for dream interpretation, a gift he used on the man, and the Pharaoh calls for Joseph.

Joseph would not have become Pharaoh's second-in-command if he did not meet the cupbearer in prison. He would not have been in prison if he had not been falsely accused. He would not have been accused if he had not worked for Potiphar, and that only happened because his brothers sold him into slavery. It just looks like everything happened exactly like it was supposed to in order to bring Joseph from Canaan to the Pharaoh. This, of course, leads to the Israelite enslavement in Egypt, which leads to God's marvelous rescue, and the story continues. It's so well written.

I'll be honest—I'm skeptical (maybe too skeptical) about 90% of the modern-day stories I hear involving God's direct intervention in our lives. I have trouble crediting God for a great parking space because I just don't know (really, I don't know) if he works that way in our time. In fact, I tend to think that stories like Joseph's, where God has a specific plan for one individual's life, are the exceptions that prove the rule.

But I love how this story demonstrates how perfectly God can author a story. He uses some situations that seem good to us and some that seem bad to arrive at a conclusion that we never would have expected.

The reason that I have hope is that I believe everything that happens in history is leading up to a grand conclusion, and I believe God is carefully moving things toward that grand conclusion. Regardless of how that works in our lives, stories like Joseph's show me that God is capable of carrying out his plans in beautiful, melodic ways.

The Language We Use (Conclusion)

2010-07-02T10:19:00.003-05:00

I want to offer a few concluding thoughts on my discussion about our language.

First, as I wrote these posts, it became clear to me that I either will or will not glorify God with what I say. A very large portion of what I say is meant to glorify me (by making me look good to other people, for the sake of looking good to other people), which means my aim is not to glorify God. Profanity can be used in two ways: it can draw attention to me, shocking my listeners and making them remember me; or it can draw attention to the things that offend God. Humor can draw attention to me, making people admire my cleverness; or it can bring joy to people for the glory of God. And there will be situations in which we need to speak negatively about people; but those situations can be used to draw attention to me, making me look good in comparison to the victim of gossip; or they can be used to grow communities into the image of Jesus. The point is that, if we’re choosing between glorifying God and glorifying ourselves (even if the choice isn’t always so polarized), we ought to choose to glorify God.

Second, I really started to think that maybe I just talk too much. How often do I get so caught up in a moment that I use over-inflated language to describe an insignificant experience? Why do I so often risk hurting people for the sake of a joke that I just can’t pass up? And when have I allowed my speech to cross that narrow line into dangerous, toxic gossip because I simply wasn’t thinking? I truly don’t think our Christian communities need to become joyless and somber; but if I suggested that we ought to talk and joke less, I wouldn’t be the first Christian to do so. St. Benedict, who was around in the 500s, offered this as the eleventh of his famous twelve steps to humility: “The monk, when he speaks, should do so slowly and without laughter, softly and gravely, using few words and reasonable, and...he should not be loud of voice; as it is written: ‘A wise man is known for his few words.’” The class with whom I studied this text generally agreed that we didn’t believe Christian communities should be gloomy, but I like the idea of a person whose words carry weight because of their scarcity. Proverbs 10:19, “When words are many, sin is not absent, but he who holds his tongue is wise,” has certainly proven true through the mistakes I've made with my speech.

Finally, I believe that we need to reclaim imagination in our conversations.* As a Bible major, I have been involved in (and even started) many conversations that began with, “the problem with _____ is...” You can fill in the blank with “church,” “Christian universities,” “Christianity in the USA,” “youth ministry,” or anything else, and I’d probably talk your ear off. (Even these three posts about language have essentially been, “The problem with the way we talk is...”) When you spend a lot of time at a university, you start to pick up a subtle message: that the smart ones are the cynical ones, the ones who criticize and see problems before anyone else. There is certainly a place for criticism—we wouldn’t grow without it. But I’m much more interested in conversations that begin, “I’d love to participate in a church where...” or “What would it be like if we had a class that...” or even “I’ve got a crazy idea about...” If nobody criticizes, then we’ll keep doing things the wrong way; but if nobody imagines, then we won’t do anything at all.

Language is an incredible gift and tool, and we need to wield it carefully. It has the potential to create—yes, I believe, create—beautiful things.

*Thanks to Randy Harris for teaching me about the importance of imagination for followers of Jesus.

The Language We Use: Gossip

2010-07-02T10:13:00.003-05:00

This whole conversation about language really started at a Wednesday night Bible class at my church, Southern Hills (and the subsequent car ride home). As part of an “Elephants in the Church” series, Vann Conwell spoke about gossip, and he had a lot of powerful and challenging words. I’ve written about gossip before on this blog (see post), so I’ll be brief and specific here. I just want to mention two things: first, situations in which negative speech is necessary, and second, gossip about distant people (i.e., famous people).

We have be very, very careful whenever we talk bad about people. There will be situations in which we need to acknowledge and discuss the problematic behaviors of people: for example, when a large conflict rocks a church community, sometimes people need to analyze exactly what happened. Or, whenever we study the Bible, sometimes we need to admit the mistakes that people made. I don’t think that every conversation in which we discuss people in a negative light is necessarily gossip.

On the other hand, I think we’re usually pretty slow to call gossip what it is, and for that reason, we ought to establish for ourselves tests that will tell us whether we’re gossiping. In my own conversations, I typically have two tests: first, does the conversation glorify God? I’ve used this test on each of my posts about language, but I think it’s the most important question: is your negative speech serving God? Second, how would the individual being discussed feel about the conversation? Is there a good reason why the individual is not present of the conversation?

Here’s an example: if I’m in a Bible study talking about Peter’s three denials of Jesus, then I’m engaged in a conversation in which I’m talking negatively about a person (Peter). But, I believe the conversation glorifies God because it can potentially teach and grow everyone present. And, I believe that Peter would be willing to offer his life as a case study; he would not mind us discussing his mistake. For that reason, I don’t consider the conversation gossip.

Here’s another example: if someone in my small group were to get arrested for public intoxication, the group would probably discuss the situation. But the conversation could quickly turn into gossip if we did not aim to glorify God and if our words became something that would offend and hurt the individual, especially in his absence.

Nevertheless, I don’t want to over-emphasize the person being discussed. I’m not convinced that we should have different standards about gossip when the gossip is about someone who is not close—here, I’m moving on to speak specifically about celebrity gossip. And lest it appear that I’m targeting any specific demographic, let me say that I think most of us engage in celebrity gossip, whether it’s about politicians, athletes, actors, musicians, etc. Gossip about professors, for example, is huge in college communities. We frequently enter into gossip about famous people without every wondering if the conversation is sinful because we assume (with good reason) that the victim will never hear about our conversation.

Such a view assumes that gossip is only dangerous because of what it can do to a community—that the victims of gossip will find out, that lines will be drawn, that community will be broken. When the Bible speaks about gossip, it seems to generally discuss the communal dangers of gossip. But I believe there is a dangerous side to gossip that has nothing to do with whether your victim will ever find out what you said; in other words, it’s just as dangerous for me to gossip about Tiger Woods as it is for me to gossip about my roommate. In either case, my conversation consists of me tearing down another person. Celebrity gossip often feels worthwhile because it can unite us against a common foe who will never feel the sting of our words; as Michael Scott said on The Office, “Sometimes, what brings the kids together is hating the lunch lady.” But do we really want mutual hatred to be the source of the bonds of our faith community? Do we want our conversations to be characterized by negativity and insults? I really don’t think Tiger Woods will ever find out if I make a joke about him, but I believe that plenty of people around me will see me in the act of gossip if I make a joke about him.

I don’t think that anyone believes gossip is really useful or valuable, and that means that when we do engage gossip, we aren’t speaking carefully. As I said in the introduction to this series of posts, Christians can’t afford to be flippant with our speech. We have to be proactive against gossip because we have all seen how easily our conversations move into gossipy territory.

The Language We Use: Sarcasm

2010-07-01T18:17:00.002-05:00

I don’t think of myself as a particularly sarcastic person. For my post on sarcasm, I want to discuss two very specific uses of sarcasm: the first is when we use sarcasm in response to personal conflict. The second is when we use sarcasm in response to large-scale (that is, social or institutional) conflict. In both cases, I think sarcasm is typically more dangerous than helpful.

First, I want to talk about how we use sarcasm in personal conflicts. I recently read an interesting post by Dr. Richard Beck, psychology professor at ACU, about emoticon use.* Among other interesting points, he had this to say:

“For example, imagine this sentence:

“Joe, you're a jerk. ;-)

“What's that wink about? Do I mean what I'm saying? Or not? Likely I mean it, but if I add the wink I can say what I want (‘Joe, you are a jerk.’) while hiding behind the emoticon (wink, wink). It's the Internet equivalent of saying something harsh and sarcastic and then appending ‘I'm only joking.’ Because, really, you're not joking. The "I'm joking" is just a way to insert enough paralinguistic ambiguity into the conversation so that you can hide if you need to.

“The point of all this is that, as silly as it sounds, there is an ethical issue involved in emoticon use. Emoticons can be, albeit small, forms of violence. Tiny daggers that can add a bit of sting to our electronic communication or, more properly, allow us to sting others while granting us plausible deniability. Come out and shoot and then run for cover behind the ;-).”

It has been said that sarcasm is one of the main defense mechanisms of insecure people, and regardless of whether that is true, I think most of us would agree that sarcasm is typically not the healthiest or safest way for us to express ourselves. Undoubtedly, within a faith community, there will be conflict and disagreement; sarcasm gives people license to say incredibly hurtful things that they would never say without the protection offered by a sarcastic tone. As Dr. Beck says, “Really, you’re not joking.” Sarcasm typically gets laughs; but it also provides an easy, acceptable route for passive-aggressive attacks.

Ephesians 4:25 tells us to “put off falsehood and speak truthfully to [our] neighbor, for we are all members of one body.” Matthew 18:15 says, “If your brother sins against you, go and show him his fault, just between the two of you.” Sarcasm is easy and feels harmless, but I believe the Bible gives us very clear instructions on how we should handle conflict. The Bible recommends straightforwardness—not the ambiguity of sarcasm. The Bible recommends honesty—not the cowardice of sarcasm. And the Bible recommends that we handle all conflicts with love—not the viciousness of sarcasm.

Someone wise told me that there’s a little truth behind every joke, and I’m realizing how true that statement is. Humor works because there’s truth behind it, but too often we use humor to protect us from what we are actually communicating.

This leads me to another use of sarcasm: using sarcasm to handle large-scale conflicts. I’m very interested in the ways our jokes shape reality. At a recent gathering at my Church of Christ, a minister made a joke about having disdain for Baptists. People laughed because the audience was aware of the reputation the Church of Christ used to have for being a very exclusive institution, and that exclusivity is much less prevalent now. My problem with this joke—and my problem with sarcastic jokes about gays, and blacks, and overweight people, and the Holocaust, and any other jokes in which the speaker pokes fun at the way old-fashioned people were so ignorant—is that, even for just a moment, we reopen wounds that are very real and, in some cases, very fresh.

Now, some of my friends have argued that those kinds of jokes serve an important role: they mock and trivialize backwards, hateful opinions. In other words, if Joe makes a sarcastic joke about a black stereotype, it isn’t funny because Joe believes that stereotype; it’s funny because Joe is mocking people who believe that stereotype. And if the way you talk about black people is being mocked, you may just want to rethink the way you talk about black people. I tend to disagree with this view because I think we’re ignoring just how bad things have gotten in the past and, in many cases, how bad things still may be—for lack of a better phrase, I think it still may be too soon for these kinds of jokes. It’s not uncommon to hear gay jokes on campus at the Christian school I attend, and there are two types of gay jokes: jokes that poke fun at homosexuals, and jokes that poke fun at homophobes by sarcastically echoing their gay jokes. In the first case, I think we can all agree that jokes poking fun at homosexuals have no place in Christian community. In the second case, though, I think we still ought to be extremely careful calling to mind the homophobia that the church has expressed.

When people make sarcastic jokes about homosexuals, they're probably trying to say, “I’m sorry that people used to feel this way. It was wrong, and I’m mocking that view in order to show you that I'm different and want to treat you with love and respect.” The intentions may be noble; but the problem is that any homosexuals present will immediately be reminded (even if only for a moment) that the church has expressed and still does express a lot of hatred towards homosexuals. When a pastor from the Church of Christ makes a sarcastic joke about Baptists, even if his goal is to improve inter-denominational relations, he’s still reminding everyone of the division that has been and is still present. That was my issue with the pastor’s joke: if he hadn’t made the joke, no one would have even thought about negative inter-denominational relationships. But he did, so we did. Did it exacerbate or alleviate the problem? I tend to think that it makes things worse—I’m not convinced that we’re far enough away from the conflict for humor to be appropriate and not hurtful. I think an ideal situation would be one in which we were so far away from the conflict that it wouldn't even occur to us to make those jokes.

(Off the record, if someone does typically make sarcastic jokes about any particular demographic who has been the victim of hatred [i.e., intended to poke fun at the hatred and not at the demographic itself], that person may want to really examine himself to see if his attitude is quite as loving and progressive as his humor would have us believe. If you really do love African Americans, what is your reason for constantly referencing backwards stereotypes about them? But that’s off the record.)

In short, as much as I hate to say it, I’m arriving at a place where I can’t see how sarcasm brings glory to God, and that leaves me wondering whether we should use it at all. I don’t want to empty Christian communities of laughter—more on that in the conclusion I’ll post later—but I also don’t want our communities to be places in which conflict is handled with cowardice and hatred. Sarcasm is often used instead of genuine, humble apologies for mistakes; it’s a way of “saving face” in difficult conversations. It’s much easier to make a joke about a homophobic person than it is to humbly confess and repent of one’s own homophobia. If I’m more concerned with being known as a funny person than I am with communicating accurately, am I emulating Jesus?

*http://experimentaltheology.blogspot.com/2010/06/ethics-of.html

The Language We Use: Profanity

2010-06-30T16:23:00.003-05:00

My beliefs about profanity have changed significantly in my time at ACU. I generally believe there are two ways in which we can use profanity improperly: the first is to use it too much. The second is to use it about the wrong things.

The first problem is when we use profanity too much, and in this case, the problem is that our words don’t mean anything at all. Profanity can be incredibly useful when used properly; it can offend just enough to unsettle and draw attention. I can distinctly remember the first time I heard a Church of Christ preacher use profanity within a sermon; because this was someone whom I had never heard curse before, the point he was making was emphasized powerfully by his choice words. If he cursed regularly, those words would lose their power in his speech. Now, this can be a problem with negative language or with positive language. I think it is a shame that we have cheapened many of the words that used to describe God, the Holy Other, by using them to describe insignificant things. Once, only God was “awesome”; now, Iron Man is “awesome.” Once, God’s glory was “amazing”; now, my burrito is “amazing.” I want to reclaim the value of my language so that I can truly emphasize what deserves to be emphasized—both positively and negatively. Proverbs 17:27 says that “a man of knowledge uses words with restraint,” and I think it’s hinting at a careful use of language.

One of my good friends brought the movie Junebug to my attention, and although it is not a major theme of the movie, I think it makes a good comment about profanity. The film tells the story of a man bringing his new wife home from Chicago to meet his quaint family in a small South Carolina town. The man’s little sister-in-law, who is obviously impressed by the couple’s life in the big city, uses the F-word exactly two times in the film. The first time, early in the film, it is obvious that she has never used the word before (she giggles) and is only using it to try and fit in with her brother’s new wife. The second time, near the end of the film, she uses it in response to tragedy—and the word carries much more weight. We easily see the difference between profanity used flippantly and profanity used intentionally.

Nevertheless, I want to be careful with what I am arguing, because one line of thinking seems to say that profanity is justified as long as it reflects an intense, internal passion; as long as you don’t use profanity casually, you’re okay. The popular blog “Church Marketing Sucks” wrote an article about why their title includes a word that is considered offensive by many,* and they had some interesting thoughts on profanity:

“Looking to the Bible, we don’t find a list of ‘naughty’ words to stay away from. In Ephesians 4:29, Paul admonishes us to watch the way we talk. This doesn’t refer to specific words, but to the character of what we say. Looking through the book of Job and the book of Psalms, there are some pretty choice words used by men of God. In Job 3:8, Job says ‘May those who are good at cursing curse that day’ (MSG). There’s plenty of precedence when it comes to being authentic in our emotions and feelings—that includes the words we use. Which is exactly what we’re doing with the name Church Marketing Sucks. We’re being authentic. We’re being real. We’re doing the same thing we’re asking the church to do when it comes to communicating and marketing who they are.”

I can agree with anyone’s desire to be real and authentic, but my generation seems to believe that authenticity itself is a virtue. That can’t be true. When I am at my most “authentic,” I often reveal those parts of my life that are the most sinful and the least Christ-like. So, this argument—that the only profanity we need to avoid is profanity used casually—makes it seem like all of my passionate feelings are legitimate and holy. Like profanity, anger can be a good thing, but that doesn’t mean that all anger is holy or justified. It certainly doesn’t mean I should express all of my anger; on the contrary, Jesus speaks plainly about situations in which expressing anger is sinful, regardless of how genuine the anger may feel (Matthew 5:21-22).

This leads to the second way we can misuse profanity: using it about the wrong things. Even if I get to a place where I am very intentional with my language and only use profanity in those times when I feel particularly passionate, I could still have a problem because of what drives me to use profanity. Like I can remember the first time I heard a preacher use profanity, I can also remember the first time I used the F-word in my journal. To be entirely honest, I wasn’t shocked that I had used the F-word itself; I was shocked that I meant it, that I felt angrier than I had ever felt before in my life.

I’m less concerned with Christians using profanity than I am concerned with what Christians are using profanity about—what is it that our words are telling people we think is worth getting upset about? There are certain things that ought to offend us, and those are the things that offend God. Psalm 11:5 says God hates wickedness and violence. Amos 5:21-24 says God can’t even listen to the worship that comes from a people who practice injustice. These are things that I believe God would consider profane. I do not believe that God is offended when someone cuts you off in traffic. Nor is he offended when a politician upsets you or when your roommate plays his music too loudly. In those situations, the problem is not that we use profanity; the problem is that we are so upset that we think profanity is merited. We are upset about the wrong things, and that is a much deeper issue than the words we use.

As is usually the case, someone wiser than me has summed up everything I’m trying to say in one concise statement. Read this famous quote from Tony Campolo, and prepare yourself for profanity (which I haven’t censored):

“While you were sleeping last night, 30,000 kids died of starvation or diseases related to malnutrition...most of you don't give a shit. What's worse is that you're more upset with the fact that I said ‘shit’ than the fact that 30,000 kids died last night.”

As it stands, here is a summary of my current belief about profanity:
1. Profanity can be useful. There are certain things that are profane in the world, and in those cases, profanity is an appropriate means of expression. Nevertheless, we had better be careful because the things that offend God often differ from the things that offend us.
2. Profanity can only serve its useful purpose—to draw our attention to profane things—when it is extremely scarce in our speech.
3. The implicit meanings of certain words suggest that they are useful to the Christian in no context and ought to be permanently removed from our vocabularies. For example, I can think of no situation in which it would be appropriate for a Christian to refer to any woman as a “b****.”
4. Above all, as with all of our speech, the simplest test of our use of profanity is to ask honestly whether it brings glory to God.

*http://www.churchmarketingsucks.com/2005/03/why-we-use-%E2%80%98sucks%E2%80%99/

The Language We Use

2010-06-30T16:20:00.002-05:00

I’ve been thinking a lot about the power of our language to reveal our hearts and to shape our reality. Recent discussions among my friends about gossip have led to very interesting conversations about sarcasm and profanity. As I’ve tried to organize some sort of series of posts about how we should use speech, I’ve realized just how broad of a topic it is—and how very much the Bible has to say about it, which should alert us to how significant our words really are.

My primary text for this discussion, though, will be Ephesians 4:29 and 5:4. Keep in mind that Ephesians is essentially a guide to living in a way that brings glory to God:

“Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen....Nor should there be obscenity, foolish talk or coarse joking, which are out of place, but rather thanksgiving.”

I’ll state my starting point for this entire discussion: because we know that God will or will not be glorified through our speech, Christians cannot afford to speak without giving appropriate weight and consideration to our words.

That being said, I want to share my thoughts on language, specifically profanity, sarcasm, and gossip. Rather than trying to make any kind of detailed or overarching commentaries (which have already been written by people with more time and intelligence than I have), I’m going to offer my own observations about the effects of language that I’ve seen. I hope that, as you read these posts, you’ll leave your own thoughts so that we can all grow in our ability to glorify God through our speech (which, as far as I’m concerned, is really the only reason we should speak at all).

Reflections on Pixar's "Toy Story 3"

2010-06-19T02:18:00.002-05:00

NOTE: If you haven't seen Toy Story 3, don't read this post until you do! I'm going to discuss the ending pretty heavily, and you really should watch the movie yourself first.

I’ll admit that I’m a softie when it comes to Pixar movies (see my reflections on last year’s Up), but I think that just about anyone who watches the new Toy Story 3 will find themselves responding to the sentimentality.

I was excited about this movie for a few reasons, including that the original Toy Story came out when I was six years old and this trilogy-ending film (in which the main character, Andy, is now a 17-year-old off to college) feels like a another door closing on my childhood. I was excited because the Toy Story movies have always dealt with the theme of moving on but from the very unique perspective of those things that are left behind when we do move on. The first movie was about Woody (Andy’s old favorite toy) accepting Andy’s love for Buzz (his new favorite toy). The second movie was about Buzz convincing Woody that, even though Andy would eventually be too old for toys, it would be worth it to stick around for the ride. The third film deals with the poignant truth that, eventually, people do get too old for toys, and they do move on from childhood. This means that the movie is necessarily sadder than the first two films because we know that the happy ending won’t involve things staying the way they have always been; Andy simply can’t keep playing with his toys because he must grow.

The film ends with a very touching scene in which Andy, who has just left home for college, donates his most precious toys (and our favorite characters) to a little girl, taking care to explain the significance of each toy to her and then joining her in one last imaginative adventure as he passes her the baton of his childhood.

Although I left home three years ago, watching Andy pack his room for college and drive away in this film was very touching for me. I think most everyone has a moment during the difficult transition from childhood to adulthood in which he realizes with startling clarity that the world does not revolve around him. This is deeper than repentance from selfish narcissism—it’s a shift in which one ceases to be the protagonist and instead sees himself as but one character in a vast story that began long before him and will continue long after him. I remember feeling this way when my niece was born a year ago and I first owned the role of Uncle, an important role, to be sure, but probably not one of the main characters in her life.

It’s the feeling you get when you go to visit a favorite teacher from your high school and see halls full of students making the same discoveries and mistakes that you made years ago, with all the same drama and excitement and heartbreak. It’s the feeling of visiting your parents’ house and discovering a new flowerbed or bathroom wallpaper or carpet stain, which means the house is not a museum. And it is, I can imagine, the same feeling that Andy experienced when he handed over his toys to the little girl, accepting that his childhood was over but that childhood itself is eternal.

I still haven’t decided if I want this to be a happy post or a sad post. I recently recommended a movie to someone, saying, “It’s either hilarious or tragic depending on whether you think life is hilarious or tragic.” And I suppose the human condition, of passing through permanent structures while never getting to experience permanence ourselves, is either really beautiful or really heartbreaking or some of both.

Sometimes I think what Christians have to offer the world is, more than anything else, assurance that there is a purpose to this world and this life. It doesn’t mean that we get to see it now, and it doesn’t mean we have to deny that certain things happen that make us wonder how any purpose could ever be worth it all. But it does mean that we can find peace in knowing that what happens does matter; that we are headed towards a grand finale, and that, when all is said and done, relationships may very well be more significant than anything.

If that’s the case, then I guess this life—in which, as we cycle impermanently through structures of permanence, we only occasionally get to experience small foretastes of the glory of God’s happy ending—really is beautiful, after all.

Faithful with a Little

2010-05-19T17:32:00.004-05:00

It frustrates me that there is a precious jewel of biblical truth at the end of one of the hardest parables in all of scripture to understand: “Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much. So if you have not been trustworthy in handling worldly wealth, who will trust you with true riches? And if you have not been trustworthy with someone else's property, who will give you property of your own?” (Luke 16:10-12). The story that precedes this charge is baffling: a dishonest man is held up as a hero. It’s a shame that this passage is so difficult, because I think that my generation of Christians dreamers needs to recognize just how much opportunity we have been given now before we look too far into the future.

I am notoriously bad at maintaining a daily quiet time. I say that there are too many deadlines and appointments for me to be able to sit in silence for an hour every day, and that excuse may have worked during finals week. The problem is that it’s now summer, and I don’t have nearly as many deadlines and appointments as I do during the school year, and yet my personal devotional time remains scarce. I seemed to believe that I would be more faithful when I had an abundance of free time than I was when my free time was rare.

That’s not how faithfulness works; you don’t prove your faithfulness with big things. You have to prove faithfulness with small things, things that may involve tiny payoffs and no sense of accomplishment. In Matthew 25:14-30, we find the parable of the talents. Different men are given different amounts of money, and both of the men who use their money wisely are given the same praise, regardless of the amount they were given initially: “Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!” (Matthew 25:21). The master in this story puts his servants in charge of small amounts, and they prove their faithfulness on this small scale.

I think a lot of us college students have big dreams about how we want to serve God throughout the world, but our sights are set so high that we ignore what God has already entrusted to us.

Let me give an example: there are more than a handful of students at ACU who want to become successful in their particular field so that they can earn a hefty paycheck to support various mission efforts or service organizations. Now, I don’t want this to become a post about the specifics of the gift of giving, so I’ll just make a few points about it. First, the Bible does refer to the spiritual gift of giving in the same way as it refers to other gifts from the Spirit, such as prophesying, teaching, or encouraging (Romans 12:6-8). Second, Luke tells us that even Jesus and his disciples received external financial support (Luke 8:3). The desire to serve God with one’s finances is holy and noble.

Nevertheless, I’m concerned with students who hope to accumulate wealth for the sake of giving in the future if they do not demonstrate any evidence now that they have received the gift of giving. We seem to believe that we will be empowered to give when we receive an abundance of wealth—that is, when our exterior circumstances change. But we know that the most powerful stories of giving in the Bible are not about the greatness of the gift; they are about the cost to the giver and the faith that accompanies the act of giving (I Kings 17:7-16, John 6:1-13, Luke 21:1-4).

I’ll be more specific. I’m fooling myself if I say that I will give in the future when I’m rich but don’t give right now. When my income increases, I don’t believe that my generosity will increase proportionally; rather, I believe that my standard of what is “necessary” will simply increase. If I say today that I cannot give because I need to be able to eat out three times a week and go to the movies on Friday and buy three more albums for my iPod, then tomorrow I will say I cannot give because I need a nicer suit and want to invest in a bigger house and simply cannot live without TiVo.

“Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much.” The good news, of course, is that there are people who are doing it right. There are incredible stories of people who live well below their means in order to support scholarship funds or missionaries in Africa, and those are incredible testimonies to what God can do through the gift of giving he grants to certain people. Unfortunately, there are also too many Christians making the rest of us look bad (or perhaps I should say “the rest of them,” since I’m not ready to pretend I’m innocent) because of their intense greed and lust for material possessions.

“It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God," Jesus says, and I think he may be getting at the fact that we had sure better be careful if we plan to serve God through any kind of abundance, whether an abundance of money or influence or opportunity (Luke 18:25). It’s just too easy for us to think that our external circumstances will automatically grow within us the necessary heart for service.

The Matthew parable, though, has a very hopeful, optimistic message for those servants who are faithful: God will use your faithfulness for his glory in big, big ways. So, I would leave my peers and I with a charge: dream big for the future, but first recognize how you can be faithful to the Lord now. If you want to give great amounts of money to charity, start paying close attention to the breakdown of your current expenses. If you hope to become an influential author or speaker, notice now whether you use the influence you do have for your own glory or for God’s glory. If you want to end starvation in Africa, be aware of the opportunities you have to end hunger down the street. If you want to be a faithful, loving wife, begin treating the men in your life with respect and love.

God can do huge things through us, and it starts when we're faithful with a little.

Junior Year Reflections

2010-05-18T23:19:00.002-05:00

Saying this may have already become a cliché on this blog, but from where I’m sitting in May, it’s hard to believe that August 2009 was only nine months ago. This has been a tremendous and absolutely transformative year for my life, and God has been at work in ways that leave little room for looking back.

One of the biggest themes from the year has been the simple truth that I cannot have it all. I live off-campus this year, and that has created a college experience that is very different from what I experienced my first two years at ACU. Freshman and sophomore year was about trying to juggle too many relationships and too many commitments, and this may have been the first time in my life that I was finally willing to admit that I have limits. That isn’t to say that I’ve learned to balance my time perfectly—far from it. But I recognize, with some sadness, that too many good relationships and too many good opportunities on campus ends up being a very bad, destructive thing. In other words, there are twenty-four hours in a day, and acknowledging that fact does not make me lazy or selfish or unfaithful.

Part of the reason that I’ve learned to recognize my limits is that I have finally come to terms with my grossly inaccurate understanding of grace. I discussed this mini-revelation in a September post titled “Unbelief,” but the end result is that I have realized how much of my life has been a desperate attempt to earn God’s grace and to convince myself that I am worthy of being in a relationship with him. If my understanding of grace is that it is something I have to deserve, then I had sure better fill up my calendar with appointments and projects and busyness to stand a better chance of deserving it. But if I can understand that grace is something I will never deserve, it takes a lot of the pressure off; and, ironically, it makes me want to dedicate myself more to those appointments and projects with a deeper focus and sense of purpose because I’m serving in response to receiving God’s love (and not in hopes of earning it).

My summer will be a good test of whether I can deal with an absence of busyness, since my summer school ends in June and leaves me with about a month and a half of empty calendar. Already, I’ve enjoyed having the time to run and to cook—more on that later—but I still fight that poisonous impulse that plagues me at the end of each day, saying that I didn’t do enough or work hard enough. My life had become a perpetual to-do list, and it’s difficult for me to simply be in God’s presence rather than do things for him. When I can just be, I am freed to love the people around me and to respond to the needs of my friends and to walk a little more slowly to enjoy the sun.

Turning twenty-one this year allowed me to see more clearly that my life is in my hands and that I can, if you will, choose just how quickly I will walk. On the one hand, my twenty-first birthday was an eye-opener: my parents will not always help with the bills, and I will not be a student forever, and eventually I have to get one of those jobs that everyone keeps finding. On the other hand, I’m realizing how much of the rest of my life is in my control. I’m not talking about the little high of independence you feel your freshman year when you realize that you could sleep through church on Sunday without anyone slapping your wrist; I’m talking about the freedom to decide how exactly I’m going to treat my body, how I want to interact with the environment, what standard of living I’ll pursue, what time I want to wake up in the morning, and every other decision that constitutes a life. The best (or worst) part of this is that the decisions I make now really can affect the rest of my life. For example, I’ve recently begun researching information about healthy eating, specifically in regards to natural foods and local produce—because I’m the one who buys my groceries, so I have to decide what to eat. I’ve been trying to cut down my online presence—because I, and not my generation, am the one who will be most affected by my personal relationship with the Internet and social media. So, while it’s scary to be holding the reigns of my life, I’m optimistic about what can happen.

When I say that I’m holding the reigns of my life, I don’t mean to insinuate that God has no control; but I do mean that I have the choice of whether I will decide to live actively within his kingdom. This year has widened the gap I see between God’s design for how things are supposed to work and how culture tells me things are supposed to work. Whether it’s sex or money or ambition or morality, I’m realizing that many of the things our culture accepts as “normal” or “natural” are very distant from how God designed the world to function. I think that Satan’s greatest victory has been convincing us that living under God’s control is as superficial as choosing not to do certain things and feeling obligated to do other things. For example, I believe that living under God’s reign means much more than choosing not to drink alcohol—it means recognizing how very significant our words and actions can be and admitting that we simply cannot afford the risk of what might happen when we’re drunk. Or, for another example, following Jesus is about much more than just avoiding sexual misconduct—it’s about recognizing that the way our culture objectifies women and promotes lust is a perversion of how male-female relationships are supposed to work. “Radical” is a word that my peers and I love to throw around when we talk about Jesus, but I think we’re onto something when we recognize that a lot of what Jesus teaches is deeply, deeply contradictory to what our society teaches.

Choosing to live within God’s kingdom means that we will offend people, but that’s something with which I’m becoming more and more comfortable. A youth minister whom I greatly respect taught me that I can’t be responsible for how other people feel. Hear me out: I do have absolute control over how I treat people, and my actions towards them can have significant power over their emotions. If I am cruel and judgmental, they will feel cruelly judged. But—and this is the critical distinction—there comes a point at which I must recognize that other people may respond to my actions in ways that are not appropriate or healthy, and I do not need to assume responsibility for those choices. (NOTE: This is one of those matters in which I believe our behavior towards Christians and non-Christians may be very different. If someone does not have a relationship with Jesus, we ought to remove every obstacle we can to their coming to faith; but if someone is living in relationship with Jesus, it’s not always a bad idea to ruffle feathers).

Here’s an example from my life, which has been a life characterized by struggling to balance truth (holding people to a higher standard) and grace (offering forgiveness and acceptance). There are certain behaviors in which I choose not to participate for very specific reasons. A simple example would be downloading music illegally: I believe that it is unethical for a Christian to download music for which he did not pay, so I do not do it. If a situation should arise in which someone who does download music illegally accuses me of being judgmental or holier-than-thou, there are two possibilities: the first is that I have been acting with reprehensible judgmentalism, for which I should repent because it is within my control. The second is that the other person has been unfairly assigning a judgmental spirit to me, probably based on his own feelings of guilt, and for this I need not repent because I have done nothing wrong. The tricky part, of course, is trying to determine in any situation whether I have wronged someone else by my behavior or attitude; but the point I’m trying to make is that I cannot necessarily decide how someone else will respond to my actions when they are performed in love.

In addition to learning what I see as very significant life lessons this year, I also experienced many major life changes. My niece was born in June, and the arrival of this new generation into my family has certainly changed the way our family functions. I worked as a campus ministry intern for my church in Abilene as well as a Greek tutor for the Bible department at ACU, and both positions allowed me to develop relationships that have become very important to me.

I have been deeply, painfully humbled this year, but I have also experienced the love of Christ in ways that felt entirely new to me. As I think about the ways I’ve changed this year—and the ways I’ve changed since starting at ACU—I find myself wondering whether my life and my faith will always feel like a ship lost in a storm, where up becomes down almost daily and I don’t even remember what level ground feels like. In these moments, I must simply turn to Jesus to allow him to speak the same words he spoke to the storm: “Quiet! Be still” (Mark 4:39). As much as I can, I will obey those words.

"I Will Run"

2010-02-12T01:02:00.003-06:00

John Mayer’s “Stop This Train” became my unofficial theme song for 2009. It was a year full of transitions for me, and that song speaks about how we can best react to the inevitability of change. A month and a half into 2010, I’m already prepared to name Jason Morant’s “I Will Run” as my theme song for 2010. Here’s a portion of the lyrics, although I highly recommend you drop $.99 to buy the song on iTunes by clicking this link: .

“How long will it be until we are standing face to face? How long will it be until I behold that wondrous place? My eyes will be fixed on you, and my heart will have found its home. ‘Till then, I will run this race and will live to make you known. I will run (x3); all my days are yours. I will run ‘cause you are all I am living for.”

I’ve run two marathons in the last two years. Now, I’m pretty useless with a football or a basketball, but I can run pretty far, and I absolutely love marathons because there are essentially two steps.

First, you train. No one wakes up and decides to run a marathon on race day; you must plan months in advance and commit to a disciplined training regiment. Now, I genuinely believe that about 90% of the population could eventually run a marathon if they so desired—I couldn’t even run half a mile my junior year of high school—but you cannot finish the race unless you put in the miles and miles of training. Training feels wholly unrewarding, as there is really no instant payoff except sore knees for when you run 18 or 20 or 22 miles in the weeks leading up to the race. The hard part of running a marathon is not necessarily race day; the hard part is convincing yourself to wake up at 5:30 on a Friday morning to run 16 miles before a 9 o’clock class.

Second, you finish the race. Assuming you’ve put in the preparation time, and barring any unforeseen injuries, finishing the marathon comes down to deciding that you are going to finish the marathon. Your legs and your heart and your lungs are fully prepared to travel 26.2 miles; all that must be convinced is your mind, which, in my case, began to wonder why I ever committed to this torture in the first place (around mile 17). As the miles grow and the hills feel steeper, you may find temporary boosts from cheering family or Gatorade, but I’m convinced that your only real obstacle to finishing the race is the belief you won’t finish the race.

It should come as no surprise, then, that one of my favorite biblical metaphors is running a race, especially in Hebrews 12. I still vividly remember a lecture Mike Cope delivered to my freshman Bible class regarding Hebrews 12: although Christians (especially at my age) are typically more drawn to serve God in sprints that involve big acts and going out with a bang, more often than not God calls us to run marathons that involve years of humble obedience and submission. I do not mean that the Christian life is necessarily one of dutiful, frustrating labor; but neither do I believe that the call of Jesus is always one that involves visible rewards or warm feelings.

It is in these seasons of life—seasons that involve the silence of God, or seemingly fruitless labor, or a particular direction from God that is far from preferable—that I believe we are called to run the race. Our inspiration and encouragement come from the one who ran the race before us: “Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart” (Hebrews 12:3).

2010 has been and, from what I can tell, will continue to be a year in which God’s call on my life is faithful obedience to patient, peaceful waiting for his divine timing. Oh that my call were to do big things, to take leaps of faith and see him at work in powerful ways; but in this season, even as I wonder “How long will it be?” I can commit to “run this race"—and to know that God is faithful and will not abandon me.

Guilt

2010-01-29T18:11:00.002-06:00

Recently, while having lunch with one of my more opinionated friends who brings out my opinionated side, I let slip some eloquent wisdom: "I think guilt is stupid."

Although I typically prefer to express myself less coarsely, I meant what I said. I don't think that God ever meant us to feel guilty. I think he wants us to feel sorrow for the sin in our lives, and I think he wants us to repent from whatever we may be doing outside of his will. But as for guilt—the nagging voice that says, "you shouldn't be doing / have done that," I think it only prohibits us from claiming the peace we are granted as children of God.

As far as I can tell, we feel guilty when our behavior doesn't line up with some standard we choose to follow. So, I suggest that the remedy to guilt is to identify exactly what voice is causing you to feel like your behavior doesn't line up with how you should be behaving.

If the voice is from Satan, call it the lie that it is, and stop believing it. Don't let Satan's influence cause you to beat yourself up over something that should be given no influence over how you live.

If the voice is from God, recognize it as the only truth that matters, and, for lack of any other phrase that better captures exactly what I'm trying to say, "put on your big girl panties." Stop trying to let any voice other than God's truth determine how you're going to live—his is THE voice that matters, and his is the only Way that will bring the deepest peace and fulfillment.

Why I Quit Twitter

2010-01-24T00:41:00.003-06:00

NOTE: Recently, I’ve been writing a lot of posts meant to challenge anyone who reads them, posts more about my opinions regarding Christian community than my personal faith walk. This is not one of those posts. This is a post about my personal faith walk, and I discourage you from reading it as anything else.

I had an active Twitter account for about a year. By the time I quit, I was following 82 people and being followed by 87. I always liked that my “Followers” count was higher than my “Following” count, even if only by a slight margin, because it made me feel cool and influential. And I use those words very intentionally: “cool” and “influential,” because they’re the main reason I used Twitter (and, if I’m being honest, most social media).

I honestly don't know the motivations of most people who use Twitter, but I’ve slowly come to realize that the reason I’ve been using social media is to stoke my ego in a major way. When I’m online, I can make myself look exactly how I want to look. The only times I’d get on Twitter were when I had something funny or insightful to say, and even if I wanted to comment on something embarrassing that had happened to me, I’d do it in a way that was endearing or cute. Facebook is the same situation. I never used Facebook to argue or confront my friends; I used it when I wanted to greet an old friend or compliment him or remark on a funny inside joke we shared. Of course, I could have always e-mailed these comments privately (without even leaving Facebook), but that would mean they wouldn’t show up on everyone else’s News Feed so that they could see how cool and influential I was.

So, on the one hand, Twitter was all about making myself look good. I always got excited when someone gave me a shout-out in an @ reply, but that didn’t compare to the excitement I felt when someone retweeted something I had said. Once, I made a joke about NASA that even a few strangers retweeted. That was a great day for me.

On the other hand, Twitter completely satiated my need to feel like I was in on all of the important conversations happening in the world. I remember in freshman year when someone asked me what my deepest fear was; I couldn’t exactly articulate it, but I now know that my deepest fear was irrelevancy. I hated the thought that anyone—even in church world—would ever think that I wasn’t smart or attractive or insightful or mature enough to be let in on the secrets, to be included in the inside jokes, to know the most important information about everyone. On Twitter, I could follow popular, influential people like John Mayer or Roger Ebert to feel like I was always personally invited to their conversations. Even more, I could follow the influential people at ACU to feel like I was part of some nebulous inside circle. Any insecurities I had about the health of my own social life were assuaged by the knowledge that 87 people heard the things I said (note: not "listened to").

I don’t think that any activity that serves the primary purpose of making me feel cool and influential is an activity that grows me into the image of Christ. We’re supposed to “be completely humble,” to meet Jesus “outside the camp, bearing the disgrace he bore” (Ephesians 4:2, Hebrews 13:13). Here’s Paul to the Thessalonians: “…we speak as men approved by God to be entrusted with the gospel. We are not trying to please men but God, who tests our hearts. You know we never used flattery, nor did we put on a mask to cover up greed—God is our witness. We were not looking for praise from men, not from you or anyone else” (I Thessalonians 2:4-6).

In short, I quit using Twitter because I realized I was wasting words on trying to garner praise from men instead of sharing in the humility of Christ.

Real Life

2010-01-10T16:44:00.002-06:00

For five summers surrounding high school, I traveled with my youth group to Lubbock, Texas for a week of worship and Bible study at church camp. Inevitably, the end of the week and the impending bus ride home would compel a student to deliver a impromptu but heartfelt homily about how we had just experienced a wonderful week at camp but needed to ready ourselves to carry that spiritual high back into the “real world”: the world that, for many students, consisted of hearing parents argue, failing tests, trying not to visit dirty websites, begging the church’s police officer youth minister not to tell parents about speeding tickets, and watching Family Guy.

Even though I understood the intent of the speech, it bugged me every year to hear students refer to the world back home—a world in which we didn’t worship thrice-daily, converse thoughtfully, build each other up, and escape our most difficult temptations for a week—as the “real world.” I saw church camp as an opportunity to step outside of the influence of our sinful world to see things as they really are: that God is good and holy, that Satan seeks to destroy, that sin has no appeal, that our relationships with Christian friends are worth something, and that all of our stressors seem a little less scary from an eternal perspective. It was a world where, despite the corny jokes and week-long romances, we could experience a breath of something more significant, more deep, and, yes, more real than what we experienced back home.

So, you can imagine my disappointment when I arrived at ACU as a freshman and heard very similar sentiments. I’m referring to the “ACU Bubble,” the nickname given by less-than-credulous students to this community’s standards of behavior and uncommon social norms. We’re supposed to go to church on Sundays, we’re supposed to hold the door open for each other, we’re supposed to feel bad about all of the drinking and sexing, and we’re supposed to get married as quickly as possible to a good Christian spouse.

I understand that some of what these students resent is our community’s prejudice against honesty and vulnerability about our struggles and woundedness in favor of a pretense of perfection. But I also know there’s a large population of students here who believe we’re missing out on the college experience because of the standard of behavior we hold. Sin still holds that naughty, grown-up appeal that a Playboy magazine holds for an 11-year-old boy; so rather than seeking greater holiness, we find ways to twist the scriptures to let us do things our parents didn’t and call it “maturity” or “enlightenment.” We believe the pattern of life laid out by our culture is what’s “real,” so adjectives we used to use to describe Christianity, like “steady” and “disciplined” become pejoratives like “stale” and “oppressive.”

As far as I can tell, Satan has won my generation by using a tactic we should have seen from a mile away: he’s made sin cool and hip and relevant. If you reject that lifestyle, however, you’re much worse than a square—you’re ignorant. You’re in denial. You’re fake.

Even when we’re ready to reject some of the more overt, behavioral kinds of sin like sexual immorality or drunkenness—and not just because we can see their negative effects, but because we recognize that they don’t fall in line with God’s intended order—I think we still have trouble discerning and condemning those covert sins that are more about mentality. Attitudes like bitterness or jealousy are entirely natural, so it seems, so the honest Christian is one who admits and embraces such attitudes…right?

Hear me out—I’m not arguing that Christians should pretend like we don’t experience negative feelings; that’s unhealthy. I am arguing that we need to recognize when we experience sinful urges and call them what they are. For example, I’ve heard plenty of messages about why I need to avoid movies filled with sexual images or profanity, but I’ve probably heard just as many sermons that cited a scene or line from Gladiator: a movie which, in the midst of its important biblical truths, is essentially a story of revenge. (I recognize that by speaking ill of Gladiator, I probably just turned off most of the, like, five people who actually read this blog.) Romans 12:19: “Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.”

I think the reason that I love and hate to read C. S. Lewis is that he describes spiritual concepts like truth, sin, and eternity in such a way that the Christian reader responds, “Well, of course: why would I ever want to sin?” The problem is that I go ahead and do sin—and as a result, I usually find myself identifying with the characters in his books who are on the outside of truth, who don’t get it, who make that painful discovery at the end that they really have been fools the entire time.

In The Great Divorce, the narrator finds himself riding on a bus from Hell to Heaven; in this fantasy, souls are allowed to visit Heaven whenever they’d like and stay as long as they’d like. When souls first arrive in the beautiful realm, they are unaccustomed and thus appear as fragile Ghosts, unable to even bend the grass with their steps; the longer they stay in Heaven, the more solid they become. The book chronicles one particular visit to Heaven to show how so many Ghosts end up choosing to return to Hell despite the persuading of the Solid People in Heaven. The narrator describes the folly of one particular woman:

“I think the most pitiable was a female Ghost….This one seemed quite unaware of her phantasmal appearance. More than one of the Solid People tried to talk to her, and at first I was quite at a loss to understand her behaviour to them [sic]. She appeared to be contorting her all but invisible face and writhing her smokelike body in a quite meaningless fashion. At last I came to the conclusion—incredible as it seemed—that she supposed herself still capable of attracting them and was trying to do so. She was a thing that had become incapable of conceiving conversation save as a means to that end. If a corpse already liquid with decay had arisen from the coffin, smeared its gums with lipstick, and attempted a flirtation, the result could not have been more appalling. In the end she muttered, ‘Stupid creatures,’ and turned back to the bus.”

What I love about Lewis’ story is that the beguiling, flirtatious facade of this woman appears utterly grotesque in heaven. Lewis isn’t saying that sexuality is bad; he’s saying that the woman’s inability to interact with another person asexually—indeed, that she would try to seduce an angel—appears in the sacred wholeness of Heaven to be “meaningless” or “appalling.” It is not cute or funny, it is not attractive, and it certainly is not natural. And yet my generation has allowed ourselves to be convinced that courtship is about perfume and breath mints and spray tans, that only the you-know-what kind of wife would blame her husband for ogling the occasional passerby, and that those stuffy Christian boys who do their very best to avoid plunging eye-first into our oversexed culture are naïve prudes who are only denying what’s natural. We’ve lost sight of the divine to a degree that sinful living is no longer vile or repulsive; we simply call it “normal” or “typical.”

The answer, of course, is not to live in fear of sin as irritably nice people; fear has no place for the Christian saved by grace. But I believe the we’ve-known-it-all-along answer is to recognize that the world’s definition of how we are supposed to live our lives is flawed and will not satisfy. In the 1600s, the Westminster Shorter Catechism declared among other theological decisions that “Man's chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.” That means that anything we do which does not serve that purpose is a flawed pursuit.

I will go so far as to say that it is only in the glorifying and enjoying of God that we experience real life. Those moments on earth in which we catch a glimpse of the divine are the moments in which we catch sight of what is truly real: for “now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known” (I Corinthians 13:12). Or, as Lewis put it in his preface, “Good is everything and Heaven everywhere” (which is not the same as the “false and dangerous converse and fancy that everything is good and everywhere is Heaven”). In this world, we see reflections of God’s glory that give us a foretaste of the eternal glory to come; but the world and everything it has to offer are not themselves God, and they cannot satisfy.

I'm convinced that when this world does pass away, those sinful pursuits that charmed us most will, when compared to the real life we find in eternity, be recognized as fake.

Semester Six

2010-01-10T16:08:00.002-06:00

Although I'm only taking 12 hours this spring, I don't think I'm going to have an easy semester academically; all four of my classes are senior-level Bible classes, which means that, in addition to the scholastic challenge, they will likely raise questions for my personal faith. That can be both tiring and exhilarating, so I could be in for an interesting ride. I'm sad to say that this will be my first semester as an ACU student to be taking no Greek class; although I'll still be tutoring first-year Greek students, I've decided not to continue with third-year Greek myself.

Outside of the classroom, I'll also be pretty busy. Both of my job commitments from the fall (Southern Hills campus ministry internship and lifegroup leading as well as Greek tutoring) continue through May, and this semester I'll have more on my plate. First, I'm part of the junior class Sing Song act—so, if you come to watch, make sure to look for me amongst all of the other vampires. Second, I'm co-leading a Spring Break Campaign to Boulder, Colorado.

I don't necessarily feel over-committed—I feel like this semester is very manageable—but I'm not entirely convinced that I've mastered the art of choosing my commitments wisely so that I don't feel pulled in too many directions. Even in January, I'm already thinking about/planning for the summer and even next year, and I'm trying to discern what exactly I need to do for myself as a senior: whether I should pull back and work on myself for a year before I launch into the real world or whether I should take advantage of my familiarity and relationships in Abilene to pack the year full of activity.

In the meantime, here's what I'm taking this semester:

HEBREW - What would a semester at ACU be without at least one ancient language? I really enjoyed this class last semester, and I'm thrilled to start translating out of my new Biblia Hebraica (we're going to be doing Jonah, Ruth, and possibly more). I have heard that the grammar gets pretty nitty-gritty this semester, but it shouldn't be too bad.

STORY OF CHRISTIAN SPIRITUALITY - I had hoped I would be able to take this class before I graduated because I've heard many good things about it. I'm required to take two church history classes, and this counts as my second. One of the textbooks for the class is Darryl Tippens' Pilgrim Heart, so I'm hoping (and expecting) that the class will include practice and not just history of spiritual disciplines.

THEOLOGY FOR MINISTRY/MISSIONS - I'm very excited to be taking this class, if for no other reason than I get to have Randy Harris as a professor once again. I imagine this class will be very difficult but very important/significant for my own faith walk. Because I came to ACU with many credit hours, I've been taking a lot of Bible classes with the group of Bible majors who are a year ahead of me; but since they're graduating in May, this will be my last semester (and this, my last class) to be around most of them.

TEACHING GOOD NEWS - I'm going into this class with a clean slate; I don't really know much of what to expect from it except that it's a missions class and it's required of Bible majors.

To summarize: I don't imagine I'll have much time for twiddling my thumbs this semester, but I feel very content with my commitments.

Living Sacrifice

2010-01-08T00:53:00.002-06:00

I get really nervous every time someone tells a story of someone else’s incredible faith under persecution or martyrdom and ends by saying, “You know, I just wouldn’t be strong enough to stand up for my faith like (s)he did.”

It’s not the statement that bothers me—I think we do well to celebrate and retell the stories of the faith of others, especially when our culture is one that generally encourages (at least marginal) faith. What bothers me is that people never follow this by saying, “I wouldn’t be strong enough to stand up for my faith like that—and that terrifies me.”

I doubt that I’ll ever be required to die for my Christian faith, but that’s absolutely no reason to allow myself a shallow relationship with God. Early Christians yearned to be martyred because they took Matthew 5:11-12 seriously: “Blessed are you when people…persecute you…Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.” For an individual to be martyred meant that God saw great faith in that individual, so early Christians were eager to have such an opportunity. So to people who say their faith isn’t strong enough to stand against persecution, I often want to reply, “Then I sure hope it doesn’t come to that!”—but, of course, such a bold response assumes a confidence in my own faith that may not be present.

Luke 14:25-35 is one of my favorite passages of scripture because it is intensely challenging and because it contains what I think are some of Jesus’ best metaphors. When large crowds are following Jesus, he delivers what must have been a very unpopular message by declaring, “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple.” That’s a difficult, difficult verse to swallow; although I don’t think we’re supposed to literally hate our families, it forces us to reconsider what is, for many people, our primary allegiance.

What follows are three incredible metaphors that show just how futile it is to follow Jesus without giving up everything about your life that would keep you from him. (Forgive my paraphrasing.) It’s as useless as a man who lays the concrete foundation of a building and then runs out of money—that’s a parking lot (and keep in mind this is a few millennia before cars). It’s as useless as a king who sends his army to war with absolutely no hope of victory—that’s suicide. It’s as useless as flavorless salt—that’s a saltshaker full of sand.

Now, I’m well aware of what Jesus is going to say three chapters later about “faith as small as a mustard seed” in Luke 17:6, but I don’t think we can read that as a license to keep our faith as small as possible. In 14, Jesus is telling us that following him means making tough choices.

That’s what really bothers me about the original statement. When we say that we wouldn’t, hypothetically speaking, be able to stand up for our faith in difficult circumstances, we assume that Jesus hasn’t called us to take up any kind of crosses in our own lives. We’ve so confused American values for Christian values that we believe our cross to bear is that we don’t get drunk on weekends, we don’t cuss, and we don’t watch the Saw movies—and, let’s be honest, do we even really miss those things?

When we interpret Jesus through the way we’re already living, he turns into a really nice guy who says little more than, “My yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:30). It’s why divorce rates in churches are the same as they are outside of churches—because Jesus would never ask me to carry a cross as heavy as staying married for the rest of my life to a woman I don’t really love anymore. It’s why so many parents let their kids shelve church involvement for the sake of football or band or theater—because Jesus wouldn’t possibly ask my kid to miss out on so many great, universal experiences.

Paul, in Philippians 1:21-24: “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body.” Paul makes it clear that he would greatly prefer to die (would we?!). On the other hand, he recognizes the value of staying alive—not because he has a lengthy bucket list of getting married and having kids and seeing Niagra Falls and flying in a hot air balloon, but because “this will mean fruitful labor for me.” What abandon! What surrender!

No, I will probably not be called to surrender my body to martyrdom. But in my opinion, what I have been called to is much more difficult: to offer my body as a “living sacrifice” (Romans 12:1). That means that Brent dies—his fears, his hesitations, his plans to be rich and live in a fancy house with an HDTV and a pool, his pride, his impatience—while his body keeps walking around as an utter slave to Christ.

From where I’m standing, that means that my entire life on earth will be a constant struggle against my sinful nature. I will be content in the peace of knowing that God’s grace covers my sin and that I am saved by faith alone, yes, but I will always be in conflict with the voice that tries to assure me that Jesus would never ask this/that/whatever of me. God forbid the day when I knowingly claim that any part of my life is off limits to him, whether through direct disobedience or through ignorance to his voice.

What I'm called to do is have the faith of a martyr every single day.

New Year's Resolutions - 2010

2009-12-29T00:38:00.003-06:00

My personal policy on resolutions is essentially the same as it was last year: I think the arrival of a new year can be a helpful catalyst for instituting changes in my life that I’ve been wanting to make, but I do not believe in creating arbitrary lists of new behaviors for the sake of some vague concept of self-improvement. This year’s list is noticeably shorter and more abstract than last year’s, which means I’m (maybe foolishly) ignoring all the literature that says goals should be measurable, limited, etc. Here’s what I want to change in 2010:

STOP APOLOGIZING FOR MY LIFE

Hear me out—I think it’s dangerous to live with such pride that we don’t worry about the effect we have on other people, and my last post on this blog was about how frustrated I get when people don’t allow sermons to have any noticeable effects on their lives. But if there’s a continuum that stretches from “arrogance that ignores other people” to “cowardice that tries to please them all,” I certainly fall into the latter. One of my resolutions last year was to “Stop Comparing Myself to Other People,” and I confessed that “I am constantly worried (mostly subconsciously) that someone will think I'm ignorant, or naive, or behind, so I'm always trying to make sure that I am ‘on par’ with everyone around me.” This year, I want to stop measuring my value by how many people @ reply to my Twitter posts and start finding it from the only one who can really give me any value at all.

But even more than just superficial behaviors, I want to—with all humility and willingness to listen—stop apologizing for what I believe. Now, this requires me to know what I believe and be willing to defend why I believe it, so I’ll need to do my homework (especially on controversial topics); but I must stop trying to figure out if everyone else is better at life than me and just live boldly.

CHALLENGE FEAR

Not much to say about this—only that I hate the idea of having my life limited by fear. I can’t think of any irrational phobias I possess (although the sight of large clumps of hair, like on a barber shop floor, does make me pretty queasy), but I have many of the same social and cultural fears that are common in my generation. There are few better feelings than challenging a fear and doing something that was once off-limits in your life, and I want to be free from the fears that have no value in my life.

SLOW DOWN

This is a work in progress. I’ve come a long way since freshman year, but even in my attempts this semester to slow down (by taking fewer hours and pulling out of some extracurricular activities), I still find myself with a never-ending mentality of wondering what’s next on my To-Do list. I’ve decided that, regardless of my level of commitment, my pace of life will never be satisfying if I don’t take hold of it and set my own tempo.

This one gets really practical: I want to sleep at least seven hours every night. I want to set margins in my life in case something comes up—whether a friend crisis, or one of those frequent long talks my roommates and I recently started engaging in (much to the detriment of our productivity), or even (thanks to Santa) a game of Scrabble. I will stop texting while driving because there really is no good excuse to do something so dangerous.

The truth is that, lest I forget, I am not a very important person (and that’s a good thing), and I don’t need to/can’t/shouldn’t go 100% all the time. Rest has to become part of my routine.

LIVE WELL

Recently, I offered some sweet morsel of desert to a friend, but he turned me down. “I’m avoiding sweets,” he said.

“How come?” I responded, assuming it was some sort of temporary fast or pre-holiday detox.

“For my well-being,” he responded without a hint of sarcasm or pretentiousness.

For some reason, his response totally floored me. Of course! Why shouldn’t we, as an enlightened people, make even minute decisions with our well-being in mind? I don’t mean that we should obsess over every decision or count every calorie we consume; but neither should we allow ourselves to be nicked and dimed to death by cheap tricks and momentary pleasures.

I want to live well this year—not for the sake of looking good or impressing people or patting myself on the back, but for the sake of enjoying the richest blessings of life in balance and moderation. So, yes, I want to eat well, but I also want to read well and play well and even sleep well. It sounds so obvious—“Well of course you would do things that make you happier and healthier”—but I think that, too often, we choose the easy, brainless book instead of the one that will challenge and stretch us, or we settle for another night of Guitar Hero instead of engaging each other in conversation, or we wimp out instead of pushing ourselves to run that extra half-mile. I want to live intentionally, not so that I can look down my nose at the choices of others (because regardless of who wins, that would still be comparing myself to them) but so that I can celebrate my own. I believe humans were designed to work in a certain way, and things break down when we try to operate outside of that established system, so I want to live well.

Why I Do and Don't Want to Preach

2009-12-27T22:31:00.003-06:00

Longtime readers of this blog may recall that, when I started my education at Abilene Christian, I intended to become a preacher (see my first post). In true insecure-major-changing-college-student fashion, I now say that preaching was "so freshman year," and I have since moved on to different career aspirations.

This Christmas break, my family has been traveling for different reasons, and on Sunday I’ll attend my fifth different church in five weeks. That much variety in such a short time has helped remind me why I originally wanted to go into preaching; and, unfortunately, it has also reminded me of some of the reasons why I’ve moved into different areas.

One of the churches my family visited was the Southern Oaks church in Chickasha, Oklahoma, where my uncle is the preacher. I’ve only had a few opportunities to see him preach, but those few opportunities were one of my biggest draws into preaching. He preaches powerful biblical truth, and his challenging messages left me scratching my head for days (including both the class he taught and the sermon he delivered during our most recent visit). Listening to preachers like my uncle, Bob Ethington, Toby Wilson, and some of the gifted speakers I heard throughout my youth group days fired me up with a passion for digging into God’s word (and, let’s be honest, the original language/historical context stuff that captivated me in high school) and then delivering its hard truths for our lives today.

Part of the reason that I’ve moved away from preaching is because I’ve been gaining a better understanding of my own strengths and weaknesses in particular areas. Nevertheless, a big part of the reason that I no longer want to preach is that I become extremely frustrated when I cannot see any palpable results from what I’m doing. I honestly do not think that our churches are lacking in gifted preachers, but I do think—and I’m certainly not the first person to say this—that our churches are lacking in mechanisms for insuring that the message of a sermon lasts longer than the time it takes to deliver it, that people take the time to discuss and meditate over a message to allow it to breathe and speak to their particular situations.

Here’s what I mean: it frustrates me to no end when I listen to a sermon that fires me up or completely challenges my belief on a particular matter and then hear others remark that “that Brother So-and-so always does such a good job up there” or that “we should all really try to think about what Pastor So-and-so said” without allowing the sermon to reach into their lives and shake a few things up.

I fully understand that I cannot discern the thoughts or motives of the people around me; I also understand that I have forgotten dozens of sermons that may have completely changed the lives of other people in attendance. And I’ll willingly admit that I’m in a stage in life where I’m allowed to be a little freer than most people, as I’m supposed to be finding myself and making mistakes and determining who I’m going to be for the rest of my life and all of that business—because I’m at a place where I’m still making decisions about just exactly what I do believe, I’m vulnerable to be deeply moved and changed by a particularly timely or effective sermon.

But I can’t silence the skepticism that has seen preaching become to some churchgoers (including, at times, myself) little more than a dog and pony show to fill up time in a Sunday morning worship service. Even when I write on this blog, there are times when I will feel annoyed by what I perceive as a humdrum response to a post written about what I see as a radical, revolutionary idea with which I am wrestling. How can anyone hear a message from what they believe is the word of God and leave with no measurable reaction? I don’t think most of our preachers are bad. Have we just heard too many sermons? Are we interpreting the sermons (and the scriptures) from a twenty-first century American perspective rather than allowing the sermons (and the scriptures) to interpret our twenty-first century American lives? Do we even care anymore?

Part of me is ready to concede that I’ve place entirely too much emphasis on the preacher (or, in my case, the blogger), that God works on hearts at his own speed, and that only the movement of the Spirit can transform lives. And I think that’s true—an emotional response to a sermon, for example, will have little power to bring any measurable change in a person’s way of thinking and living. I realize that even the Old Testament prophets preached to audiences who were apathetic at best and violently resistant at worst.

But part of me says that’s weak—and wonders why churches keep shelling out the big bucks and big offices to gifted preachers delivering powerful messages if no one is going to listen (really listen) anyway. And that’s the part of me that would, I believe, be perpetually frustrated in a position as a pulpit minister. From the blissful naivety of the comfort of my well-heated room in my parents’ house, I can say that I would much rather be thrown down a well after preaching a sermon than patted on the back by someone who won’t remember what I said—but I just don’t see that happening, unless contract termination is today’s version of the well.

Thoughts, especially from preachers or teachers?

CenterPeace Conference 2009

2009-10-25T23:40:00.002-05:00

This is long overdue—as soon as Summit ended, I decided to round out my week of lectures by attending the CenterPeace conference September 24-26. CenterPeace is an organization that exists to create safe places for men and women experiencing same-sex attraction, and the conference was for people who struggle, people who know someone who struggles, and people who are involved in ministry. Throughout my campus ministry internship, the issue has come up frequently, so the Southern Hills campus minister and I decided to check the conference out. Evidently, this was a bit of a historic event. Not only was it CenterPeace's first conference; it was the first-ever conference associated with the Churches of Christ to deal specifically with same-sex attraction.

The conference taught me so much more than I was expecting, and some of the most significant lessons came outside of the lectures (although they were also extremely good). First of all, the existence of the conference at all is so significant; I don't think I can remember a single occasion before college—not at any of the retreats, the church camps, the sermons—when same-sex attraction was even mentioned, or if it was, it was an embarrassing taboo. I generally try to avoid church-bashing these days, but let's be frank: Christians, and especially members of Churches of Christ, have been embarrassingly slow in recognizing and responding to our surrounding homosexual community in a loving, Christlike way. Nevertheless, this conference gives me hope that conversations are starting and that people (myself included) are beginning to learn how we can respond to our homosexual brothers and sisters.

One of the major themes of many of the classes was a message I've heard before but needs to be repeated: the way you respond to someone struggling with same-sex attraction is the same way you deal with someone struggling with greed or pride or lust. Sin is sin is sin, and we absolutely must stop labeling this as "the one unforgivable." Now, this seems like a simple message, but it has some interesting implications for our churches. Obviously, we cannot exclude homosexuals from our churches; but less obvious is that we cannot require or expect immediate transformation unless we expect the selfish businessman to sell everything he has and give it to the poor, and the gluttonous man to cease any pleasures of the flesh, and the angry man to permanently unclench his fists. We are all broken people, and we will not be made entirely pure until Jesus returns in the end. Until then, we walk with each other in our struggles, fully expecting God to change us but patiently waiting on his timing.

Another lesson that stood out from the classes was how unhealthy our gender-based relationships have become. One man spoke about how one of the most important parts of his healing process as he walked away from same-sex attraction was being able to develop strong relationships with other males; he needed to experience their conversation and camaraderie, but he also needed to experience things like healthy physical touch. What was amazing, said the man, was that as he entered into intentional, deep relationships with these straight guys, they all began to desire and seek the depth and intimacy of the relationships he was forming—in other words, they realized how shallow and guarded their relationships were with each other. The fact that a David-Jonathan relationship doesn't really fit into our society's paradigm seems like a shame to me; has homophobia really prevented us from forming intimate and powerful relationships with people of our same gender?

The keynote lectures followed a theme of "What _____ Has to Offer," beginning with a powerful sermon on what the world has to offer: namely, tribalism that pits "us" against "them." Also powerful was the lesson on what family has to offer, as the story of the Prodigal Son was told (and painted) to challenge us all to open our arms. Later discussed were what the church, what Jesus, and what the future has to offer.

The most powerful moment of the conference occurred Friday night as we were taking communion. One of the speakers (I don't think he was the keynote speaker; I think he just introduced the keynote speaker) mentioned that, when we minister to people experiencing same-sex attraction, we tend to patronize them with a "bless their little hearts" mentality. We pat ourselves on the back for being so accepting as we lower ourselves into the muck of their world. We absolutely must change our perception, he said, to realize that these individuals have as much of a place at the table of Jesus as we do. They are just as important to the life of the church as we are, they are just as loved by God as we are, and they have just as much (if not more) to teach us as we have to teach them.

So, with this message ringing in my ears, I prepared to take communion. They had set up the communion meal at a table with two men serving, and all of the conference attendees would approach in a single-file line to take the elements one at a time. From where I was sitting, I could see the entire line spilled out, and as I scanned the procession, I saw a variety of people: some who had confessed and spoken about their own personal struggles with same-sex attraction, some who were distraught parents of a self-identified gay man or woman, and even some who were standing with spouses and children. I realized that every single person really did have an equal share at the table of Jesus—it did not matter if the individual was in the middle of a struggle or entirely straight; neither of them could earn a seat, anyway, and it is only by grace that they are both saved. What a powerful reminder it was that we are all broken people but that we have all been offered grace in Jesus.

The conference was extremely powerful. As men and women told their stories and expressed the palpable ways that God had worked in their lives—whether by changing their sexual orientation or by restoring broken relationships or by providing strength through temptation or by opening up the floor for conversation—I couldn't stop thinking that this was kingdom work. When people who have been imprisoned and silenced are able to sing out and glorify God's name in freedom, that's the kingdom of God advancing on the earth.

ACU's Summit 2009

2009-10-01T23:30:00.002-05:00

CONS: No on-campus parking. Crowded bathrooms.

PROS: Fortunately, a lot more. I have come to love Summit, the annual lecture conference held at ACU that was until only recently known as "Lectureship." For better or for worse (I like to think "for better"), I was raised in the Church of Christ, and Summit kind of feels like a giant family reunion—you see people you haven't seen in years, you reflect on how things used to be, and you get a scope for just how big your family, distant as they may be, really is. So, my favorite part of Summit may be what happens in between the lectures—laughing at the corny Church of Christ jokes, eating a meal with missionaries from my summer in PNG, hearing a few lines of an old hymn float out of the Chapel on the Hill. You get perspectives that are bigger than the small ACU community in which I live. Everyone is there to learn and to grow and to be challenged, and there's an exciting and hopeful energy.

Of course, in between all of the catching up and fellowshipping and corny-joking, there are the lectures. One of the fringe benefits of being a Bible major at ACU is that, usually, Bible classes are canceled during Summit so that students can attend lectures (and often, write reflective papers over those lectures for class). When all of your classes are Bible classes and are thus canceled, you can attend a lot of lectures! By the end of the half-week, I had attended no less than fourteen 45-minute lectures, and my head was crowded with new ideas that I needed to sort.

One of my favorite classes was a three-part series on discernment by Dr. Jackie Halstead, a professor in the ACU department of marriage and family therapy. She used St. Ignatius' writings on discernment with her own input to offer different methods of discerning God's will and his activity in our lives. The main theme of the class was something I've been hearing a lot this semester—we need to stop asking the question, "What does God want us to do?" and start asking, "Who is God in the first place?" Our activity with God is a result of, and not a motivation for, our relationship with him, and discernment happens when we can see the world through his eyes.

Also interesting were a few classes that emphasized conversations that I thought were long gone in churches, namely, conversations about race and gender. Dr. Steven Moore, ACU English professor, talked about how Hollywood is never bashful to confront difficult issues (his examples: Michael Jackson with race, and Heath Ledger with poverty and homosexuality) while our churches shy away. Churches must stop avoiding these difficult matters, and we need to develop a method of discussing our differences in healthy ways. Jeanene Reese, Bible professor at ACU, on the other hand, spoke about how men and women can work together effectively in ministry; to be honest, I found myself surprised (and ashamed at my surprise) that we are still so far behind on treating genders equally (even when questions of "who can stand at the microphone" are not involved). The truth is that, as a white male in the Church of Christ, I am often blind to the oppression of the peoples around me, and it's a lot easier to just assume that, oh yeah, it's the twenty-first century and we're over that.

In addition to the classes, there were large gatherings that centered around the Summit theme, which was based in Exodus: "On the Mountain with God." One highlight was Josh Graves, who asked with a look to the wandering Israelites why we as God's freed people would ever want to go back to Egypt. How often do we, like the hot and tired Israelites lost in the desert, look back to the sins and struggles from which God has freed us with nostalgia? We must learn to celebrate where God has led us and cease our idealization of the past.

One particular highlight was Donald Miller, the author of such books as Blue Like Jazz and his newest, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. Miller spoke about the life of a Christian in terms of story—in story, the climax is when everything is resolved. Christians in America who have been raised with a consumer mentality tend to try and "sell" Jesus as that one thing that will complete your life and bring you true happiness and contentment; not necessarily that he will cause you to get rich or get healthy, but that he will bring a sense of general peace and understanding to the brokenness in your life. According to Miller, this means we're placing as our "climax" the moment at which we meet Jesus and enter relationship with him—we say that THAT is when all of the conflict in our lives ends. Miller says that we need to change our perception to realize that the climax of the Christian story is when Jesus comes back in the end times—that moment is when the conflict will be resolved. Until then, even the most devout Christian will experience pain and confusion and doubt and temptation, and that's just part of living in a fallen world.

Other highlights included listening to Jordan Bunch, a dear friend of mine, teach a class about the 24/7 prayer movement and its arrival on the ACU campus. I also enjoyed Bob Smiley on Monday night; I work as a tutor in the library on Monday nights, and that just so happened to be where the comedian was performing!

Summit 2009 was a great time. Be sure to check out iTunes U in a few weeks, as most of the lectures from the week will be posted online for free downloading.

Reflections on Pixar's "Up"

2009-09-19T23:41:00.003-05:00

NOTE: This post discusses the plot of the film Up from beginning to end, so I encourage you to see the film before you read this post.

I've become in recent years a campaigner for Pixar* films, mostly because I feel like they communicate incredibly deep and important messages without the objectionable content that fills so many of today's movies. I love the allegory of how desperately God seeks us found in Finding Nemo, and WALL-E convicted me of the significance of genuine human relationship and connection.

Up, Pixar's most recent release, may be their most poignant film to date. Up tells the story of Carl Fredricksen, a 78-year-old man whose life story is revealed in the first ten minutes of the film: as a young boy obsessed with explorers and adventure, Carl meets and falls in love with a similarly adventure-minded young girl, Ellie. The two are eventually married and spend hours dreaming about and saving up for a trip to Paradise Falls in South America. As they grow together, life happens—the money saved for the trip is used to pay for car and house repairs, and tragedy prohibits the couple from ever having children. Before Carl can fulfill his childhood promise to take Ellie to Paradise Falls, she falls ill and dies. Eventually Carl, desperate to save the house that represents Ellie to him from encroaching contractors, attaches thousands of helium balloons to the house and flies it to South America in an attempt to finally take Ellie on the adventure she never experienced while alive.

Eventually, Carl and the house do make it to Paradise Falls, but he still feels burdened by his feelings of failing Ellie—throughout her marriage to Carl, or perhaps because of it, she never had the adventure she had always wanted. Or so Carl thinks—as he once again examines her childhood "My Adventure Book" in which she had left dozens of pages blank to fill with "Stuff I'm Going To Do," he discovers with astonishment that Ellie had filled her book with pictures of their seemingly boring life together. He sees pictures of them driving together, eating together, sitting in their easy chairs together, and slowly reads Ellie's final inscription and thus posthumous message to Carl: "Thanks for the adventure. Now go have one of your own."

How often do I in my relationship with God entirely neglect the very idea of relationship because I am so determined to serve him in big, important, lasting ways? How often do I mope in regret that I never made it to Paradise Falls when, all along, the only thing God wanted was to be with me and sit with me and know me? Zephaniah 3:17: "The LORD your God is with you; he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing." God takes great delight in me—in who I am, in whom he created me to be. Do I take great delight in God by simply celebrating who he is, or do I look to him for guidance and empowering so that I can do more and produce more?

Or, to put things in a much more negative and frightening light, am I going to hear Jesus plainly say to me, "I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!" (Matthew 7:23)? Keep in mind that the folks to whom Jesus is talking in that passage are people who have spent their lives performing great miracles in the name of Jesus (Matthew 7:22); however, their great service is not enough to save them, and only those who have accepted Jesus' offer of forgiveness and relationship will know him and be known by him.

This is not to say that relationship with God will be void of adventure; quite the opposite, I'm sure. However, the goal—and not the means—of our lives must be a deep and intimate knowledge of the heart of God. I'm convinced that he would much rather sit with us in an easy chair than see us do great things in his name without his presence.

*Pixar is the animation studio behind such movies as Toy Story, Finding Nemo, Ratatouille, and WALL-E.

Unbelief

2009-09-05T23:51:00.002-05:00

There are times when God teaches us a lesson slowly and gently, when someone in his old age has found wisdom that can only come through years of relationship with the Father. There are times when God must move more quickly, and over the course of a few weeks we find ourselves wrestling with a new idea and its consequences.

Then there are times when God, in all of his love and mercy and faithfulness, must slap us in the face and leave us wondering, even if only for a moment, if we have every really known him at all.

As I was driving today, I listened to a sermon by Matt Chandler, the preacher at the Village church in Dallas.* As Chandler examined the story of the Pharisee and the tax collector in Luke 18, he explained that the prayer of the Pharisee itself was not evil; the Pharisee glorified God alone for his lifestyle and showed that he took his faith very seriously through his acts of piety. The problem with the Pharisee is that he considered his salvation to be a result of how good of a person God had made him. As Matt preached, Jesus calls good, religious, faithful people to repent:

“[God says,] ‘You good husbands, you good fathers, you small-group-leading, church-going, morally righteous men and women, you repent.’ That sounds weird, doesn’t it? Building your confidence in your salvation off of your goodness is just as God-belittling, cross-mocking wickedness as anything on the pagan ‘dark side’ of things. It’s just as cross-belittling. ‘Who cares about the mercy of God? I do this, I do this, I do this. God, yes, but I am a better man than my father was! I am a better husband than my father showed me how to be! I am a good man to my wife, I am a good man to my children, I am a good mother to my children, I am a good wife to my husband, I am a hard worker, I am involved at the church, I am plugged in, I’m…’ Jesus says, ‘Repent!’ That does not save you! That does not justify you, and it’s just as belittling and God-mocking as anything else out there.”

Just two weeks ago, I wrote on my blog about how I did not want to waste what I see as the potential that God has given me: “I have a lot of potential. Not that I earned it, of course. My summer in PNG was a fierce reminder that there was a lot that was handed to me the moment I was born. I am a healthy, intelligent white male. I was raised by Christian parents in a suburban home. I was (essentially) required by law to achieve a twelfth grade education, and now, like a majority of the people with whom I graduated, I am completing a college education. I have been given the opportunity to dedicate the past two years of my life to intensive study of the Bible and theology.”

But here’s what I understood today with shocking clarity: God does not need any of that. I have absolutely nothing that I can offer to God. His holiness and perfection do not depend on my contribution or cooperation. God is not wiping his brow in relief that I with all of my gifts and talents and money and education decided to play on his team instead of the devil’s. God is not more capable of bringing his kingdom because I decided to come along on his mission. I cannot offer anything to God that he did not graciously and lovingly give to me.

When Jesus chose the twelve men who would carry out his mission after his death, he chose uneducated, minimum-wage workers. That means that I would not have made the cut. But the amazing part is not that Jesus chose twelve average people; the amazing part is that Jesus chose people. Even if Jesus had chosen the smartest, most charismatic, most ethical, most spiritual people on the planet, it would be like a doctor choosing the world’s best second graders to be his team of surgeons—they simply would not be capable of the task, not even close.

Galatians 2:21 says, “I do not set aside the grace of God, for if righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing!” When I live my life in such a way that all of my acts of religion and piety are motivated (whether consciously or subconsciously) by a desire to prove to myself and to God that I did in fact deserve to be chosen, I do not slightly miss the mark. I do not waste my time, and I most certainly do not make God giggle in pride at my silly efforts to earn his affection. When I try and earn my salvation, I desecrate the very cross itself. I look directly at Jesus and tell him that his tears in the garden, his friend’s betrayal, his loneliness and humiliation, the insults hurled against him, the whips on his back, the path of sorrow he walked, the nails through his hands and feet, the hours he spent suffocating as he hung, and the sword in his side were all in vain because they were not enough to save me. If I try to save myself, I make Jesus out to be a fool.

I understand that to mean that anything I do in an effort to be a good person is a sinful, arrogant rejection of my absolute and unavoidable desperation for God’s grace and mercy on me—I cannot be good enough, and anything I do because I think I can be good enough is sinful. Jesus says in John 15:5: “"I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” Apart from him, I can do nothing.

It is absolutely not only the secular world that has bought into the myth that those who go to heaven are the ones who behaved well enough on earth to earn it. I see this all the time in Christians who go to church because they’re “supposed to,” who help their token poor person to keep the feelings of guilt away, who read their Bibles for the first three weeks of January every year because someone told them it’s a good thing to do. And don’t think I’m just pointing the finger at others—this has been a day of me questioning the motives of everything I’ve done, even wondering if the reason I’m going into ministry is that I want to prove to myself and to God and to everyone else that, yes, I really do matter, and I have something to offer to God, and he sure did make a smart choice when he grabbed me from that pit.

I cannot earn my salvation, and when I try anyway, I demonstrate my disbelief in Jesus’ ability and willingness to save me. I make the cross a lie, Jesus a fool.

Lord, I do believe. Help me overcome my unbelief.

*The sermon, titled “Repentance for the Righteous,” can be downloaded along with many others at the Village website’s sermon page: http://hv.thevillagechurch.net/sermons.

On Strong and Weak Faith

2009-09-05T01:16:00.003-05:00

I have never been offered a cigarette.

I paid careful attention in elementary school when the D.A.R.E. (Drug Abuse Resistance Education) team taught us ten different ways to say “no” to drugs. I knew the medical dangers of smoking and drinking and putting any other substance into the human body. But not once—not once—did I get a chance to put my peer pressure resistance skills to the test, since I was never offered a cigarette. Regardless of how many times I had to use the dark restroom at the end of the hall or go home on the shady greenbelts, people never approached me.

I’m a fairly naïve person, but I’m not naïve enough to be completely ignorant to my reputation as a very sheltered person—or, as one of my friends put it tonight, “You’re like ‘Mr. Jesus.’” I am aware (because several individuals have personally told me) that many people act differently when I am present; they censor their language, they change the radio station in their cars, they keep their jokes in the “PG” range. In my experience, this has ranged from subtle, such as those occasions in which I have been completely surprised by someone’s behavior in my absence because they have so trained themselves to behave differently when I am in the room, to completely overt, like when people have verbally said, “I better not make that joke because Brent is here.” (Yes, it has happened.)

Even in a Christian college, you can find one hundred different people with one hundred different standards for Christian behavior. Some will tell you that Christians shouldn’t ever let a drop of alcohol touch their lips; others find no problem if we “stop drinking only water, and use a little wine” (I Timothy 5:23). Some will abstain from even kissing until their wedding day; others will go much farther than kissing with no shame. Some think that Fireproof may have pushed the limits on propriety; others find genuine spiritual messages in films like Fight Club. Some will avoid using words like “butt” and “crap” in their efforts to avoid “obscenity, foolish talk or coarse joking” (Ephesians 5:4); others have grown so tired of Christians putting on performances of holiness that they employ profanity for the sake of genuine expression.

I tend—and I evidently have a reputation for tending—towards the more modest sides of these spectrums. No, I don’t drink alcohol, and I don’t use profanity, and there are quite a few films that make me more than a little uncomfortable. And for that reason, Romans 14 distresses me to no end because, no matter how I read it, I come up as the brother with weak faith. At least, it does in the way my generation interprets it; here’s Romans 14:2 with what I feel like are my generation’s annotations: “One man’s faith allows him to eat [or say or watch or experience] everything, but another man, whose faith is weak, eats only vegetables [and does not speak profanely and watches only Facing the Giants].”

So let me speak frankly: it really, really damages my pride to consider myself the weaker brother, and I haven’t decided if it’s a healthy damage or not. Let me take the issue of profanity as an example, since I have had more than one conversation about profanity recently. The argument for Christians using profanity (as I have understood it) usually laments the sterile, artificial speech that Christians who are too concerned with keeping up appearances tend to hide behind; it is time for Christians to be real, they say, and that may just require us to use profanity in those extreme cases. The blog Church Marketing Sucks* has an interesting article that defends the title of the blog to those whom it offends, which includes these ideas: “Looking to the Bible, we don’t find a list of ‘naughty’ words to stay away from. In Ephesians 4:29, Paul admonishes us to watch the way we talk. This doesn’t refer to specific words, but to the character of what we say.…There’s plenty of precedence when it comes to being authentic in our emotions and feelings—that includes the words we use. Which is exactly what we’re doing with the name Church Marketing Sucks. We’re being authentic. We’re being real.”** I, on the other hand, believe that Christians should avoid using profanity because I feel we are called to a higher standard: “But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or of any kind of impurity, or of greed, because these are improper for God’s holy people. Nor should there be obscenity, foolish talk or coarse joking, which are out of place, but rather thanksgiving” (Ephesians 5:3-4). I hear Paul saying that Christian community, while it should absolutely be a body of genuine confession, has no room for unholy speech.

But I am not presently concerned with profanity; I am concerned with what to do when we disagree about disputable matters like profanity. I believe that Romans 14 commands us to maintain a genuine confidence in the sincerity of the faith of those around us when confronted with disputable matters: “Let us stop passing judgment on one another” (Romans 14:13). For this mutual respect to be possible in discussions of opinion, however, it is also required that in the community “each one should be fully convinced in his own mind” (14:5). This means that if you are going to use profanity, you had sure better have a good reason, a confidence deeper than “Well, I heard that professor cuss, and he’s really popular on campus. He’s probably thought this issue through, so it’s okay for me—no, it’s actually MORE mature of me—to cuss as well.” On the other hand, this means that if you are not going to use profanity, you had sure better have a reason, a confidence deeper than “Well, my youth minister never liked me to cuss, and I’m pretty sure that there are some Bible verses that mention it, so I’m going to go ahead and assume it’s unholy.”

In addition to the confidence that comes from decisions made with thoughtful and prayerful discernment about disputable matters (such as profanity), I think that Christian community requires us to do everything to the Lord: “He who regards one day as special, does so to the Lord. He who eats meat, eats to the Lord, for he gives thanks to God; and he who abstains, does so to the Lord and gives thanks to God” (Romans 14:6). This means that if you are going to use profanity, you should do it because it allows you to know God better, and most certainly not because it gives you the third grade thrill of doing something that Mommy told you was wrong; rather, you should be able to demonstrate how using profanity is glorifying God in your life. On the other hand, if you are not going to use profanity, you should do it because it allows you to know God better, and most certainly not because it gives you feelings of third grade self-righteousness in believing that you’re the best student in the class since you have the most gold stars; rather, you should be able to demonstrate how avoiding profanity is glorifying God in your life (especially in a world that is tired of the holier-than-thou attitude and “I’ve got it all together” pretense of Christians).

And since this post already has two points (in the previous two paragraphs), let me round it out with a third by saying that I think disputable matters can only be handled in Christian community when we do recognize that we all have a place in the body of Christ: “The man who eats everything must not look down on him who does not, and the man who does not eat everything must not condemn the man who does, for God has accepted him” (Romans 14:3). This means that if you have decided in full confidence that you are going to use profanity to the Lord, you cannot look down on those who do not with the smug satisfaction that your faith is stronger; if anything, you should mourn the lack of faith in your brother with a genuine desire for him to know Christ better. On the other hand, if you have decided in full confidence that you are going to abstain from profanity to the Lord, you cannot shy away in self-righteousness from your brother who does use profanity; if anything, you should earnestly seek to understand his position with the full confidence that he does love the Lord as much as you do.

In either case, Romans 14 does seem to place the burden on those with stronger faith to look out for those who are weak; and if that is what those people who censor themselves around me are trying to do, then I genuinely appreciate your effort. I must confess that it is difficult for me to avoid feeling as if I have been kept out from an important, exclusive club, and I can’t help but wonder if my ability to minister to my peers is damaged by the fact that so many people don’t feel comfortable expressing themselves around me.

I suppose my real question concerns just exactly what is my role in the body of Christ: are my high standards (and relatively sheltered upbringing) a gift from God that I should use to call others to a higher standard, or am I the wobbly wheel that’s slowing down our momentum as other Christians discover ways to reach and radically love the world? I've certainly felt like both.

I eagerly petition your thoughts.

* www.churchmarketingsucks.com
**http://www.churchmarketingsucks.com/archives/2005/03/why_we_use_suck.html

BOOK RESPONSE: C.S. Lewis's Space Trilogy

2009-08-29T16:02:00.003-05:00

WHY I READ IT: It's C.S. Lewis + science fiction, which sounded like a winning combination to me.

This post has been in the making for a long time—I actually started reading the first book in Lewis's space trilogy, Out of the Silent Planet, in January or February. Perelandra followed near the end of the semester, and then I read That Hideous Strength while overseas this summer. I was fairly excited to read these books; I was looking for some fiction to read this semester (and I always love a good space story), and I love Lewis's ability to weave good fiction with deep allegory.

These three books tell the story of Elwin Ransom, a professor of philology, and his adventures on Mars, Venus, and then Earth. Along the way, he encounters various creatures, both good and evil, and Lewis is able to offer commentary (sometimes very subtle, sometimes very blatant) on humans and our interactions with God. I enjoyed the first book, but I want to focus on the second and third books.

Perelandra offered an incredible retelling of the Adam and Eve story, much in the way that his The Final Battle from the Narnia series repaints the end times of Revelation. As when I read Screwtape Letters, I was stunned by Lewis's seeming insight into the mind of the devil himself—and the way that this particular devil attempts to ruin Eve (in this case, Tinidril, the queen of Venus) is particularly cunning and devious. The main character, Ransom, must do his best to save the queen as he watches the devil lead her astray.

What also struck me about this book was the personality and behavior of the Satan character—he is clever and persistent, but he is also incredibly irritating, viscious, and even immature. At one moment, he is engaging Eve in brilliant debate in his attempts to seduce her; at the next moment, he is pestering Ransom throughout the night because he, unlike Ransom, needs no sleep. I feel as though our culture tends to paint the devil either as an intelligent, witty deceiver or a bumbling fool; Lewis's picture is much bigger and insists that Satan really is nothing less than the embodiment of evil: "Ransom perceived that he had never before seen anything but half-hearted and uneasy attempts at evil. This creature was whole-hearted. The extremity of its evil had passed beyond all struggle into some state which bore a horrible similarity to innocence" (page number unknown).

That Hideous Strength, easily the longest and most over-the-top of the three books, was certainly my favorite. Taking place on Earth, it chronicles the arrival and growing influence of the N.I.C.E., an organization supposedly devoted to the betterment of society through scientific progress. As Ransom leads a resistance to the organization, Lewis is able to satirize (often harshly) the problems of the growing emphasis on scientific rationalism and progress characteristic of his time.

While I appreciated Lewis's views on science and faith, what convicted me in this novel—and why I think it is my favorite—is the fatal flaw of one of the main characters: he spends his entire life desperately trying to become, in a word, an "insider." Mark Studdock, a university fellow, is quickly pulled into the N.I.C.E. (because of reasons that have little to do with him) by men who easily appeal to and exploit his desire to feel important and accepted by people of significance, and he soon finds himself doing reproachable deeds in his attempts to stay in their good graces. About halfway through the story, as Mark begins to repent of his involvement with the N.I.C.E., he has a sudden and painful realization that his entire life has been a pandering to the approval of others:

"He had a picture of himself, the odious little outsider who wanted to be an insider, the infantile gull, drinking in the husky and unimportant confidences, as if he were being admitted to the government of the planet. Was there no beginning to his folly? .... He looked back on his life not with shame, but with a kind of disgust at its dreariness. .... The hours that he had spent learning the very slang of each new circle that attracted him, the perpetual assumption of interest in things he found dull and of knowledge he did not possess, the almost heroic sacrifice of nearly every person and thing he actually enjoyed...all this came over him with a kind of heart-break. When had he ever done what he wanted? Mixed with the people whom he liked? Or even eaten and drunk what took his fancy? The concentrated insipidity of it all filled him with self-pity." (243-4)

I shudder to read this because I know exactly how Mark feels—I know personally the immature, insecure desire to feel important and included. I have always wanted to be in on the joke. I believe that one of the most important things that happened to me this summer was that I was pulled away from everything important to me for two months. For those two months, I spent all of my time with people no one at ACU knows; I learned a language that no one at ACU speaks; and I certainly didn't do anything that was worthy of a Twitter tweet or a Facebook news feed. But over that summer, I saw God's heart for the insignificant people of the world; I feel like I finally began to shake loose from this incessant desire to do things that are important and cool and award-worthy.

It sounds like such an elementary lesson, but it's incredible how often we see Christians whose main motivation is fitting in—even if that means fitting into the "Christian scene." I think it's only when we've silenced that need to feel like an "insider" that we can join Jesus "outside the camp, bearing the disgrace he bore" and doing whatever humiliating or remarkably uncool stuff we need to do to meet the heart needs of people (Hebrews 13:13). And heaven help us if we ever become the circle who requires others to "learn the slang" to fit in with us!

NEXT BOOK: This summer, I also read Three Cups of Tea (Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin), the story of Greg Mortenson's efforts to build schools for children in the Middle East, and The Hobbit (Tolkien)—but I won't be writing responses for those. My reading for the next few weeks is going to consist primarily of school books, although I'm hoping to dive into J.I. Packer's Knowing God as soon as possible.

Semester Five

2009-08-24T21:48:00.002-05:00

As has become my pattern, I want to write a little (now that the semester has officially begun) about my specific expectations for the semester regarding classes, extracurriculars, etc.

For the first time, I'm only taking twelve hours (with no week-long "short courses" surrounding the semester). There are a few different reasons. I've currently got 90 credit hours completed, which makes me a senior—and, much to my surprise, I find myself a little hesitant to graduate much too early. I'm use to keeping myself on the fast track of life and always looking for the quickest way to climb to the next step, and I could have technically graduated a year early (AKA this coming May) if I had crammed this school year with classes. Nevertheless, I think a combination of loving life at ACU, finding ways to minister here, and repeatedly hearing that I should enjoy my time in college since I'll never get it back has diminished my desire to leave before my four years are up. At this point, it looks like I'll probably be graduating a semester early in December of 2010.

I'm also taking fewer classes so that I can fully commit myself to my extracurricular activities. As I have gone through semester after semester of staying constantly busy by over-committing myself, I've grown tired of only being able to give 80% to the different areas of my life since I'm pulled in so many directions. This year, in addition to my classes, I'll be working two jobs, and, at this point, that's all. I confess that part of me still feels like I am being lazy, but I really believe that the two jobs with which I'll be involved are extremely valuable. The first is a tutoring position with the Greek department of ACU; students in their first and second years of Greek class will be able to use me free of charge to help them survive learning the language that, for whatever reason I don't understand, not everyone comes to love. The second is a campus ministry internship at Southern Hills; after an initial busy few weeks, my role will largely consist of mentoring younger students and developing relationships (in addition to leading a small group). I don't want to be constantly pulled by other activities if it means cheapening relationships.

The biggest reason that I'm taking a light class load may be that I'm trying to learn to stop being so time-obsessed and achievement-driven and that I want to take the time while I have it to work on my relationship with God. This is directly related to my last post about potential, and I really want to learn to let my life and my ministry be more about quality than quantity. To be honest, I don't really want to be less busy than I have been in past semesters; however, I want my time to be filled with deep, serious commitments that I can guard. The house in which I'm living is about a ten-minute walk from campus, and I'm trying to teach myself to walk to class; in addition to saving gas money and keeping me active, it forces me to slow down, to take breaths, to realize that the world does not depend on me being productive every minute.

Well, that's plenty ado, so without any further, here are my classes this semester:

EXEGETICAL GREEK SEMINAR - I'm psyched about my third year of Greek. Our professor described it today as a "Greek Lab," and it sounds like we'll be working together as a class a lot to do research and collaborate. Our professor says that one of the goals of the class is for us as students to make some kind of lasting contribution to the field of Greek—whether by contributing to a current international project on the gospel of John, or by helping develop materials to aid in the teaching of Greek to dyslexic students, or any other idea we suggest. He also intends for us as a class to have an article published in a scholarly journal, which would be very exciting. And, despite the word "exegesis" and my fears, there aren't any major research papers!

HEBREW - This may be the class I'm most excited to begin; Hebrew is a beautiful and fascinating language, and I always enjoy learning new languages. It seems like the class will move much faster than our Greek did, and we'll already be translating biblical text next semester. Finally, I'll be able to read all of the wrist tattoos that you find on Bible majors!

INTRO TO MINISTERIAL COUNSELING - Whenever I am placed into counseling situations, I tend to feel very...uncomfortable, clumsy, and inept. I'm hoping that this class will stretch me and help me feel better prepared to listen to my peers and help them when they need it. As part of the class, we get to give pre-marital or marital counseling to a couple, so let me know if you want some free help! Don't worry, we use very novice-friendly materials.

REFLECTIONS ON MINISTRY AND MISSIONS - This class completes a calendar-year-long process required of all ACU Bible majors: we take "Intro" in the spring, complete a summer ministry internship, and then take this "Reflections" class. I was actually very blessed and challenged by "Intro," and I think it had a lot of really good practical information for ministers. Unfortunately, the class was not very missions-friendly (and my summer internship was missions), and I'm afraid this class will be the same way.

So, going into the semester, I feel like I may actually be sleeping a healthy amount; although I suppose I've said that every semester, and I've eaten those words every time. Here's to 8 hours a night!

Potential

2009-08-19T23:07:00.003-05:00

(DISCLAIMER: This post is very similar to an earlier post, "Opportunity," but I feel like a slightly different approach as well as the fact that I'm still thinking about this months later merit additional thoughts.)

I have a lot of potential.

Not that I earned it, of course. My summer in PNG was a fierce reminder that there was a lot that was handed to me the moment I was born. I am a healthy, intelligent white male. I was raised by Christian parents in a suburban home. I was (essentially) required by law to achieve a twelfth grade education, and now, like a majority of the people with whom I graduated, I am completing a college education. I have been given the opportunity to dedicate the past two years of my life to intensive study of the Bible and theology.

That's not Dickson's story. Dickson, who is around my age, was born black in a small village in the jungle (he almost didn't survive as a baby). He's recently learned to read, though he still has trouble finding the passage he's looking for in the Bible (and he has to read it in his second language, because his first language doesn't have a Bible translation yet). He lives in a small bamboo bush house that he built, and he's been an orphan for a few years.

This is not a post about socialism or racism or even—forgive my selfishness—giving to the needy. But all those times this summer when I would hear of a malaria death before taking my own preventative medicine and wonder why on earth I deserved these pills when those people were dying, I could not escape the fact that I have so much potential that has been silver-spoon-fed to me.

Those who have spent a significant amount of time with me know that I tend to have trouble resting. If I am working, if I am producing, if I am doing, then I can convince myself that I am realizing (and thus not wasting) my potential. My 12-hour plane rides to and from Australia this summer were a perfect, ridiculous little microcosm of my life: I agonized over how to use the time, wondering whether I should relax and watch a movie or if there was a better way to spend my time, like being good and spiritual and reading the Bible or praying or journaling. My life is 80 years long, tops, which is a blink in the history of the world. Do I really have time to watch movies?

I was asked a question (by a public speaker, not personally) at the beginning of the summer that has danced through my head ever since: Do I consider my relationship with God a means to an end or an end in itself? Do I seek to deepen my relationship with God so that I can serve him better in the world and minister for him more effectively, or do I seek to deepen my relationship with God for the sake of having a relationship with God? Is my service a natural outpouring of my love for God, or do I just love God out of necessity for the service I'm doing?

It seems ridiculous that anyone's service to God would preclude a relationship with God—why devote your life to serving someone you don't even know? Unfortunately, we have all seen ministers who have idolized their ministry to the point that their work is their god and they offer their lives as living sacrifices to it. Youth ministers who illegally download music because it fits perfectly in the slide show, missionaries who cross the line between "behaving Christianly" and "behaving appropriately for the culture," and even the priest and the Levite who walked right past the dying Jew are all examples of those people who have taken God's work into their own hands so that God isn't even welcome anymore. I believe that any moment in which serving in the name of God forces you to behave in a way that does not reflect the nature of God is a moment in which you had better stop claiming his name altogether. It was incredible this summer how important the Lord's Supper was for me every week; without fail, as I received the bread and wine, I would be harshly struck with the fact that, among the language learning and cross-cultural interaction and computer work and homesickness that filled my days, I had once again lost sight of the purpose of all the work: Christ crucified and risen.

So, this is where my utter confusion arrives: where do I find balance between (a) doing the work necessary to fulfill the potential that God has given me to do great things in his name and (b) knowing him and being guided solely by my relationship with him?

I ran a marathon in December. However, that sentence is incomplete—what I should have said is that I trained for a marathon starting in August and then ran a marathon in December. Big things tend to take big preparation. If someone wants to be a missionary in the field of business, he cannot simply move to Wall Street and start baptizing. No, he must get the degrees and then build up the references and pray for the right pieces to fall into place before maybe he will finally arrive in a position with some influence. If I want to become a Bible translator, I will need to complete two years of undergraduate work, a graduate degree, and then multiple years of language and culture learning before I will even begin to become useful on the field. These seem like perfect ways to utilize my potential!

On the other hand, it seems like the obvious answer is to say that we should focus first on the relationship and let our lives react to that; however, I don't know if we fully recognize what a radical life model that is. Even in the Bible department at Abilene Christian University, I constantly feel pressure to take the next internship or opportunity to build my resume instead of slowly and prayerfully considering where God may be leading my life. If we are going to agree to let our relationships with God be the root of our decisions, are we prepared to deal with the ramifications of that decision? What about those times when God's will doesn't fit the American mold of climbing as high as possible on the ladder, when God wills us to reject the promotion or—and this is truly a scary thought—drop out of college because he has something entirely different in mind? Do we even allow him room to work outside of the general plans that our society has laid out for our life pattern?

I am not considering dropping out of college. If I did, I'm sure that many people—myself included—would speak of how I was wasting my potential. But maybe because I've been so convinced that money and influence and titles are so important, that a college degree is the most valuable thing in the world, that ministry with big results is the only kind of ministry worth anything; maybe I've started worshipping the god of my potential itself. I'm reminded of Brother Lawrence, the monk who spent years washing dishes (i.e., something that would not necessarily be realizing my potential) but found such joy in his relationship with God that he gave us some of our most beloved Christian works. The New Testament is full of radical statements that directly contradict our worldview: statements like I Corinthians 1:27, which says that "God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong" (and notice that it does not say that God takes the weak things and then makes them strong in order to shame the strong—it says he uses the weak things). Maybe our wisdom that says you should work as hard as you can all the time and get the very biggest results has blinded us from seeing what God is actually doing.

On the other hand, I am so frustrated by the wasted potential I see — Christians who are content to fill their days with mindless entertainment when the world is crying out for the hands of Jesus to touch them, Christians who have become so good at sabbath that the crosses Jesus commanded us to take up are collecting dust. Surely this cannot be holy, either.

So, how do you know when your potential has become an idol? How do you know when to spend hours jogging in order to train for the marathon and when to sacrifice the race to spend your time walking with God instead? And have our own perceptions of what is important and valuable to us—things like big results and personal happiness—caused us to do ministry that doesn't reflect the nature of God at all?

I have a lot of potential, and I don't want to waste it. But I fear that my attempts to realize that potential to glorify God may eventually neglect God entirely and thus ruin me.

Year Three

2009-08-19T00:08:00.002-05:00

Six days ago, I woke up Papua New Guinea. Tonight, I'm falling asleep in Abilene, Texas.

I feel less prepared entering this year of school than I have in past years, which I attribute to the frenetic pace of the last few days as well as my near-total separation from all things Abilene this summer. My re-entry has been quick and rushed, so I feel more like I'm falling into my junior year than coolly striding into it. But as loose ends have been tied and I have managed to unpack some of the boxes covering my floor, I have had some time to think about what I want and expect from this year.

This week is "Welcome Week" on campus, which means that all of the freshmen are being oriented to campus life and meeting hundreds of people whose names, majors, and hometowns they'll immediately forget. Seeing them scramble around from place to place—and engaging in plenty of "in my day, we didn't have..." conversations with other upperclassmen—has brought back memories of my first week in Abilene and convinced me that, in my two years here, I have changed.

More than anything, I feel like this is the first semester in college in which I am entering with a very low concern for others' opinions of me. That isn't to say that I'm going to do whatever I want brashly and let people deal with it; it is to say, however, that I feel as though most of the people with whom I interact have a fairly solid picture of who I am, and I don't feel any nagging pressure to act a certain way. I haven't decided if this is an entirely healthy attitude: I think it's good when you learn that the opinions of people aren't important, but I don't want to become so set in my ways that I become overconfident and haughty. I believe the reason I feel so comfortable is that God truly has blessed me with better friendships than I deserve; it really is so hard when you're in a new place and even your closest friends have only known you for days or weeks (or when you're in a not-so-new place but still don't feel like you've got any close friends).

It does feel strange to be an upperclassman—upperclassmen are supposed to be the people on campus who have a general idea of how to "do" college and carry a sense of confidence. And even though I don't find myself as concerned with others' opinions as I used to be, I don't feel like I have any confidence at all in my own ability to "do" life correctly. I constantly find myself changing my mind, asking new questions, and making mistakes for the second and third time (even tough I thought I learned the lesson the first time). Maybe upperclassmen are just the ones who have become skilled at feigning confidence!

This year, I want to grow as a communicator. First, I want to learn to express myself more clearly—I tend to assume that other people will assume things and then find myself surprised when they haven't acted as I expected, and I'm also often guilty of delaying uncomfortable conversations until they have reached a point of being absolutely (albeit unnecessarily) important. Second, I want to learn to be a much better listener. I flounder in any kind of counseling situation, and I'm not sure what it takes to learn how to do that better. I want to be able to help people, but I always feel so inept whenever anyone opens up to me.

Finally, I want this to be a year in which I can come to know how to know God better. I'll probably write a longer post about this soon, but I'm realizing how much I've made my relationship with God a means to an end rather than an end in itself. Service to God must be a natural outpouring of a close relationship with him or else it will be a human endeavor marred by human failings. How often has my ministry come from a desire to do good for my own sake, and how often have I viewed my time with God as little more than a refueling for more work "on his behalf"? I want to learn to know God better and truly let my life be guided by a knowledge of his will (and not my own opinions on how I could serve him best).

2009-06-07T23:34:00.002-05:00

This summer, I will be working an internship with Pioneer Bible Translators in Papua New Guinea. I've tried to keep this blog as a place for my own periodic reflections throughout the year, so I've decided to start a temporary blog for the summer. This will allow me to write more detailed descriptions of my day-to-day activity for those who are curious, without interrupting the tone of this blog.

My new blog, "Bilong Yu Oltaim Oltaim," can be found at http://brentbailey2009.blogspot.com/. The title is, appropriately enough, the Melanesian Pidgin translation of "Forever Yours." I will likely do most of my writing this summer over on that site, though I may occasionally write reflections over here.

My Darling Niece

2009-06-07T21:58:00.002-05:00

DISCLAIMER: This is a mushy, gushy, family-related post, so feel free to skip.

I have to be honest: I had never gotten too, too excited about becoming an uncle. Don't get me wrong—I don't mean to say that I felt negatively; I just mean that I hadn't exactly been dreaming all of my life about becoming an uncle. I was so excited for my brother and his wife when I found out they were pregnant, and I was excited about our family growing. But I guess I didn't really know what I was supposed to do as an uncle, how involved I was supposed to be, etc. I think I had been more excited for everyone else involved—the future parents and the future grandparents.

Well, then I held my darling little niece last night, and my feelings totally changed. I mean, babies are cute and all, with their tiny little noses and fingernails and noises. But when I held this little girl, I was suddenly surprised by how much I cared about her and, dare I say it, loved her. There was just something about seeing her and knowing she was my brother's daughter that made me feel so much affection for her; I just took in the moment and stared at her. She really was cuter than all of the other babies, regardless of what she looked like (but even an objective viewer will tell you she's cute).

At the same time, I immediately felt super protective of her. The world suddenly became a big, scary, dangerous place when I was holding this little image of innocence. I remember feeling sorrow over the fallen world in which we live—that because of Satan's work in the world, we have to experience pain and separation and loss. We enter as these helpless, trusting infants, and eventually we have to come to terms with the fact that Satan does have influence in a world that could have been paradise.

It was amazing how, tonight, when I was at a worship service as part of my internship, I couldn't get my mind off of the little baby back in Austin. I became to the other interns an 80-year-old woman with a wallet full of pictures to show off (and, to their credit, they all reacted with appropriate "oohs" and "aahs"). I feel like I finally understand all of the other people my age who get genuinely excited about seeing their nieces and nephews, and I hereby renounce my skepticism towards them. Being an uncle is a sweet deal—all of the cuteness without any of the responsibility.

"For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well."
- Psalm 139:13-4

2009-05-29T00:39:00.002-05:00

A brief public service announcement...

Occasionally, I will write posts on this blog for which I spend more time than usual preparing (or at least pondering); they tend to be either subjects about which I am particularly passionate or which may be controversial. In those cases, I will often republish those posts on Facebook to receive comments from my peers and hear their opinions on the matter.

Recently, the leadership team at Southern Hills gave funny awards to all of this year's lifegroup leaders at our end-of-the-year celebration. I was honored to receive the award, "Most Likely to Write a Book Every Day as a Blog Post."

I get the hint—I tend to be a little long-winded—but I'm going to keep writing these books as long as people will comment on them :-).

Sophomore Year Reflections

2009-05-29T00:19:00.002-05:00

After my freshman year ended, I wrote a series of three posts reflecting on the social and spiritual changes I experienced over the year. I fully believe like Socrates that "an unexamined life is not worth living," so I want to continue the trend and spend some time reflecting on my second year at ACU. This post will likely be shorter than what I wrote last year, as I have reflected a lot on my sophomore year in recent posts; forgive me if I echo ideas I've already expressed.

I feel like the theme for this year was understanding that God is faithful even (or especially) when I am not (see post: "God's Faithfulness"). I had predicted that this would be a year to stretch me much farther than my freshman year, and I was right. I have seen relationships strained, felt incredible lows, and had a few difficult conversations, but I have also seen the love of Jesus tangibly expressed in ways that I had never experienced. I am constantly reminded that, despite my best efforts to take matters into my own hands and plot as though I know what's best for myself, God is still in control and has enough mercy to keep me from getting my way too often. Recently, I have found myself disagreeing with God on some of the things I see things happening in my life, but I am constantly humbled to realize that anything I would consider as my wisdom is still foolishness to God and that I had better learn to submit to his will.

One of my biggest dilemmas this year—and, from what I've heard, one of the biggest dilemmas most people face in ministry—was learning how to maintain a delicate tension between truth and grace (I alluded to this in my post "Christian Themes in (Noticably) Non-Christian Media"). I will go ahead and say that I still have no idea how to balance calling Christians to live with a higher standard (truth) and realizing that we are all sinners in need of forgiveness (grace), but I know that I tend to err on the side of Pharisaic legalism. Allow me to speak frankly; I'm not naïve, and I know that there are certain topics people simply will not discuss with me because they are afraid I will unfairly judge them. I cannot say that I blame them, as I suppose I have been guilty of acting as though people had to behave a certain way in order to gain my acceptance. I think this has been an important year for me in learning to receive and extend grace, but I still struggle with understanding our calling as Christians—whether it is more important to try and live holy lives or to foster an attitude of humility that admits we cannot make ourselves holy. While I (and others like me) tend to stray into legalism, I know there are others who make the mistake of forsaking truth for tolerance. Ultimately, I believe the church needs to lean more towards truth in our dealings with fellow Christians, and I believe the church needs to lean more towards grace in our dealings with non-Christians.

I confess that I took certain friendships for granted as I struggled to determine whether I was trying too hard or whether other people weren't trying hard enough, and I regret the mistakes I made in my relationships. Fortunately, I know some fantastic people at ACU who are much better at extending grace than I am.

I feel like my method of reading scripture was completely transformed this year. Three classes particularly shaped my interpretation of the Bible: the first was Exegesis, in which we learned the skill of reading the text as it was originally written without any modern context getting in the way. The second was Philosophy, Religion, and Science, which showed me that the conversation between science and religion is far more complicated than I expected, and both fields have much more to say than I may have expected. Finally, my Christianity in Culture class started me thinking about what it means to develop a relationship with God rather than reading the Bible as a list of rules. All of this to say that I believe I have a greater respect now than I ever have for the authority of scripture; but I also have a different understanding of how we should best honor scripture. I am frustrated with the ways we approach the Bible inconsistently—claiming the first half of a verse as "contextual" with the second half as "eternal truth," ignoring passages that frustrate or confuse us, etc. I want to learn to read the Bible in the most responsible way possible.

This was my first year to vote in a government election, and those who were around me in November know that I was very hesitant to participate in the political process. To be honest, there are two main reasons I still feel hesitant to vote: first, I feel like there is no arena of the public sphere that is more divisive than politics. I have seen friendships and family relationships interrupted by political allegiances, and it saddens me to see the ways that the church has become such a political figure in our nation (with a definite party allegiance that may harm our ability to reach non-Christians with differing political views). Second, I find myself tempted to use political action to excuse myself from individual service. I mean to say that it is much easier for me to vote for anti-abortion laws than it is for me to invest in the life of a girl struggling with an unplanned pregnancy; or, it is much easier for me to vote for national health care than it is for me to cover a poor man's medical bills. When I examine the life of Jesus, I see that he brought radical social change by living out the change himself—in order to improve Jew-Samaritan relations, he just went out and talked to a Samaritan. I fear that I may neglect the hard work of living change in favor of simply voting for it.

Socially, I feel like I am learning to better balance my own ambition with my desire to develop strong, intimate relationships. I have steadily been reducing my involvement at ACU, so much to the point that, next semester, I'll only be taking twelve hours and working two low-hour jobs. I'm realizing that my attempts in the past to fill a resumé often prohibited me from investing fully in any particular area of my life. My hope for the fall is that I will be able to work hard in my classes without having to rush through my homework. I will be able to prepare fully for my duties as the Southern Hills campus ministry intern and the Bible department Greek tutor. I will be able to SLEEP. And, most importantly, I will be able to work "flex time" into my schedule—time to be open to the needs of others, to engage in long conversations and stop checking my watch. Unfortunately, this means that I won't have as much to show for the year as I may have for past years, but I am learning to value the "nonquantifiables."

That being said, I really thought this was going to be my year to get my first "B"—and I would have finally gotten it, had my Exegesis professor not curved our grades at the last moment. The 4.0 stands as a nasty reminder that I had better keep working to prevent my grades from becoming the idol they have been in the past (and may still be).

This was a significant year for me in many ways. I ran a full marathon in December, which was an incredibly fulfilling experience (to be honest, I'm still on the fence as to whether the self-confidence it inspired was good or not). I helped lead a lifegroup of freshmen, which allowed me to come to love a certain group of students as well as learn better how to work in a team. Many of my friends participated in pledging, and other friends began and ended dating relationships—both of which added interesting dynamics my relationships with them (whether major or minor). I was accepted for an internship in Papua New Guinea with Pioneer Bible Translators, and God absolutely came through in the fundraising process ($6300 raised in five weeks). Just two weeks ago, I was in one of my best friends' wedding, which was an extremely fun and beautiful experience. And to top it off, my niece is supposed to be born within the next two weeks!

It's hard to believe that, just 10 months ago, I was driving back to ACU after a summer working with the youth group at Kingwood CoC. It's incredible to think of those people with whom I spent so much time this year that I hardly knew last year—and in the same vein, it's incredible to see the ways that other, older relationships have deepened. It's still fun for me to read old posts to see where my mind was during certain seasons of the year. This year was absolutely not the fun adventure of freshman year; God has been at work in very different ways. But I am grateful for everything that happened since August, and I look forward to getting caught up in God's work in Papua New Guinea this summer.

This has been a big year in some very important ways, and I praise God that he continues to allow me to be Forever His.

Back on the Edge

2009-05-19T22:30:00.002-05:00

In January of 2008, I wrote a blog post entitled "On the Edge of Something Huge," in which I summarized a growing feeling I had been experiencing as, "I am simultaneously the most excited, the most nervous, the most confident, and the most unconfident I have ever been in my relationship with God. I feel like my faith before now has been shallow and naive at best."

Well, I feel like I have once again found myself on that edge, looking back to recent events and wondering just what God is doing. In that post, I laid out a series of specific events and conversations that had started my mind spinning. I cannot name such specific events this time around, but I feel like a few motifs have been appearing and reappearing this semester that seem to be mixing together into some kind of symphony (pardon the trite metaphor).

In August of this past year, I wrote that I fully expected the year to be difficult: "It seems like God is going to be directly confronting those areas in my life that need to be transformed or removed (even some that I have ignored for years), and it will be painful to be changed and grown." At the risk of being frustratingly ambiguous, let me just say that...I made a pretty good prediction. In many ways, this has been a year that has pushed me and stretched me much more than my freshman year, and I cannot say that I have positively reacted to everything that God has been doing.

But the important thing is that I do believe God has been acting, especially recently. Around February, I read a book by Francis Chan called Crazy Love that clicked with me. To be honest, the book wasn't anything particularly revolutionary, but it made me seriously reconsider whether I was in a relationship with God or whether I only used that phrase to describe my own Pharisaic legalism. I asked questions I never had before—how do you develop a two-way relationship with a silent God? How do other Christians fit into that intimate relationship?

Around March-April, I had a few life changes that I probably took more seriously than I should have (big surprise, knowing me). First, I turned 20, which meant I was no longer a teenager. Second, I finally saw my sister-in-law looking pregnant (she's due June 7th!), which struck me with a realization that my family is getting older and I am about to be an uncle. Honestly, I have started feeling like it is time for me to start being a grown-up; not that I am a particularly lazy or helpless, and not that I want to "outgrow" my peers, but simply that I need to really start considering who I am and who God is calling me to be for the rest of my life.

In the same few months, I had a few experiences that made me realize that I need to be better preparing myself to be a minister in the world; simply doing everything that ACU requires for a degree is not going to make me ready to answer questions and lead effectively and maintain my own spiritual health. First, I petitioned for and then rapidly received my funds for my summer mission work, and suddenly I felt the weight of responsibility towards 68 (!!!) financial contributors and countless more prayer partners. At the same time, I accepted a year-long internship with the Campus Ministry at Southern Hills that starts this fall, which means I will be in a formal ministry position around my peers (and our meetings for the fall have already begun).

Then, on April 21st, during a Bible class in which my peers and I were particularly distracted and uninvolved, our professor stopped class to bluntly tell us that he worried about our futures as ministers because of how we were performing in his class. He insisted that we had a responsibility to take our ACU education seriously, as millions around the world would jump at the chance to study the Bible in a university. He said that ministry was harder than we thought, and that we weren't suddenly going to have answers to everyone's questions if we didn't prepare, and that we needed to shape up. Our class was stunned, but I think it was an appropriate kick in the pants to a group of future ministers who really weren't taking things seriously, myself absolutely included. I felt convicted and, well, crummy.

More and more conversations have opened my eyes to the big things that God is doing right now, things like social justice and missions and personal transformations. I was reminded of how many times God has used people my age or younger to do big things, such as the group of college kids in the early nineteenth century who basically started North American missions, or the 20-somethings who have written powerful and eye-opening books, or even a recent ACU grad who is working to save prostitutes in Bulgaria. And reading books like the recent They Like Jesus But Not The Church has shown me how our culture and ministry are rapidly changing and how we have to face that.

All of these things (and other, more personal events) have been feeding into my head/heart/spirit this semester, and I'm feeling more and more ready to start cutting things in my life to focus and really prepare for a specific type of service or ministry. This year, I learned that I don't have to be involved in every single thing on campus to serve God and use my time effectively, and I want to continue shaping my schedule (read: freeing up my schedule) to see how I can be better preparing for my ministry to come. I've been in kind of a funk for a few weeks, and I feel like that is going to fade and hopefully leave me with some clarity.

I feel like the best things I can do right now are (a) pray and (b) spend time in the word. God always seems to do big things in people who have committed to serious prayer (Martin Luther supposedly prayed 3 hours every day), and I regret that I haven't prayed more in my time at ACU. On that note, I would love your prayers as I continue to try and discern my direction.

I'm ready to start taking this seriously. If Freshman year was about shaking up my faith and introducing me to the real Jesus, Sophomore year was about shaking up my identity and introducing me to the real me. Now that I feel like I know better who everyone is (wink), I'm ready to get this show on the road.

BOOK RESPONSE: "They Like Jesus But Not The Church" by Dan Kimball

2009-05-19T21:45:00.003-05:00

WHY I READ IT: For my Campus Ministry class

I wasn't originally going to write anything about this book, since it seemed very similar to unChristian (a book I read earlier in the semester and responded to here). Both books take a harsh look at how modern non-Christians around my age perceive the church.

However, whereas unChristian was a research-heavy book based on piles and piles of statistics, They Like Jesus is instead a collection of anecdotes and conversations in which the author participated; though his research is much more limited (one of the book's faults), he adds more personal touches and creates a book that is altogether more readable, in my opinion. Kimball also spends much more time exploring the church's behavior and how much say we have in my generation's perception of the church. Before delving into the common negative perceptions, Kimball spends time discussing the state of the church, and his suggestions are rather challenging.

First, Kimball writes that our society is dramatically changing right now, and many of our churches are completely ignorant to the changes and thus vastly unprepared to evangelize to the culture. I do not believe I have taken a Bible class at ACU that did not devote at least one class period to discussing the "Modernism—Postmodernism" shift facing the world right now, so I tend to forget that many people are simply unaware of this transformation. The concept is complicated (I still don't think I entirely understand it), but basically speaking, the world has been functioning in a "Modern" worldview for the last 400 or 500 years, characterized by reason, progress, science, etc., and a belief that an ultimate truth exists (whether or not we know it). Now, however, our society is becoming increasingly "Postmodern," rejecting the idea that all existence can be summed up in one particular "meta-narrative" or overarching story, and instead believing that all truth is relative; community is everything, and my truth may be different from your truth.

All of this to say that the very way that college students perceive such important words as "truth" and "reality" may be entirely different from how our grandparents understand it; and as a result, the evangelism techniques that may have convinced older generations tend to disappoint or even amuse my peers.* Add to this that most scholars have become convinced that our nation is now (or is at least on the verge of becoming) a post-Christian society; not that Christianity has been rejected by everyone, but that the belief system no longer receives the respect it once did, and Christian thought and morals no longer hold nearly as much clout as they used to. Both of these truths are extremely important for Christians to understand; we are no longer working in a society that admires or even likes us. As Kimball writes:

"Emerging generations don't have a basic understanding of the story of the Bible, and they don't have one God as the predominant God to worship. Rather, they are open to all types of faiths, including new mixtures of religions. No longer are Christian pastors and ministers the 'good guys' in films and in the media. Most church leaders now actually feel embarrassed to tell people they are pastors. Some even choose titles other than pastor so they aren't dismissed by people outside the church. Some people aren't even comfortable saying they are a Christian but come up with new terms such as 'Christ follower' to avoid negative and distorted associations."

Second, Kimball writes that we as Christians are guilty of retreating further and further into the walls of our churches and forming a Christian subculture that completely isolates us from the world. We fellowship with each other, we study with each other, we work with each other, and we develop no serious or meaningful relationships with people outside of the church. For outreach, we try and create events or marketing to make our churches as "seeker-friendly" as possible; as long as the church is doing outreach, we can relieve ourselves of the burden of evangelism. The harsh reality, then, is that people are not attracted to our churches, so we are only growing by having babies and gaining members from other churches. As the book is titled, people like Jesus—even if their views are seriously skewed by Jesus' presentation in pop culture, they can admire his teachings, and they see him as an agent for social justice and change. Unfortunately, they do not like the church—they have become disillusioned with our organized religion, and they are forced to either reject Jesus along with the church or dangerously seek him alone.

This leads to the middle portion of the book, in which Kimball explores each of the negative perceptions people hold against Christianity. Some echo themes of unChristian (the church is an organized religion with a political agenda, the church is judgmental and negative, the church is homophobic), while other themes are unique to his research (the church is dominated by males and oppresses females, the church arrogantly claims all other religions are wrong, the church is full of fundamentalists who take the whole Bible literally). Obviously, these statements hurt, but we cannot honestly say they surprise us.

Like unChristian, Kimball's book offers hope that we can change the perceptions regarding Christianity to restore the name of Christianity in our society. The key is relationships—we simply must develop relationships with non-Christians in order to allow them to see that we do not fit their negative stereotypes. Here's a statement from the book that should sting: "I'm always amazed at how many people outside the church say they don't know any Christians personally." When non-Christians don't know any Christians, their only exposure to us comes in those extreme cases they see in the media, such as the sign-toting Westboro Baptist Church** or extremists bombing abortion clinics. Only we—and by we, I mean me and you, whoever might read this—can change those perceptions by our example.

As a result of reading this book, I feel extremely convicted in how I spend my time. I feel completely enveloped in Christian subculture, and I cannot name one specific relationship I have with a non-Christian person. That is ridiculous, and it has to change. I love the idea that we are supposed to be missionaries to the United States—and as Kimball writes, it wouldn't make any sense for missionaries in China to spend all of their time hanging out in a little Christian house. Missionaries spend time with their target group to learn the culture and work in it.

When I read unChristian, I suggested that people working in youth or college ministries should read it; however, I'm going to go ahead and say this is a pretty important book for any Christian to read right now. We simply must be aware of what our society thinks of us, and we must reconsider how we are reaching them (if we are reaching them at all).

NEXT BOOK: For various reasons, I've had to read literally 900 pages of text in the last week-and-a-half, and I still have approximately 500 pages to read in the next week (no exaggeration). I won't likely respond to any more of the books I'll be reading for awhile.

* I really can't express how significant this shift is, and I highly recommend you look it up if you don't know anything about it. It sheds all kinds of light on many of the conflicts that exist between the generations in our churches.
** www.godhatesfags.com Obviously, this site is probably PG-13 but is, unbelievably, entirely serious.

Crying

2009-05-17T00:55:00.002-05:00

This is one of those times where I'm probably going a little too personal on this blog, but I still want this to be a journal of my faith journey. Without going too deep, let me say that I cried recently for the first time in a long, long time (I know I said I cried in this post a while back, but I think I was exaggerating), and it really changed my perception of trusting God.

I think that I have gone a long time believing that trusting God means following his plans without any disagreement. I've always struggled with Psalms of lament, like Psalm 22—intellectually, I feel like we know that God is in control, and regardless of what happens he is working for the "good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose" (Romans 8:28). He is with us through all of the tragedy and the struggle, and we will be better off in the end because he is grooming us to be his children and to love him more fully. So, I think I have always subconsciously believed that it just didn't make sense to disagree with God or argue with him when we know that, ultimately, we will be grateful for what happens in our lives. I've often struggled with empathy because I feel like, if we know that hindsight is 20/20 and that we will be grateful later, we might as well be grateful now.

Well, what can I say—I'm still a student, and so I think I'm still allowed to change my mind. I want to look at the story of Hannah, so I'm copying a large portion of it here from I Samuel:

"There was a certain man....He had two wives; one was called Hannah and the other Peninnah. Peninnah had children, but Hannah had none.

"Year after year this man went up from his town to worship and sacrifice to the LORD Almighty at Shiloh, where Hophni and Phinehas, the two sons of Eli, were priests of the LORD. Whenever the day came for Elkanah to sacrifice, he would give portions of the meat to his wife Peninnah and to all her sons and daughters. But to Hannah he gave a double portion because he loved her, and the LORD had closed her womb. And because the LORD had closed her womb, her rival kept provoking her in order to irritate her. This went on year after year. Whenever Hannah went up to the house of the LORD, her rival provoked her till she wept and would not eat. Elkanah her husband would say to her, 'Hannah, why are you weeping? Why don't you eat? Why are you downhearted? Don't I mean more to you than ten sons?'

"Once when they had finished eating and drinking in Shiloh, Hannah stood up. Now Eli the priest was sitting on a chair by the doorpost of the LORD's temple. In bitterness of soul Hannah wept much and prayed to the LORD. And she made a vow, saying, 'O LORD Almighty, if you will only look upon your servant's misery and remember me, and not forget your servant but give her a son, then I will give him to the LORD for all the days of his life, and no razor will ever be used on his head.'"

Here's what I think I'm noticing about Hannah for the first time: she knows that God could grant her a son. She knows that, for whatever reason, he isn't, and that fills her with grief. But Hannah still has great faith—incredibly, God grants her request, and she keeps her end of the bargain. Even though Hannah weeps because God is not doing what she wants, she is not doubting God's infinite wisdom or suggesting that her way is better; she is simply mourning the harsh truth that her life is not going the way she wishes and that it is hard. And even when Hannah prays from the bitterness of her heart, she is still praying in faith and absolute trust in God's will. She knows that he's in control, but still she grieves.

I believe that what I have learned through finally being able to release myself in tears—and bear with me, because I'm still not 100% sure about this—is that, while we may intellectually grasp that God is good and wise and wants the best for us, we are still allowed to feel sad when our prayers go unanswered. Doesn't that sound so silly and obvious? But it's hard for me because I have trouble separating my emotions and my intellect. What I see in the story of Hannah, and in the laments of David, and in countless other scriptural examples, is that trusting in God does not mean we are supposed to turn off our emotions. In Hannah's case, she wanted something that was entirely holy and admirable: a child. When God said no, she grieved in the context of her trust and faith in God.

I think what I'm getting at is that it is never sinful to desire something good. Desire becomes sinful when we try and fill it outside of God's will—for example, when we pursue sex (something good) outside of marriage, we sin. The problem is not that we desire sex; we are created to desire sex. The problem is when we stop trusting God's timing and assume that we know better. Hannah desired something good, so when that need was not met, she mourned. She could not deny that she wanted to be a mother, and her mourning did not mean she distrusted God.

I certainly don't want a child right now, but I think I can identify with Hannah.

Psychological Testing

2009-04-25T01:57:00.003-05:00

All students majoring in Bible at ACU must, during the spring of their sophomore year, submit to psychological testing. The testing consists of a long written test as well as two meetings with a pair of counselors, graduate students in the Marriage and Family Institute of ACU. The testing is primarily intended to prevent any major problems in ministry, although it also serves to allow students to see their own particular behavioral traits that may not be visible to them.

On Thursday, I got the results of my test. Fortunately, they said there were no major psychological defects. As with all students, they did wish to point out peculiarities in my personality: namely, that I tend to act naïvely in my relationships, I hold high moral standards, and I suppress my own hostility.

I do believe that I tend to be naïve in my relationships, though I haven't decided whether this is something I want to—or even know how to—work on or not. I know that, in many situations, I'm usually the last one to find out about the bad junk that's going on, and that used to really bug me. I grew up pretty sheltered (for which I'm grateful), so I tend to be surprised when I hear about my peers doing drugs or having sex. I know that, in ministry, it is important for me to be perceptive and generally aware of what is happening in people's lives. But I think I tend to expect the best from people and assume they'll do the same for me, and there have been many times when I've said, "I just don't really need to know that about [insert name]." I think the word "naïve" stings a little.

I tend to hold high moral standards, and the problem is when I enforce those on other people. I see a connection between this and the previous paragraph—because I set these standards, I tend to expect the same from other people, so they aren't comfortable letting me in on the junk because they think I will (or, perhaps, know I will—yikes) judge them. Of all people, I have the least right to judge, so this is something I want to improve. I struggle to realize that, for whatever reason, someone who is sincerely seeking Christ ten times harder than me may have entirely different moral standards from me, and that doesn't mean he or she is wrong.

I was really surprised when I was told that I tend to deny or suppress my hostility, as I've always felt like a highly non-confrontational person. I really can't think of many situations in my life where, in retrospect, I had any particularly good reason to be angry, so I tend to just shrug off situations in the present. (Now, I know there's a place for "righteous anger," but I feel like we tend to overuse that term. Anger at the waitress is not righteous. Anger at annoying drivers is not righteous.) I feel like every person has baggage he's lugging around with him, and if we could just empathize better with each other, we wouldn't be nearly as angry. Now, if I am suppressing anger, I want to find out so that I can express it in a healthy way, but right now, I don't really feel angry about too much—and I don't mean that as apathy.

Christian Themes in (Noticeably) Non-Christian Media

2009-04-18T22:58:00.002-05:00

I want to bring up a question that has plagued me since the eighth grade, which has been debated by people who are a lot smarter than me, and which may not have any end-all solution: the interaction of Christians with popular culture. More specifically, for this post, I want to talk about how I should respond to seeing Christian themes presented in distinctly non-Christian packaging. More and more, I see churches using film clips from nonreligious films to illustrate biblical texts, but I feel like we don't have anything close to a uniform view of how to deal with this.

DISCLAIMER: For this post, I am going to be discussing the book/film Fight Club and the film Little Miss Sunshine, both of which are extremely popular among my generation. I want to note that both of these films are rated "R" for very good reasons, and I'm going to be discussing the plots of each work in detail. Use discretion if you choose to engage these works, and please understand that I'm simply trying to determine whether or how Christians should interact with them—because regardless of what anyone says or thinks, Christians (at least my age) are watching them. If you don't want either to be spoiled, you should avoid reading this. This post is not meant to call anyone out or point any fingers, obviously, as I have myself engaged each work—I only ask that, if you feel it is a mistake to watch such films, you will understand that I am earnestly seeking to find God's will in this. Like I said, Christians my age are watching these films. Finally, I've included censored quotes, but the profanity is going to be very obvious.

I think that the reason films like Fight Club and Little Miss Sunshine are so popular is because they've tapped into real, accurate, biblical truths and presented them in stylish, shocking ways. Not to say that they intended to preach, or that the Bible was even considered in their creation—but, even if by accident, they have spoken a message that we know, somehow we know is true, whether we believe the Bible or not. I want to look at each work more closely.

The novel Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk tells the story of a man who, frustrated with his mundane job and Ikea lifestyle, becomes involved in a weekly fight club with other men looking for a release. After some time, the men in the club begin organizing "Project Mayhem," a group meant to challenge what they see as the stifling effects of corporate America through acts of sabotage and vandalism.

The story could be read entirely as a story of a man finding ways to progressively disconnect from and eventually challenge the society in which he lives; it is a search to connect with other people in true relationship. The author says, "All my books are about a lonely person looking for some way to connect with other people." The narrator starts his search by attending various support groups for diseases and disorders in order to witness and share in true suffering; it is at these meetings that he is able to cry for the first time and battle his recurrent insomnia. Eventually, as those meetings are interrupted and he meets the enigmatic Tyler Durden, he gets involved in the weekly fight club in which strangers fight strangers fist-to-fist in gruesome (but controlled) bouts. Injuries get worse and worse (especially in the novel, which is particularly graphic), but the description of the fight club is very intriguing:

"You aren't alive anywhere like you're alive at fight club. When it's you and one other guy under that one light in the middle of all those watching. Fight club isn't about winning or losing fights. Fight club isn't about words. You see a guy come to fight club for the first time, and his a** is a loaf of white bread. You see this same guy here six months later, and he looks carved out of wood. This guy trusts himself to handle anything. There's grunting and noise at fight club like at the gym, but fight club isn't about looking good. There's hysterical shouting in tongues like at church, and when you wake up Sunday afternoon you feel saved."

All of the injuries don't matter to the narrator because he feels like he's finally living; he's using his body and feeling real pain for the first time instead of living comfortably by the dictates of his society.

Does this sound familiar? Just shy of one year ago, in a post titled "Living Boldly," I wrote on this blog:

"[God] did not ever want us to be Sunday-to-Sunday drones, falling asleep in our pews and forcing ourselves to pray because we just don’t feel like we need to. God wanted us to live, really live—one of my favorite promises of Jesus is that he came so that we could “have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10)...God wants us to wake up from the slumber of humdrum Christianity into the passionate storm of radical living. He wants us to feel, possibly for the first time—real joy, real pain, real love."

People are looking for something more, whether they find it in organized religion or family or drugs or sex or, yes, even a club for fighting. The Bible authors know this: Paul writes in Ephesians 2:1-2a, "As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins, in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world." Paul writes that a life of sin will be ultimately ungratifying, that following the desires of the flesh will not give us fulfillment or peace. And Chuck Palanhuik says the same thing about a society filled with Starbucks and $20 soap: eventually, the pretense of these appearance-based lives we're living will crumble, and then we will be free.

Little Miss Sunshine, on the other hand, tells the story of a little girl's desire to compete in the Little Miss Sunshine beauty pageant and her family's cross-country road trip to get her there. Throughout the film, the family learns to work through their dysfunctions to band together and stop worrying about what the world thinks about them. One of the film's most memorable speeches comes from the son, who has recently learned that he cannot follow his dream of attending the Air Force Academy to become a pilot because he is colorblind:

"You know what? F*** beauty contests. Life is one f****** beauty contest after another. You know, school, then college, then work, f*** that. And f*** the Air Force Academy. If I wanna fly, I'll find a way to fly. You do what you love, and f*** the rest."

And the film's climax illustrates the family's understanding of this idea: when the daughter enters the talent portion of the show and begins dancing a raunchy dance to "Superfreak," they ignore the shock of the crowd to join her on stage and dance (before, of course, she is disqualified from the show). The family has fought and cried, but they join together and reject the world's opinion of them.

Once again, I feel like the idea presented is a strong Christian theme. Jesus tells us in Matthew 5:11-12, "Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you." Persecution is good—at least it means you're shaking people up and making a splash. We can't be salt of the earth if we don't stick out, because salt that loses its saltiness is "no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men" (5:13).

So, these super-popular works reflect important biblical truths. But I'm not naïve enough to think people like them simply because they explore biblical themes. The truth is, both of these movies appeal to us (and by "us," I think I'm specifically referring to my generation) because they are sexy and witty (in the case of Fight Club) or shockingly funny and dark (Little Miss Sunshine). And that's where the problem comes up—the themes are being presented at the expense of Christian purity.

Fight Club explores societal release through violence, which has never been a Christian virtue. Psalm 11:5: "The LORD examines the righteous, but the wicked and those who love violence his soul hates." Yikes, that's bold. Titus 1:7: "Since an overseer is entrusted with God's work, he must be blameless—not overbearing, not quick-tempered, not given to drunkenness, not violent, not pursuing dishonest gain." I feel like the biblical image of a transformed believer is one who does not need to resort to violence for any reason; war or anti-war sentiment aside, he conducts himself peacefully and exudes self-control. In Fight Club, what begins as controlled fighting eventually erupts into overt acts of violence against the community, and the film (not the novel) ends with an entire block of offices being destroyed by bombs planted by Project Mayhem.

Little Miss Sunshine, on the other hand, has as its emotional climax a scene that deeply troubles me. For the daughter's talent in the talent portion of the beauty pageant, she performs an extremely sexual dance that her grandfather has taught her. The dance includes sexual movements as well as clothes being removed (she stops before any inappropriate skin is seen). Keep in mind that the character in the film is seven years old, and the actress portraying her was nine years old when it was filmed. In the film, the scene is supposed to be a glorious moment of unity for the family—even as they are embarrassed by her dancing and the crowd's reaction, they join her in her dance on stage because family is more important to them than popular opinion. Two verses pop into mind. Ephesians 5:3: "But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or of any kind of impurity, or of greed, because these are improper for God's holy people." The present situation involves more than a hint. And Matthew 18:6: "But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea." I don't need to give much explanation—but I feel like exposing a little girl (the character or the actress) to such sexuality is forbidden in scripture.

Now, obviously, we would be foolish (and sinful) to judge nonbelievers for their actions; after all, how should they know better? Though we may not approve of their actions, it is not our job as humans to judge them for following a different standard. So, here is my question: is it okay for us to celebrate the teachings of Jesus when Jesus is removed from the equation? I find myself reminded of one of the main criticisms of the social justice movement so popular among many Christians: in our eagerness to meet the physical and social needs of peoples around the world, we occasionally tend to leave the story of Jesus out of the picture entirely.

If you ask many of the more conservative Christians, they will answer with a resounding "No." As Exhibit A, I offer the film reviews of Christian website Plugged In Online. For Fight Club, they write, "This dangerous Hollywood head trip could inspire similar machismo among distraght males convinced they have nothing to lose,"* and for Little Miss Sunshine they write, "To make a compelling, artistic, emotional, funny movie, screenwriter Michael Arndt didn't have to make the climax revolve around a child imitating a striptease. He didn't have to include a grandfather who in real life, and with all due consideration to family unity, should have long ago been separated from the lives of his grandchildren because of his incredibly immoral and dangerous behavior and influence...Call this, then, the Little Miss Indie Film That Hates Sunshine."** For these reviewers, the negative content far outweighs any spiritual truth that may be ascertained from the films.

But many Christians in my generation are finding messages in films that speak more truth to them than what they perceive as canned sermons in churches. We love to say that we can handle all of the bad content—these films show real life, after all, and we're not hearing any words we don't hear in the halls or seeing anything that doesn't show up on the news. But I would argue that my generation of Christians might not be able to handle the influence of these films as much as we think we can. I am constantly seeing my peers get messed up in pornography and drugs and profanity and drinking, and I think we seriously underestimate how our perceptions of what is "okay" are affected by what we watch—I'm learning that it's harder and harder for me to say "It's okay for Brad Pitt to do this, since he's in a movie" but then later tell myself, "I can't because it will hurt my relationship with God." I think many of us—myself included—have vastly overestimated our power of discernment, and our lives are the evidence.

Now, a brief word to those who say that the Bible is filled with just as much violence and sexual content as R-rated movies: You are correct. But I think the comparison is completely irresponsible and irrelevant, as I have never heard a case of someone becoming more violent or sexual because of reading the narratives of the Bible. You can say that the Bible has inspired acts of terrorism like the Crusades, but I argue that examples like that involve an inaccurate understanding of the teachings of scripture and not the subtle and pervasive influence of a work of literature, which is the situation I am describing for films.

So, what do we Christians do? Pardon my postmodernism, but there may be no solid answer for everyone. This may be a case in which some Christians can engage media safely and purposefully but others need to avoid its tendency to draw them back to particular sins. For anyone who has often wondered about how they should personally choose to engage pop culture, I would offer two groups of questions (and my own reflections):

1) Is there a good reason for you to engage this movie? Will the message it is preaching—because every work preaches a message, however subtly—draw you closer to God? Is there a better way you could learn the same message?

2) Are you spiritually mature enough to handle the movie? Will it cause you to sin or bring back old temptations? Are there other people in your life who may follow your example of watching this movie but who may not be mature enough themselves?

For the first question, I will say that there have been many times when watching a film spoke deep truths to me, truths that I knew as biblical but had never seen presented so profoundly. Let me give an example: the recent film The Wrestler, which easily earned its R-rating, is a powerful tragedy about the fall of a man. That film made me seriously question my own tendency to try and take on the world by myself while avoiding relationships as well as my efforts to achieve glory for myself.

But I wonder if I could have (and, honestly, I feel like I should have) gotten the same message without subjecting myself to the R-rated content. Whenever someone says they like a film because it shows real suffering and pain, I want to tell him to spend some time with someone experiencing real suffering and pain—that way, he can learn the same lessons while spreading the transforming love of Christ at the same time. We seem to think we have a right to engage pop culture because it is so pervasive in our society, but maybe this is a case in which we can truly live radically by opting not to engage certain films. This does not mean that we shelter ourselves from the world—on the contrary, we engage the world by engaging the hurting people of the world and not a filmmaker's perception of them.

For the second question, I think I have experienced what happens to a lot of people when we go to college and encounter new ideas and lifestyles: the question of strong faith vs. weak faith flares up. All throughout my youth group days, the message seemed to be, "Don't engage the bad stuff, ever." However, since coming to school, I have heard an alternate view: "Engage the bad stuff wisely and maturely." The problem I see is that I think it takes an incredibly strong faith to properly engage culture without letting it drag you down, but I am often tempted to do things for which I do not have strong enough faith simply because I see other Christians who may have strong enough faith doing them. Let me say that in another way: I've had multiple conversations with Christians who believe it is perfectly acceptable to drink responsibly, and they do drink responsibly. But I've also seen Christians who, upon seeing that other responsible Christians have chosen to engage alcohol, engage it as well but without the necessary faith—and because they do not possess the necessary maturity, it goes extremely badly for them. This whole matter is discussed at length in Romans 14, and it merits further discussion.

I think it's easy for me to say that I'm over thinking this whole issue, that it won't hurt me to watch some movies and relax with friends. But Christianity isn't easy, and I think it is foolish for any of us to simply accept what "most Christians" are doing for any particular issue without extensive personal examination. Money, ambition, church participation—I grew up surrounded by accepted "norms" for all of these, but I have a duty to decide what I believe for each of them (with the help of Christian guidance and community, of course).

Because I believe, like Edward Norton's character in Fight Club, that "Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy s*** we don't need."

But I also think that Jesus said it first. And better.

*http://www.pluggedinonline.com/movies/movies/a0000363.cfm
**http://www.pluggedinonline.com/movies/movies/a0002832.cfm

BOOK RESPONSE: "unChristian" by David Kinnaman

2009-04-18T22:09:00.002-05:00

WHY I READ IT: For my "Christianity in Culture" class

The full title of this book is unChristian: What a New Generation Really Thinks About Christianity...and Why it Matters, so I was intrigued from the beginning. The book is essentially reflections on a large research project conducted by The Barna Group intended to determine the prevailing conceptions of mainstream Christianity among 16-29 year olds (as well as older age groups).

It will probably come as a surprise to very few that the prevailing conceptions are generally negative. The book goes into great detail about the survey and its results, but I'll give a brief summary. One of the main questions they asked "Outsiders," their name for non-Christians, was which of a list of terms (positive and negative) they thought described present-day Christianity. The top three choices receiving answers of "a lot or some"—out of a list of good and bad terms—were antihomosexual, judgmental, and hypocritical. The next two highest responses were teaches same basic values as other religions and has good values and principles.

I will say in defense of my religion that I think it has almost become trendy to label Christians as hypocritical, even though a basic understanding of the faith reveals that we do not preach perfection but forgiveness. However, the main point of the authors (which I think is valid) is that Outsiders get their opinions somewhere, and we had better do everything we can from our end to give them a favorable image of Christianity. The authors don't suggest that what Christianity needs is better marketing; instead, they say that people misinterpret our faith because we have misrepresented it ourself.

And this is where the book gets interesting, because the authors aren't content to just say, "People think we're hypocritical, so stop being hypocritical." Each chapter attends to a different negative perception of Christanity: Hypocritical, Get Saved!, Antihomosexual, Sheltered, Too Political, and Judgmental. And for each chapter, they try and show how our own deeper misunderstandings have led to those surface symptoms. For example, in the "Hypocritical" chapter, they suggest that people see us as hypocritical because we have focused too much on righteous living and not enough on God's grace; as a result, we can't live up to our own too-high standards. The problem is not that we sin; the problem is that we tell people with our lives that real Christians never make mistakes.

I'm glad they take this approach, because the truth is that many of the negative understandings people have of Christianity, such as "Antihomosexual," are based on biblical truths that may have gone awry but cannot be completely forgotten. If the authors simply encouraged us to soften our teachings on homosexuality until things calmed down, we would be betraying our faith; instead, they call us to higher standards and force us to re-examine what Jesus called us to in the first place.

One final note: I noticed in this book a certain optimism, which I appreciate. The approach is not "Look at how much people don't like us," but instead an approach of "We have the opportunity to show people that Jesus is better than their misconceptions (or, maybe, accurate conceptions) of Christians." It's really easy to write a book that bashes mistakes we're making, but it takes imagination to focus on the positives of where we can go from here.

I recommend the book to anyone working with any younger generations of Christians, especially those in campus or youth ministry—or anyone whose church may seem thin in those demographics. It's lengthy with a lot of statistics, but it's pretty eye-opening.

NEXT BOOK: I've just finished Tuesdays With Morrie (Mitch Albom) and Dark Journey, Deep Grace (Roy Ratcliff) for that same class, but I'm not sure if I'll respond to those on this blog.

Along the same theme of this book, one of my friends recently pointed me to a very interesting article published in Newsweek called "The End of Christian America" dealing with the waning influence of Christianity in politics, etc. It's certainly worth a read: http://www.newsweek.com/id/192583

Investing

2009-04-13T09:56:00.002-05:00

Over the last few weeks, a few different sources have been telling me that this is the age at which I should start investing my money to prepare for the future. But honestly, I don't know how investing and Luke 12:13-21 work together. I feel like it's hard for Christians to store up money for the future when there are poor people right around us who need it now.

Suggestions?

Transition

2009-04-11T01:55:00.002-05:00

Someone recently told me that I think too much, and he was probably right. This is a fairly personal post, but I want to remember what I’m feeling tonight on this verge of transition.

Let me rewind a few years. I can’t imagine a childhood better than one with two older brothers. My two brothers and I fought plenty, with yelling and hitting and crying and tattling to Mommy. Even into high school, there were certain nights when Tyler and I would argue hardheadedly before I stormed out. But the good memories absolutely outweigh the bad, because for every time we fought, there were ten times when we adventured together. Every single Christmas Eve, the three of us would secretly plot out how we were going to find our presents in the morning—Santa changed his drop site from year to year, you see—with strategies that grew more and more complicated as we got older and wiser. On school holidays, we would spend hours on end creating movies, epic melodramas rife with gunfire, humor, and always a few emotional deaths. We were there for each other—when the parents did something we saw as unfair (Really? We had to mow the lawn?) or when we needed to convince them of something (although that didn’t always work, as we still don’t have a pool table). When our family moved to Belton when I was in eighth grade, Tyler and I pretty much had to hang out because we didn’t have any other friends (and Chad was already in college). We’ve often talked about how, if we weren’t related, we would have never spoken to each other in high school because we’re so different. But we are related, and we did hang out.

Fast forward to November of 2005, when Chad marries his high school sweetheart, Katie (whom he dated all throughout college), and Tyler and I are on the stage as groomsmen. Somewhere through the wedding process, whether at the rehearsal dinner or the reception or even a few weeks after, I suddenly realized that change was coming. Katie was officially one of us—she was as much a sibling as Tyler or me. Life was different. It was better, yes, but it was different. Katie has fit into our family wonderfully, and I love her like a sister, and I can’t imagine our family without her. Certain things had to change—traditions shifted, and relationships added a new dimension. I feel like this is the most evident around holidays, when our whole family is together and our dynamics are really visible. We all fit into a certain place in our family. Now, all of my favorite memories with my family include Katie. We’ve taken long car rides to see family or to vacation in Colorado, passing Mom’s giant snack bag around and making up dumb games and playing Pillowman. She was there when I gave my speech at graduation and when our Grandpa turned 80. She was there while I ran the marathon, hurrying with our family around the course so they could cheer me at different locations and find me at the finish line. Things are different, but they are better.

Fast forward to tonight, when the six of us are sitting around the living room, a few dozing off, when I suddenly realize that the fajitas we just ate will likely be the last meal our family will ever share together as a family of six. Katie is giving birth in June, and I don’t think it really hit me until this weekend—when I finally got to see her looking pregnant—that we really are going to have a new person in our family. Our six is going to become seven. My dad was praying for our meal tonight, and during the prayer, as he usually does, he took a little time to lift up each child individually. Bless Chad and Katie as they have this baby. Bless Tyler as he graduates from A&M in May. Bless Brent as he travels abroad this summer. After the “Amen,” we all kind of looked at each other and acknowledged together what a big time of transition our family is about to experience. Life is going to be different. Better, but different. Later this evening, I was talking to Tyler about how our family was permanently changing with the birth of this baby, kind of joking, and at one point, I said something to the effect of, “We aren’t the cute ones in the family anymore! We aren’t the stars! There’s a new narrator to the story!”

I feel like that last sentence completely captures these feelings of transition I’ve been experiencing. In our family, I will still be a brother and a son—but I’ll also be an uncle. For this little baby girl, I’m just a small player in the vast story that will be her life. And that seems to be the theme I’ve been feeling since my twentieth birthday—I’m not the narrator of this story anymore. But that isn’t to say that my little niece is; on the contrary, I’m realizing that the only narrator may be our God in heaven. There’s a very high chance that, when I die, a relatively small number of people will remember me for a few years before my name becomes little more than another name on an endless genealogy. I probably won’t make any significant, lasting impact on the world. But what I’m realizing tonight—and why this isn’t a message of discouragement, but one of hope—is that I’m entirely at peace with that. I don’t have to be the protagonist anymore. I’m absolutely content to find where I belong in God’s plan for this world and do my part before, finally, I can return to him.

About a month ago, I turned twenty, which means I’m no longer a teenager. I’m potentially two years from graduating college, and this summer I’m going to be trying out what may eventually become my career. Don’t get me wrong—I know I’m only 20—but I am getting older. I’m gaining new responsibilities and expectations. I’m about to sign a lease on a house for next year, and I can go to the doctor all by myself, and, for crying out loud, tonight I was talking with someone about investing my money. But getting older also means gaining experience and opportunities. I’m forming relationships that have the potential to last, quite literally, the rest of my life. I’m seeing how I’ve often misunderstood how stupidly trivial or deeply important some things can be.

To put it briefly, I’m realizing that life is a series of seasons, and I feel like I’m about to enter a new season. If I had to summarize everything I’ve learned in and out of the classroom during my sophomore year of college, I would say two things: life rarely happens how we expected, and that’s okay because God is faithful.

So maybe I’m not the star of this show, and maybe life is going to go on whether or not I feel ready, and maybe things are moving a little more quickly than I would like them to. But that’s life, isn’t it? It’s complicated, and messy, and stressful, and deeply, deeply beautiful. I can fear the changes or I can embrace them, but either way, things will be different. I like to think things keep getting better—but they are always going to be different.

And, well, I guess I’m okay with that.

WOW

2009-04-02T23:56:00.002-05:00

Wow, wow, wow.

That's about all I've been saying these last few days. Five weeks ago, I sent out letters announcing my plans for my summer internship in Papua New Guinea with Bible translators. I requested prayer and financial contributions for the trip, which is going to cost $6300.

Five weeks after sending my letters out, I have received a total of $6073. I am completely blown away. It's the strangest mix of emotions—gratitude for the money, humility for requesting it, joy that it has come so quickly, excitement for the summer, and, more than anything—and I hope anyone who reads this knows I am being entirely sincere—so much affection for everyone who is supporting me on this trip, whether financially or not. I'm going to be sending out thank you notes very soon, and I'm struggling to find a way to genuinely tell each individual person how grateful I am.

The best part about this whole process has been witnessing God's faithfulness even more. I feel like the faithfulness of God has been the theme of my sophomore year at ACU, but this just solidifies the lesson. I have to confess that I started my fundraising too late. My first payment, about $2500, is due today (Friday, April 3rd), and I should have had my letters in the mail by the first of February. I was beating myself up when I finally put them in the mail, thinking, "God has big plans for the summer—and he will provide the finances to get there—so why are you not doing everything in your power to make this trip happen? Why are you dragging your feet?" So, as soon as I did finally mail my letters, it was as if God was responding, "See? You knew I would be faithful. I was just waiting to be able to show you that I am taking care of you."

So, that is why I am saying wow. Because God is good, and his people are generous.

P.S. I should also add that I was able to look at some pictures from another girl who did this internship last year, and my excitement just about shot through the roof when I finally got a good look at where I will be and what I will be doing. June cannot get here fast enough (and I rarely try to speed up my life like that).

The Church's Response to Homosexuality

2009-03-22T16:30:00.003-05:00

In our Christianity in Culture class on Tuesday, Sally Gary came and spoke to us about the struggle of homosexuality and how the church has traditionally handled (or mis-handled) the issue. Sally is one of the founders of CenterPeace*, a ministry designed to create safe places for people struggling with same-sex attraction.

Obviously, the issue is one that is rarely discussed in Churches of Christ, though we had better figure out to deal with it as our society grows more and more comfortable with homosexuality. To hear Sally describe the plight of people who have struggled—including herself—was certainly an interesting perspective, and it absolutely convicted me that (1) we need to understand this issue a lot more than we do because it is much more complex than we might think, and (2) there is absolutely no place for homophobia or hatred in a body of believers who would bear the name of Jesus. Because most of us know so little about the issue, we tend to react in fear to that unknown. As a result, we Christians have gotten extremely bad press for our tendency to be antihomosexual (and not antihomosexualITY, as we are called to be).

But this is not a post about homosexuality. This is a post about sin and about how hearing Sally talk opened my eyes to many of the ways that the issue of homosexuality reveals our own inconsistent response to sin. Many of us are guilty of treating homosexuality as if it is the unforgivable sin, as if homosexuals are abominations and homosexual activity is destroying families and our very nation. And the truth is, we have good biblical reasons to oppose homosexuality. But why don't we react so strongly to people who are impatient? Or people who gossip? Or people who are greedy? There are some sins that we assume are so universal that we may as well give up trying to fight them.

So, for this post, I want to examine some of the characteristics of Christians' response to homosexuality and ask why we don't treat other sins the same way. Now, these statements obviously will not apply to everyone—but I feel like they do accurately describe the situation I see with Christians, especially in Churches of Christ. A lot of these ideas come from Sally's speech and her own experience.

1. WE EXPECT HOMOSEXUALS TO EXPERIENCE TOTAL TRANSFORMATION: Whenever we know of someone who experiences homosexual desires, we seem to assume that he is not entirely "right" with God until he is entirely "cured"—that is, until he experiences only heterosexual attraction and rids himself of a homosexual past. If he still experiences homosexual feelings, he must not be seeking true transformation, and he is hanging onto his sinful ways.

So why is it that someone can say, "I've struggled with impatience all my life," and we all nod in agreement? If someone confesses that he is angry or lazy, do we ever expect that he will immediately be 100% healed and never experience anger or laziness again? Of course not.

But I must say that this makes me wonder if we can really say we are "struggling" with our sins at all—shouldn't we expect to see some kind of long-term change? Romans 6:1-2: "What shall we say, then? Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase? By no means! We died to sin; how can we live in it any longer?" And I Corinthians 6:9-11: "Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor male prostitutes nor homosexual offenders nor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God. And that is what some of you were. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God."

These verses put sin in the past tense. Obviously, Christians will not be perfect on earth. But I do believe that the lives of Christians should look noticeably different from those lives around them—that we should be open to Jesus working in our lives and expunging us of our sinful ways.

I think the reason we seek total transformation from homosexuals is because their is a sin that is very easily identifiable; however, what if we treated acts of impatience as harshly as we did homosexual activity? I've just become cynical with people who can sincerely say that they have struggled with a sin for 40 years—not because I believe Jesus makes us all perfect immediately, or because I expect Jesus' timing to be the same as my timing, but because I believe Jesus works in the lives of his children in visible ways. We expect total transformation from gays...why not from the rest of us? Why can't Jesus still bring as radical of a change in our lives as he did in Paul's? I would love to have a conversation with someone who could tangibly identify the ways that he had become more patient as a result of surrendering his impatience to Jesus, rather than just being content to identify himself as "impatient" and agree that it's something he might want to work on for the rest of his life.

2. WE IDENTIFY HOMOSEXUALITY AS A "LIFESTYLE" OF SIN: If someone experiences homosexuality, he or she is identified as a "gay" or "lesbian," and we know that life is being lived in sin.

How many Christians are living sinful lives because their true motivation is money? With all other sins, we tend to point out individual occurrences—I sinned when I stole that candy or when I lied to my mom. But with homosexuality, we tend to name the lifestyle itself as sinful—they sin because their attire reflects homosexuality, because their friends are people who push them into that life, because they may be involved in gay organizations.

I hope I'm making the distinction clear. When most sins are confessed, we look at the specific instances when that "sin" was committed—but with homosexuality, we see the ways that an entire life can be lived in an ungodly pursuit.

I think we need to get away from a mentality that sees "sin" as specific actions and realizes that lives lived outside of the will of God are sinful lives. Let me return to the money issue. How many Christians, God-fearing and church-going Christians, are living lives of sin because they worship the god of money with their lives? When our career choices and wardrobes and houses and investments all reflect a desire to get more and more money so that we can rely on ourselves and not on God's provision, we are living outside of his will. Our very pursuits are sinful.

A "Don't" mentality of sin seems to me to be baby food. I feel like learning not to do certain things is just the beginning of a relationship with Jesus. In my mind, choosing not to drink or do drugs or have sex does not take you all the way across the spectrum from "Bad" to "Good." I think that choosing not to do those things brings you from "Bad" to "Neutral." To be "Good" is to seek Jesus fully, to see the way that those things in your life that may be morally neutral can bring you closer to God. Hebrews 6:1-3: "Therefore let us leave the elementary teachings about Christ and go on to maturity, not laying again the foundation of repentance from acts that lead to death, and of faith in God, instruction about baptisms, the laying on of hands, the resurrection of the dead, and eternal judgment. And God permitting, we will do so."

We cannot keep ourselves from sinning. We will make mistakes. But I feel like we have identified "sin" as actions and have forgotten that, like homosexuals, it is entirely possible that an entire lifestyle may be sinful. How many of us, if convicted of our greed, would be willing to change every single thing in our lives—career, investments, car—rather than just deciding to try and give more? To live in the will of God is to seek him more than just in those situations where there is a clear "right" and "wrong."

3. WE HAVE NO TROUBLE TELLING HOMOSEXUALS THEY ARE WRONG: During Sally's visit, she explained that the way to reach homosexuals is to let them know that they are loved, to develop genuine relationship. One student asked, "At what point in the relationship do you sit down and say, 'I believe that what you are doing is wrong?'" It was a legitimate question, and I think most people in the room (myself included) were wondering the same thing. "Well," asked Sally, "at what point in your relationship with your friend do you sit him down and tell him he's too angry?" It was also a legitimate question that made us all do that thing where your eyebrows go up and you bring your head back: I never thought of that!

When we look at homosexuality, we can boldly say that it is sinful and that we do not accept it. But when it comes to other sinful behaviors, such as sinful anger (James 1:19-20), we suddenly become shy and assume a "to-each-his-own" mindset. We are so afraid of judging each other that we cannot exhort each other in Christian love. Now, I understand that we are commanded often not to judge; however, I also know that in I Corinthians 5, Paul writes that we are absolutely expected to call out sin and reject sinful behavior among fellow believers. In v. 11, Paul is particularly harsh: "But now I am writing you that you must not associate with anyone who calls himself a brother but is sexually immoral or greedy, an idolater or a slanderer, a drunkard or a swindler. With such a man do not even eat." Yikes! Dare we exclude anyone from the Sunday evening potluck? Paul says absolutely, because a fellowship in which evil is celebrated is not a fellowship of Christ followers.

Obviously (I hope), sin must be confronted in gentle, cautious love. But I believe—and the typical Christian response to homosexuality shows that a lot of other people believe it, too—that we as a body have a pretty good idea of what is sinful behavior, and we owe it to each other to guard each other from sinning.

And, as Sally said, the only way that someone will ever listen to your confrontation is if he knows without a doubt that you absolutely love him. Jesus wasn't afraid to tell people that they were sinning, but it was only after he had established with them a connection of love and respect. That means that you love the person while he is still sinning—which may sound problematic, but hasn't given us any trouble loving angry or impatient or greedy people. Telling someone you hardly know that his life is wrong will only confirm to him that you are interacting with him with an agenda, not out of selfless love (which we are called to have).

4. HOMOSEXUALITY CAUSES VISIBLE PROBLEMS IN OUR SOCIETY: This will be a quick one, but I could probably go for hours. Some opponents of gay marriage love to show the ways that homosexuality causes problems for society—socially, economically, psychologically. They say that homosexuality is causing the downfall of the American family, that children raised by homosexual parents are messed up, and that the homosexual lifestyle encourages other sinful behavior.

Christians, I say this with love, but we have got to stop fooling ourselves. If we believe for one second that homosexuality is damaging the American family any more than divorce, or drunkenness, or gossip, or selfishness, or heterosexual sex outside of marriage, or violent anger, or greed, we have completely bought into the lies spilling from Satan's mouth. Sin—ALL sin—is bad, and it carries the power to destroy community and to destroy lives. When we single out homosexuality as the one sin that causes problems, it becomes easy for us to ignore the damaging effects of other sins. Take gossip—is there anything that has the potential to destroy a community of believers as much as gossip? Haven't we all seen the ways in which gossip can permanently damage relationships? Then why on earth do so many of us think it's cute to bat our eyelashes and say, "I probably shouldn't be telling you, but..."?

Homosexuality is not the problem. Sin is the problem, and it's time that we take our focus off of one particular issue to see how Satan's influence has the potential to tear us apart and tear us down.

* http://centerpeace.net/

2009-03-16T23:29:00.001-05:00

So, I thought sending out fundraising letters was humbling. Turns out it's 100 times as humbling to be given a list of names of people who have already sent in money.

BOOK RESPONSE: Crazy Love (Francis Chan)

2009-02-28T22:48:00.002-06:00

WHY I READ IT: Many of the Lifegroups at Southern Hills, including ours, are using a DVD curriculum this semester based off of this book, so I thought it would help to read it.

Take the post I wrote last April called "Living Boldly," develop the ideas further, write a lot better, and you get a major portion of this book.

Chan's basic premise is the idea that, if we understood the "Crazy Love" that God has for us, and we truly entered into relationship with him, our lives would be radically transformed and visibly different. We would live boldly. We would choose to spend time in the word and give our money. In other words, we would live the life to which we have been called.

Chan certainly isn't writing anything revolutionary to Christian literature, and I doubt this book will be listed in the future along with theological giants like C.S. Lewis or Søren Kierkegaard. However, his language and style might just be accessible enough that, if people read this and listen for the Spirit's movement, they could begin seeking a truer relationship with God motivated by "crazy love."

My fear is that I and others who read this book will consider its ideas, become unsettled with our relationships with God, make minor changes (if any), and then shelve it permanently. Books alone do not have the power to change Christians; the Holy Spirit has the power to change Christians. I believe this is one of those books that opens our eyes to what the Spirit wants to do; it wants us to love God in a crazy, life-changing way.

I would highly recommend this book to Christians; it's a fairly easy read, but it will certainly challenge you and inspire in you the desire to seek God more fully.

And, if I used the word "relationship" too much in this post, it's because that's what Chan wants us to find: relationship. Here's a couple of passages from the chapter called "When You're in Love":

"When you are truly in love, you go to great lengths to be with the one you love. You'll drive for hours to be together, even if it's only for a short while. You don't mind staying up late to talk. Walking in the rain is romantic, not annoying. You'll willingly spend a small fortune on the one you're crazy about. When you are apart from each other, it's painful, even miserable. He or she is all you think about; you jump at any chance to be together"

"There is so often a great disparity between how we feel about faith and how we are meant to feel. Why do so few people genuinely find joy and pleasure in their relationship with God? Why do most people feel they have to either pay God back for all He's done (buy His love) or somehow keep making up for all their inadequacies and failures (prove their love)?"

NEXT BOOK: I'm still on a fiction kick, so I just started Out of the Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis. It's the first part of a space trilogy he wrote, and I jumped when someone checked it in at the library because I've been meaning to read it for awhile.

Alone

2009-02-28T22:01:00.002-06:00

Tonight, I'm doing something I've wanted to do for awhile: I'm spending the evening by myself, in public. It's kind of funny that I'm making such a big deal of it, since all I did was eat out, go to a movie, and now I'm typing in a coffee shop.

Since coming to school, I've learned that I'm fairly introverted (see this post). Initially, I just thought there was something wrong with me or I was in a "bad mood" when I craved time alone; now, I see it as a time of rest and recharging. Usually, my time alone consists of relaxing in my room, doing laundry, etc. But tonight, I decided to conquer one of my (not-so-important-and-really-not-even-a-"fear"-at-all) fears and go out. Especially in a college town, it's rare to see individuals in public places, so I was hesitant to break that social taboo. But I know other people who do it, and I figured it wasn't that big of a deal, so I took the plunge.

It's definitely been a good experience. I've felt really free—not that I feel "free from the chains of relationships" or anything too I-hate-people like that, but confident in my own individuality and identity. I don't imagine I'll do this very often, just because I do value the relationships I've developed here and want to enjoy those during the short time I'm in school. But for tonight, it's been a very pleasant time.

In a strange way, this evening has made me think a lot about the importance of community in a Christian walk. The truth is, I could have done anything tonight, and no one would have had any idea where I had been. When I go out with friends, we decide together what we want to do, what movie we want to see, what's "appropriate" behavior in the group; to put it in church language, we hold each other accountable. When I'm by myself, there's no accountability.

So, when people say that they are followers of Jesus but don't want church to get in the way of that, I understand where they are coming from. There are obvious problems plaguing American Christianity. But honestly, I think that is a dangerous, misguided approach to developing a relationship with Jesus. By myself, I can interpret the Bible any way that I want; I can make Jesus into whom I want him to be. And, when I am by myself, Satan has a much easier time helping me justify everything that I do; he doesn't have to try very hard to fool me into thinking my relationship with Jesus is where it needs to be; and he has no trouble convincing me of his lies.

Hebrews 10:25: "Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another..." I've always heard this verse used in the context of "why you should go to church instead of football practice." But this verse is saying so much more than "go to church." I can go to church and interact with no one (or, when I do interact, to keep it on the surface level). No, I believe this verse is telling me to be in relationships; to meet together with people in homes, in coffee shops, in the cafeteria, in the locker room. Now, I believe these relationships should be God-centered and naturally flow into a worship setting; but the point is not to go to church for Sunday morning's sake. I think the point is to be with people who are not you, who will build you into a stronger relationship with Jesus through your interactions.

I should confess that "Community" has become my personal buzzword this year. I've just been constantly reminded recently of how important community is and how beautifully it can express the love of Jesus. Individual devotion has its place, but there is something wonderful that occurs when transformed people are together.

Fundraising Letters

2009-02-24T21:28:00.002-06:00

This morning, I sent out my first wave of fundraising letters for my summer internship (price tag: $6300). I've been struck by how humbling it is to ask people for support. It's a strange experience to send a letter that basically says, "I believe that God is going to work through me this summer, and I am requesting that you believe in me (or in God's work through me) enough to either support me through prayer or through finances." Suddenly, I have become accountable to all of the names to whom I sent letters; it's a little nervewrecking.

At the same time, it's so exciting. I love the idea of Christians working together in community to do God's work, with everyone playing a part, so I think the idea of a group of Christians banning together to do mission work is really beautiful. Again, it's a strange feeling to say, "I believe my role in the church doing missions is to be the one out on the field," but I have to remember to keep denying myself and let God be at work.

BOOK RESPONSE: The Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini)

2009-02-08T22:15:00.002-06:00

WHY I READ IT: I'm a big fan of reading for fun, but college usually forces me to read quite a few books for class. Because my class load is smaller this semester, I've had more time for things like reading. Awhile back, I was looking for a good fiction book to read, and many people recommended this book.

First, a disclaimer: this book is probably rated PG-13 for violence and language, so be aware if you are thinking about reading.

I was very moved by this book. At its core, it is a story of sin, consequences, and redemption. Whenever I engage secular literature or entertainment, I try to determine if it has something important to teach me about life (for example, one of my favorite books is To Kill a Mockingbird because of what it says about the value of life and doing good despite opposition).

This book illustrates very well the destructive power of sin kept hidden and the relief that comes from confession and forgiveness. I feel like one of Satan's greatest tools is covering us in guilt so that we cannot confess our sins; I imagine there is no greater feeling of loneliness than struggling in silence and thinking you are "the only one." With confession comes empathy, understanding, and community.

A brief note: I feel like the narrator's childhood friend, Hassan, is one of the most selfless characters I've ever encountered. I was challenged by his constant willingness to do everything he could to improve the life of his friend, regardless of the sacrifice required.

NEXT BOOK: Crazy Love by Francis Chan. Southern Hills Lifegroups are using this as a curriculum this semester, so I want to be familiar with it.

A Little Experiment

2009-02-01T23:57:00.003-06:00

In preparation for a summer of having a different diet in Papua New Guinea, I have decided to try and start branching out and trying all kinds of new foods. As a kick-off, I'm going to try being a vegetarian for a week. I figure a week really won't even be much of a change—if I can still have pasta and milk and pineapple, I probably won't even miss meat.

Gossip

2009-01-31T20:20:00.005-06:00

I generally try to avoid "here's what is wrong with the world" posts on this blog, but I need to express my frustration. In the past week, I have been involved in at least three conversations in which either someone else or I was intentionally saying negative things about another specific person. And I'm tired of it.

I'm not talking about "We just had a fight, and I need to vent," or "I'm concerned about him, and I wanted to find help." I'm talking about vicious, nasty, and often baseless talk about former friends, old ex-girlfriends, or even random passersby. James 3:9-12:

"With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in God's likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers, this should not be. Can both fresh water and salt water flow from the same spring? My brothers, can a fig tree bear olives, or a grapevine bear figs? Neither can a salt spring produce fresh water."

How on earth can we sing "Love one another, for love is of God; he who loves is born of God and knows God"* when our conversations mock the truth of that statement? If I have salt water and fresh water coming out of my mouth, it sounds like only one can reflect the true condition of my heart.

Try replacing the names of our victims with "Jesus," and see how that sounds (pardon the cliché because it works). Would any of us really say, "Could Jesus have been acting any gayer?" or "Jesus's clothes were as slutty as usual," or "I really feel bad for Jesus...he's probably the most awkward person I know."? That certainly wouldn't line up with all of the good things we say about Jesus in church.

But, as everyone's favorite Matthew parable shows us, whatever we do for "the least of one of these brothers" of Jesus, we do for him (25:40). I'm convinced that it works the other way around—whatever we do against these brothers, we might as well be doing to him. Because, as all ladies should know, the way to judge a potential boyfriend is not to look at how he treats his teammates or roommates or classmates. The way to judge a potential boyfriend is to watch how he treats a waitress. Or, as Ann Landers succintly put it, "The true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good."

As it turns out, the way to judge our behavior is not to look at how we treat our best friends to their faces. Jesus says in Matthew 5:43-48:

"You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect."

I can be the best friend in the world to someone and blast them with every love language I know and show them all the goodness I can, but that doesn't make me any different from every other person in this world. The proof that I'm living differently—that I'm rejecting the ways of the world and following the radical call of Christ—is when I treat my enemies** with as much love as my friends. It's when I cut them as much slack as I cut myself. It's when I empathize with them as much as I do with someone I like.

I believe that Jesus wants us to be able to live in perfect community with one another. As we are transformed into his image, we learn how to love fully so that we can provide for each other's needs and wash each other's feet. In community, the love of God is expressed through our interactions with each other. Sin, in turn, destroys community. It undermines trust and breeds jealousy so that we do not love each other fully. I think this is one of the reasons that all of this angry, negative talk has started to frustrate me so much; gossip and slander shatter community. Negative talk draws lines in the sand, and we must choose whether we stand with the talker or his victim. Relationships become strained, conversations become private, and certain individuals are excluded.

I am fully convinced with Donald Miller that "I am the problem" (Blue Like Jazz). If I want to see any kind of positive change in this world, I have to fix myself first.

So, effective immediately, I am done with gossip and slander. I will not allow myself to attack people behind their backs anymore. This includes my friends, my acquaintances, my classmates, the workers in the cafeteria, my professors, politicians, and anyone else who may come up in conversation. I would appreciate accountability (please call me out), because this pledge means that I will have to make a serious change in my life. In fact, if this commitment succeeds, I will have to chalk it up to nothing less than the power of Christ in me. If someone would like to join me in intentionally changing the way we speak, let me know—I would love the partnership.

Because the truth is that we know that negative talk does no one any good. If anything, putting others down puffs me up, which is the last thing I need. No amount of saying "I shouldn't say this, but..." or hearing "Oh, Brent, you're so bad (wink, wink)" or even gossiping about things that happen to be true excuses this kind of talk.

So, let's stop it for good.

*from "The Greatest Commands," a hymn based on I John 4:7-8, I Corinthians 13:4-7, and Deuteronomy 6:5 that is commonly sung in Churches of Christ.

**I believe that, in context, this passage applies to those who are actively persecuting other people. But how tragic that we now often use the term "enemies" to describe other followers of Christ.

Opportunity

2009-01-11T00:29:00.002-06:00

(NOTE: Upon re-reading this post, I've realized how haughty it sounds. I tried the best I could to avoid it becoming that, and I really didn't think it was when I was writing it—but maybe it really is more arrogant than I thought. I suppose that the people who read this have been around me enough to experience my ego.)

I've been back in Abilene for a week, and, for various reasons, tonight is the first night that I've had heat, hot water, internet, and a pillow simultaneously. As I realized that, I was reminded of the statistics of how many people don't have all of the necessities (or luxuries) that I do.

I'm going to try and speak bluntly, so I hope this won't be misinterpreted. I come from a financially stable family. I have a truck and a computer and a cell phone. I am a student at a Christian university in the United States. I am a fairly intelligent person, and I can be very self-disciplined when I need to be. I tend to be outgoing, and I don't have any major facial deformities. For various reasons, I am only going to be in class 12 hours out of every week this semester.

Translation: I feel like God has given me more opportunity now than I have ever had, and possibly more than I ever will. And I am terrified of wasting that opportunity. I will (likely) be at ACU for two and a half more years, and then I will graduate and go somewhere else. The next two and a half years present me with more free time, resources, influence, lack of responsibility, and general freedom than I may ever have again.

Please understand that I do not look to praise myself—for whatever reason, and regardless of whether I deserve them (I don't, no one does), God has dumped this combination of blessings onto my lap right now.

This has been dancing around my brain for a few weeks/months. I just do not want to look back on my time at college and say, "I could have done so much more. I had such a chance to do something good, something important for the kingdom, and I wasted my time on homework and marathons and Facebook." And so I stress over determining what my purpose is. Is there some need in Abilene that isn't being met? Is that the reason I'm supposed to be here? I also second-guess myself, trying to discern if I am truly seeking God's glory or my own. Am I just looking for some big opportunity so that people will praise me?

I need to determine my own personal mission statement. Twice in the past week, individuals have expressed to me the beauty of determining their own personal missions. They make decisions on how to spend their time and resources on those personal missions, and their lives are much more ordered and intentional because of it. I don't need to do something big or newsworthy; I just need to do SOMETHING. I just constantly feel like this opportunity is slipping through my hands like sand—minutes, dollars, conversations that I will never get back.

I want to find something about which I can be passionate—something for which I will gladly sacrifice. I want to find that specific call that God has for me in Abilene for the next few years, that unavoidable need that I must fill. I want my grades to slip because I am so occupied with something more valuable than an English paper.

What am I doing here?