these are only thoughts that have just recently run across the bottom-line ticker of my brain...and thus, have been spilt upon the internet for you to enjoy(?)
People used to guilt me into reading the Bible.
"People in (Enter Oppressed Country Here) are persecuted for having Bibles; can't you read yours?"
I somewhat understand the logic. But this fact that people in Turkey are forced to have their worship services secretly--but gladly do--while I simply read a chapter and check it off the to-do list, what's this really saying?
We are so dang used to hearing about Moses and Jesus and Paul and Peter! We're so numb to it! It's become an encyclopedia.
"God's Instructional Manual"
What the f is that?
Can any other instruction manuals crush a stone heart? No, it's much bigger than a manual. It's an actual story. One with a plot. One with a climax. A Hero. A Savior.
I desire to read the Bible like a book, a book highly-recommended by a friend.
"What's this called?" I'd love to ask, "The Bible?"
"Yeah. Read it."
Then i'd dive in. No preconceived notions or biases or Sunday School felt board images or VBS skit memories to recall.
Just God. And His amazing love story for us.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Payable On Death: Music Gods. Forever.
he world is in dire need of good music.
If you ascribe to your favorite local Top 40 radio station (Nashville's is 107.5 The RIVER--or maybe I'm out of touch with that, I don't know), you'll probably hear Justin Timberlake, some Britney Spears crap, 'Crank Dat' (which even I can dance to, because of the helpful instruction of 3rd-grader Alexa Williams, younger sister of Laura Williams), or good ole' Nickelback. This is bad because this music sucks.
Tune into a Saturday afternoon SEC football game on UPN (Channel 14 where I sit) and you might see decent some decent football, although Vandy's 35-7 thrashing at the hands of Auburn was harder to stomach than Britney's MTV Video Awards performance. What you will also see is a million ads promoting--WHY?!?!?!--Daughtry's latest album. The announcers gush mindlessly about Daughtry's music mid-broadcast over and over until there's nothing for an SEC football fan to do but to burn the cd or burn the cd.
I say all of this to say that what the world needs is less Big Tymers and more P.O.D. Seriously. Check 'em out.
For the better part of my high school days, I religiously listened to their coming-out-party called "Satellite." With hits like "Set It Off", "Boom", "Alive", "Youth of the Nation", "Messenjah", "Masterpiece Conspiracy" (if you didn't notice, I've named half the cd!), why wouldn't I? Their masterpiece, 1999's "The Fundamental Elements of Southtown", features my all-time P.O.D. fave, "Outcast," and a few more pit-instigators and sick rhymes. Their debut, 1994's "Snuff The Punk" (Satan's the punk, chumps!) features a song which quotes Philippians 2 and JAMS (EVERY KNEE SHALL BOW!!!).
I have quickly realized that I do not have the time to explain--nor does the English language render it possible--P.O.D.'s musical awesomeness. Like you can watch Alex Rodriguez crush a 98 m.p.h. fastball all you want but until you actually step into the batter's box you will have no clue what that is like, you also cannot explain to a musically-barren man what the sounds of P.O.D. are like.
After checking out every single cd P.O.D. has ever released (their so-so "Payable On Death" and latest "Testify", which is crappy, will make you appreciate the old stuff even more), I recommend, in no particular order, the following...
Me At The Least. These guys are my bros. They are original, they sing about Jesus, and they bring the mosh. Also, their drummer and bassist used to play for As The Noon and Metanoia. That says it all.
August Burns Red. Perfect music. You will crap your pants as you listen.
The Devil Wears Prada. Nice doods. Opposite of nice music.
War Of Ages. My dad leaps and headbangs and hollers to these guys. I do too. That's a good thing.
Paramore. Call me gay. But if you call me gay I will also call you gay because I suck at comebacks.
The Chariot. Frontman Josh Scogin is simply a god of the hardcore scene. "I was not placed upon the grass of this ever-fading earth for a standing ovation!"
Norma Jean. Probably in the top 3 of my greatest bands of all time. Seamlessly transitioned from Scogin's wonderful creation ("Bless the Martyr, Kiss the Child"), to my favorite of their albums, the technical "O God, the Aftermath" to the brutal but more concise "Redeemer." All the while keeping an amazing poetic lyrical style that seems to fit the music.
As Cities Burn. Clearly the most passionate band in history. I've never connected more to a band's lyrics or been convicted more by them. Simply amazing. They have to be experienced.
I have recently come to love Third Eye Blind and Oasis.
Also, the end of "Masterpiece Conspiracy" contains one of the sickest breakdowns in recent memory.
If you ascribe to your favorite local Top 40 radio station (Nashville's is 107.5 The RIVER--or maybe I'm out of touch with that, I don't know), you'll probably hear Justin Timberlake, some Britney Spears crap, 'Crank Dat' (which even I can dance to, because of the helpful instruction of 3rd-grader Alexa Williams, younger sister of Laura Williams), or good ole' Nickelback. This is bad because this music sucks.
Tune into a Saturday afternoon SEC football game on UPN (Channel 14 where I sit) and you might see decent some decent football, although Vandy's 35-7 thrashing at the hands of Auburn was harder to stomach than Britney's MTV Video Awards performance. What you will also see is a million ads promoting--WHY?!?!?!--Daug
I say all of this to say that what the world needs is less Big Tymers and more P.O.D. Seriously. Check 'em out.
For the better part of my high school days, I religiously listened to their coming-out-party called "Satellite." With hits like "Set It Off", "Boom", "Alive", "Youth of the Nation", "Messenjah", "Masterpiece Conspiracy" (if you didn't notice, I've named half the cd!), why wouldn't I? Their masterpiece, 1999's "The Fundamental Elements of Southtown", features my all-time P.O.D. fave, "Outcast," and a few more pit-instigators and sick rhymes. Their debut, 1994's "Snuff The Punk" (Satan's the punk, chumps!) features a song which quotes Philippians 2 and JAMS (EVERY KNEE SHALL BOW!!!).
I have quickly realized that I do not have the time to explain--nor does the English language render it possible--P.O.D.'s musical awesomeness. Like you can watch Alex Rodriguez crush a 98 m.p.h. fastball all you want but until you actually step into the batter's box you will have no clue what that is like, you also cannot explain to a musically-barren man what the sounds of P.O.D. are like.
After checking out every single cd P.O.D. has ever released (their so-so "Payable On Death" and latest "Testify", which is crappy, will make you appreciate the old stuff even more), I recommend, in no particular order, the following...
Me At The Least. These guys are my bros. They are original, they sing about Jesus, and they bring the mosh. Also, their drummer and bassist used to play for As The Noon and Metanoia. That says it all.
August Burns Red. Perfect music. You will crap your pants as you listen.
The Devil Wears Prada. Nice doods. Opposite of nice music.
War Of Ages. My dad leaps and headbangs and hollers to these guys. I do too. That's a good thing.
Paramore. Call me gay. But if you call me gay I will also call you gay because I suck at comebacks.
The Chariot. Frontman Josh Scogin is simply a god of the hardcore scene. "I was not placed upon the grass of this ever-fading earth for a standing ovation!"
Norma Jean. Probably in the top 3 of my greatest bands of all time. Seamlessly transitioned from Scogin's wonderful creation ("Bless the Martyr, Kiss the Child"), to my favorite of their albums, the technical "O God, the Aftermath" to the brutal but more concise "Redeemer." All the while keeping an amazing poetic lyrical style that seems to fit the music.
As Cities Burn. Clearly the most passionate band in history. I've never connected more to a band's lyrics or been convicted more by them. Simply amazing. They have to be experienced.
I have recently come to love Third Eye Blind and Oasis.
Also, the end of "Masterpiece Conspiracy" contains one of the sickest breakdowns in recent memory.
Go. Commodores.
I really, really like breath mints, Listerine, and menthol cigarettes. (And also animal crackers but that's not really relevant.) I do not like them for the way they make my breath smell or for the way they make my head feel. I like them for that weird, refreshing, almost unexplainable "cold" feeling. You know? Try taking in a big breath of air after having a few Certs; you'll love it!
This may explain why I like the cold so much. I mean, besides having more fashion options (Layers, my friend, layers!), why would anyone prefer a cold day over a warm one? Or a 70 degree, throw-frisbee-in-the-park day? I will answer that question with another one: how freakin sweet is it to see your breath?
As I waited on a friend tonight, I stood outside on Western's chilly campus with my hood pulled over my head and my hands deep in my pockets, and desperately tried to locate the hiding stars. After a few moments, I sighed, and there it was, the coolest, most unusual, fleeting sight: my own breath. I don't claim to know much about physical science (is that even the right term?), but I'm pretty sure that when we humans breathe we take in a little oxygen and then when we breathe out we give back a little carbon dioxide. I think that's how it works. Anyway, it is the queerest of things, breathing. We do it, what, thousands, millions of times a day? And you can go weeks or months without once ever thinking to make yourself breathe. I think that would suck if we always had to go around thinking about when we should breathe.
So, breathing. It keeps us alive, somehow. I would research it, but I really don't want to. I trust that God knows EXACTLY how it works and in fact it's so easy for Him that He didn't even think it was that big of a deal when he BREATHED it into existence. Couple lungs, a diaphragm, and a little oxygen, no big deal. But there were some other things God kind of breathed into existence, too. By speaking (is speaking not just breathing with a little noise?), God Himself gave light to the sun (a pretty crazy thought in its own right), created all the stars, and then made all kinds of wild animals and whales and sharks and birds.
I wonder, though, when He created Air. It could be in Genesis 1:6-8, when Moses writes that God created an "expanse" (Eugene Peterson calls it "sky" in The Message). I'll take Peterson's word for it, that God created Sky, thus enabling his soon-to-be-created plants, animals, and humans to breathe.
You know how people say sometimes that when there's lightning bolts God's throwing them or when there's thunder God's bowling or when there's rain God's crying? I don't necessarily believe those (although a bolt-hurling God is appealing to me), but I do believe that the wind--heck, even just stagnant air--is the breath of God. He clearly breathed this universe into creation, and what can air be, after all, if it is not the actual breath of God? The sensation and awe of inhaling God's actual breath is experienced in a rather amazing way when it is cold. The cold air on the back of my throat seems to refresh me, and always ends up reminding me of the simplicity and necessity of breathing. God's way of reminding us that, Hey, I'm here, you're breathing My breath.
Then we exhale. When its cold (again, the best time to take a big, fat, deep breath), we can actually see our breath. I have no clue how to explain it and all I can do is watch it. As soon as we start to breathe out (our breath), our exhale pollutes God's breathing out (His breath). Perhaps this is why we can see it. I tried and tried tonight to get my warm breaths to stay in the cool air for more than two seconds, but dadgum it my breaths were just too small, too insignificant.
I bet the reason that we can't see the wind and the gentler breezes and the stagnant air is that the wind and breeze and air is the never-ending breath of God. The overpowering, overflowing breath of God that is so huge it cannot be seen. Our breaths are allowed to be viewed as long as we understand that we'll get to see our breaths for 1.2 seconds before they vanish again. God's breath is not something that is meant to be seen, to be looked at, to be captured in a pretty little picture. It's more like something that wants to be felt. I think God might like cold nights too.
This may explain why I like the cold so much. I mean, besides having more fashion options (Layers, my friend, layers!), why would anyone prefer a cold day over a warm one? Or a 70 degree, throw-frisbee-in-the-park day? I will answer that question with another one: how freakin sweet is it to see your breath?
As I waited on a friend tonight, I stood outside on Western's chilly campus with my hood pulled over my head and my hands deep in my pockets, and desperately tried to locate the hiding stars. After a few moments, I sighed, and there it was, the coolest, most unusual, fleeting sight: my own breath. I don't claim to know much about physical science (is that even the right term?), but I'm pretty sure that when we humans breathe we take in a little oxygen and then when we breathe out we give back a little carbon dioxide. I think that's how it works. Anyway, it is the queerest of things, breathing. We do it, what, thousands, millions of times a day? And you can go weeks or months without once ever thinking to make yourself breathe. I think that would suck if we always had to go around thinking about when we should breathe.
So, breathing. It keeps us alive, somehow. I would research it, but I really don't want to. I trust that God knows EXACTLY how it works and in fact it's so easy for Him that He didn't even think it was that big of a deal when he BREATHED it into existence. Couple lungs, a diaphragm, and a little oxygen, no big deal. But there were some other things God kind of breathed into existence, too. By speaking (is speaking not just breathing with a little noise?), God Himself gave light to the sun (a pretty crazy thought in its own right), created all the stars, and then made all kinds of wild animals and whales and sharks and birds.
I wonder, though, when He created Air. It could be in Genesis 1:6-8, when Moses writes that God created an "expanse" (Eugene Peterson calls it "sky" in The Message). I'll take Peterson's word for it, that God created Sky, thus enabling his soon-to-be-created plants, animals, and humans to breathe.
You know how people say sometimes that when there's lightning bolts God's throwing them or when there's thunder God's bowling or when there's rain God's crying? I don't necessarily believe those (although a bolt-hurling God is appealing to me), but I do believe that the wind--heck, even just stagnant air--is the breath of God. He clearly breathed this universe into creation, and what can air be, after all, if it is not the actual breath of God? The sensation and awe of inhaling God's actual breath is experienced in a rather amazing way when it is cold. The cold air on the back of my throat seems to refresh me, and always ends up reminding me of the simplicity and necessity of breathing. God's way of reminding us that, Hey, I'm here, you're breathing My breath.
Then we exhale. When its cold (again, the best time to take a big, fat, deep breath), we can actually see our breath. I have no clue how to explain it and all I can do is watch it. As soon as we start to breathe out (our breath), our exhale pollutes God's breathing out (His breath). Perhaps this is why we can see it. I tried and tried tonight to get my warm breaths to stay in the cool air for more than two seconds, but dadgum it my breaths were just too small, too insignificant.
I bet the reason that we can't see the wind and the gentler breezes and the stagnant air is that the wind and breeze and air is the never-ending breath of God. The overpowering, overflowing breath of God that is so huge it cannot be seen. Our breaths are allowed to be viewed as long as we understand that we'll get to see our breaths for 1.2 seconds before they vanish again. God's breath is not something that is meant to be seen, to be looked at, to be captured in a pretty little picture. It's more like something that wants to be felt. I think God might like cold nights too.
Of Being Silent
Yep, I'm in Kentucky. Freakin' Kentucky.
It's been oddly foggy lately, making it quite hard to see out my car window as I drive. This could also be because my car, Randy, hasn't been washed since around my junior year of high school. Things have been weird lately, and I think the fog kind of fits.
Seth and I talked about it the other night. It sounds so cliche, but the world has so much to offer, and its so loud and busy that we can't see the next semester ahead of us, and any attempt to listen to and hear what is truly the voice of God is muffled--no, drowned out entirely--by the boisterous, look-at-us antics of the church and many of today's Christians.
I've started to read through the Old Testament, which is literally the first time I've done that since I learned the Ten Commandments with hand motions and silly riddles (3rd grade). Anyway, I've noticed--just through the first few chapters--that God speaks to those crazy, old, white-haired characters (that is what they looked like, right?) a lot. 24 times, to be exact, through the first twelve chapters alone! He tells Adam not to eat of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. He speaks to Noah and commands him to make a boat. A freakin’ huge boat. He “appears” to Abram and tells him to leave his country and his family and his father’s house. Once, its recorded, Adam and Eve simply heard the sound of God.
So who is this God? Who does He think He is coming down and making noises amid the trees, appearing to people, and making them build boats when it had never even rained?!
Okay, I know that was harsh. But this is a different God than the one I know, right?
What happened to this old, annoying, in-your-face, lets-sit-and-chat God? Pretty sure God’s never appeared to me. Seems like I’d remember that. He’s never called to me or spoke to me, and I definitely haven’t heard Him in the gardens and fields, that’s for dang sure.
Why is the God of America silent? Why is He invisible and why is it foggy outside?
I’ve never really been one for transitions and I’m finding it hard to make one here. But listen. I believe with all of my heart that God is trying to speak to you. Think it’s easy to get our attention? His best tricks don’t even work anymore! Sunsets are no longer captivating. We rarely hesitate to taste the cold air on a December night. Billions–literally, billions–of stars loom overhead every single night and go unnoticed by billions of humans. A song of King David captures God’s attention-grabbers in spectacularly beautiful fashion. Psalm 104–its unbelievable. You’ve got to check it out.
“...dressed in sunshine, all of heaven stretched out as your tent...”
“...you made a chariot out of clouds and took off on wind-wings...”
“...you started the springs and rivers, sent them flowing among the hills...”
“What a wildly wonderful world, God! You made it all, with Wisdom at your side,made earth overflow with your wonderful creations. Oh look, the deep, wide sea brimming with fish past counting, sardines, sharks, and salmon...”
Wow.
David noticed God’s cries for attention.
Right now I’m listening to The Glorious Unseen, a really cool worship band, and they have this incredibly beautiful song, “Tonight the Stars Speak.”
Tonight the stars speak of your infinite love
and it serves to remind me that what I have
means nothing at all compared to your glory
oh Lord
how long til your voice speaks clearly?
I wonder the same thing. Oh, Lord, how long til your voice speaks clearly? The voice of God. Speaking. Clearly. What a glorious thought indeed.
What if, though, God’s voice hasn’t lost its boom? What if He doesn’t always just faintly whisper?
Shane Claiborne says in the Irresistible Revolution “we’ve taken the claws off the Lion of Judah.” Have we also taken away His roar?
Most of us wake up in the morning to a noise (a harsh, beeping alarm or maybe a cool ringtone like me), pour a bowl of Cocoa Crispies, and turn on our music and Sportscenter. Then we walk to class with our iPods–while texting–and then have to sit and listen while some middle-aged dude on a power trip lectures about the Revolutionary War while we wonder what kind of revolution we got ourselves into in the first place here in America. Simply put, there’s a lot of crap going on. I am not saying in the least that iPods and sports and TV and the Internet and music and school teachers and big, loud, laser-show worship services and Myspace and Facebook and cell phones and Starbucks and shows and youth camp are of the devil. They’re just loud. I want to be quiet.
See, I really do think God’s voice is there to be heard. As I search for direction and for what it truly means to be a Christian, I have to believe that I can still hear God...if not are my prayers not hopeless?
In short, Seth and I (we’re not the only ones, even among my circle of friends) are tired. We’re searching, wondering if something exciting, something real is out there for us. We’re wondering if school really does blow or if we are really that lazy. We’re wondering if those nagging, unsatisfied desires in our heart were put there by God to be lived and experienced or put there by us as an escape from the harsh reality of four years of college and 9-5s. We know are parents are wise and that we’re young, brash, know-it-all’s. We’ve accepted the label of “weird” and have come to expect the loving pat on the back and, “Aw, listen to you, you have such a vision...but you can’t go on dreaming forever” from someone who’s settled and accepted what the world or their parents told them to be.
Look, I don’t want to rebel against my parents. I don’t want to yell and throw things and run out of the house and get a tattoo. I don’t want to slam the state of the church and run away, leaving it just as I found it. I don’t even–and this is, admittedly, a tough one to say–want to be cool or trendy. I think I really just want to be who God wants me to be. I think I really want to do what He says.
Except that...dang it...I can’t hear Him.
This summer, after spending a week at church camp where God blessed me with no cell phone service, I decided to take another week off from the cell. It was really cool, and when I turned my phone back on I had lots of hateful voicemails from friends who couldn’t get a hold of me and were pissed. It was also the first time–heck, the only time–that I’ve ever heard the voice of God speak. I sensed that, undoubtedly, I was supposed to go to Western Kentucky this fall. Could the same voice that called me here really be calling me away after only a few months? Hey, He’s done crazier things, for sure (remember that story in Numbers where the donkey talks?). I just want to hear Him.
So in about a week, Seth and I are planning a fast. Maybe a cell-phone fast, maybe an Internet fast. Maybe a food fast. Maybe all three. We don’t know yet. Understand that I tell you this not so I can appear spiritual (I’ve been tuning God out for months, how spiritual can I be, really?), but to invite you into this blessed period of shutting up. Of being silent.
The fog illustrates this well. The other night, I was driving in fog so thick that I was speeding along at around 10 miles an hour down the backroads. I couldn’t see a thing in front of me. And maybe I’m not supposed to. Maybe I’m just supposed to have faith. Maybe I’m supposed to sell everything I have, give it to the poor and follow Jesus.
But I want to hear God speak, I need to hear Him speak. I’m expecting to hear Him speak. I think that’s a good thing.
Outside the window, the fog has cleared up.
It's been oddly foggy lately, making it quite hard to see out my car window as I drive. This could also be because my car, Randy, hasn't been washed since around my junior year of high school. Things have been weird lately, and I think the fog kind of fits.
Seth and I talked about it the other night. It sounds so cliche, but the world has so much to offer, and its so loud and busy that we can't see the next semester ahead of us, and any attempt to listen to and hear what is truly the voice of God is muffled--no, drowned out entirely--by the boisterous, look-at-us antics of the church and many of today's Christians.
I've started to read through the Old Testament, which is literally the first time I've done that since I learned the Ten Commandments with hand motions and silly riddles (3rd grade). Anyway, I've noticed--just through the first few chapters--that God speaks to those crazy, old, white-haired characters (that is what they looked like, right?) a lot. 24 times, to be exact, through the first twelve chapters alone! He tells Adam not to eat of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. He speaks to Noah and commands him to make a boat. A freakin’ huge boat. He “appears” to Abram and tells him to leave his country and his family and his father’s house. Once, its recorded, Adam and Eve simply heard the sound of God.
So who is this God? Who does He think He is coming down and making noises amid the trees, appearing to people, and making them build boats when it had never even rained?!
Okay, I know that was harsh. But this is a different God than the one I know, right?
What happened to this old, annoying, in-your-face, lets-sit-and-chat God? Pretty sure God’s never appeared to me. Seems like I’d remember that. He’s never called to me or spoke to me, and I definitely haven’t heard Him in the gardens and fields, that’s for dang sure.
Why is the God of America silent? Why is He invisible and why is it foggy outside?
I’ve never really been one for transitions and I’m finding it hard to make one here. But listen. I believe with all of my heart that God is trying to speak to you. Think it’s easy to get our attention? His best tricks don’t even work anymore! Sunsets are no longer captivating. We rarely hesitate to taste the cold air on a December night. Billions–literally, billions–of stars loom overhead every single night and go unnoticed by billions of humans. A song of King David captures God’s attention-grabbers in spectacularly beautiful fashion. Psalm 104–its unbelievable. You’ve got to check it out.
“...dressed in sunshine, all of heaven stretched out as your tent...”
“...you made a chariot out of clouds and took off on wind-wings...”
“...you started the springs and rivers, sent them flowing among the hills...”
“What a wildly wonderful world, God! You made it all, with Wisdom at your side,made earth overflow with your wonderful creations. Oh look, the deep, wide sea brimming with fish past counting, sardines, sharks, and salmon...”
Wow.
David noticed God’s cries for attention.
Right now I’m listening to The Glorious Unseen, a really cool worship band, and they have this incredibly beautiful song, “Tonight the Stars Speak.”
Tonight the stars speak of your infinite love
and it serves to remind me that what I have
means nothing at all compared to your glory
oh Lord
how long til your voice speaks clearly?
I wonder the same thing. Oh, Lord, how long til your voice speaks clearly? The voice of God. Speaking. Clearly. What a glorious thought indeed.
What if, though, God’s voice hasn’t lost its boom? What if He doesn’t always just faintly whisper?
Shane Claiborne says in the Irresistible Revolution “we’ve taken the claws off the Lion of Judah.” Have we also taken away His roar?
Most of us wake up in the morning to a noise (a harsh, beeping alarm or maybe a cool ringtone like me), pour a bowl of Cocoa Crispies, and turn on our music and Sportscenter. Then we walk to class with our iPods–while texting–and then have to sit and listen while some middle-aged dude on a power trip lectures about the Revolutionary War while we wonder what kind of revolution we got ourselves into in the first place here in America. Simply put, there’s a lot of crap going on. I am not saying in the least that iPods and sports and TV and the Internet and music and school teachers and big, loud, laser-show worship services and Myspace and Facebook and cell phones and Starbucks and shows and youth camp are of the devil. They’re just loud. I want to be quiet.
See, I really do think God’s voice is there to be heard. As I search for direction and for what it truly means to be a Christian, I have to believe that I can still hear God...if not are my prayers not hopeless?
In short, Seth and I (we’re not the only ones, even among my circle of friends) are tired. We’re searching, wondering if something exciting, something real is out there for us. We’re wondering if school really does blow or if we are really that lazy. We’re wondering if those nagging, unsatisfied desires in our heart were put there by God to be lived and experienced or put there by us as an escape from the harsh reality of four years of college and 9-5s. We know are parents are wise and that we’re young, brash, know-it-all’s. We’ve accepted the label of “weird” and have come to expect the loving pat on the back and, “Aw, listen to you, you have such a vision...but you can’t go on dreaming forever” from someone who’s settled and accepted what the world or their parents told them to be.
Look, I don’t want to rebel against my parents. I don’t want to yell and throw things and run out of the house and get a tattoo. I don’t want to slam the state of the church and run away, leaving it just as I found it. I don’t even–and this is, admittedly, a tough one to say–want to be cool or trendy. I think I really just want to be who God wants me to be. I think I really want to do what He says.
Except that...dang it...I can’t hear Him.
This summer, after spending a week at church camp where God blessed me with no cell phone service, I decided to take another week off from the cell. It was really cool, and when I turned my phone back on I had lots of hateful voicemails from friends who couldn’t get a hold of me and were pissed. It was also the first time–heck, the only time–that I’ve ever heard the voice of God speak. I sensed that, undoubtedly, I was supposed to go to Western Kentucky this fall. Could the same voice that called me here really be calling me away after only a few months? Hey, He’s done crazier things, for sure (remember that story in Numbers where the donkey talks?). I just want to hear Him.
So in about a week, Seth and I are planning a fast. Maybe a cell-phone fast, maybe an Internet fast. Maybe a food fast. Maybe all three. We don’t know yet. Understand that I tell you this not so I can appear spiritual (I’ve been tuning God out for months, how spiritual can I be, really?), but to invite you into this blessed period of shutting up. Of being silent.
The fog illustrates this well. The other night, I was driving in fog so thick that I was speeding along at around 10 miles an hour down the backroads. I couldn’t see a thing in front of me. And maybe I’m not supposed to. Maybe I’m just supposed to have faith. Maybe I’m supposed to sell everything I have, give it to the poor and follow Jesus.
But I want to hear God speak, I need to hear Him speak. I’m expecting to hear Him speak. I think that’s a good thing.
Outside the window, the fog has cleared up.
Funny Joke Man!
I am weird. Or am I normal? Is it normal to be weird? I think it is.
There has to be something to write about concerning these last few days. Has to be...
So basically, around 8-9 months ago, Jeremiah and I stopped being friends. This happened because he was completely frustrated and sick of shallow relationships, and I was busy chasing after so many. He just wanted real ones. The big, loud social gatherings were killing him. Everyone at these gatherings were, for the most part, Christians, and talked a great deal about "being real" and admitting they were broken and needed Jesus and stuff. It was like we all agreed that Jesus was God and stuff without saying it and went on incessantly making Borat jokes or talking about our friend who maybe had sex with this girl and how it's not very good but yet we talk and laugh about it like it's not so bad. Even worse, our conversation would occasionally drift towards God or Jesus or something Paul wrote to a New Testament church and some people would act interested and vaguely excited and maybe even contribute to the conversation.
These types of conversations almost always make people feel really good. Because, after all, talking about faith means you have faith, right? Rambling about love and forgiveness implies that, well, the rambler loves and forgives. You see how this makes us feel so very good about ourselves?
I did this. A lot. I even wrote blogs about God and prayed for people and, when my Holy Spirit flame was lit bright enough, I would get on my knees and tell God that my life was His, and for Him to take me wherever He pleased. I had gotten so excited about the ability to be "real." I guess you could hardly blame me.
In high school, I knew that a number of my fellow FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes) officers drank more beer than the non-FCA officers at our school, just like they knew that I was messing around with my girlfriend and that I was arrogant and self-righteous and hurtful. Understand that when I say I knew or they knew this isn't hypothetical or guesswork or "I heard..." It was common knowledge! And we were supposed to be imitating Jesus! Thus, having friends who I could talk to about my struggles with girls and my insecurities and my pride was very neat and felt very right. The problem with all this is that it is a very comfortable place to stop.
We (when we are weekly or bi-weekly confessing our brokenness to friends) are different enough (Hey! Nobody talks about struggling with porn! We do!) to feel slightly uncomfortable when around "the world" (drinking, partying, and other condemned worldly crap), and this makes discomfort makes us comfortable in our little Christian realm. It's like if you're kind of weird then church will make you feel good (but try not to be too weird, like, don't admit that you struggle with homosexuality or anything). A lot of today's churches are asking their members to accept Jesus and gain accountability, all while massaging their shoulders and patting their backs.
Am I making sense?
We have twisted Romans 12:2 around so much and effed it up to say what we want it to say. I'm not trying to sound smart, really. I hate it when people do that. But this was just in the footnote of my Bible, so I'll share it. When it says "Do not be conformed to the pattern of this world..." my ESV Bible tells me that "world" is really "age" in Greek. For so long, I was made to believe that "world" meant all those who were not Christians or all those who did not make their way to a pew on Sundays. Their behavior can be characterized by loud, crude jokes, excessive drinking, lots of sex, and no regard for the moral consequences of doing any of the above. But when I see that "world" really means "age," I see that the church (especially in Nashville) can be sucked into the "patterns of this age" just as easily as the unholy. I see that we are not to conform to the patterns of the church, who betrayed Jesus and conformed to the age many ages ago.
Shane Claiborne called it "cheap grace." Jeremiah called it "shallow friendship," and I am experiencing the cheapness and the ease that is Christianity. After all, it is very easy to stand in shallow water, right? So it is easy and comfortable to exist in shallow relationships. I am after relationships that really do sacrifice and give and don't expect in return. Relationships that encourage and support and don't push an agenda. Relationships defined by listening and showing up and being there and knowing.
Jeremiah said something very beautiful about this at church this morning.
I contend that it is not enough to accept Jesus. It might be enough if we're accepting the real Jesus, but I'm afraid this isn't happening. I realize this isn't groundbreaking or anything, but we're preaching a Jesus who has blessed America and loves the USA and mysteriously guards our troops and guides their bullets to kill. We're preaching a Jesus who has given us money so we could have nice things and "give to those who don't have" and so we can go to college, get a nice job, make a lot of money, be safe and comfy, and start the process over! We preach a Jesus who doesn't really mean it when he says "Sell all you have and give it to the poor," just like he doesn't mean it when he says, "Love your enemies." Oh, he also did not mean anything by it when he said to live as a servant, or to live as if all of us were our mothers and brothers (Matt. 12:48). He probably didn't mean what he said about dropping anything to follow him (Luke 9:57), either. He didn't mean any of that. Duh.
He wants you to be comfortably uncomfortable, living with confession-booth relationships and accountability. He also wants you to be normal, and not tell your friends anything weird or scary. Like, that you're an alien or something.
There has to be something to write about concerning these last few days. Has to be...
So basically, around 8-9 months ago, Jeremiah and I stopped being friends. This happened because he was completely frustrated and sick of shallow relationships, and I was busy chasing after so many. He just wanted real ones. The big, loud social gatherings were killing him. Everyone at these gatherings were, for the most part, Christians, and talked a great deal about "being real" and admitting they were broken and needed Jesus and stuff. It was like we all agreed that Jesus was God and stuff without saying it and went on incessantly making Borat jokes or talking about our friend who maybe had sex with this girl and how it's not very good but yet we talk and laugh about it like it's not so bad. Even worse, our conversation would occasionally drift towards God or Jesus or something Paul wrote to a New Testament church and some people would act interested and vaguely excited and maybe even contribute to the conversation.
These types of conversations almost always make people feel really good. Because, after all, talking about faith means you have faith, right? Rambling about love and forgiveness implies that, well, the rambler loves and forgives. You see how this makes us feel so very good about ourselves?
I did this. A lot. I even wrote blogs about God and prayed for people and, when my Holy Spirit flame was lit bright enough, I would get on my knees and tell God that my life was His, and for Him to take me wherever He pleased. I had gotten so excited about the ability to be "real." I guess you could hardly blame me.
In high school, I knew that a number of my fellow FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes) officers drank more beer than the non-FCA officers at our school, just like they knew that I was messing around with my girlfriend and that I was arrogant and self-righteous and hurtful. Understand that when I say I knew or they knew this isn't hypothetical or guesswork or "I heard..." It was common knowledge! And we were supposed to be imitating Jesus! Thus, having friends who I could talk to about my struggles with girls and my insecurities and my pride was very neat and felt very right. The problem with all this is that it is a very comfortable place to stop.
We (when we are weekly or bi-weekly confessing our brokenness to friends) are different enough (Hey! Nobody talks about struggling with porn! We do!) to feel slightly uncomfortable when around "the world" (drinking, partying, and other condemned worldly crap), and this makes discomfort makes us comfortable in our little Christian realm. It's like if you're kind of weird then church will make you feel good (but try not to be too weird, like, don't admit that you struggle with homosexuality or anything). A lot of today's churches are asking their members to accept Jesus and gain accountability, all while massaging their shoulders and patting their backs.
Am I making sense?
We have twisted Romans 12:2 around so much and effed it up to say what we want it to say. I'm not trying to sound smart, really. I hate it when people do that. But this was just in the footnote of my Bible, so I'll share it. When it says "Do not be conformed to the pattern of this world..." my ESV Bible tells me that "world" is really "age" in Greek. For so long, I was made to believe that "world" meant all those who were not Christians or all those who did not make their way to a pew on Sundays. Their behavior can be characterized by loud, crude jokes, excessive drinking, lots of sex, and no regard for the moral consequences of doing any of the above. But when I see that "world" really means "age," I see that the church (especially in Nashville) can be sucked into the "patterns of this age" just as easily as the unholy. I see that we are not to conform to the patterns of the church, who betrayed Jesus and conformed to the age many ages ago.
Shane Claiborne called it "cheap grace." Jeremiah called it "shallow friendship," and I am experiencing the cheapness and the ease that is Christianity. After all, it is very easy to stand in shallow water, right? So it is easy and comfortable to exist in shallow relationships. I am after relationships that really do sacrifice and give and don't expect in return. Relationships that encourage and support and don't push an agenda. Relationships defined by listening and showing up and being there and knowing.
Jeremiah said something very beautiful about this at church this morning.
I contend that it is not enough to accept Jesus. It might be enough if we're accepting the real Jesus, but I'm afraid this isn't happening. I realize this isn't groundbreaking or anything, but we're preaching a Jesus who has blessed America and loves the USA and mysteriously guards our troops and guides their bullets to kill. We're preaching a Jesus who has given us money so we could have nice things and "give to those who don't have" and so we can go to college, get a nice job, make a lot of money, be safe and comfy, and start the process over! We preach a Jesus who doesn't really mean it when he says "Sell all you have and give it to the poor," just like he doesn't mean it when he says, "Love your enemies." Oh, he also did not mean anything by it when he said to live as a servant, or to live as if all of us were our mothers and brothers (Matt. 12:48). He probably didn't mean what he said about dropping anything to follow him (Luke 9:57), either. He didn't mean any of that. Duh.
He wants you to be comfortably uncomfortable, living with confession-booth relationships and accountability. He also wants you to be normal, and not tell your friends anything weird or scary. Like, that you're an alien or something.
Nosy But Wonderful (And Not iPod Thieves)
Wow. I do not know what to think about that.
The nicest people just talked to me at Starbucks; I mean the nicest. To be honest, I'm just glad they didn't swipe my iPod.
I was sitting in Starbucks sort of half-reading Donald Miller, pretty bored, and wishing someone I knew would come in so I could have some decent convo. I mean, heck, I've literally sat at my house every day for the past three weeks; I'm dying for some convo! Also, the four dollars I had stuffed in my back pocket before walking in were scorching through my pants, so I left my copy of the Message open to a nice place in Genesis (so no one would take it-duh) and concealed my iPod mini (are those even WORTH stealing anymore? in my wide-open backpack. I am very trusting. The other night, at another Starbucks, as I was coming in from retrieving my coat, a well-intentioned woman told me to "watch my stuff; those kids'll take it!" I thanked her, and told her that those kids were my friends, which they were.
So tonight I came back to my seat clutching my caramel latte and, with half the Harley-Davidson Winter Catalog being sported by the two dozen bikers to my left, I sat down to enjoy it. I got the convo I was hoping for.
Daniel and Kelly Williams really are wonderful people, to be sure. Extremely nosy, but wonderful. Kelly, the apparent pants-wearer, asked about Donald Miller, The Message, my spiritual beliefs, my hometown, my college...uh...path, and my facial hair. I ended up breaking down (among other things) what its like to grow up Church of Christ, what I was thinking as I enrolled in four schools in three years, and my current state of mind towards the church.
They were very warm and attentive, if a little naive to progressive Christian culture. Okay, so they'd never heard of Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz, Louie Giglio, The Irresistible Revolution, or instrumental worship (kidding...), but their plant church has a cool name! The Master's Fellowship. Which honestly sounds very cool. My new friend Daniel is the Pastor of Preaching as it says on the card. The congregation of 28 meets in what is a dance studio by day and poses as mini-sanctuary on the weekends.
Daniel and Kelly have two kids, 6 and 2, and were genuinely stoked about their newborn church (it's a week old). They didn't talk much about that, though, and preferred to ask me probing questions regarding my spiritual life, which was totally fine. The sum of his questions and my answers actually amounted to my "testimony," which is something I think we should all give regularly; if nothing else than to just keep your memory sharp.
I talked about growing up as a Church of Christ kid, and how it was rigid and, to some people, suffocating. He asked how I came away from that religious experience (I had told him earlier that I went to Long Hollow Baptist Church) and I told him about how I came to know Jesus through a Bible study (with some good ol' Baptist boys!) and through Blue Like Jazz and, in his words, "through God's great mercy."
I never really thought of it that way. Not because I don't agree, I just never thought of it. I suppose God, who is with me even as I write this, desperately wanting a more intimate relationship with me, his miserable creation, did show me a great mercy. His mercy, I suspect, came with open-mindedness, and came dressed as a Baptist Bible study!
So, eventually I told them that I had placed membership at Long Hollow but didn't consider myself a Baptist (I'm a Christian), that I had been re-baptized, that I wanted to be a writer, and that I had a passion for loving people, marginalized, unlovable people. They were genuinely interested, and nearly threw out their shoulders trying to shake my hand first as they left.
It makes me feel so good when adults are genuinely interested in me; in my dreams, in my thoughts. I think youths (Am I a youth? I am sporting quite a beard...) are vastly under-appreciated today.
To be honest, I will probably never go to their church beside the Wal-Mart. I feel like there are wayyyy too many churches around here anyway, and I nearly asked them why the heck they would start a church in the buckle of the Bible Belt, but I didn't get around to it. They were so nice. Again, I'm just glad they didn't steal my iPod while I was up, so the good convo was an added bonus.
The nicest people just talked to me at Starbucks; I mean the nicest. To be honest, I'm just glad they didn't swipe my iPod.
I was sitting in Starbucks sort of half-reading Donald Miller, pretty bored, and wishing someone I knew would come in so I could have some decent convo. I mean, heck, I've literally sat at my house every day for the past three weeks; I'm dying for some convo! Also, the four dollars I had stuffed in my back pocket before walking in were scorching through my pants, so I left my copy of the Message open to a nice place in Genesis (so no one would take it-duh) and concealed my iPod mini (are those even WORTH stealing anymore? in my wide-open backpack. I am very trusting. The other night, at another Starbucks, as I was coming in from retrieving my coat, a well-intentioned woman told me to "watch my stuff; those kids'll take it!" I thanked her, and told her that those kids were my friends, which they were.
So tonight I came back to my seat clutching my caramel latte and, with half the Harley-Davidson Winter Catalog being sported by the two dozen bikers to my left, I sat down to enjoy it. I got the convo I was hoping for.
Daniel and Kelly Williams really are wonderful people, to be sure. Extremely nosy, but wonderful. Kelly, the apparent pants-wearer, asked about Donald Miller, The Message, my spiritual beliefs, my hometown, my college...uh...path, and my facial hair. I ended up breaking down (among other things) what its like to grow up Church of Christ, what I was thinking as I enrolled in four schools in three years, and my current state of mind towards the church.
They were very warm and attentive, if a little naive to progressive Christian culture. Okay, so they'd never heard of Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz, Louie Giglio, The Irresistible Revolution, or instrumental worship (kidding...), but their plant church has a cool name! The Master's Fellowship. Which honestly sounds very cool. My new friend Daniel is the Pastor of Preaching as it says on the card. The congregation of 28 meets in what is a dance studio by day and poses as mini-sanctuary on the weekends.
Daniel and Kelly have two kids, 6 and 2, and were genuinely stoked about their newborn church (it's a week old). They didn't talk much about that, though, and preferred to ask me probing questions regarding my spiritual life, which was totally fine. The sum of his questions and my answers actually amounted to my "testimony," which is something I think we should all give regularly; if nothing else than to just keep your memory sharp.
I talked about growing up as a Church of Christ kid, and how it was rigid and, to some people, suffocating. He asked how I came away from that religious experience (I had told him earlier that I went to Long Hollow Baptist Church) and I told him about how I came to know Jesus through a Bible study (with some good ol' Baptist boys!) and through Blue Like Jazz and, in his words, "through God's great mercy."
I never really thought of it that way. Not because I don't agree, I just never thought of it. I suppose God, who is with me even as I write this, desperately wanting a more intimate relationship with me, his miserable creation, did show me a great mercy. His mercy, I suspect, came with open-mindedness, and came dressed as a Baptist Bible study!
So, eventually I told them that I had placed membership at Long Hollow but didn't consider myself a Baptist (I'm a Christian), that I had been re-baptized, that I wanted to be a writer, and that I had a passion for loving people, marginalized, unlovable people. They were genuinely interested, and nearly threw out their shoulders trying to shake my hand first as they left.
It makes me feel so good when adults are genuinely interested in me; in my dreams, in my thoughts. I think youths (Am I a youth? I am sporting quite a beard...) are vastly under-appreciated today.
To be honest, I will probably never go to their church beside the Wal-Mart. I feel like there are wayyyy too many churches around here anyway, and I nearly asked them why the heck they would start a church in the buckle of the Bible Belt, but I didn't get around to it. They were so nice. Again, I'm just glad they didn't steal my iPod while I was up, so the good convo was an added bonus.
And give Ross some money for his homeless jar
Well crap, I guess Ross made my blog public (which I suppose is the idea anyway), so now I have inherited throngs of his faithful readers. I will do my best to please the masses. Thank you for reading my sentences.
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