A Lament.

This is a sad blog. Consider yourself warned.

The past several days have given me ample food for thought as well as time to think; 1000+ miles of driving will do that for a person. And in my travels, I see something consistent within our culture as a people.

We strive to fill our lives. With what? Just about anything. Depends on who one is. But have you noticed, in our quest to become more efficient, we have simply become more busy? There are tools, facilitators, that people invest in to keep themselves organized. And yet, as we invest in more and more of these time-saving devices, we find ourselves running out of time. Again and again. Despite our best efforts, our lives become busier. What gives? That is the quest to save time. A quest that seems to be a failure; for when we find we have time to spare, we fill it with something else.

Even our leisure is exhausting. Have you noticed this? I just took a two-week vacation. I'm tired, man. Lots of fun; but not relaxing at all. Have you ever heard someone say, "I need a vacation to recover from my vacation?" How often do we become stressed because of something we're doing on our "day off" and so get bent out of shape because of that? We have to make time to relax; and even then, we can't relax because we are oppressed by all the things we're putting off or ignoring so we can "relax."

And what about the quest for identity? Geez, it's hard to be a well-differentiated American. 24/7, society screams impossible ideals at us and then castigates us for not living up to them. Have you noticed this? A teenage girl is supposed to be pretty, wear stylish clothes, be thin as a rail, have a boyfriend, possess a perfect complexion, etc. And if she falls short, she is rejected. A man is supposed to be a hardened warrior, capable of taking down a pack of wolves with his bare hands; a scholar, knowledgable about all aspects of life; an innovator, someone who lives on resourcefulness; a thinker, capable of accurately assessing difficult situations and responding accordingly; and a listener, someone who can meet the emotional needs of his spouse and family. Where are these people, these ideals? Hint: they don't exist except in ad campaigns.

But we must be our own individual! So we strive to create a personal style, a personal code, something to set ourselves apart from the pack; and in so doing, we find that we only imitate others in countless ways. We buy because we want to imitate those who have; we work long hours because we want to be like those who have money. We work out (granted, it's good to be healthy... duh) because we believe we will fit into culture better if we are fit. How much of what we do is simply because we think that we will be more accepted if we do this or that? "Hey, you! You need to be your own person! And to help you do that, we're mass-marketing this stylish new car that can be yours for only thousands of dollars!"

Which brings me to another thought. The quest to buy and to have has surpassed the quest to save and prepare. Have you noticed this? The concern is always with the immediate, not the long-term. Can't afford it? No sweat. There's a credit card for that. Credit wrecked? No sweat. We won't check it. The important thing is for you to have stuff, and we will do what it takes to make sure you have your stuff. (Until someone gets tired of not being paid, anyway.)

They're even selling us on stuff we don't need! Does my razor really need a small motor in it? C'mon, seriously. What's wrong with the unmotorized one? Nothing, except for the fact that it doesn't have a motor. (Let's ignore the fact that it does the job just fine without one.)

I'm glad that phones are becoming smarter. They do make life easier. They also make it easier for random crap to invade your life. How many times have you entered a coffeeshop and seen two people sitting at the same table, not saying a word to each other, but messing with their phones? Texts, emails, random apps doing their thing, all demanding your ever so precious time. Time that you're running out of.

So where are we going? We're on a quest to fill our lives with stuff. To fill our lives with people, our bank accounts with money, our homes with things, and what do we have to show for it? Read the papers.

Broken marriages and failed relationships. Pyramid schemes and identity theft. Debt, destruction, and thieves. So we purchase items or invest time to protect these things; and the cycle repeats itself.

Don't get me wrong; some things are necessary. Positive relationships are important and should be fought for. Money is needed to survive and should be earned. We need a roof over our heads and amenities to get by. But at what point do we start serving our lifestyle? Or our desired lifestyle?

Or when do we ever raise the question? It's easy to pull the trigger on a new tshirt and ignore the 15 I already have sitting in the drawer. It's easy to overcommit myself to people because I'm scared of "letting someone down" or because I'd rather not face the consequences of simply saying, "No." It's easy to buy a new computer because the one I have is a year old (forget the fact it still works fine). These things we do without thinking.

And I wish that we would stop and ponder. In 2004, over half of college undergraduates had four or more credit cards; they had an average of $2200 in debt per person. The average cardholder is expected to owe well over $6000 by 2010. It takes an average of 330 hours to repair the damage done from identity theft. Over a million kids each year watch their parents get divorced. Nearly 10% of the nation's population suffers from depression; depression among children rises by 23% every year. Nearly 7 million people will suffer from panic attacks in 2009; I am among that number.

What's wrong with us?

We, as a culture, as a nation, as a people, are spinning, spinning, spinning out of control. We will feed on ourselves until there's nothing left and we self-destruct. We get so caught up in ourselves, our lives, our things, our busy-ness, and our incessant, manic compulsions for bigger, better, more, that we can't even see that we're slowly killing ourselves.

Can we learn to slow down? Can we learn to relax? Can we learn to seek others first and not ourselves? I hope so... And I hope we will see sooner rather than later.

Told you this was going to be sad.

Father, forgive us... For we do not know what we do.

Dispatches from the Kentucky Frontier

A few dispatches from the boondocks of Kentucky, brought to you via Pony Express via the interwebs:

• I'm spending the summer in Kentucky this year; I'll be working about 30 hours a week at Starbucks. I've got a couple of days off every week to do whatever manner of nothing that I desire. No classes this summer. It's time for a break. :)
• Whenever I come back to Tulsa, I appreciate the coffeeshops there. Not just because they're awesome, but because they have no equal out here. KY seems to be late on riding the coffeeshop train. There are two main types that I've noticed here so far; the yuppie coffeeshop and the grungy coffeeshop. Unfortunately, there seems to be no middle ground. Also, never have I ever been handed a drink with a rosetta poured in the foam. Not here. Local roasters are difficult to find. The one coffeeshop that I look forward to going to happens to be in the state capital, about 45 minutes away. It's an independent coffeeshop that shares space with a vintage bookstore. I could burn many hours and dollars there. And have, actually. So be grateful, Tulsa-ites; you guys are spoiled. :)
  
• Attending a denominational church has brought a new perspective to my understanding of how church happens. Something about Saturday Night that I have always enjoyed it its freedom. Freedom to order the service and revel (yes, revel) in alternative forms of worship; freedom to embrace the different, the uncomfortable, and the unexpected. In my current church (a traditional United Methodist congregation), "mixing it up" means that we alter the service order, or pull something different from the book of worship. I frequently wonder if it has ever occurred to them to look for expressions outside the worship book; surely it wouldn't be too hard to find ones that would be compatible with the Methodist tradition. However, this is simply not part of the process. It seems that more effort is spent changing individual words from hymns and other such minutinae instead of pursuing orthodox alternative methods of worship (which, with some prodding, this congregation would appreciate). It simply doesn't occur to the denominational mindset to look beyond the denomination for ways to worship God. Grr.
  
• I've gotten into Robert Ludlum as an author lately. He was the guy that penned the original Bourne books (The Bourne Identity, The Bourne Supremacy, and The Bourne Ultimatum); and as good as those movies may be, the books are far, far superior. Go read 'em. Of his works, I have also finished The Holcroft Covenant and The Icarus Agenda. High recommendations on both.
  
• Remember the ORU Honor Code? Asbury Theological Seminary has one too; it's known as the Ethos Statement. However, the Ethos Statement is about to change; for the first time in seminary history, students will be allowed to consume alcohol. Restrictions do exist, of course; the campus itself will remain dry and "moderation and discretion" are encouraged in all other places. The predominant theory is that the school changed Ethos so that enrollment would go up; like so many other places, the seminary has hit hard times. However, even though the student community has called for this change for some time, the denominational old guard (especially Wesleyans and others who believe that drinking is a moral evil) will be sure to disagree. This raises the question for some: did the seminary sell out to the prevailing winds of culture and the spirit of the world under the pressure of difficult times? This I can't say for sure; all I know is that now I can enjoy my occasional Guinness with a clear conscience. Hallelu!
  
• Theological question for the masses: What is the role of the Holy Spirit in the Crucifixion and Resurrection? We seem to pay natural attention to the Father and the Son in these events, but what about the Holy Spirit? I'd like to hear your thoughts...
  
• In an effort to stay more in touch, I am strongly considering adopting other mediums of communication... I picked up a Skype account yesterday, and I am also looking into (gasp, perish the thought) Twitter. Shortly after I get Twitter, I will escort myself out behind the barn and bludgeon myself repeatedly with an old 2x4 for selling out.
• As of late, I have also been making a partially concerted effort to stay up to speed on some television shows. I have finished Season 4 of The Office and am also getting into Castle and Fringe. I also have an interesting amount of curiousity regarding Dollhouse. I'm open to other recommendations as well, except Lost. Don't get me started on Lost.
  

That's all I've got for now... Hope things are well on the home front.

Through Hell and Back

So as promised, here is the story of my semester. It's a long story; if you don't want to read it all, or simply don't care, that's fine by me.

Many of you have heard that this has been a hard semester for me. However, up to this point, I can count on one hand the people who have heard all the details of it. It's been rather traumatic, and I am only just beginning now to feel that I can look it in the eye and recount it.

For I feel that I must recount it; it's not a tale of woe, or a passive plea for pity. It's a story of God working in spite of circumstances; a story of pain, power, messiness, and miracles. I do not want anyone to read this and feel sorry for me; if I wanted your sympathy, I'd simply ask for it. Either way, I don't feel sorry for myself. Instead, I hope that you would read this and see God's hand at work and be encouraged to look inside your own situation to find his grace there in ways that you haven't seen before; I would also encourage you to expect grace in times when you feel it the least. This is why my story must be told.

The semester began in January with a girl. She's a great girl and I fell for her. It's not necessary to go into all the details; suffice it to say that it didn't work out. I will also say that she is a wonderful person and that I do not bear her any ill will. Feelings get involved in relationships, and that makes things hard. It's not anybody's fault, though.

So that was something emotional to grapple with; and somewhere in processing that, I took a drive in the beautiful countryside of Kentucky. I hoped to get some clear direction from God on how to handle this situation; and while I did not receive any direction, I did receive a hug from my Creator and the assurance that whatever happened that it would turn out okay. I thought that word was for this specific situation; I was wrong.

Also in this time, I began to develop chest pains. My chest would feel tight and I would experience shortness of breath on occasion. I knew something was wrong, but not being the brightest star in the sky, I didn't do anything about it. This will come into play later.

After the situation with the girl came to some resolution, I began to experience some trouble with school. Due to an upcoming trip to Israel, I had to take online classes; unfortunately, I didn't get that figured out until two days before drop/add closed. I couldn't order books for my classes until the first week was over. So coming off of a tough relational issue, I found myself three weeks behind in my classes. My books came in and I made everything up; 1500 pages to read, 20 pages to write, and 20 hours of work outside of that. 4 hours of sleep a night, and I was caught up in a week. However, I was exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally.

This was about a week before I headed to Israel. One night, I got a call from my boss at work informing me that a co-worker had been murdered. Even though he and I were not close, I was in no shape at this time to deal with something like that. He was a good guy; very nice spirit. He had been raised in the church, but had abandoned it and was searching other avenues of faith and belief. I had the opportunity to speak with him about spiritual matters on occasion, and I always found those discussions uplifting and challenging.

He had become involved in a romantic relationship with another man (whom we found out later had violent tendencies) and over time became impressed with the need to break the relationship off. He went to a public place in broad daylight to break up with him; the other man pulled a gun and shot him twice in the middle of a crowded parking lot at three in the afternoon.

Stuff like that doesn't happen. Never have I prayed before that God would have mercy on someone's soul; never ever would I have thought that such a prayer could be genuine or heartfelt. And yet, such was my prayer.

This same weekend, my car broke down to the tune of $2300. I could give you a laundry list of what was wrong with it, but that's not important. It was just another thing that had gone wrong in 2009. So I was leaving for Israel early next week; fortunately, my warranty provided for a rental while my car was in the shop and my car was ready the day before I left for Israel.

And here, things started to get better. I had received an unexpected scholarship this semester that gave me another $1000 to play with; I hadn't spent it and was kinda pondering how to. I got the bill for my car and found that after the warranty I had to pay about $950. Kapow! God is good. I also got a rental for the time that my car was in the shop. Not bad.

So the next day I went to Israel for two weeks, which was great. At this point I just needed to get out of town for a while. My dad (a doctor) looked me over regarding the pains and said there was nothing wrong. In Israel I got to take a small break from schoolwork; however, this was not a stress free time by any stretch of the imagination. I was still a basket case, just somewhat removed from the basket.

I returned to Wilville feeling somewhat better, but utterly disgusted at the fact that I had to return at all. I did not want to be back at all. At this point, I was associating bad things with the place where I lived, and I just wanted to be somewhere else. Nothing bad happened to me in Israel; I just wanted to be someplace that I knew bad things didn’t happen all the time.

About a week after I returned, my chest pains started to get worse and worse. Couple that with making up time in class (again) and my stress levels went up. One evening, my neck locked up, I got lightheaded, my left side started to tingle, and I started feeling nauseous; so I flipped out and went to a local urgent care center because I thought I was having a stroke or a heart attack.

Turns out that I wasn’t; the doctor basically said that it was an allergy/stress attack and sent me home with a prescription for an albuterol inhaler. But it got me thinking…

I just had a panic attack. I’d heard stories of people who had panic attacks. I was not one of those people. Until now. What’s wrong with me? What’s going on? I took the rest of the weekend off from homework and began to take a solid, hard look at my life and what I was doing to ensure that I wasn’t overworked. Certainly a step in the right direction.

Then I went home the following weekend; my sister’s high school play was that weekend, and I wanted to see it. Home was so good; it seemed like every interaction I had there was sent by God. There was peace in Tulsa. You could have told me that it was God’s will for me to stay here, forget my education and settle, and I would have believed you and done it. But some great conversations with friends convinced me otherwise. Dad also worked on me again; he discovered some stuff that he had missed the first time around and spent a couple of hours working on my chest wall. Turns out that I had some trauma that had caused my chest to lock up and my ribcage to tighten; thus the pain and shortness of breath. He unlocked all the tightness and I felt GREAT for the first time in 2009.

I had ceased to care about class; I just wanted to finish the semester and call it done. I was a C student for the first time in my life; and also for the first time in my life, I didn’t care about the grades that I got. I just wanted to be done. And yet God showed his grace here as well; I have received one final grade back already, and I know for a fact there is no way that I earned the grade that I got. On the assignments that I turned in for other classes, it seemed that God took my shoddy work and multiplied the quality of it so that I got better grades than I deserved. Not bad for someone who has ceased to care.

I finished the semester two days ago; the past week involved 30 hours of work, 10 pages of research, 500 pages to read, and two tests to take, but God saw me through.

I also got the statement from my insurance company regarding the visit to the ER. It cost somewhere in the neighborhood of $2000 for it all; insurance paid about $1200 and was able to negotiate away another $250, so I’m currently liable for about $550. That’s still a lot for a student, but not bad.

And now the story gets really cool. I sometimes forget which weeks I get paid at my job, so I just pick up a check whenever I remember to. And so, from time to time, I have checks left over. Before I came to Tulsa for my little sister’s graduation, I stopped in at work to pick up my tips and see if I had any checks that I could deposit before I left town. As it turns out, I did. Two checks. Totaling…

$550.

Wow.

So that brings us up to the present. As I said at the beginning, this story is not to ask for pity. I don’t need pity, nor do I want it. Instead, this story is a testament to God working in my life in spite of overwhelming circumstances. It is a tale of restoration and redemption. It is also a story to encourage.

I have always been overwhelmed by the power of grace. When we least expect it, it shows up; and sometimes when we don’t think it’s there, it is actually there more than we realize. That is my story.

From the Deck...

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. It's been a hell of a semester, and when the summer starts I'll take a couple of hours to blog it out and tell you about it.

But today, I'd like to share an experience that happened to me just a few minutes ago.

Every so often, I get a craving in my spirit for silence. Not just quiet, but silence; I can stand the white noise of the world. Cars driving past and birds singing are no problem. It's the people that get under my skin. Conversations, laughter, comments in passing... Suddenly the world is filled with people who have no desire except to hear their voice echo in the otherwise clean and pristine air, people who feel that the space they walk through is an empty void best handled by a boost in personal volume. And these people, whether they be friends, family, or otherwise... When the fit takes me, they all grate against the fiber of my being.

So this afternoon I sought refuge in a bowl of ice cream, my iPod, and the back deck which just so happens to look out across a cow pasture. Bono was singing "Walk On," the wind was playing with my hair, and I had successfully escaped the hubbub of the indoors. As I was thoughtfully letting a lump of Mocha Madness melt in my mouth, one cow looked at me.

This cow was set apart from the group; the closest one to me, away from the herd. The rest of the cows had their heads buried in tufts of grass, concerned only with their next bite; this cow had locked eyes with me. As we continued to hold each other's gaze, thoughts began to flow...

"I like this cow. He and I are similar; trying to break away from the bunch, not conforming to what the rest of the herd is doing. Seeking a home in the outdoors, looking for meaning beyond the fences which hold us back. This is a good cow."

As my personal reverie continued, I began to feel a kind of kinship with this creature. "This cow knows me," I thought. "This cow gets it."

I broke away from the beast's gaze and pushed some Mocha Madness around in my bowl. I looked up; the cow still stared me down. Then, ponderously, he lowered his head to the grass and sniffed. Looked back up; looked back down, then methodically walked away. The rest of the herd absentmindedly followed, noses still buried in the grass. "Huh," I thought. "How cool is that."

And at that moment I realized what an awkward thing it is to have a cow icily glaring at you while you eat a dairy product.

Upon Iconoclastic People

So, some time ago a friend told me about a particular view held by theologian Colin Gunton... The view that people are, by nature, "iconoclastic." They break whatever image and conception you may form of them over time, for people are created in God's image. I thought it sounded like a neat idea and decided that I probably believed it.

I went home a couple of weeks ago. I always look forward to going home. It's great to see family and friends. Of course, the time spent will not be enough and there will be some disappointments as to someone I didn't get to see or spend as much time with, but that's part of the game. For a number of reasons, I was really looking forward to this particular visit; and so, expectations were set quite high.

How did it go? Iconoclastically smashing.

I got to meet up with a bunch of people; a dinner here, a coffee there, a lunch with someone else. Most of these meetings took place with friends that I have known for years. When you sit and catch up with someone, you continue to learn about them; you hear about their current life situation and in turn how they deal with their present circumstances. This speaks of their character and what kind of person they are; and regardless of how long you've known someone, people will be full of surprises.

Circumstances change. Some friends got married; others became parents. Others grew to the point where I now must look up at them a bit. Some friends moved away from Tulsa and just were passing through during the holidays, just like me.

I got surprised a good deal on this visit.

Some people greatly impressed me and I wanted to spend more time with them in the hopes that a bit of their awesomeness would rub off on me before the clock ran out. Some people I just met, or reestablished contact with, and desperately want to grow the relationship however I can because they're simply too cool to let go.

Other people were disappointing, to put it nicely; "utter let-down" may be a more accurate phrase. I'm not sure what went wrong, but there were several experiences where I came away from seeing someone thinking, "This isn't the person I knew..." I saw things in particular people that caused me to lose respect for them.

And I don't know how it happened. You can meet up with someone that you greatly respect and admire and just listen to them; and somehow, by the end of the time, you're wondering what in the world happened to the person that you thought you knew so well. Were they hiding inside all the time, just waiting to pop out when you weren't looking? Maybe it's a matter of perspective; a few more years and experience could change one's viewpoint. What if it's pride - a bit of self-righteousness and the innate desire to be better than those around me? A bit of everything, perhaps?

I don't know... As I sit here and type this, I hope you can see what I'm driving at. I try not to deal with people in a callous way; I don't want to judge my experiences with others by some sort of mental scorecard. I don't sit and rationally listen to a person and think, "This person is worthy of more respect than I currently have for them; therefore, I shall give it." No! You just sit down and aim to have a good time; and when the encounter has ended and you're walking back to your car, you're left with an impression of the encounter, positive or negative. "That was really fun; I need to hang out with her more often," or "Geez, that was a bust. I may not do backflips to hang out with him again..." Again, that's more of an impression of the encounter than a rational, calculated response.

And so, I have more impressions than responses. Some impressions were extremely positive; others were spitting distance short of depressing. All were, by nature, iconoclastic.

My impressions of people are not final; they are subject to change, by default. When I interact with a person, it's like my mind pulls out a sketch of them and goes to work. The pencil flies over the paper, shading, adding details, rounding shapes, clarifying points of ambiguity; sometimes, the pencil gets flipped and the eraser flutters over the sketch, doing away with slipped strokes and poor portrayals, softening hard lines where strong definition may not exist. When I meet someone new, I start from scratch; when I meet up with an old friend, I pull their picture out of the stack and resume work on it. The longer I know someone, the less my mind adjusts his or her picture; sometimes, the mental artist will sit back and wait for an inconsistency to present itself. When it does, the picture is corrected as it can be; and so the process subconsciously repeats itself ad infinitum. While art can come by rational calculation, it stems from impressions - and impressions make, shape, frame, and change the pictures I have of others.

I suppose one could ask the question, are impressions accurate? Eh... I don't want to address that here. I'm only outlining my process, not deciding whether or not my process is correct. ;)

The pictures will never be done; but in my mind, some became more beautiful this past week. Others lost a good deal of luster. And with the shoe on the other foot, I can't help but wonder... Was the experience as joyous/disappointing for them as it was for me? Maybe I'll never know... But I would ask this of you...

Please don't finish your sketch of me. The subject matter is rather fluid.

Sometimes a Song Says It All...

They grew up in the same old town
Never knowing the other was around
Read from the same damn books
Never gave each other looks
But one day the sun will shine
I know
For their eyes have told me so
Chasing advice from those who say I've lost my mind

(Chorus)
Rush together
To find each other
Now it's too late
You can never wait for luck
Together playing the same instrument
That you still can't hear at all.

So that's how the story goes, so far
I'll tell you the rest, but now
I'm tired of what I think
A situation where I can't sing
But I hate the vagrant life
I know
Nothing has been more told, 'til now
Living my life after those who say I've lost my mind

Rush together
To find each other
Now it's too late
You can never wait for luck
Together playing the same instrument
That you still can't hear at all.

So what do you say
So what do you say
Can we turn this clock back
Thirteen years and relate?
I won't mind, can we stay
But isn't it fate?
But isn't it fate,
That we spill our guts out
On this very day?
I don't mind
I want to
I want to
Stay

"Rush Together"
-Quietdrive-

J-Dub and M-Yac

So this semester has been a great time of personal growth for me, not due in small part to a class I've been taking on John Wesley's theology. I've learned a great deal and come to expect more from faith. Wesley's emphasis on spiritual growth and his emphasis on grace, as well as the place of holiness, has caused me to view faith differently than I did a few months ago.

But at that end of the semester, I wanted an additional perspective; for Wesley's faith demands much and promises much. I wanted something different to add some balance; so I grabbed Messy Spirituality by Mike Yaconelli. I found it to be an interesting read; Mike speaks of the power of a life not lived according to spiritual stereotypes and popular (mis)conceptions.

And somehow, while pondering, these two views came together in my mind to form an odd sort of synthesis... I had thought that these thinkers would prove to be at odds with each other. Wesley with his paradigmatic understanding of God's operation, set against Mike with his distinct lack of rules and qualifications. Wesley's demand for holiness seemed to fly in the face of Mike's emphasis on brokenness, and Mike's longing for humility could be seen as contrary to Wesley's expectation of perfection.

But as I continued to ponder these ideas, I came to see that they do not necessarily contradict each other. To be sure, the social context and presentation of these ideas varied greatly. They have much in common, though; both fought against the established religious status quo. They both emphasized spiritual growth, as well as the importance of grace.

As it should be, grace is central to both thinkers' understanding of God, as well as human depravity. After all, grace isn't a big deal unless someone needs it. They both would agree that love is the primary evidence of holiness; and both would agree that the "messiness" of the Christian life is simply part of the game. The difference between the two would seem to be that Wesley expects the believer to move beyond the messiness, and Mike expects the messiness to always be present.

And even here, they may not be as separate as one would think. Wesley believed that the sin nature remained in a Christian, just that the sin nature no longer had power in his or her life. However, the battle to fight with temptation would always remain. A believer does not have to succumb to it. It also seems that Wesley expected some form of spiritual dark times to be present.

Mike presented spiritual growth as a jagged line of peaks and valleys with a net positive result; and just as Wesley expected holiness, Mike expects dark times to be prepared for and and embraced. The spiritual journey cannot all be positive times and a straight line of growth shooting for the stars.

And on this tiny point, I think I would agree with Wesley more; not for his beliefs necessarily, but for his emphasis. He would have a believer expect perfection, and press through rough times with that end in sight. My concern with Mike's point of view is that while spirituality is (and should be, to a degree) messy, I get the idea that "mess" is included in his ultimate understanding of the Christian life. (Hence the title of the book...) And even this I would agree with, if what is meant by "mess" could be clarified. God loves us and our mess just as we are, and yet desires to deliver us from our messiness; sometimes by throwing a divine mess into our human one. Our human shortcomings and failures are obliterated before a mysterious God who, in his love, hurls his topsy turvy Kingdom into our world and our hearts.

Messy Spirituality contained this sentiment, but I think Wesley presented the argument with more force and clarity; and so, it is harder to mistake his meaning. I do not think that Wesley would disagree with Mike, except for the use of the word "mess." Wesley did not say that the mess did not exist; instead, he believed in a God that was capable and desirous of saving us from sin. If God is able to do it, we can expect that he will; and if he wants to do it, we can expect that he will do it now. Therefore, we should expect to be free from sin.

Wesley had no patience with those who said that people were free from habitual sin only; he pointed out that the word "habitually" is not in the Bible. Children of God do not sin; it is a defining characteristic of the state of being one of God's children. Can we not take God's Word at face value?

Part of Wesley's animosity toward those who would shortchange the power of grace was based off of his high regard for the Scriptures and the commands contained therein. If one cheapens the commands, then God's promises are also cheapened. We expect much of God, and God promises to deliver; is it so much that God expects things of us as well?

This is why I love Wesleyan theology. His thinking asks for cooperation and promises perfection; Mike's demands humilty and promises love, which Wesley would agree with wholeheartedly. These are not exclusive views; rather, they are concurrent. I think part of the trouble lies with the simple fact that we do not expect perfection, or we do not believe that God desires to perfect us. And so, we do not become perfect. Wesley's thinking attacks this belief; I was not impressed that Mike's did.

On the whole, though, this issue of growth and perfection was the only area that presented differing views to me, serious or otherwise. These theologs would agree on much, and their contributions to spirituality should be appreciated.

Thoughts? Gold star if you read this far and didn't skip anything...

My Spiritual Family Tree

So, I was thinking the other day about my spiritual journey. I started to think of people along the way who have influenced me and the meaningful contributions they have made to my approach to the world. Probably, most of the people have no idea that they have been a positive influence on me; and so, in some way, I write this to say "thank you." This blog is not meant to point out specific people; this is not a complete list. This is a tribute to how God has spoken to me through his children and the revelation that he gave through them. (In other words: if you don't see your name here, don't get pissed.) I'll probably think of a bazillion other people and things as soon as I publish this.

The people here have somehow impacted my spiritual growth in profound ways, through their lives and our interactions. Some of these were positive experiences; some negative, and still others bittersweet. I choose to remember these people and events because, in some way or another, they have become part of how I see the world. In searching for my spiritual ancestors, I found many, many cousins. Funny how one's spiritual family defies the biological classifications of what a "family" should be.

Anyway... here we go.

THANK YOU...

• St. Augustine, for telling me that God is one who changes the event but does not change the plan.
  
• Justin Martyr, for showing me the continuity of the Holy Spirit within the church across the ages.
  
• G. K. Chesterton, for showing me that the world is a supernatural place.
  
• Frederick Buechner, for telling me of life-changing grace in words that speak to the soul.
  
• C. S. Lewis, for showing me that Heaven is closer to Earth than I ever knew.
  
• Gandalf (the neighborhood stray cat), who provides a daily example of how the Holy Spirit works in our lives.
  
• John Wesley, for making me wonder why grace is so important.
  
• Jerry Savelle, for the epic quote: "Opportunity comes dresses in overalls and looks like work."
  
• Novalis, for the encouraging thought: "He who seeks God will find Him everywhere."
• William P. Young, for writing "The Shack."
  
• J. R. R. Tolkien, for penning the most magnificent portrayal of the coming of the Kingdom of Heaven.
  
• Garrett Quinn, for showing me that people matter.
  
• Tricia Archie, for living in the power of prayer.
  
• Brandon Shupp, for demonstrating the value of a vibrant mind. And for many hours of foosball.
  
• Steve Beresh, for showing me the value of living from the heart.
  
• Jeff Voth, for showing me the importance of seeking God where He may be found.
  
• Brent Sharpe, for the constant demonstration of the incarnational presence of Jesus.
  
• Josh Gerard, for being the very personification of a friend.
  
• The Celtic Church, for showing me that faith is not for fuddy-duddies.
  
• Emmanuel Earls, for showing me that God wants good things for his kids.
  
• Grammie and Gringa, for showing me the importance of love.
  
• Preston Sharpe, for helping me to see the importance of the crossroads between Christ and culture.
• Angels and Airwaves, for making me look for love in war zones.
  
• Nightcrawler, for showing me that one can be a superhero and a Christian at the same time.
  
• Aimee Raile, for helping me to understand God's love a little bit better.
  
• Carbon Leaf, for their beautiful portrayal of life.
  
• Julie Twilley and Shelli Chronister, for providing a definition of grace that was so astoundingly inadequate that I made up my mind to study it for the rest of my life.
  
• John Asher, for being the picture of spiritual passion.
  
• Pray As You Go, for showing me that spirituality happens everywhere.
  
• Jim Shelton, for showing me that there will be Catholics in Heaven.
  
• Jeff Lamp, for showing me that hippies aren't locked out of Heaven.
  
• Brad and Sue Smith, for living lives of hospitality.
  
• Arnie McCall, for helping to see that I have a place in community.
  
• Stuart Bents, for pulling me out of bed to seek God's face.
  
• Craig Garrison and Marc Harper, for showing me that pastors should know people's names.
  
• My Parents, for all that they've done - words cannot say.
  
• And to all who I did not mention, because I did not think of them or because words cannot do them justice. You have done far more than you know.
  

So not a tree... But maybe a web. A tapestry. Clouds in the sky, changing shapes, bumping into each other. Such is my spiritual family.

Saddest Thing I Have Read in a Long Time...

How does this happen?

The Entitlement Complex?

A friend of mine made a seemingly innocent comment the other day that struck me. We were discussing a computer game that he had recently picked up. As he started to tell me about it, he uttered the following sentence: "I didn't want to pay for it, so I downloaded it." And the conversation continued. He said it as matter-of-factly as one would say, "I was hungry, so I got something to eat." The statement gave me pause, but I didn't comment on it at that point. However, it has gotten a train of thought moving.

I'm not sure where this comes from; whether it's a degredation of morals, some form of social phenonema, or what... But somehow, our culture has come to a place where the rules simply don't matter. We don't like the rule; therefore, we choose not to abide by it.

Somehow, we think that's okay.

As I sit here and type, I can think of family and friends who have simply made decisions along these lines; they did not like the way something affected their life, so they chose to violate it without a second thought. People pulling out a Sharpie and doing a line-item veto on the Honor Code at ORU, as if they actually could. Others ripping music and and movies, more than they could ever watch or listen to. Even people at a seminary doing these things, breaking Ethos Statement and justifying it a thousand different ways; it makes one think.

A guy came into my work the other day, ordered some drink with two espresso shots, and then leaned over the counter to inform me (with a conspiritorial wink) that I wasn't going to charge him for the second shot. I chuckled and proceeded to charge him the full price for his beverage. When he belligerently informed me that I had charged him for two shots instead of one, I agreed that I had; it's a company policy, and I choose to abide by it. He proceeded to rant and create a scene; but when other baristas refused to change the price, he realized he was making a fool of himself and left.

Since when is the price of a three dollar drink negotiable? Does one go to Burger King, order a combo, and complain about not getting the fries for free? Of course not. Were I selling him a car, I would expect some negotiation; I'd even try to get him a good deal. However, this is a latte, not an Infiniti. The wiggle room simply doesn't exist.

How did we think we had so much wiggle room to begin with? "I didn't want to pay for it..." So I didn't. With the culture we live in, it's possible to break all kinds of rules and never get caught. But that raises the question: does that make it right? Here we must be careful. If we truly can get away with anything (and we can, if we are willing to try) then we can go from getting away with movie piracy to getting away with murder. Quite literally. The same line of logic would apply. Rules are in place; I can break the rules and not get caught; therefore, when the threat of consequence is removed and it serves my interest to violate the rule, it becomes permissible for me to do so.

What the hell.

I'm not talking about Ethos; I'm not talking about RIAA or anything like that. It is easy justify whatever you do.

I'm talking about integrity. Someone once said that integrity is who you are when the lights are off and no one's looking. Does a person of integrity do these things? Does a steward of God's Kingdom place their own interests before the established order? Granted, there may be times when being a steward means defying the order; however, I would call this an extreme exception that is not to be confused with the norm. Especially not in matters of music, video games, drinking, tax evasion, and the like.

Our decisions affect people. I bought a Brave Saint Saturn album recently and Reese Roper said this on the inside of the back cover: "Thanks to you for buying this album instead of downloading it so that I can eat food." Many times they don't, though. And when they don't, are we the same kind of person that we strive to be when they do?

Father, please help us to be a people of integrity; a people who shine in the dark places, even when we think that no one is there to see the light. Please help us to be a people who are above reproach in our lives, so that we do not taint your name in any way. Thanks, Father.

Amen.

A Diluted Spectrum

This semester has been really challenging in a lot of ways. One such way has been that my perception of a spiritual life is being changed.

The curse of having an analytical/academic mind is that one processes everything on an intellectual level. Everything. This mixed blessing can allow for levels of observation, insight, and understanding that are mostly objective and informational. Looking at a situation and being able to analyze what is happening is nice. (Of course, it can also lead to hideous levels of overanalysis. Ah well.)

And so, the study of God and His Word has been interesting to me. It has provided a field of analysis that captures my attention and holds it; the matters of text, history, theology, and all the little hair-splitting details that such a world implies have provided a boundless playground for my mind.

I have interacted with faith on an intellectual level; can it work? Should it work? Does it work? What if it doesn't? Does it make sense? Can it make sense? Why should one believe? And so on. And by addressing these questions, I have been able to come to a place where I have a rational case for believing as I do. My faith is based on a rational level; I believe the way that I do because I believe my faith to accurately reflect the world as it truly is.

John Wesley would call such faith "the faith of a devil." Why? Because even a devil can understand the way the world works, and believes it to be so; however, this belief does not provide salvation. I also fear that many have fallen into such a belief; we believe our salvation to be such, and because we believe, we feel no obligation to do anything further.

But what if being a Christian meant much more? I read the church fathers and the believers of the past; their words ignite a fire in me that cuts beyond my mind to my heart. They use scary words; words like "sin" and "damnation." They also use wonderful words, such as "victory" and "sanctification." The Christianity of today does not possess the same vital signs. Authority has been taken from the Bible and placed in the hands of subjective contextual interpretation. Accountability has been taken from community and replaced with ambiguity. Truth has been run out of town, and whims have taken its place.

Answers are no longer sought with the same passion that questions are, and faith has withered as a result. Many have deconstructed it with the hope of arriving at the bright flame of truth that shone brightly at the core of what they believed; but after demolishing their personal framework of faith, they found that one cannot take away the candle and suspend the flame. Others became comfortable with a faith that promised all and required nothing. Still others have forsaken faith, because they have asked the wrong questions. It has been diluted into an easier faith. A politically correct faith. A faith that possesses the form... but lacks the power.

Father, forgive your church.

But what if.

What if Christian belief was something that was horrible? Where "sin" was not a bad bedtime story, but a real and powerful force that one has to struggle with daily? Where your faith offended others? Offended yourself? And what if you had to make sacrifices? Sacrifices beyond money and time. Sacrifices involving the places you go, the people you meet. Sacrifices that drastically impacted your daily life. And what about suffering? What if you had to suffer more than ridicule, but the loss of your safety, your wellbeing, and perhaps even your life. Where the faith you held was an affront to your society and yourself.

And what if...

What if Christian belief was something glorious? Something that radically changed you as a person. That changed the way you saw the world. Something that brought you peace, hope, happiness, and joy. Faith that marked you as an unmistakable member of God's Kingdom. Faith that can heal the sick; faith that can heal the soul. A faith that gave you the power to live a changed life; a life that could conquer sin. A life that was worth living.

I'm not claiming to have the above picture correct. But I am saying that our faith has become weak. The faith I read about and hear today inspires me to neither draw a sword nor fall upon one; and this many of our brothers and sisters overseas are forced to do.

However... I would for the faith of old. For the faith of Augustine. John Wesley. Oswald Chambers. These men had a faith that stirs my heart. I read their words and hear the voices of heaven.

I want a faith like theirs.
What if the Christian faith were something

Scattergun Script

No major thoughts, just many little ones...

• Fantasy football = fun. My goodness. Who knew. Having a dozen guys over and hosting a draft in my very own living room proved to be a blast. I can look at Brett Favre, Randy Moss, and Tony Gonzalez, and call them "my guys." (No, Tom Brady was not "my guy." Condolences to all who burned a first-round pick on him, though.) I even won my first game! We'll see how Week 2 goes.
  
• Pray-As-You-Go Podcast = awexome. I've been riding this train for about a week now, and it's really been good. This podcast combines Scripture readings, contemplative questions, and instrumental music to create a 10-15 minute devotional that incorporates both Scripture and meditation. Bonus points for the accents.
  
• Everyone needs a deck. The deck behind my house has been my study spot, my meditation haven, my phone call pacing platform, and my escape route. Get yourself one. Bonus points if it overlooks a field. Triple points if said field contains a smattering of cows and recently harvested tobacco stubble.
  
• Look to the faith of our fathers. As of late, I've been reading Oswald Chambers' My Utmost for His Highest, as well as working my way through John Wesley's 52 Standard Sermons. High recommendations on both. I read about Christianity from these men and become awed and inspired, coaxed and challenged. In contrast, I read about faith from contemporary authors and may be impressed, but not compelled. With people from my own time, I can only applaud the questions; however, the answers from the past cut straight to my spirit. I'll take the Great Awakening for 400, Alex.
  
• AtypicalSpirituality = ? I have the honor of being a contributor to AtypicalSpirituality.com, when the fit takes me. However, the past 6, maybe 7, posts have all tied directly into politics. Is there anything else going on in the world? How about...
• FedEx Express rolls again. Roger Federer cruised past Andy Murray to take the US Open in convincing style. Murray made a late charge for respectability at the end of the match, but was unable to pull off the upset. He did defeat Rafa and break into the Top 5, though. I do hope Sampras' record of most Slam titles holds - I just like him more than Federer. Is Roger back from his disappointing showings earlier this year? We'll see. In the meantime, I'm still pulling for James Blake. That guy deserves his own Slam trophy as much as anyone, if not more.
• Great Quote: "If there is a God who speaks anywhere, surely He speaks here: through waking up and working, through going away and coming back again, through people you read and books you meet, through falling asleep in the dark." -Frederick Buechner, The Alphabet of Grace-
  
• Something about people. It's been interesting; there have been people here at school who remind me of other people. Not so uncommon, perhaps. However, there is always the accompanying motivation to build/rebuild relationships with the people I'm reminded of. It's been kinda odd, but very good.

That's all I've got for now; see ya next time.

On Theology Students and Spiritual Formation

So this post is going to be kinda rambling. Bear with me.

It's been interesting being a theology student. The past six, going on seven, years of my life have been devoted to the study of God's word. To the ministry of His Kingdom, in whatever context I find myself in. To the translation of passages, the reading of books, and the quest for knowledge and understanding. And by the standards applied to such things, I've done pretty well. I've received praise from my teachers, mentors, and employers. I've gotten enviable grades and graduated among the top of my class. I've participated in honors programs and taken advanced classes. By the marks I've been given, I've done pretty good.

And I'm not alone in that; many people have. Many ministers of the Gospel have excelled at their studies and demonstrated an intimate understanding of their lessons; demonstrated a working understanding of ministry.

However, there is a deadly trap in this life; one that I feel clawing at me every day. It is the inclination to swap out books for the Bible. The inclination to substitute conversations with my peers for conversations with my Creator. The inclination to trade divine silence for "spiritual" static. The inclination to pass up dedicated time in favor of spontaneous moments. In short, the inclination to neglect one's spiritual life in favor of an academic life.

It's an easy thing to do. You sit in class all day long, learning about theology, the Bible, and ministry. Before, after, in-between, and during class, you discuss the things of God. Your reading, both business and probably pleasure, are infused with brands of spirituality. The majority of your relationships share one thing: the study of God's Word and purposes.

None of these things are bad. Indeed, the life I've just described may sound like Heaven to many people. The opportunity to live a life saturated with the things of God and thoroughly embedded in Christian community is a wonderful thing.

It can also be deadly.

Deadly because the life awash in these things often forgets to wash itself in the Blood. The mind thinks, "My life is already covered in the things of God; why must I pursue it further?" And so personal, intentional pursuit of the mysteries of God within relationship fall by the wayside in favor of substitutes that are to be a key part of the Christian life - but substitutes that should not and cannot serve for personal spiritual development, though they may assist in that area.

There is no substitute. There is nothing that can compare with deliberately engaging God's presence day after day to find the treasures that are hidden there. With seeking out His face intentionally.

Dr. Buskirk at First United Methodist Church, the church of my childhood, once read a statistic that shocked me then and saddens me now: most ministers spend less than ten minutes a day in prayer. I couldn't understand it then, and was flabbergasted; now I can, and I am saddened. It makes perfect sense.

Because against my intentions, I'm a part of that statistic.

Dr. B also once told a story; a woman once had a dream that she and everyone in her church were going to get measured. It was a yearly thing, much as your parents may do through your younger years. There was an angel with a measuring stick, and the congregation one by one stepped up and was measured according to the vitality of their spiritual life. And an interesting thing happened when one stepped up to be measured; the person grew or shrank according to his or her spiritual stature. The woman felt sure that she would measure up well; she had degrees and was active in many ministries in the church. Volunteered and coordinated and served and listened to only Christian music and lived a flawless life; but when her turn came, she shrank until she was the smallest of all.

I'm scared of angels with measuring sticks.

So this is an SOS from my soul as much as a plea to my peers... Please, please, please. Let us be deliberate. Let us take time. Let us not neglect the health of the heart for matters of the mind. Let us seek relationship with our Creator first and let our studies and relationships be colored by that lens alone.

Father, please forgive me for forgetting...

And Worlds Collided...

It's weird, living on two different fronts... I've got family and friends in Tulsa. Wilmore isn't far behind. Kinda lacking in the family category, but friends are there.

Traveling from one place to another is weird. You jump in a car and zone out for 12 hours... Or you hop on a plane and wake up in a different time zone. Either way. I check out mentally during the trip. And when I check back in... It's like waking up from a dream. Almost like the other world didn't exist in some odd way, and the place I woke up was the only world that mattered.

Until this past week... When my mother, sister, and youngest brother came out to Wilville on a whirlwind tour to see the lay of the land and where I was doing grad school. People from one world visited the other...

And the worlds collided. It was weird. Seeing pictures stuck in a different frame. Not a frame that didn't fit, or a frame that looked ugly. Just a different one... And a good one.

My family loves where I am. They support me wholeheartedly. I'm grateful. And the trip that the four of us had was like nothing I'd experienced.

And I wondered if... If.

If that was kinda how the Incarnation worked. Worlds collided. And it was different... But it was beautiful. Odd, but meaningful. Inexplicable, but significant. And somehow... it was the most rockingest thing ever.

The Cross and the Resurrection

I was up in the mountains this past week, as I usually am at some point in July. The mountains are awesome; they're a great place to go to get away from some things and closer to others. So, having left a dead cell phone and an almost-dead iPod in my car at trailhead, I threw 40 pounds of gear on my back and hit the trail with four other guys who were anxious to leave the world behind and get a bit closer to who and what the world is all about.

God usually speaks to me in some way while I'm on the trail; however, it always catches me off guard when He does. Not because I don't expect it; but just because He grabs my attention in ways that I'm not ready for.

This time it happened while I was lounging in a hammock, reading a book that had been recommended to me by my older brother. In this book, a man describes a vision that he had in which, among other things, he went to heaven and talked with people. He spoke with the Apostle Paul, who cautioned him to preach "the ministry and the message." At one point in the visionary dialogue, Paul used the phrase, "the cross."

And it was like I couldn't find air to breathe.

The Cross! The Cross! When was the last time I had pondered the place of the Cross in my life? Seriously thought about what happened at the Cross and what it meant for the world? What does the cross mean? Why is it such an iconic symbol? What happened at the Cross? Why is it at the center of my faith?

And the Resurrection! You can't have the Cross without the Resurrection. What happened at the Resurrection? Why does it matter? Why is it part of the foundation upon which I believe? Why do I believe that it can change my life? Why do I believe that it can change other people's lives?

I remembered to take a breath. And as air filled my lungs, shame filled my heart.

I had forgotten.

I who hold a Summa Cum Laude with Honors Bachelor's Degree in New Testament Studies. I who am working toward a Master's of Divinity degree at one of the nation's premier seminaries. I who have been in church my whole life. I who have preached and taught others on the power of Grace and the magic of the God whom we serve.

For what felt like years, I had forgotten the Cross and the Resurrection. And while I lay perched in my little hammock on top of some mountain in the Rockies, God invaded the moment to remind me of some things I had forgotten. To remind me that some things are a big deal. I have been so caught up in how things change across the ages...

I forgot to remember what stays the same.

"Christ has died; Christ has risen; Christ will come again." The mystery of faith. These words echo across the centuries, the timeless reverberations holding together those who claim Christ as their Lord and Savior. This is where my focus should lie; not in the things that I know will fade.

Invocations and Butterflies

Tonight I had the honor of doing the Invocation at Saturday Night. (For those of you who may not be familiar with SN, we do the Invocation at the very beginning of the service, right before worship. Some would call it "the call to worship.") I had something that I was working up, but I didn't feel it was ready. In my time of distress, I turned toward Google and looked up "celtic invocation."

And... Interesting. I found invocations, but not the ones I was looking for. Pagan invocations. Wiccan invocations. Christians aren't the only ones interested in Celtic religion. So it made me wonder...

Other people seem to take their invocations seriously. Do we?

In spiritual terms, to "invoke" something means to summon it; if we invoke God, we ask Him to show up. The "invocation" is the action by which God is summoned. In Christian circles, it also seems to be an appeal to God's authority; but in other religions, it has the meaning of summoning a spirit and bringing about the supernatural.

So after a bit of searching, I found one. Read it here. But it weighed on me as to what I was doing, and after, I wondered what I had done. And then I remembered an incident from a few days ago...

I was driving in a mall parking lot and stopped at a stop sign. While I was stopped, a butterfly flew in front of my windshield. It passed me, doubled back, and then flitted around on the other side of the glass. It didn't try to fly inside my car; it just looked at me for a few prolonged seconds, and then flew away.

It could have been seconds; it might have been hours. I was arrested, transfixed by this butterfly. It felt like God had perched on the hood of my car and waved and smiled. It was a thing of great beauty and tranquility inside a chaotic moment. And even in its simplicity, it was enough to strike me speechless. God invaded that moment just to say hi.

And I called His name to kick off church tonight. Wow.

Where Did the Heroes Go?

While this post may have some bearing on Brad’s question regarding Emerging/Emergent, I feel that the purpose of this post will be to look at a few characteristics of “postmodern” thought and then address how well these traits can carry over to an understanding of Christianity.

I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t looked at the EC movement closely until now. The reading that I’m having to do for a class, as well as some discussions that I’ve had with friends in the past few weeks, have greatly changed my understanding as to what “postmodernism” is and how it as a philosophical ideal can work alongside true Christian faith. While I do think I’ve gotten a better handle on what’s going on, I’ve also had some serious questions (and admittedly, some serious doubts) as to what good “postmodernism” (you’ll notice I’m using quotes; I’ll explain in a bit) can hold for Christian faith.

Foremost in my mind during the writing of this post is the book Colossians Remixed by Walsh and Keesmaat. While I agreed with many of their conclusions, I found them to be reinventing the wheel to use “postmodern” thought to deal with a “postmodern” audience. I’d recommend this book; though not because I agree with what they say, and certainly less with how they say it. I’d recommend it simply because it will make you engage the whole “postmodern” paradigm in a way that will rock your world. Second, I ran across an OU grad here who spent some time in the Philosophy Department there. He has come to the conclusion that many Christians are confused as to what the term “postmodern” refers to; and after reading the aforementioned book, as well as having other discussions, I’d have to agree with him. And with that thought, we will now turn to an academic understanding of what “postmodernism” is characterized by; we’ll also cover why I’m using quotes.

“Postmodernism” didn’t begin in the church; so, for the sake of this discussion, let’s strip any and all religious meanings from this word. We’re going to look at in a pretty academic light. The following points are thoughts of mine, pulled from the book and discussions.

1. Walsh and Keesmaat quote Foucault (one of the French guys who cooked it all up) as saying that “postmodernism” is a “rejection of metanarrative.” Simply put, this means that there is no great story that gives meaning to life. But aside from that, we must not see things in terms of “story.” There is no beginning; there is no end. There is no plot; there is no purpose. We do not share the grand stage of life and time with anyone, because there not only is there no script to act by, there is also no stage to share. We are not marching in a long line of saints because there is no line that matters.

2. Walsh and Keesmaat also pointed out that the idea of objectivism is a fraud. The idea of objective truth is nothing more than a construct created by those in power to reign in the masses and keep everyone in relative lockstep; the masses are easier to control when they believe the same thing. Ultimately, the only ground for truth (and by this I mean personal truth, for there can be no universal) is based in our experiences with others. Any overarching claim to truth represents one attempting to gain control over you and what you believe. Also, any claim to a metanarrative could be construed as the same.

3. Individualistic consumerism seems to be the norm as well; as we continue to become a consumer-based society, we become defined as individuals by what we believe. Just as we move through a shopping mall, buying items individually and taking them home, we do the same in the marketplace of ideas. We borrow one aspect of this view, another piece of that view, some perspective from over here, and weave them into our tapestry of belief. We demand the right to browse, shop, try, and if necessary, return and gain a refund. We are also expected to respect the rights of others to the same.

What I have just described seem to be the highlights of “postmodernism,” so far as I understand it. I have been using quotes because I feel that postmodernism as I have just described it does not correspond with the Christian “postmodernism” so many claim. This point also came out of another discussion. Some Christians seem to have adopted a bastardized halfway-postmodern view to characterize a reactionary movement by some believers today against what are perceived to be modern constructs in the church, tradition, and Biblical interpretation.

And so, in some degree, we can nail down philosophical postmodernism as Foucault was quoted above: the “rejection of metanarrative.” But what about Christian postmodernism? Not so easy. The term “postmodern” in the Christian church today seems to have been grabbed by many groups of people who are frustrated with the church as it is and has been; and so they break away and look for new ways of doing things; therefore, for the rest of this post, I’m going to refer to this phenomenon as “not-modernism.”

Not-modernism seems to be akin to someone shouting “Fire!” inside a crowded shopping mall, and then everyone running for the exits; regardless of whether or not the exits are on opposite ends of the building or directionally opposed to each other, people just want to get out. Where are we going? Not there. Where do we want to be? Not here. How should we do this? Not like that. It’s a massive re-imagining of faith and culture with thousands of visionaries who have rejected the previous methods and beliefs and are under no united banner, except for their avowed dislike of how things have been done.

1. Do not-moderns reject metanarrative? From what I have seen, no; much of the significance of faith seems to come from the fact that across the ages, God has been working on behalf of his people. However, not-moderns also seem to focus on the smaller stories of culture and how these have impacted contemporary understandings of the metanarrative of salvation-history. Just as the grand story is instructive, so are the “mini-narratives” along the way. Sometimes, the mini-narrative of our own lives affect our view more than the meta-narrative; however, the meta-narrative does remain key to the worldview of the individual in some respect, even if it is no more of a backdrop to the mini-narrative.

2. Not-moderns are also frustrated with precise truth claims and struggle with “objective” understandings of how things are; science is done away with, as are other givens taken for granted. Personal experience with other people become the sole ground for truth in a person’s life; therefore, the authority of the Bible and tradition is disregarded and the focus shifts to finding truth in community and in the person of Jesus. Since the end understanding of the truth will not be unanimous, the corporate focus shifts to how you find truth in community, not the truth that you arrive at.

3. Since the focus of truth moved to how you find it (as opposed to what you find), people are free to believe what they will inside of an ever-loosening framework of faith. The community becomes full of accepted people, not because they believe similar things, but because they believe at all and are “idea shopping” within the community. As Book says to Mal in the BDM: “I don’t care what you believe. Just believe in it.”

A strict adherence to postmodernism, in my view, is not compatible with Christian faith.

Not-modernism can be more; however, I am concerned by its vulnerability to social syncretism and it’s lack of focus on holiness (as Brad mentioned in a comment regarding his original post). By its nature, it focuses more on social issues than doctrinal. This is good, but only as long as the long-held doctrinal beliefs fueling the social outworking of gospel are upheld. If these are called into question, I fear for what could result. There seems to be a definite lack of accountability; and while the movement seems to be good in some aspects, one must remember that it is but a baby with no internal checks and balances on its growth.

I look across the centuries of faith and see heroes who stir my faith. I see people who make great declarations of faith and unabashedly praise their Creator. I see people who went to the stake for what they believed; and I look in our own century and see people who are, even in our own time, imprisoned and martyred for their faith. The most recent author I have read who struck the core of my heart goes by the name of C. S. Lewis. Everyone I have read since… I wonder what they believe, and indeed… They don’t seem to know themselves. I respect their struggles; people across the ages have had struggles of belief. However, people in the past have fought to resolve their struggles. I see people now who are content with their questions enough to believe that there is no answer that can be found.

Could a not-modern look an emperor in the eye and say, “Here I stand; I cannot do otherwise?” I really have no idea… It’s a shame that I have to look back decades and centuries to find heroes of the faith that inspire me to go beyond where I am now.

Where have the heroes gone?

The Next Great Spiritual Exercise

I happened to receive an email from a friend who saw that I had briefly mentioned Kick a Calvinist Day. In light of said person’s request, I’d like to share a bit more information regarding this wonderful event. (I’d also like to say that I did not come up with this on my own; I just saw it on Facebook and ran with it.)

Though Kick a Calvinist Day is still a ways away, there are things you can do now in preparation for this great event. Here are some of my suggestions:

1. Begin to identify Calvinists in your life. Calvinists are not hard to find; while they weary of people challenging their determinist views, they do understand that these encounters were foreordained and must be endured. Just start bringing matters of free will into everyday conversations; the Calvinists will flush themselves out in no time. It’s also a good idea to take note of people who demonstrate an inordinate love for tulips.

2. Once you feel comfortable with the number of Calvinists you’ve discovered, it’s time to move on to Phase Two. Begin to schedule events with these people for July 10th. You may have to use some creativity so as to gain adequate opportunities to kick everyone. For example, if you found 20 Calvinists in your life, don’t meet them individually for coffee; schedule a soccer game instead. You’ve only got a day, after all.

3. Feel free to combine forces with other advocates of free will. The power of numbers can be a strong ally in your goal. With superior forces, you can take on larger situations such as potlucks, church staff meetings, and student rallies at Reformed seminaries.

4. Give it all you’ve got. After all, July 10th comes but once a year.

5. Finally, remember to have fun! And if your conscience gives you a hard time about kicking a determinist, just remember that neither you nor they have any choice in the matter; after all, it was predestined.

If any of you have suggestions for how to make the most out of this great event, let me know! I’d love to hear them.

Emotion Then... And Now.

Not quite three years ago, I was quite a different person. I was quite the detached soul. But something happened then... I wrote a post on Xanga covering my thoughts. More thoughts; not so much feelings. Didn't really engage what few feelings I had back then. But it was the start of a journey; and so you can know where I'm coming from, here's the post.

Monday, April 11, 2005

Church today was really good. James Bryan Smith, a friend of PJ's, came and spoke to us about heaven. It was a very uplifting message. It also got me thinking about death, and the passing on of loved ones. Which made me start thinking about love. Which made me start thinking about emotions in general, which is what I'm going to ramble at you about starting... now. Let's go. Depending on how well you know me (some better than others, obviously) many of you realize that I'm not a hugely emotional guy. I don't get too attached to things or even people sometimes. I cry very rarely. Many people have called me easygoing or laid back. Very rarely do I get upset. And even more rarely do I get to a point where my world is seriously rocked. And because of this, I guess I'm a pretty stable person. Some girls I've talked with over the years envy this.... They also envy the impact (or lack thereof) I make when I step on the bathroom scale, but that's neither here nor there. Let's stay on topic. It's a well-known fact that guys generally live their lives in one of two moods: "ok" or "mad." I tend to stay in the "ok" world. But when I look around me, I become convinced there's more to life than just being "ok." There's happiness and satisfaction when someone gets a good grade on a paper or test. There is refreshment and gratitude for a good night's rest. There is both pain and love when a little girls falls and scrapes her knee and her mother comes running to cheer her up and tend to her wound. At funerals people weep openly for someone they love, grieving that they are gone but rejoicing that they are in a better place. A boy and a girl walk down the sidewalk holding hands, goofy smiles plastered on their faces. They're living in the acceptance, joy, and love that they bring to the other. So we live in a world that is awash with brilliant hues of emotion. I've seen even the simplest things evoke an emotional response from other people. I have these things too, but they don't make me feel any particular emotion; they just make me feel "funny." I always feel "funny" when I see a folded paper boat b/c that was a running gag between me and my freshman-year-of-high-school sweetheart. Silver Dollar City makes me feel "funny" b/c of Arnie and Sheree (my youth pastors) and all the old friends I remember when we'd take those trips. And there are more examples. I can't identify the particular emotion that goes along with these things; they just make me feel "funny." Or "weird," if you will. I say "funny" and "weird" b/c I don't experience these feelings on a regular basis. Here's another example: we've all seen those little red "I Am Loved" pins. Well, I know that I am loved. People tell me that every day. They tell me through words, actions, etc. Even if these people don't go to extreme lengths to demonstrate this, I know that I'd be missed if I gave up the ghost tomorrow. So I know that I'm loved. However... I don't feel it. And there's a difference. Is the only thing that differentiates an acquaintance from a friend the amount of time you've known each other? Doubt it. There's a connection that grows over time, and that's what makes the difference. But I can't put my finger on it. I'm missing the intangible. The thing that makes you thrilled to see certain people, the thing that makes you grieve when they pass on. What is it? I've come to this conclusion. In our world of emotions that are as varied as the colors of the rainbow, I live in a different world. The world of "ok." The color here is a drab, dull gray. It's boring. I don't like it. I think I'll leave. I've got a life to live, and it's too short to be seen in shades of gray. Can anyone understand what I'm saying? Father, please help me to feel...

So whispered my soul almost three years ago. Since then, I have tried to become more self-aware; to take time to feel, to live in how I am, and not stifle the cries of my heart that I cannot understand. I used to see myself as Data or Spock from Star Trek; void of emotion, or at the least, capable of shutting down my feelings in an instant. Such is the life of a guy. When my grandfather passed away, I was the only one not crying at the viewing. My phone rang; a colleague was calling. And while my family shed tears and mourned the death of a patriarch of the family, I cooly stepped outside to discuss "business." I regret that day.

I regret many days.

Things have slowly changed since then; I've been through challenging situations and unique relationships, and now a different Seth sits here typing these words than the one who pleadingly pecked those keys many moons ago.

I can feel, at least to some degree... I become happy over little things. I have great hope for the future. I feel joy, uncertainty, confidence, and fear where I am right now. I have more questions than answers. My relationship with Christ has become less definable and more magical. I have dreams. I have fears. I live in a world that feels glowing with feeling and colors of the rainbow.

There are dark colors too, and one must accept those; for one cannot take the bright colors and exclude the dark. If one loses sadness, they lose the meaning of joy; and both the bright and the dark must be exchanged for a world of gray. I've lived there. It's not worth living there.

Unfortunately, trading in the gray for the colors also meant trading in my answers for questions. Instead of stability, now I must live with uncertainty and adventure. But now as I look at it...

This is the kind of life I was meant to live; a live forced to rely on faith and trust. A life that can feel. 21-year-old Seth looks forward to this time and thanks God; 24-year-old Seth looks back and thanks God.

For I sit here, with a lump in my throat and tears welling in my eyes for reasons I don't even know. I just know I got my wish.

And I am grateful.

A Couple of Ashy Thoughts...

So today was Ash Wednesday. Over the past couple of years, my interest in the ancient traditions of the church has grown considerably. I was happy last year to participate in a Saturday Night service where the ashes were imposed upon those who were willing; however, I went to a real Ash Wednesday service this year. It even happened on a Wednesday!

Imagine that.

It was neat to experience a service dedicated fully to reflection, repentance, communion, and the imposition of the ashes. While the United Methodists maintained a certain informality of the service, I was impressed by the weight given to the occasion.

We prayed an opening prayer, sang a hymn, and then read Isaiah 53:1-12. (Which is a flippin' amazing passage; the predominant OT passage that speaks of Jesus and his mission in the world. Go read it. It's okay. I'll wait for you.) Then the minister delivered a message which incorporated Matthew 6:19-21; as the ashes remind us that we are but earth, and to earth we must return, so must we be focused on things not of this world and to place our value in those things. Then we did a call-and-response reading of Psalm 51. The minister thanked God for the ashes, a reminder of our fallenness and corruptibility, and then we participated in a piece of liturgy known as The Great Thanksgiving. (Look at the words here.) After that, we approached the rail as we felt led and received communion; there was no rush to pray and move on, we were allowed to linger and pray at the front as much as we pleased. Once finished with communion, one could pause in front of the minister at the end of the rail and receive the imposition of the ashes upon their forehead or their right hand. When all had finished, we received a simple benediction.

A couple of thoughts occurred to me that I'd like to share.

The first was that the ashes were made in the sign of the cross on a person. And everyone's cross looked different; some were well-defined, while others were no more than a smudge. I caught myself wondering what my cross looked like (since I had received it on the forehead, I didn't know). As time passed though, I marveled that even though all of our crosses were different, they were all still crosses; my cross may not look like anyone else's. That's okay; it's my cross, and I am the only one to bear it. God has called us all to different paths in life, and we all will carry our crosses differently from one another; we cannot do otherwise. However, this does not change the fact that we do, and must, carry our cross. As G. K. Chesterton is fond of pointing out, the cross as a shape is a contradiction. It is constantly at odds with itself, a paradox. One may favor the circle for its consistency and its completeness instead of the stark collision of the cross. However, the circle cannot grow beyond itself; the cross stretches beyond all that can grow. The circle can only expand and include; the cross can challenge and penetrate. The circle cannot imprison the cross. The cross is an ever-present reminder of the horizontal relationship that we are to have with others and the vertical relationship that we are to have with God; and Jesus was crucified at its center so that the paradox could become reality. As followers of The Way, let us not forget to be cross-minded; let our lives be stark collisions of Heaven and Earth as we pursue Christ.

The second thing that struck me was that the words that the minister spoke as I received the cross: "Repent, and hear the Gospel." These are not the normal words spoken as one receives the imposition; however, I was not aware of this until later. I was more interested in the order of the words. Don't we hear the Gospel, and then repent? Logically, this seems to be what we must do; however, the words and their order shed a new light on the Christian faith. The Gospel does not end with repentance; indeed, repentance opens the door for one to receive, and continue receiving the Gospel. The Gospel is more than repentance; so much more. There's love, and forgiveness, and challenge, and faith, and trials, and hope, and... And the cross! I get excited just thinking about it. Repentance is but one part of the story that the Gospel weaves into and out of our lives. Let us continue to let the Gospel impact and challenge us in ways that we have not experienced before.

And now, the words that one would normally during the imposition of the ashes. Let us remember them during the next 40 days as we prepare our hearts to celebrate the Resurrection of Christ:

Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.
Turn away from sin and be faithful to Christ.

Amen.


Recommended Reading for this post: The Ball and the Cross by G. K. Chesterton