When in Rome, Twitter as Romans do

What I have been doing:

4.29.2008

Fearing and God - Not Fearing God

I just love music. Isn’t it so great when a song just speaks to you where you are? It happens to me all the time and it’s always the most powerful thing to me. Today’s soundtrack is Coldplay and the sound is tunneling through my ears, climbing down my spine and leaping over to my heart, which is starting to beat at the slow tempo of “Fix You” from the X&Y album. As I wait at Starbucks (seems like the only one in Utah), I am reflecting on the last month. How much of a wild journey I’ve been on – how much I feel different from one month ago. I feel as if at this moment, I am capable of fighting off the demons that I am battling inside myself. The demons of pessimism, addiction to consumption and instant gratification, the demon of Anxiety which I have come to understand a little more in the last few days thanks to an awesome talk with my brother around the campfire on our last night in Zion, and the demon of Fear.

Just four days ago, I hiked through “Hidden Canyon”, which felt at the time like a strenuous hike along cliffs. I didn’t know what other treks were still in store. I think we hiked about 2.5 miles round trip on that one. Down a long, narrow canyon, I fought this fear of small spaces – my claustrophobia. I feared that there was no way out here if something bad were to happen.

 But at the same time, I was so caught by the beauty of the red sandstone cliffs that went straight up.

Three days ago, I hiked the trail to Angels Landing, one of the most popular hikes in the National Park system (meaning there are a lot of insane people in the world). It was a five mile hike (Though it felt like they forgot to put a “1” in front of that 5) that ascends more than 1700 feet and for the last half mile or so, there are 800 to 1000 foot cliffs on either side of the trail. For someone who is afraid of the high dive at the public pool, this wasn’t the ideal hike. At the top, cliffs hung all around me and the only escape back down felt like a sliver that was hard enough to climb up, so I can’t imagine trying to scale back down it. But at some 

point at the top, my fear of heights just leapt over the cliff without me, because I was so awestruck by the view of an itty-bitty river below and the little white specs that kind of resembled the busses we rode up to the trailhead – I’m still not convinced that that’s what they were, they just couldn’t have been that small and far away. My photos remind me over and over again that yes, I did make that climb.

Then, Just two days ago, I hiked down the Subway in Kolob Canyon, which was a 9 mile hike through narrow canyons which required me to wade - and sometimes swim - through freezing water, climb rocks, and rappel down cliffs. It took us a little less than 8 hours to complete this trek, and this time I was not only battling claustrophobia and fear of heights, but I was exhausted from the previous days’ hikes and wasn’t sure if I could accomplish this whole thing; I had a “failure-phobia”. About a mile or two into the hike, there’s really no way to turn back so I had to complete the whole thing or spend the night in a cold canyon with no sleeping bag or tent. After each big obstacle, I gained more confidence and more energy and eventually the pure euphoria of it all - laughing with the group I was with, and taking moments to just appreciate the sun after dropping down from a small waterfall into the 40 some degree water – all of this took over once again and we all made it to the end. 

Tonight, I get on a plane back home – a place that felt like a trap a month ago. I have had mixed feelings about heading back to San Diego. I am so afraid that when I get home, I will go back to the same exact mode and be depressed and lost. I am afraid that the moment I see a store, I will become an addicted consumer again (then again, here I am in Starbucks so... maybe it’s already started). I am afraid that I will get caught up in a fake, selfish life again and lose the connection I made with so many of my family members on this trip – my grandparents, and aunts, and my brother. I am so afraid for this little journey to be over.

So, I listen to my soundtrack and some of the words leap out at me:

When you try your best but you don't succeed

When you get what you want but not what you need

When you feel so tired but you can't sleep

Stuck in reverse.

And the tears come streaming down your face

When you lose something you can't replace

When you love someone but it goes to waste

Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

And high up above or down below

When you're too in love to let it go

But if you never try you'll never know

Just what your worth

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

Tears stream, down on your face

When you lose something you cannot replace

Tears stream down your face and I...

Tears stream, down on your face

I promise you I will learn from my mistakes

Tears stream down your face and I...

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you.

 

So, what is this? I feel like it could be a letter. Maybe from a friend? Or a family member? But maybe it’s a letter from God. Who knows, but I feel like these words are today’s anthem. I am heading home to a place I love. I feel like my bones are ignited with the light of a new persona. I’m not fixed, but part of my mentality is fixed. My journey did not start when I left San Diego and is not defined by the time I was away from home. My journey has been ongoing and continues.

When I think about Zion, I can’t stop thinking about the meaning of that name. It represents so many things, but on the whole, it generally holds a meaning of “God’s place”, or “a sanctuary”, or “a Holy Place”, even “ Kingdom of Heaven”. A section of Zion National Park is called Kolob canyon, which was named by the Mormon settlers. In Mormon theology, Kolob is the place where God Dwells. In any case, the feeling we are trying to get here is that this place seems to naturally bring out a spirituality and feeling of God’s presence. But, in my growing theology, I don’t know that God has a specific “dwelling place”. God, himself dwells in all things. How was it that on those crazy treks this last week I got over my fears? I did it because I was overcome by the grandeur of God’s presence all around me. I wonder if I can take that with me home. I wonder if I can start to recognize God’s presence on a larger scale; not only in the mountains, but also in the city, in my home, in my hands and feet. Maybe this is what the song meant, “High up above or down below.” I wonder if I can work on that, if I can do that, how many other fears can I continually overcome each day?

I become more and more convinced each day that our calling as children of God is to learn how to breathe Him in, how to live in Him as He lives in us. Churches are preaching that our calling is to make sure everyone is “saved” and push our religion in everyone’s face, and make sure that sinners know they are sinners and don’t belong in our churches unless they change. All of those things are so easy to do in comparison to allowing God to really reach us and allowing Him to truly forgive us, and allowing ourselves to forgive others and forgive ourselves. It is so much more than material actions.

In my growing theology, I believe that rather than doing God’s work, if we allow God in – truly allow him in – He will work through us – through our hands and feet and hearts, not through condemning voices. See, in my experience, voices bounce off the ears more often than not. Voices of forceful preaching, condemnation, or conditional love. And by telling someone they need Jesus or else they will go to Hell, I believe that first of all you might be lying to them (we can talk about that later), but most importantly, nothing changes. Most often, you reach def ears, and nothing moves in them and nothing moves in you. But when you just allow God to work through you – meaning He will offer someone a helping hand, a listening ear, or a loving voice, through you - There will ALWAYS be some sort of movement. Not only in that other person, but in yourself.

It is time to refuse to Fear. Our government has been using fear for too long; fear of terrorism. They use it because they are the ones who are truly afraid. Our churches have been using fear far too long; fear of Hell. And they use it because they are the ones who are truly afraid. We have been fearful for far too long; fearful of failure. We are the ones who are truly afraid of letting God in. But God says to us,  “do not fear, for I am God.” Look at the creations, at the wonders of God and we must not fear because fear has never taken us anywhere, but God takes us to new heights – literally and mentally. I know harm can come, but when we are in God and He is in us, even death is not really harmful, is it?

In this Blog:

Zion National Park

Thoughts about my family

From 4-22-08

Have you ever wished that your life was a little worse? I mean, I’m thinking about when I saw the musical, Avenue Q and one of the first songs was “It sucks to be me”. Have you ever just sat and listened to everyone around you explain how crappy their job is and you just want to one-up them? Or how annoying their in-laws are, and you want to tell them about how yours are worse than theirs? Well, I have to admit that there have been many times in my life where I sit and listen to people describe their upbringing and their dysfunctional families, and I reach and reach for something to say so that I can steal the pitty party, but I always end up bowing out of that one. And it’s kind of sad, because the truth is, I’ve always felt so lucky that I had such a great upbringing but I felt guilty to say it to anyone. I felt like I’d be bragging. There’s kind of a certain place in social environments where you’re actually cooler for having a worse life. Like you have more credibility for having gone through rough times. It’s true that you learn a lot when you have a rough life. You learn how to cope much quicker. You learn the hard parts of life. But I think when we start to think that that’s the only way to learn, we miss a lot. When we continually try to learn from all the wrong ways to do things, sure we eventually find the right way, but there’s a quicker way to find the right way – Learn from people who have experienced it, who have done it already, who have accomplished such great things. There is so much to learn from our own families.

Today, I can’t hold it back anymore. I can’t resist. I hate to brag, but it just won’t stay in anymore. I have the coolest, greatest, awesomest family in the world –EVER! I don’t care who you are, I mean Menasseh and Ephraim, the sons of Joseph could come to me today and tell me about how their father interpreted dreams, and I’d still say my family is cooler. It would take me days to truly explain how hard working, loving and giving both of my parents are and what a success story they are in the arena of life, love, and family, I don’t know if I could ever describe how deep my older brothers are and how they both have guided me so much. I can’t emphasize how all of my cousins are so talented and accomplished, how my dad’s sister is so talented and compassionate, how my mom’s sisters are so experienced and perceptive. I will never be able to chronicle the stories of my grandparents – all four of them – who gave of themselves in different ways, whether it was fighting in the military to stop the holocaust, or choosing not to fight out of a belief in peaceful resolution, or helping to raise their grandchildren, or serving in a church for little pay and no pension.

So here I am, the youngest son of the family, the youngest cousin, the youngest grandson. I have the unique pleasure and opportunity to learn from them all. I have been given such a lucky life and though I am sure all of those that I mentioned wish at times they did more, or did things differently, I see them as successful role models. What a travesty it would be if I ignored their stories out of pity for people who feel screwed by life or because I am afraid people will think I am lucky to have a great family or that my opinions are less pertinent because I haven’t experienced the sucky parts of life. No, I am going to be proud of the stories.

 

4.20.2008

John 5:39-40 (The Message)

"You have your heads in your Bibles constantly because you think you'll find eternal life there. But you miss the forest for the trees. These Scriptures are all about me! And here I am, standing right before you, and you aren't willing to receive from me the life you say you want."

4.16.2008

The History of the Church, Part 1

I must warn you that this entry will be filled with my least favorite subject; History. It’s hard to walk through Philly without remembering a little US History, but I want to share it with you the way I wish I had learned it; Not what happened, but what it means to us, how it applies to us today, why we should still have hope today. Also, if I am successful, you will see how I apply it to the hope I have for Christianity today and the future of the church.

The History of The US, Part 1

“Proclaim LIBERTY throughout all the land unto all the Inhabitants thereof. Lev XXV X”

I stood behind the roped off area, staring at the word “Liberty” and wondering what it meant. Why was this word inscribed here, and not “Freedom?” Why not “Democracy?” Why not “Independence?” The light was shining through the huge glass walls, casting shadows on this broken American Icon. From my memory though, this word, “liberty” was much larger, kind of centered and solitary - the title of the story. But here, I stood and saw that the title was not Liberty, in fact there was not title, just a sentence taken from the bible. I learned for the first time what this story was really about. I had to wait for the crowd to clear a little before I could walk a circle, about 15ft in circumference, to read the entire quote. I read it slowly. “…all the inhabitants thereof.” I took a few steps back and read again,  “Proclaim Liberty…” then read again, “…all the inhabitants thereof.” I finish my walk back to the front, back to the part that everyone wants to see – the crack. I am in Philadelphia, the Epicenter of the United States of America. I can see Independence Hall through the window. I am trying to keep Nicolas Cage out of my mind because I keep imagining him in "National Treasure," running through the streets carrying the Declaration of Independence. I want to reach out and touch the crack, really feel it, experience it. The Liberty Bell is silent because it chooses to be a voice beyond the hills and oceans. It wants to send a message greater than a loud ringing.

The Liberty Bell was commissioned to be created far before the Revolution, before the First Continental Congress, and far before the US even conceived the idea to separate from Great Britain. As it turns out, the bell was not known as the Liberty Bell, just the State House Bell. Also, there is no evidence that it rang on July 8th, 1776, when the Declaration of Independence was signed and read. Yeah, that’s right, I learned in Philadelphia that the 4th of July Independence day was not the day that the Declaration was signed, but the day it was drafted. Funny the way we tweak history isn’t it? When the bell was first hung, in 1753, a hairline crack was discovered, which was accredited to a poor composition of metal. So, John Pass and John Stowe re-cast the bell. However, the crack reappeared. One more time, they re-cast the bell but it failed. History says that the bell’s final ring was at the celebration for George Washington’s birthday, in 1846, but one could argue that it is really still ringing today.

It wasn’t until the abolition movement that the bell began to represent something greater. The quote on the bell began to speak to the nation in a new way. The word Liberty means, “The state of being free within society from oppressive restrictions imposed by authority on one’s way of life, behavior, or political views.”  For the abolitionists, when you put this definition into the quote on the bell, this meant that all inhabitants of the land deserve to be free of oppressive restrictions imposed by authority. So, it became known as the Liberty Bell. 

It began with the abolition, but the Liberty bell represented the same idea for the Civil Rights era and the Women's Suffrage movement. It was not only a US icon, but a world-recognized icon. From Nelson Mandela to Ghandi, the bell rings. Was it just the inscription that had such an effect, such a loud ring? No, the image of the Liberty Bell is the crack. The bell was re-cast three times before it was settled that it would always be imperfect, and it sat for years before that imperfection turned out to be one of the most powerful images in the world.

I think that when we look at the bell, we can learn to be content with our own imperfection. We can learn to stop trying to re-cast ourselves, and start to see that maybe our purpose wasn’t to ring out loud at all. This bell was made with the intention that it would ring. The people who hung it had no idea that one day it would represent an entirely different country, it would hang still even though it didn’t ring. I doubt that it was tradition to keep a bell that didn’t even ring. I mean, what do we do with cars that don’t drive? Or Printers that don’t print? But this bell somehow stayed around. Earlier I wrote that the bell chose not to ring. Perhaps it chose not to ring because it would be a lie to ring a bell with such a quote in a land that lacked true liberty. As I stood and looked at the bell on Saturday, I was heartbroken because 250 years after this bell was first hung, we still oppress the inhabitants of our land. Women are still not paid equally to men. The bell remains cracked. All races are oppressing each other. The bell remains cracked. Two people in love are not free to walk the streets safely, let alone marry. The bell remains cracked. Hard workers with great hearts only wanting the best for their family, only wanting a chance at a better life are beaten and hated because we have a broken system.  The bell remains cracked. It chooses to remain cracked.

 

I left the building where the Liberty Bell stands, and later visited Independence Hall, where the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were signed. I remember in 8th grade, we had a mock Constitutional Convention where we basically re-enacted the drafting of the Constitution. It took us a week. In reality, it took the founders one summer to create the Constitution. Yet, today it takes many years to agree on any single issue; Heath Care, Social Security, so-called border “security” - because so many terrorists have come from Mexico, right? I guess if you’re stuck in a small room with sweaty men and no air condition in the middle of summer in Philadelphia, you are in a rush to get your agenda over with. But do you know what our tour guide accredited for the short time it took to complete the Constitution? Compromise. What is Compromise? Doesn’t that mean that each side must give up a little something to arrive at an agreement?

I remember learning about “The Great Compromise”, the one that decided the way our Legislature would be set up. A lower house, based on population of states, and the upper house with equal numbers of representatives from each state, no matter the size. See, the compromises that our founding fathers came up with were really more of synergy than compromise. Stephen Covey, author of 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, describes synergy as, “Not my way, not your way, but the high way.” That’s really what the Great Compromise was – Synergy. We have lost that. Once again, we find ourselves in a political debate between presidential candidates that want to tear each other down, so that we will be left with polarized individuals, who nobody relates to. No candidate will be favorable. Debates are set aside for bitter politicians and talk show hosts to tear down the candidates for the littlest things. What if political analysts existed in the time of George Washington. Wouldn’t they be tearing him apart about the Cherry Tree? If we are looking for a perfect president, I say let’s forget it. Does Barrack’s church really matter in the end? Sure, Bill O’reilly can spin a million reasons why it matters, but when you look at all the great things that could come to America, with young people who are actually motivated to do something, does it really matter? So, Hillary exaggerated about snipers. Who cares, haven’t you ever exaggerated something? What does that have to do with our desperate need for Heath Care.

Still, I have hope. I have hope for our country and our future. I believe that we can get back to the core of Synergy. In the short time that the founding fathers met, they were able to include the opportunity for change in the constitution. Thank God they did, because the Constitution originally specified that plantation owners should have the right to have slaves. That was later changed. 

The 9th amendment says, “The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.” This means that just because it isn’t a right enumerated in the Constitution, doesn’t mean that a right should be denied to an individual. Aside from amendments limiting Presidential terms and Congressional compensation, the only amendment used to limit the rights of the people was the Prohibition of 1919, which lasted 20 years before it was repealed. The government has been given the ability to do something, to re-create our future. It is widely known that we need change more desperately now than ever, but the only way to do it will be to put aside agendas and compromise, Synergize.

 

 

Woe to The Church and Christianity

My greatest grievance about the current state of America is the role that the Church has played. The Church itself is a broken bell, attempting to define morality for the country - Ethics that supposedly come from the Bible. The problem is, that the Church itself is failing because it is not drawing from the morals of Jesus, but interpretations and manufactured morals. Just as Cheese Wiz is manufactured from a bunch of chemicals and crap and only the slightest amount of Milk, which comes from cows, which God made. Still, Cheese Wiz is not close to real cheese. But we love it. It’s easy to put on crackers, it’s convenient. But at the end of the day, we get fatter and more unhealthy. I have been so frustrated with the many types of churches there are, and even more frustrated at the similarities between them. We’ve spent so much time creating different denominations, when we all call ourselves followers of Christ. If we are all followers of Christ, then we are Christians- that’s it! I believe the Churches should just accept the cracks between the denominations, and stop trying to ring the bell – be bigger than a ringing.

Furthermore, I am frustrated that many leaders today are predicting doom for the church, asking us to basically give up on the idea of church. This is not the way either. In my frustration, I have been pondering a question that Jesus asked his disciples. I go back to it when I try to figure out what church really should be like. Jesus asked, “Who do you say that I am?” How do I answer that today? I pray and meditate on it some. I read books about a new form of Christianity.  Mostly though I try to read about Jesus’ life – how He did it, how He did church. I have realized that what would have been considered his "church" was the way he lived. I have developed a vision for what I believe is much closer to what He wanted for church. To understand it, we need to understand the very flaw of Christianity today, and to understand that, I must share another history lesson from way before the Americas were even discovered.

It’s 340 BC. The world is flat. Science is in its early stages. There is no real record of time. No true calendar exists. Aristotle, a student of Plato, has created the model of spheres – a theory that the planets and the Sun in the sky all revolve around Earth. From this theory, he develops a calendar that is adopted and widely used for the next 2000 years. In the early 1400’s AD, Nicolaus Copernicus created a theory that the Earth was not after all the center of the universe. Instead, it is the Sun that is the center. By now, it’s pretty clear that there is a problem with the current calendar because about every 100 years, winter is coming in the summer months but, rather than search for the reason, the Pope just re-sets the calendar every 100 years. Copernicus was never able to publish his works, but about 150 years later, Galileo picked up the works of Copernicus. Now, with the use of a telescope, Galileo was able to confirm the theory that Copernicus had come up with. However, when Galileo published this theory, he was tried at the stake where he renounced the theories. Ironically, his college roommate had become the Pope and forbid him from publishing such heretical ideas. It was 200 more years before the modern Gregorian Calendar was finally recognized.

What does this mean? For 2000 years, a calendar was widely accepted, though it was clear that there was a flaw in it somewhere. The flaw was a result of the very core, the most central base of what the calendar was built off of – the Earth. Still today, our calendar is not perfect. We have to have leap year every four years, but here’s a fact you probably didn’t know: leap years do not occur in years that are divisible by 100. But what about the year 2000? I remember a leap year! Years divisible by 100 that are also divisible by 400 ARE leap years. Is it clear yet that we still have a flaw In our calendar like we still have a flaw in our government, and our Church?

I find it interesting that here we are 2000 years after the death of Christ, and we have settled with a church that is flawed at its very core – We have a Christianity based mostly on the teachings of Paul, and not Christ. Like a calendar based on the Earth, not the Sun. Furthermore, it seems that we haven’t answered Christ’s question correctly - “Who do you say I am?” We haven’t grasped a peaceful, graceful, loving Jesus. Like the Calendar, I don’t think we will have a perfect Christianity, but I hope for a better Christianity. For now, I could settle with some sort of a theological leap year, as long as we don’t keep ignoring the fact that Winter is arriving when Summer should be arriving.

There have been changes over the years in the church, though. Some have progressed Christianity, some have digressed from the true Christ, and some have really not gone anywhere. There has been a movement that has been trying to define itself for a while now. It was called “Post Modern,” then “Emergent,“ and some other names, but this movement can’t seem to define itself. We know that involved in it is a new type of theology, but each time a new name is given to it, the Fundamentalist conservative church snaps up the name and says, “hey, look we have candles now too, this is Post Modern church. But we’re not changing our theology.” There is also a desire for true community in this movement. So many people are out there waiting for this movement to come to life. I have some thoughts on what is holding this movement back from its full fruition. This will be my last history lesson of today’s entry; The History of the Modern Church in my interpretation. 

The Colonial Church: I have always had a problem with this church (by the way the name is just made up to represent this type of church. Don't try to research The Colonial Church). It is the church that looks a lot like the colonial American model. King George, representing Great Britain ruled over the American colonies the same way that a main church, often times - but not limited to – the “Mega Church” is the central focus of church, which is broken down into “small groups” or “Care Groups” or as my church calls them, “Sanctuaries.” We could probably even include church interest groups and various ministries in this category. The point is, these are the community events, the relationship builders. The problem is, too few people attend these groups. This is the most important part of true Christianity though - Community. We are focused around the large gathering. All that matters is that I show up to church on Sunday and listen to the pastor.

There has been a movement of people who agree with me on The Colonial Church. They’ve had a problem with its structure, and out of that frustration we have seen the development of

The House Church: I love the house church. It is the church I want to call my church, but I think it's missing something. When I go back to reading how Jesus did church, this is how he did it! He sat at dinner tables with the people. He communed with them. He broke bread with them. They shared stories and nobody was paid to do the music, or to preach. They shared. Still, as much as I love this, there is a need for more. People who attend this church often attend The Colonial Church too. This means they aren’t completely committed to either community, which leads to simple attendance. Simple attendance is just coming to get something, and not to give. So, why don’t we just get people to commit to a house church and that’s it? No, there is a reason for the larger churches. Let’s look at Jesus again: Sure they met in houses but we see large gatherings as well; The feeding of the 5000, the sermon at the mount, preaching in the synagogues. Yes, there is a power in larger groups. Do you remember what happened after the Declaration of Independence was signed? Yes, the war, but how was government structured after the war? The Constitution, right? No, we first had the Articles of Confederation. We went from the Oppression of the King to just the opposite – no federal law whatsoever. This turned out disastrous as rebellions were staged just to prove that as individual states, there would be no control in the land, no unity. 

This brings me to my hope for the future of church:

Christ’s Church: In the same way that our current government structure is meant to stress the importance of the individual states, and out of the states, develop a federal government, I believe that Christ’s Church would be something like turning The Colonial Church upside down. Instead of focusing on the big gathering on Sunday, the Church is based on small groups, house churches, sanctuaries. This is the most crucial part of the church. This must exist like the calendar must be centered around the Sun, not the Earth. The big gathering on Sunday is important, but less so than community. In this structure, Christians cannot simply attend. This structure calls all to be active.

This Church structure is a church that requires little to no staff. I love how my pastor from Missiongathering, Rich says that Jesus doesn’t want to be #1 in our lives, he wants to be the center of our lives. If Jesus is the center of our lives, and a church calls themselves Christian, then everyone must contribute. If everyone contributes, there is no need for staff. We can be Christians and leaders and members and pastors in our every day life.

But people will say that they don’t have enough time for that type of church. My answer is simply, Yes you do. Small groups don’t require much - 2 hours a week maybe. A small group should not be a pot luck. Jesus calls us to a life of simplicity – not selling everything and living in a shack, but not wastefulness like a pot luck either. I love the House Church I’ve been attending, The Hawthorne House. Each time I go there, it is a simple meal of bread and soup and salad. Maybe a good beer or wine too. It’s simple though. There is such a power in sharing a table, sharing a meal with someone. The small groups will likely have leaders emerge, some of whom would choose to preach in the larger gatherings, leaving no need for one preacher. 2 hours a week, 2 hours on Sunday, and I say 4 hours on one day a month to commit to social justice. That’s 20 hours a month out of a possible 672. That’s only 3% of your time! If this were a test, you’d be kicked out of the class.

I am so sad that I cannot commit to calling myself a Christian because of the way the name has been tainted and even broken up. So, though I believe that this is the way Jesus would do church today, I would feel weird about calling it a Christian church. That is, unless it were a big enough movement to redefine Christian back to its true meaning - follower of Christ. It’s funny that the Dictionary defines the word Christian as “Of, relating to, or professing Christianity and/or its teachings.” Why isn’t it “professing Christ and/or His teachings?” True Christianity is what I want. The best way I can sum it up is in a poem I wrote a few years ago when I was inspired by Def Jam poetry, and I revised it today:

 

Religion

Religion makes war, makes hate, makes hunger

Religion makes outcasts, and sinners, even single mothers

Religion oppresses the Samaritan and the Jew

What does your religion say about you?

 

I want a Christianity that says I’m an activist

I want a Christianity that says I’m a Feminist

I want a Christianity that won’t let me be racist

Or judgmental or stand by and just face it

 

I want a Christ like I read about in the Bible

With the cross on his shoulder

Not the white guy with bleached blonde hair

That children follow like soldiers

I want a Christ that gets on his knees

To put his hand on my shoulder

He says “I’ve always loved you

And I’ll love you when it’s all over.”

 

These days, it’s all a sin

Because we can’t all be in

We have to be exclusive

A club for the elusive

Ones

Who try to hide their secrets In their rooms

and lock the door by the light of the moon

because in the dark, the Sun won’t see their secrets

But what they haven’t realized is

That the light of the moon

Is the light of the Sun

A reflection of The One

The true One who you can’t hide your secrets from

No, not this Jesus

He’s not Religious.

 

Religion makes war, makes hate, makes hunger

Religion makes outcasts, and sinners, even single mothers

Religion oppresses the Samaritan and the Jew

What does your religion say about you?

 

I don’t want a church that makes me fear sex

Because it will take away my soul

I don’t want a church that forces out my straightness

And makes me play gender roles

 

I don’t know a god who would send me to war

To kill another

One of His beloved, His creation, my brother

I don’t know a god who gives up on the addicted

Alcoholics, druggies, they’re all afflicted

With a horrible disease that needs treatment

 

We don’t have time to offer help

But we find time to offer resentment

Lock them away it don’t matter where they’re sent

We find a way to offer blame which creates division

Which we try to glue back together

With Religion

 

Religion makes war, makes hate, makes hunger

Religion makes outcasts, and sinners, even single mothers

Religion oppresses the Samaritan and the Jew

What does your religion say about you?

4.15.2008

Blessed are the Originally Good

The building looks rustic and kind of worn down. I’m not sure that I would necessarily enter here had I not known that a church meets here. The sign said “Pete’s Candy Store”, but when I entered, I didn’t see any licorice, or Pop Rocks, or Snickers bars. Pete’s Candy Store turns out to be a bar. The pastor of the church, Jay Bakker, had come and visited my church in San Diego about a year ago. He had told us then that they met in a bar, but  I assumed they had moved to a candy store. The place overall was empty. One bartender was busy roaming around the facility, I guess preparing the space for church. I check my $200 pocket watch (AKA cell phone) and it’s 3:30 pm. I’m early. Two hours ago, I thought I wasn’t going to make it at all. I thought I’d be dead by now, but I made it. I thought, should I order a beer? I feel bad just sitting here. I knew that this church is edgy, I was pretty sure they don’t have issues with a person having a beer, but I didn’t know if the bar was actually open or if this space was just used for church on Sunday. But then again, I didn’t want to offend the bartender if they were open and expecting business. I found a seat at a table as a few more people appeared, and I could overhear one guy talking to these two women, about my age. I surmise that the guy is a regular here, and the other two are visitors. I later overhear them say that they are from Seattle. There’s a fine line, isn’t there, when it’s ok to eavesdrop a little? I mean, I was interested to know that they too were visiting, and I thought, ok I can strike up some conversation. But at the same time, I didn’t want them to know that I was eavesdropping. So I didn’t say anything.

In the awkwardness of sitting in a bar, doing nothing, eavesdropping, not drinking a beer, and not talking to anyone, I decided to grab my backpack and walk into the next room, where the gathering would later take place. It was a small, narrow hall leading to a low-lit stage. No drums, no guitars, no piano. Just a chair and a microphone. I decided to pull out my notebook and begin writing down my New York adventures thus far. Twenty minutes, I am writing and eavesdropping on the conversations of more people who make their way in – friends, regular attendees, visitors, and some people who just came to get a beer. I start to see people making their way into the meeting area, some with a tasty looking beer, some with a soda, some with nothing, but most were my age, with piercing, tattoos, dyed hair, and edgy clothes. Now, the beer looks good and I know it’s acceptable for me to have one, so I check out the selection. I am a fan of trying new beers- local brews, micro brews, home brews. So I get the Brooklyn Lager. Not bad – it has a little bit of a stronger bitter hopsy taste than I prefer, but after a few sips, you get past it and can enjoy it - kind of like a visit to New York, really. I find my seat again as the speaker begins. It’s not the lead pastor, Jay, but the assistant pastor.

The speaking is friendly, close, and intimate, though still amplified with a mic. He shares some stories about his week, baseball’s opening day, and where Jay is. He then begins to tell us that he has been struggling with a word lately. A Christian word, the word “Blessed.” I immediately relate and feel like I know just what is coming. He comments on how Christians always use this word, but we don’t really know what it means. When you ask someone how they are, they respond, “Oh, I’m blessed, just blessed.” Sometimes someone will pray, “Bless my friend who is struggling with this or that.” Then he says, how about Kanye? You see him on MTV’s Cribs and he says, “oh, I’m just blessed with all of these things.” I love what the assistant pastor said after that. He said, “No, Kanye you were not blessed with these things. These things are a byproduct of what you were blessed with.”

As he was speaking, I began to remember the essay that my friend, Brad just wrote for ecclesiacollective.org. I remember that Brad posed the question, why are the 10 commandments quoted more than the Beatitudes? Blessed are the meek, Blessed are the poor, etc. As I am thinking of this, the speaker tells us that Blessed comes from the Latin, Benedicere, which means “to speak well of.” He goes on to say this means to affirm someone, to say yes to their belovedness. More than this, he quotes an author, Henry Nowen, saying that to bless someone is to recognize their original goodness.

I think, I’ve never heard of original goodness, just “original sin” which supposedly means we’re all sinners because of Adam and Eve, right? But now I am hearing that we are originally good. God made us good, didn’t He? He said it. I also found it interesting that a few days ago I wrote about how we need to recognize each other more. This is the same – recognize someone’s original good. No matter how messed up we are, we were originally good, not sinners. But churches are packed, preaching the message of original sin, the “Thou shall not’s” of God, but not Jesus’ message of “Blessed are the lowest of the low, the least of these my brothers, original goodness.” After my grandpa’s 90th birthday party on Friday, I sat down and talked with one of the residence here in this retirement community. Her name is Nan. She is a Unitarian Universalist. I asked her many things about theology, her religion, war, peace, social justice, and it seemed like every answer she had started with the same theme; “If God is within us all, how can we kill each other? If God is within us all, how can we say ‘I am right and you are wrong about Jesus?’ If God is within us all, how can we pick and choose who should have which rights?” Now, as I am being told about original goodness, I think of that- God is in each of us.

I remember a few different churches I’ve been at who had alter calls towards the end of the service. The alter calls always have something along the lines of “you must find God, you must invite him into your heart to cleanse you.” I, like many others never knew God was lost. I believe God is already there in our hearts, whether we recognize him or not. Whether we are Christian, Jewish, Muslim, we were all made by God and as a person who likes to create things, even though I wouldn’t always say it’s art, I know that a piece of me goes into everything I create. God is in everything.

I just finished reading a book, Beautiful Boy  about a father’s struggle with his son’s addiction. It’s a great book! Throughout the book, the author makes it clear that he has never believed in God, and he raised his children without church or religion. I know that some Christians would take this as a reason why it is that his son became an addict, but that would be a horrific judgment. There are far too many Christian families with addicts to somehow state that Christianity - or any religion for that mater - prevents addiction. However at some point in his book, he makes the statement that in desperation, he began praying to a God that he never believed in, “Please God, heal Nic.” He repeated it over and over in his book. “Please God, heal Nic. Please God, heal Nic.” A God that he never accepted, a God that even at this time he probably didn’t believe in, a God that he didn’t find during an alter call. “Please God, heal Nic.” By the end of the book, there is still no evidence that the author believes in God. He doesn’t make any statements that God saved his son’s life, or that God is The Way. But can’t we see that something happened here? The movement that happened in this man’s life in desperation was a much more powerful motion than walking up to the front of a stage in front of hundreds of Christians clapping because you “accepted Christ into your life” (say it with a southern Baptist accent, it’s better). This movement occurred in his heart. I don’t know, maybe it is still moving for him today. Maybe not. But it is powerful. It is a testament that God is indeed inside of us all.

As I sat there, I thought about how thousands of churches in California were passing out petitions for the last months to really discriminate against children of God. Petitions to define who may marry whom. And why? Well, because the Bible says so, right?  Marriage is between one man and one woman. The problem is, I seem to remember, in the Bible, Jacob - the father of the 12 tribes of Israel, a man who was chosen by God, a leader - Jacob had 4 wives. Marriage is between one man and a woman though. I don’t support polygamy at all, but my point is, you can’t use the Bible to say same sex marriage is illegal, but forget it when you say Polygamy is illegal. If marriage is between two people and God in the first place, then it shouldn’t even be in our politics. Why is it a legal issue? It’s not a marriage between two people, God, and the government.

 I am thinking about these things as the speaker continues, and I think about an image I saw on The Revolution Church’s website the day before, it said, “Equal Rights are a Moral Issue.” The morals that are being preached today in churches and in government are not Jesus’ morals, so how do our leaders call themselves Christian? I still can’t comprehend how so called Christians can refuse justice, peace, and pure love through their words and actions.

Is God inside of each of us? Are we made of Original Good? Bless each other – meaning, recognize the original good of each other – through all of our crap, through the junk, through the sin, through the pain we cause each other. Can we even recognize the original good of oppressors? The original good of politicians? The original good of churches that profess a God of hate, war, and discrimination? How about the original good of terrorists? What would that look like, what would that mean? Based on my opinions a few days ago, it would mean that we would bring out the best in these people. Hate only leads to Hate. Judgment leads to Judgment. War leads to War. So doesn’t Peace lead to Peace? Doesn’t Love lead to Love? When can we try it?

4.14.2008

Ferries Busses, and Subs-Oh My!

Journal, written 4-13-08

I think that Home Alone 2: Lost in New York went easy on the insanity of New York City. After a failed attempt at driving into the city last night and after burning $8.00 on the Lincoln Tunnel, after sitting in a car at stoplight after stoplight, feeling like a piece of chocolate in a sealed container swarmed by ants that are begging to break in, and after trying to cross the Ben Franklin bridge with just $7 and change, which led to an embarrassing episode in which I held up traffic at the toll booth while the attendant marked my license number down and gave me a bill for $12 – the toll plus a $2 fee – After all of that, I decided that today it would behoove me to try entering New York City via ferry, busses, and subways.

I wasn’t sure how the ferry worked, so I circled the  ferry terminal on the New Jersey side of the bay, hoping to put together some information – how much it costs, when it leaves, when I can come back, etc.- before I finally got my ticket at the window. 

Waiting for the ferry to arrive, I was able to snap some pictures of the skyline. The sky was grey. I had a slight fear that rain could be on its way, but the sun was still fighting its way through the thick clouds, like God was still waiting on the swing vote to come in to decide whether to make it a nice sunny day, or open up the faucet. 

From the other side of the bay, I could see a small blue boat whizzing in an arc shape first, going parallel with the shore, then slowly turning to face the dock, where I stood with about twenty others. A young boy kept asking his mom, “is that the ferry? Is that it?” He must have been excited to go to New York. I wonder what it meant to him to go to New York, I mean I don’t know that I ever saw New York as exciting as a kid. I had Disneyland, and the Zoo, and water parks. Even now, at 24, I wasn’t quite sure what it meant to me to be going to New York. I boarded the ferry at last, and immediately went upstairs to the open air seats. Nobody followed me, and I quickly learned why. As the boat reversed, and throttled forward again across the bay in a zig-zag pattern (which I think was to give passengers on both sides of the boat a chance to take pictures), the cold air hit me. I was shivering but so refreshed. I snapped a few of those myspace pictures, you know where you hold the camera out and blindly snap a picture of yourself, hoping you don’t end up with just a forehead and sky.

As I looked out over the bay again, I began to realize that I had no idea where this ferry was taking me in New York, or where to go once I arrived on the other side. As the buildings that made up the famous skyline grew larger, I became worried. I remembered the hundreds of people from the night before. I thought, “I’m still the chocolate, but I don’t have the sealed container anymore.” I’m going to be robbed. I’m going to get my ass kicked. If I let on that I’m lost, I’m going to be killed! I tried to orient myself, “That’s Manhattan, so that must be Brooklyn. No, there’s The Statue of Liberty, so over there must be – wait, no. Oh, over there, that’s, that’s um – What the heck do I know about New York? Why am I trying to convince myself, I have no idea!”

The ferry landed and again I was left circling the terminal, looking for a map. I expected to walk off the ferry to see everyone circled around a big 10’ x 10’ map, you know like at Disneyland, with different colors for each of the lands, and cartoon-like images of the different rides. I expected a “You are here” bubble somewhere on the map. I pictured a not – to – scale drawing of Broadway, with little bubbles popping out of it that describe the different shows that are playing there, and a caricature of the Empire State Building. I thought it would clearly define “Manhattan-land” and “Queensland”, “Central Park”, “Times Square”, “Brooklyn”, and it would be cool if the jungle cruise was in there somewhere too.

Nothing. Everyone else rushes out the double glass doors to the street. I follow timidly as they all board busses and hop in taxis. Within a minute, the busses are zipping out, Taxis are chasing down the streets, and I am alone on the streets of New York. Suddenly I realize why it’s called “The Big Apple”. I go back into the ferry terminal, where I search for my imaginary map again, somehow convinced that it must exist. All I find are 10 different flyers for different bus routes. They don’t mean anything to me. Criss-crosses of black lines that look like nothing more than graph paper, with different coordinates marked with a red line, that makes some sort of polygon. None of the maps say “Brooklyn”, which is where I’m trying to get to. I guess this is why some people choose to plan out trips like this, you know, research? I, Andy Cashion, do not understand that concept. I grew up playing legos, not video games – I don’t need a plan, I just start sticking the things together and see what I get. I could be in the completely wrong place. This might be like taking the Tom Sawyer raft to pirate cove, when you want to get to Tomorrowland to see “Honey I Shrunk the Audience”. Right now, I don’t think I’m going to make it to church on time.

I try again, I walk through the double glass doors and head down the street, where busses are lined up one after the other, and Taxis wait in front of them for anyone who’s really desperate to blow a wad of dough (does that sound New Yorkish?). By each bus, a sign stands on an A-frame. I read them, “57th street”, “49th street”, “Lincoln Center”, “Madison Square Gardens”, etc. Ok, I get it- each bus goes somewhere different. So what do I do, play New York Bus Roulette and just get on one? For a second, I consider waiving for a taxi, that should be easy – just waive my hand in the air. I’ve seen it done a million times on Friends episodes. Then like 40 taxis will fight their way over to pick me up. As I lift my hand, it dawns on me that I could end up in another situation like the Ben Franklin bridge. I have cash this time, but who knows how much it will cost me? A taxi began to pull over for me, so embarrassed, I ducked back into the terminal.

I grab one of each of the bus route flyers, trying to decipher them. Maybe if I can get to a subway, I can find my way to Brooklyn. I take a deep breath, and as I blow it out, I pound back through the glass doors, this time with a certain manufactured confidence. One breath of the New York air and my confidence crumbles quicker than my gingerbread house from Christmas did when I put one too many peppermint candies on the chimney. I think I’m just going to forget about it all. I’m going to get back on the ferry – At least I can say I went to New York. Nobody will know the difference, I have pictures to prove it! I’m going to forget about the church I wanted to visit. I’m going to forget about New York… New York.

“New York, New York.” I hear him in my mind. His free flowing voice is ringing in my head, “Weee’ll Maaake uh time - of – it…” here he comes, “…In old New York.” Good ol’ Frankie has come to save the day. I hear the bursting, beating forte of the most important verse, “If I can (bum-bum) make it there, I’ll make it (bum-bum) anywhere, it’s up to you New York, Neeewww Yooooorrrk.”

A second rush of confidence. Adrenaline conquers fear. Excitement defeats intimidation. Possibility devours reluctance. I am a born-again tourist, and by now I have already attempted three alter calls, but this time – this time I am devout.

A security guard stands by for the next flock of people flooding off the ferry which arrives every 20 minutes. I need to get answers before they come, so I don’t miss the next bus or whatever. I ask him for help, “I need help, sir.” I said politely as possible (Though I like to imagine that I yelled it with confidence like a lion, ready to take over the plains as he looks over them from a cliff). He doesn’t really respond, just keeps looking down at his counter and I wonder if he heard me. He finally responds in a rough, New York accent with a hint of – I don’t know, maybe Serbian or something. “Where you need to go?” I hand him the address I’m looking for, but I don’t get a response I’m looking for. “I don’t know where that is.” He hands it back to me. I stand in shock. I don’t know what to do, he didn’t even try. I look at the address and as I get ready to walk away, I realize that he wasn’t saying, “I don’t know where that is, go away.” He was saying. “give me a second, I’ll look for it.” He turns to a map on the wall – still not a Disney map, but closer to what I’m looking for.

“Brooklyn?” His voice is softening I think.

“Yeah.”

“Lorimer street?”

“uh-huh”

“Take downtown loop to 14th, take the Subway – the L to Lorimer street. Here’s a flyer.”

“Oh, thank you I already have one of those. Thanks for the help.” I skitter off, so as to not embarrass myself anymore. I don’t bother asking any more questions. I mean, what would I ask - Where’s the Downtown loop bus? How much does it cost? Where do I buy a ticket? How do I find the subway? What is the L train?- Why would I ask any of those questions? I’m Andy Cashion - I’m an idiot! I walk down the line of busses and again I read, “57th street”, “49th street”, “Lincoln Center”, “Madison Square Gardens”, and at the end, I see “Downtown Loop.” Step 1 complete.

I walk past the bus and look in to see if there is a driver. Yes, there is. I turn around and pass the bus again. The door is closed, do I knock on the door? Do I wait here? I’ve never ridden a bus alone before – I’m a 24 year old man, and I feel like Forrest Gump, getting ready to board the bus to school for the first time. “Momma told me not to ride with strangers.”

I pass the bus for a third time when I hear a sound like a giant Dr Pepper can being opened. SSSHHHAAH – it was the door. The lady looked down at me kind of condescendingly, like Dolores did to Forrest, waiting for me to say something.

“Do I pay here, or do I need a ticket or something?” I ask

With a sarcastic laugh, she says, “yeah, you pay here.”

I pull out my wallet. “how much?”

Another laugh- more of a belly laugh this time. “ it’s – ha – it’s free.” Her voice speeds on so fast I don’t think Jeff Gordon could catch it. “look at you with your wallet, you thought you were going to pay, that’s so funny, get on, what the – I knew a kid like you once, walkin down the street alone one day…” seriously, is she saying sentences? “What are you, where are you from?”

“San D –“

“Oh, San Diego, I lived there for 10 years, Carlsbad – I drove busses in Oceanside, you know I don’t like that area, to many F* ing Mexicans.”

I really don’t know what to say. I guess that’s about right though, New Yorkers say what’s on their mind. A few more - worse - slurs were spit out before the bus filled with the next waive of passengers. She continues telling me about San Diego vs. New York, and how she’s going to move to Canada. She also continues to cut me off every time I try to talk. I didn’t know where I was going, but luckily another guy hit some magical button that told the bus to stop at 14th street. I didn’t know I was supposed to hit a button. I thank the driver and walk down the stairs. I look around – no signs for a subway, so I follow the other dude from the bus. We cross the street. I look back and see a stairway next to a building that goes down underground – a stairway to hell – I guess. Another one is Cattycorner from it, so I keep walking like I meant to go to this other subway entrance – Confidence. A sign has three circles, each with the individual numbers 1, 2, and 3 in them. Then on the other end of the sign, the letter “L” in a blue circle.  Step 2 Complete.

This was the easy part. Down the stairs was a machine, like the machine we have in San Diego for the trolley. This one just charges $2 per ride no matter what, so it’s actually easier than our trolley. I buy a ticket, and proceed through a turnstile, down a few sets of stairs, all the while following the maze of tunnels and paths that have a blue circle with an “L” in the middle. I am now in a long corridor, passing homeless people playing music for money, college students with backpacks and i-pods, business people, and other tourists. I get to a station with tracks on either side of me. Finally, a well marked sign that says “L to Lorimer. All times.” How much easier could it get? There is another sign that counts down the minutes until the next train arrives. “5. 4. 3. 2. 1.” Then, whoosh, the train is here. I board and find a seat.

We move, and I see a timeline/map of the route above the windows on the opposite side of the train. As I wondered why they even have windows on the subway, which has no sights to see, we reach the first stop, and a voice announces the station. I am relieved. I will know when to get off. What I'll do then, I don’t know- but I will know when to get off. A man begins pacing up and down our car, and asks for everyone’s attention. He gives us a prepared speech about homelessness, how he was once homeless, and it can happen to anyone. We need to take care of the homeless, help them out. You will never know what it’s like until it’s you. He’d like donations of anything – a leftover sandwich, a jacket, money, anything. It was really a great speech actually.

People around me have headphones on, so I feel safe and pull out my Ipod. The soundtrack starts with Simon & Garfunkel, “The Only Living Boy in New York” from the Garden State Soundtrack. As the background voices sing “aaah, here I am” in a sort of Catholic choir sound, I am relaxed and calm. I’m in New York. I’m making it. It’s not so hectic anymore.

The man has finished his speech and is walking up and down with a can, for donations. The train comes to another stop, and as the doors open, I hear “Lorimer Street.” I get up and walk out. The stairs lead me to an average street, where I look at the closest address, determine that I must go right, and begin walking. It’s only 4 blocks when I walk past a run down building with writing on the wall that is worn and faded, but I can make out “Pete’s Candy Store.” On the wall, I see a sign:

REVOLUTION CHURCH

DON’T LET THE BASTARDS GET YOU DOWN.

I’m here. I made it. I conquered New York City!

www.revolutionnyc.com

4.10.2008

My Prayer Today

God, My Father who created the world, I stand in wonder of your design, but I am stricken with grief that is so much; that I desire to experience all that you have made. Give me contentment and let your creation live within me, so that I do not seek more than I need. Let my wonder be stilled, that I may find fullness in what I can complete and fairness in what others will accomplish without me.
Amen

A Prayer Request

Please pray for me to Our Lord that, instead of merely writing something, I may be something, and indeed that I may so fully be what I ought to be that there may be no further necessity for me to write, since the mere fact of being what I ought to be would be more eloquent than many books.
Dialogues With Silence, pg 161

4.09.2008

More Than Oceans

I love the way that Southwest Airlines does its seating. It’s basically open seating and whoever checks in first gets first choice of seats. I’m not anal about it, but I usually get somewhere in the first sixty people on the plane. So, I get my preferred aisle seat. Once I’m seated though I feel like I’m standing in a line against the wall in third grade, waiting to be picked for the kickball game. One by one, people look left and right down the aisles and at some point have to realize that they are going to have to sit next to someone. So they begin to assess each person, each seat and decide who will be comfortable to sit next to, who looks friendly, who doesn’t smell bad, who will not attempt to talk to you when they want to sleep. I’m not going to lie, I make these judgments too as board the plane.

 

 In elementary school, I was a killer kickball player, I mean I played soccer since I was five so how could I not be a great kickball player? Yet I was always the last to be picked. Likewise, in middle school, our school had a program called Natural Leadership, in which students were nominated to participate in a training program of sorts. I always thought I was a good leader, but nobody nominated me so I couldn’t participate. In certain circles it seems to work that way, like on my high school soccer teams. However, on my club soccer teams that I was on with different teammates than the high school teams, I was often a captain, a leader, and one of the more respected players. Now, as I sit in the aisle seat  and I make eye contact with person after person who passes me by, I become self conscious to the highest degree. “Am I scary looking? Do I smell? Am I so fat that people think they will be uncomfortable next to me?” Not every plane ride is like this though. Sometimes I’m the first to be picked, and we have great conversation and have a great ride.

 

Why is it that in certain environments a persons talents and skills are showcased so well, but in other environments, they are compressed into a  box and stored away? In High school, I made a drastic decision my senior year. I had completed three years of school at RB High, and had many different circles of friends. I did ok in school, I made the soccer teams I tried out for, I made it into plays I tried out for, I was in the top choir, I was a part of a few clubs’ leadership teams. It was an average high school career. But I was so unhappy. For three years I was unhappy because I thought I was worth more than that. I thought I should be a team captain, a bigger role in a play. I was selected as a co-choir president by the director, but if I tried to do any of the presidential duties, I was kind of told, no- the other co-presidents would do it. I was one of four students who started a new club to fight biased, bigotry, and racism. I worked hard with them to speak in the community with public clubs, like Octagon International. I spoke at teachers meetings to drum up support, I filled out paper work at times. But once the club was established and we had to elect officers, I lost in the elections for Pres, VP, Sec, Treas, and two other leadership roles. I was offered a consolation position that the club director made up because she felt bad for me, it was called “Head of Speaking Events.” Better than nothing I guess.

 

Overall, I felt like nobody thought I was special, or a standout. After three years (well, more really because middle school hadn’t been much different), I was starting to think about myself how everyone else thought of me. I bet I would have graduated thinking of myself just that way. Extremely average. Run of the mill. But one day, I was sitting in economics class in the seat in front of Gabe Lindamen. He was a popular guy, really cool, funny, played the banjo, loud, obnoxious. But his comedic outbursts often hurt somebody. Quite often, that person was me. He made it public that my clothes were not cool, I was a loser, I was a momma’s boy. One month into the first semester of my senior year, there he was behind me in class, poking at me- literally. He cracked a few jokes before class started, then made some comment that I don’t remember. I quickly stood up and turned around and at the moment that I thought I was going to swing back my arm and hit him, I breathed in really hard, filling up my lungs, staring at his shocked, confused face, and I sharply grabbed my backpack and walked out of class. At the end of the day, I made arrangements with my mom to transfer schools.  My friends were confused. The choir took it hard, especially the teacher - I think she took it really personally. I suddenly felt like I could be more. I never cared too much about what others thought of me, but I felt I deserved, at the least, respect. I have a feeling that in that decision, I earned Gabe’s respect. The next day, as I went in to get my teacher to sign off on my transfer and mark down my grade, he announced to the class that I was going. After that last class, I found out that Gabe did have a heart, though I had never seen it before in 3 years. He put his hand on my shoulder from behind- a stark contrast from the pokes of the day before- and said, “I’m really sorry if anything I did hurt you.” I think I mumbled something back to him, passing off his part of all of this like, “oh that’s not why I’m leaving”. I hope he knew though deep down that he was the last straw anyway.

 

Hindsight is so weird. Looking back at what one moment, one day in my life meant. I think If I could talk to Gabe today, I would tell him, “thanks. You changed my life.” Really, he did. In two ways though. First, he was the last straw that pushed me to do something that really changed my future. I could have transferred and been bitter the rest of my life, thinking that some people are just mean. But when he apologized, I decided with conviction that people in general are definitely good deep down.

 

So, I transferred. Mt. Carmel would be my new school. It’s not much of a different school besides the fact that the average car in the parking lot had a retail value of about $15000 less than that of RB high. I was offered a spot in the top choir, but turned it down because I had already filled my elective requirements and I figured choir would be an extra class that I could just take off first period. I continued private voice lessons instead. But part way through the semester, the drama teacher approached me because he had heard that I sing and act. He asked me to try out for the musical, which I probably would have done anyway. I don’t think that he nor I expected that I would be given the lead role which also won me the best actor award for the year. I felt like a leader in clubs that I joined, even though it was too late to become an officer. I felt like my input was always appreciated in classes. I felt like people wanted to be around me rather than they were just content that I was around. Friends wanted me to try out for the soccer team, though I chose not to because the musical interfered. I was just plain respected and understood. To top it off, I was chosen to sing a solo at graduation.

 

Now, I’m not boasting that I am much of a singer or actor or soccer player, I am just stressing the affect that a different atmosphere can have on a person. A change in environment can re-define someone, or help that person to re-define themself. It’s funny, I’m listening to Switchfoot right now, and the song “More than Fine” just came on.

 

“When I wake in the morning, I wanna blow it to pieces. I want more than just OK….”

 

“…I’m not giving up, giving up, not giving up now. I’m not giving up giving up, I’m not selling out… not backing down”

 

“...More than Fine, more than bent on getting by. More than fine, more than just ok. More than oceans away from the dawn. More than oceans away from who we are….”

 

These lyrics are perfect.

 

This is what I want, what I always wanted. This is what I wanted in High school. More than Fine, more than just ok. I think most people want that, don’t they? Don’t you? Somewhere over time too many of us are convinced that we don’t deserve more than fine. I was there at the beginning of my senior year of high school. I am not backing down, not giving up! I am going to re-discover myself and re-define myself.

 

The problem I think we have in society, the reason why we so often hold each other back and tell each other they are not good enough – not in words, but in actions- is that we live in a society that equates success and finance and happiness to a pie; The more you get, the less for me. Isn’t that the way we think? Don’t we complain about immigrants because if they get a piece of the pie, I can’t get any? Don’t we shun socialism because we are too afraid to share our possessions with others? And we are afraid to recognize each others' talents and lift each other up because if they are good at something, it means I am less good at it? We have the wrong focus. We do not live in a pie – but we do live in a circular world; what goes around comes back around to us.

 

Jesus told a parable about a man, a King, who entrusted his finances with three people. To one he gave 10 talents, to another 5 and to the third, 1 talent. The first two decided to invest the talents, and the last buried it in a hole. Because the finances grew for the first two, the King was happy, but he was extremely disappointed with the third man, for not doing anything with his part.

 

This story has been told from many different angles. I’ve heard a preacher say that this is a reference to our faith. We need to read and pray every day to strengthen our faith. I’ve heard rich pastors say that this proves that God wants us to have lots of money, that we shouldn’t be ashamed of having money. But I am wondering why was it that the first two invested and the last one didn’t. Was he not smart enough? Did he not know where the bank was?

 

What if this man was handed that one talent and thought, “well, he gave more to the others to hold for him, so he must not trust me. He must not think I’m good enough, smart enough. So, to be sure I don’t prove him right, that I don’t screw this up, I will be extra careful not to lose this one. I will bury it.” Why is this story always used as a scrutiny towards the third man, and not a scrutiny of the King? I know, that is how Jesus was directing it towards his crowd at the time, but I don’t think He will be mad at me for analyzing it a little.

 

The King was mad at the man for not investing the finances, but he did not invest his trust, his respect. There was a study done on school children one time where students who did historically well in class were placed in a class together, and the teacher was told that these were the bad students. They couldn’t pay attention, they didn’t work hard, they were failures. Alternatively, a class was comprised of students who often failed in class, and the teacher was told that they were so smart, quality, well behaved students. I’m sure you know what happened; The first group of students did poorly and the second group did well. It’s called the Pygmalion effect. The product a person produces is directly related to the investment that is made into them. I knew this as a trainer at a bank – the more someone was trained, the more successful they were, the quicker they got promoted. And I felt good at that job. Comedians get it; we laugh, they say more jokes and get funnier, if we don’t, they stumble and want to leave. It’s a simple concept for gardeners too; pick the weeds, water your plants, fertilize them and they will grow.

 

Have you noticed how much I’ve been writing lately? It’s only because people have shown appreciation, and complimented my ability to write, which didn’t used to get recognized much.

 

Give away your trust. Give away your faith in people. As a society, we should give away our acceptance and love. I believe that giving is contagious. Hopefully its as contagious as the plague. What if we gave away recognition to each other, maybe we would make people believe in themselves. What if we gave away welcome to immigrants. Maybe they wouldn’t feel the need to cheat the broken system; they would be a part of it and improve it. And I just have to say, seriously Bush, do you want to pick the fruit in the fields? Are they really taking away jobs? huh? really? It's just fear. Fear of what's uncomfortable, what's new. Fear of failing. Even fear of success.

 

We are so afraid. So, so afraid in this world. Afraid of someone else taking our substance.  You can’t have it. this is just one more thing that we hypocritically teach our children, but don’t apply to our lives – “Share your toys, Tommy. But I don’t want to share my project at work, because I’d have to share the credit. I can’t share my money with the homeless guy on the street, because I won’t be able to pay for your school, Tommy. Of course, I was able to afford that $5.00 Latte this morning” Yes, we will get hurt. Yes, yes we will be burned, screwed, fucked, taken advantage of. Do it anyway, remember you are Christ’s ambassador. He was ready to get hurt for you, so be willing to get hurt for someone else. If we live in Christ, and He lives in us, then nothing we give away was ours to begin with. Don’t you think the King missed his money while it was gone? Well, eventually it will come back around, having been invested, but only by the ones he invested in. The world God created is not a pie.

Here's a little secret: The pie we hold onto is a shit pie. We don’t need a piece of it. The more we hold on to it, the more we think we like it, but at the end of the day, it is SHIT for crying out loud. But when we let it go, God has an endless supply of Pie that He shares with us. Any kind you want. And it won't even make you fat! He even shares it with the people holding the shit pie- isn't that Crazy?

Giving is Grace - Grace is a gift from Jesus - Jesus is saying, “[You] will not thirst, or hunger” without the pie.

Still, even though a gardener knows when to water a plant, they also know when a plant must be transplanted. One plant might thrive in San Diego (mmm, Avocados) and one might thrive in New Jersey (mmm, Blueberries) and one might do well on either coast (mmm… um peaches?). Don’t let your soil kill your belief in yourself. Don’t let your environment destroy your love for yourself. Don’t let the weeds grow around you and suffocate you. If you cannot treat the soil, transplant yourself. If you cannot find a watering can, find rain. If you cannot kill the weeds, pick them.

 If you cannot feel God’s love, show somebody that you love them! 

We were meant for so much more.

buy: More Than Fine by Switchfoot

Things I seem to talk about