Redemption, Reformation, and a Revolution

Dear American Church:

If you want to know why your attendance is dropping, I’d love to tell you, at least from my own personal experience.  Because I’m pretty close to walking out on you myself.

Here’s the thing.  I’ve been a Christian since I was very young.  I’ve been going to church all my life.  And now here I am in my early thirties, and I’m about to throw in the towel.  If I hadn’t had an extremely good experience with a wonderful church in Austin last year, I think today would be the day I broke up with church.  And how did I get here, you ask?

Thirty years of seeing the ugly underside of church politics, in a nutshell.

I could tell story after story of how I’ve seen churches abuse their power and shuffle people out of their country-club-type community over the most ridiculous things.  I could talk about how working in a church exposes you to some of the nastiest, pettiest work place politics you will ever see.  I could even give evidence that this is not limited to a particular region, denomination, or creed.  But those kinds of stories—even just the ones from my own personal experience—could fill a book, so I’m not going to tell them all here.

The point is, church is broken.  I don’t care how you slice it, what arguments you make or positive spin you try to put on things, something is not working.  It had a good long run, it served its purpose for many, many years, but the church as an institution is largely failing.  My dad hates when I make sweeping statements like this about the church.  But I cannot find it in me to be less cynical about an institution that has allowed people to insult and slander—him in particular and others in general—time after time without ever making things right.  And today for me was the last straw.

I am so sick of all the petty arguments and politics in the average congregation.  I’m sick of the general attitude Christianity has toward outsiders, and those that don’t agree 100% with all their precious doctrines.  Someone recently asked me if I was “super religious” and I was like, “Hell, no!”  I have been that person; I have looked down my nose at the world for not being as Christian as I was.  And I've been on the other side of it and seen how nasty and un-Christlike that attitude is.  I never want to be that way again.  Because the truth is, attitudes like that have a way of chipping at my soul and my faith.  Honestly, some days I’m not even sure how to be a Christian anymore, and after almost thirty years in, you’d think I’d be coasting right now. 

Actually, I am coasting.  I’m not engaged.  I’m not challenged.  I don’t have people (outside my family and closest friends) who help me figure out where I should be and what I should be doing in life to be a part of God’s restorative, redemptive work.  And that’s something I could really use right about now.  Once again I’m drifting, trying to figure out my next move, and even when I hear encouraging things from the pulpit, I don’t have a body around me that enables me to take the right steps.  So instead I flounder, often surrounded by people who reinforce the notion that knowing God is all about following seven simple steps and a checklist of do’s and don’t’s. 

I had kind of a heart to heart with God today, out in the beautiful Pacific Northwest woods.  I don’t really want to give up; I don’t want to be a cynic.  Maybe it was naïve of me to think that things would get clearer and more certain the older I got.  Maybe I’m foolish to expect the body of Christ to actually emulate Christ.  I have been hurt too many times by the church; my family has been wounded, my friends have been mistreated.  To be fair, we have also, at times, been blessed, encouraged, uplifted, and served by the church.  I’m really not trying to write off every individual in America who attends church.  But something happens when we gather as an institution, an organization.  We’re supposed to be a community, a family—well, families have their problems, too, I suppose. Somehow we end up acting more like a clique, standing in a circle with our backs to the world.

So the thing is, if I’m going to keep believing in and following Jesus, it’s going to have to look radically different for me.  I’m not entirely sure what that means, I don’t have it all worked out yet.  But something has to change.  A lot of things have to change, actually.  And one of the things that bothers me about the American church is how resistant it is to change.  It’s like we’re afraid of losing something vital in the process—but I think we’ve already lost some vital things, and it’s high time we began to recover them.  Things like: loving your neighbor, loving your enemy, and helping the poor. 

So right here, right now, this is my version of 95 theses, nailed to the virtual door of the collective American church.  I can’t keep going this way.  I would rather walk away than continue to be a part of a body that would treat people so poorly.  But as much as I sometimes do want to just walk away, a deeper and better part of me wants to help reform things.  A NEW reformation.  And the thing is, I know I’m not alone in this.  I know older and wiser and younger and more passionate people are struggling just like I am to find their place in the church.  I know of them, and I know them personally.  Together, we can and will enact change on the church.  Because it is time.  The foundations for a renewed way of following Christ are already being laid. 

We are passionate, we are disillusioned, we are ready, we are afraid, we are in love with Jesus, and we love humanity, too.  We want to see the world redeemed and restored through Christ.  We want to be part of his redemptive story.  We want others to see that we are in love with God, which is sometimes hard to show when we are being attacked by our brothers and sisters in Christ.  This is part of the reason we need to stand together.  We need to encourage one another, even when we disagree.  You and I may never agree 100% on all the different theological questions.  But if we can agree on the centrality of Jesus, His divinity, life, death, and resurrection, shouldn’t that be enough to be going on with for now?  We are never going to attract more people to Christ by bickering amongst ourselves and engaging in much of the mud-slinging, fear-mongering, us vs. them rhetoric that has become so popular recently.  Indeed, it is that kind of petty behavior that turns people away from God, and even burns out long-time Christians.

Maybe I’m just a crazy heretic.  Maybe I’m preaching to the choir.  Maybe no one will ever read this and my impassioned words will fall on deaf urls.  But if you are reading this, and you do agree that the time for change is long past due, won’t you stand with me?  Viva la revolution!

2010 in Review

Or, It was a Helluva Year, Wasn’t It?

Well, it’s the end of one year and the beginning of another.  Whenever I get to the end of December, I start to feel weird—restless, introspective, and vaguely unsatisfied.  Lots of people get reflective and zealous about the New Year, and I am prone to self-reflection throughout the year, so the New Year is like a double dose.  I look back on the year and wonder, what exactly did I accomplish?  And in the areas I feel I fell short, how can I improve?

While the idea of a fresh start is appealing to most of us, I think there’s something misleading in analyzing our months in terms of success and failure.  We set goals for ourselves with the best of intentions, but then get upset when Life intervenes and sends us off course. 

In 2010, I had three different addresses in three different states.  Believe me, that was NOT the plan when I started my year.  For ten and a half months, the vast majority of my belongings were in a storage unit in Branson, Missouri.  Also not part of the plan.  For nine months, I lived in my brother’s dining room in Austin, Texas.  SO not part of the plan (though I am grateful to him for putting up with me).  I also spent a third of the year unemployed.  But the other two thirds of the year, I did get to work with some really amazing kids whom I will miss in my new State.

In the middle of the year, I had an adventurous summer working at a day camp with the Y.  It was challenging, exhausting, and awesome.  I met some truly awesome and geeky tweens and got to experience a different side of Austin.  It absolutely was one of the highlights of my 2010.

In 2010, I searched desperately for direction and purpose.  I rediscovered a partly buried desire to go to Ireland as a missionary, to live relationally and be a part of the kingdom there.  The desire had never really left, it had simply been cluttered by other more immediate duties (like working, paying bills, and moving).  This year I did something about that desire: I attended an assessment conference held by the missions organization I wanted to go with, and they called me to work with them in Ireland.  It was such a moment of joy and clarity for me; but since then I allowed the same cluttering to reoccur, and I have done little since this summer to keep myself on the path to Ireland.  If I am going to go in 2011, I have a tremendous amount of work to do in the coming months.

I did a good bit of reading in 2010, including several books about the “new” things that are happening in the Christian community, things that excite me.  I attended a really wonderful church in Austin that brought me a lot of healing and encouragement.  I thought a lot about community and change and relational evangelism, but in reality, I spent most nights in front of the TV with my brother.  While I love a good story and I got see quite a few, there’s no doubt that I have been doing a little too much watching and thinking and not enough doing.  At the beginning of the year, I read Donald Miller’s “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years” in which he talks profoundly about living a Good Story with your life.  It was part of what got me back on track about Ireland.  But now I am at the end of the year, and I wonder: did my months add up to a good story?

Now I am “home,” living with family again.  I never lived in Federal Way before, but about twelve years ago, we lived in Shelton, which is a couple hours away.  So it is like being home, in a weird way.  It’s beautiful here; the house we’re staying in has a view of the water, and on clear days (like today) you can even see the mountains.  My community is my extended family and the church that most of them attend—a tiny community church not at all like the one in Austin.  But my dad works there with the youth, and they feed the homeless every week, and they let us hold a Blue Christmas service.  This was my fourth year in a row putting together a service that allows people to step into the Christmas story with all their grief and sorrow and see that it may not be the “most wonderful time of the year,” but God is still with us.  

So I am facing 2011 and my mind is racing, trying to connect the disjointed stories of my year and retrace my erratic steps.  Did I learn anything?  Did I grow?  Did I change?  Did I discover anything profound about myself?  What did I accomplish (besides catching up on entire series of television)?  

• I kicked butt at laser tag (and got my butt kicked at paintball!)
• I paid off my credit card (cue hallelujah chorus, please)
• I finished one novel and am a chapter or two away from finishing another
• I kept my cat alive and well through three moves (sometimes with great protest on her part…)
• I read over thirty books
• I finally got some of the pictures I took in 2009 into frames

…Yes, major milestones all, clearly.  But seriously—what do YOU think the measure of success for a year is?  I’m still undecided on what to think of 2010 overall.  It was a strange and difficult year, woven from dark and knobby threads, but there were some strands of silver and gold in there, too.  Maybe the contrast is what makes it beautiful.  It was a hard year, but I am grateful for many things, including this opportunity to start fresh, close out one chapter and begin another.  

May my 2011 be less about goals and success as it is about telling a Good Story with my days, one I can be happy about when I am facing 2012.  And may you have a happy and blessed 2011, too.

Mourning Little Deaths

In my life, in my thirty one years, I’ve seen a lot of change.  Perhaps not as much as someone who lived thirty years before me, but enough all the same.

I’m not just talking about changes in technology and society, either.  God knows there have been many of those—the changes to computers alone in my lifetime have been drastic and unpredictable.  There have been changes in music and literature, in movies and politics, in marriages and religion.  Pondering those changes would keep a room full of sociologists, philosophers, anthropologists and theologians occupied for years.

But I have my own changes to think of, as well.  And as my own life isn’t likely to be studied by anyone other than myself, I must do the job.  As my birthday draws close, it makes me introspective again.  How have I changed in the last thirty years?  What makes me different from the person I was as a child or as a teenager?  How am I different even from four years ago?

As I said, I’ve seen a lot of change.  I’ve lived a lot of places.  I was recently filling out an application for missions in Ireland, and several questions caused me to reflect on the many varied experiences I’ve had.  Sometimes I need to stop and put things in perspective and remind myself that the life I’ve lived isn’t what most people would consider “normal.’ I’ve wrestled with that for years—what is normal, anyway?  Is it good to be normal, or is it bad?  I have to remind myself that experience alone does not make me a more developed or enlightened person.  We all have a slightly different path to walk, but it is what we learn from the journey that is important.

I’ve always been a rather sensitive soul; adaptable, yes, by necessity, but also very aware of change.  I’ve developed an awareness of similarities and differences—of patterns and themes.  This is part of what draws me to Story.  As I look at my own story like a tapestry, I see many colors: each shift to a new hue representing a time of transition in reality.  A new house.  A new town.  A new state.

I’ve seen a lot of change.  Every change, in a way, is like death.  Like a small dying of something that used to be and is no longer—at least, not for me.  The house may still stand, the town exists, but I am no longer there.  And even when I go back to visit, it will be different.  Time alone will have caused decay; often other forces have been at work as well.

And change happens in people, too.  I’ve had to leave behind a lot of friends in my life.  When the time for parting comes, assurances are made: I will keep in touch, we will still be friends.  I will see you again.  But often communication is infrequent, and in everyone I’ve left, even the ones I do remain closest to, change occurs.  People I knew as children grow up.  They graduate high school and college; they get married.  They have children of their own.  I see it all as snippets from the outside, watching and feeling frozen, though time affects me, too.

Every change, every goodbye is like a little death.  I don’t think I ever realized it before.  I never allowed myself to properly mourn all the tiny deaths I’ve experienced in life.  I haven’t lost a lot of people close to me to the grave, so I thought somehow I was exempt from mourning.  But I am not.  These days, whenever I read or hear or see a breaking of a fellowship, I find myself grieving.  It may be nothing more than a television show where the characters must part for a time.  It may be a song about friendship or goodbyes.  My eyes fill with tears, and I find myself mourning all the friends I’ve had to say goodbye to.  And I’ve had to say goodbye a lot.  Sometimes it has been much harder than others, and I think it was because I knew deep down that it was a death, it was the end of something which would never be again. At least, not until the end, the day when God restores everything.

Change in life is as inevitable as death.  You cannot escape it.  Time alone changes us, entropy breaks us down little by little.  You cannot stop it; the sands of the hourglass will slip through your fingers even as you clench your fist.

If that sounds discouraging, perhaps it is because I am grieving a little today, mourning for the many changes in my life.  All those little deaths which I foolishly overlooked.  The breaking of many fellowships. 

There is, of course, another side to all this.  Without change, without death, there cannot be new life.  Growth.  Change may mean the death of one thing, yes, but the thing that replaces it may be stronger and better.  Or, just entirely different.

The end of one thing means the beginning of another.  This does not negate our mourning, but gives us hope when the tears have dried.  Speaking of his own death, Jesus said, “I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” (John 12:24)  Jesus, better than anyone, knew that change was inevitable.  He knew he would have to leave his earthly life and all of his very good friends.  He knew intense suffering was hours away.  But he also knew that something more glorious awaited him on the other side of it.  He knew one day there would be a reunion with his dear friends and disciples.

In the same way, we can have hope that the beautiful things of this world will one day be renewed and restored, on the day when God remakes the heavens and the earth.  And we, too, will be remade.  Paul talked about this in his letter to the Corinthians:

“^35-38Some skeptic is sure to ask, "Show me how resurrection works. Give me a diagram; draw me a picture. What does this 'resurrection body' look like?" If you look at this question closely, you realize how absurd it is. There are no diagrams for this kind of thing. We do have a parallel experience in gardening. You plant a "dead" seed; soon there is a flourishing plant. There is no visual likeness between seed and plant. You could never guess what a tomato would look like by looking at a tomato seed. What we plant in the soil and what grows out of it don't look anything alike. The dead body that we bury in the ground and the resurrection body that comes from it will be dramatically different.

 ^42-44This image of planting a dead seed and raising a live plant is a mere sketch at best, but perhaps it will help in approaching the mystery of the resurrection body—but only if you keep in mind that when we're raised, we're raised for good, alive forever! The corpse that's planted is no beauty, but when it's raised, it's glorious. Put in the ground weak, it comes up powerful. The seed sown is natural; the seed grown is supernatural—same seed, same body, but what a difference from when it goes down in physical mortality to when it is raised up in spiritual immortality!” (1 Corinthians 15:35-38, 42-49, The Message)

It is right and natural for us to mourn the little deaths and changes that alter our lives.  But we must remember that death is not the end.  Life wins; Life triumphs over death.

I just finished reading a nonfiction book by Madeleine L’Engle called “The Rock that is higher: Story as Truth” and the last chapter was all about resurrection.  Mrs. L’Engle was writing in the later years of her life, looking back on everything, including an automobile accident which battered her body.  Toward the end of the book, she recounts a story she heard about the people of Russia, back when it was the USSR, an atheistic nation:

“The people of Moscow were called to a gathering in Red Square.  There they were addressed by one of the new leaders, who spent well over half an hour proving to the populace that there is no God.  His factual arguments about the nonexistence of God were incontrovertible, and the mob of people standing in Red Square was silent and subdued.

“Then a priest who was standing with the people asked permission to say three words.  Permission was granted, and he stood in front of the packed square, raised his arms, and cried out:

                ‘CHRIST IS RISEN!’

“And the entire mob responded joyfully, ‘He is risen indeed!’”

The truth of that resurrection is one that sustains us through all of life‘s changes and little deaths.  It means death is not the end.  Change, entropy, evolution—they don’t get to be the final words in the course of our lives.

All of our little reunions here in this life, so fleeting and bittersweet, are just a preview of what it will be like when everything is restored.  And I need this hope.  I need it because sometimes it feels like change is permanent.  Like goodbyes are forever.  Like death is the end.  It is not true, no matter how I feel.

And I press on, not wanting to get lost in the “new” nor stuck in the “old.”  I may mourn, but underneath my mourning is hope:

 ¹Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away…³And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ⁴He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."

 ⁵He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!"  (Revelation 21: 1, 3-5)

Amen.

Baby Steps

The other night, my brother pulled out a movie and stuck it in the player without telling us what it was.
"It's funny," he promised.
We were met with quirky music and images of a goldfish swimming around the main titles. Have you guessed it?
It was "What About Bob?" and though none of us made it all the way through, we did get some laughs out of it. One of my favorite things about the movie is the idea of taking "baby steps." Now, of course, Dr. Leo Marvin means it metaphorically; but Bob also takes it literally, shuffling out of the office and on to a bus, all while muttering "baby steps."

It's something I've been trying to apply in my own life, though not quite so literally.

I often get overwhelmed with all the things I want to do and need to do and things I want to change. I start making mental and physical lists, and the longer they get, the more frustrated I get. I start to feel like I'll NEVER get ANYTHING done, and then I end up feeling defeated before I even start!

So lately, I've been trying to shift my perspective. It started after I got back from Ireland, as I pictured myself returning there. I would daydream about what my life would be like there, and found that the Ireland Me was a different person from the Pittsburgh Me. And then I thought, why should I wait? If that's the person I truly want to be, why should I wait until I"m in another country to be that way?

So, I'm working on it. Some days it seems easier than others. And on the hard days, I just keep reminding myself: "baby steps." I'm trying to clean up my apartment, and get rid of junk I don't need. Progress is slow! Baby steps. I'm trying to eat better, to cook for myself more and not ingest as many processed, artificial foods. It's hard to do! Baby steps. I want to be more green--not because it's trendy, but because I truly think it's important for Christians to be serious and active about taking care of the earth. But sometimes it's not very convenient. Baby steps will get me there!

I have no idea what the future holds for me. Ireland? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it's further down the road than I thought! But step by step God leads me where He wants me. Sometimes I wonder if my interest in Ireland and the ministries there was just God's way of getting my attention for things He wants me to do here. I'm open to that.

I know I need change, and a lot of it. But big changes rarely come overnight, instantaneously. They more often come from...say it with me, now..."baby steps."

A Most Auspicious Post

Okay, I admit--that last post was filler. Fluff. It's been a while since I wrote anything real, I know. But for once, I actually waited to write for a specific reason:

This post, the one you're reading right now, not only marks my three-year-anniversary of blogging, it's also my 100th post.

I thought about a lot of different things to write on this most auspicious post, for my 100th message and three year anniversary. I considered doing a recap. Or talking about the changes taking place in my life. But then I got all introspective-like. So I've sort of gone back and read through a bunch of my previous posts, just to get a sense of where I've been and where I'm going. After all, blogs are really kind of like non-private diaries that we share with the world. I was looking for common themes, and I found them.

I talk a lot about: Singleness (how I'm okay with where I am), Jobs (how I'm wrestling with what my calling and vocation are), and Pop Culture (how I interpret the stories I see).

I began this blog three years ago at the advice of my best friend Brianne. (She started a blog at the same time, but has much more of a social life then I do.) She felt that it would be a good forum for me to sort of send my thoughts out into the universe. At the time, I was really struggling with balancing my ambition to be an author and my frustration with not being published. She, like a few others in my life who I'm eternally grateful for, felt I had something to say.

Right now, I'm trying to assess whether her belief in me was accurate or not. Have I said anything important, weighty, or significant in these 100 posts? It's not that I'm fishing for reassurance or a pat on the back. I'm just evaluating.

And, more importantly, should I continue to write? Keep trying to say something? Should I keep up this humble blog, even when it seems like no one is reading it? I never had extravagant expectations for this. I wasn't anticipating hundreds of hits a day. Still, it's nice to know when people read it. It's nice to get a few comments. It helps me to know whether I've communicated what I set out to share. And, it connects you and me, through this vast network we call the Internet.

Blogging is such a weird thing. It puts words and thoughts out there for anyone to read, and yet no one does. Or at least, it feels like no one does, unless they leave a comment or make a point to say so. Still, last night I was reminded that sometimes the things I do and say that seem insignificant to me can have more importance than I realize. I don't know how or why that happens, except through God.

And the plain, honest truth is, if it weren't for God, and His work in my life, I wouldn't have a thing to say.

Yes, You're at the Right Place.

Notice anything different?

Yes, after more than two years, I decided to change my blog up a bit. As much as I love pink, I was getting a little tired of the old layout. And then I helped my dad set up and customize his blog (be sure to check that out), and it got me thinking about what I could do to customize mine a little more.

So I spent hours today--more than I'd like to admit--changing and rearranging. What do you think? Harder to read? Easier on the eyes?

The background, in case you're wondering (and hey, even if you're not!) is a unique, one-of-a-kind, custom-designed wallpaper...made by me. So when you find the flaws, please be gracious. I am neither a graphic arts major nor do I have a degree in web design. I'm mostly self taught.

Anyway...that's all I have to say for now...but while you're here, why not leave a comment, sign up for updates, check out my links, and play with "Scribbles."

And, y'know, have a great day.

Seattle

I know. It's about time. I've been sooo sick of seeing my whiny post every time I logged onto the internet--which, granted, wasn't that often, and never for very long. Obviously my life didn't automatically calm down just because I went from three jobs to two...

By the way, I am enjoying my new job, and for those who were wondering, I don't miss my old one. If that sounds horrible, then I apologize. I didn't mean for it to. I'm simply being matter-of-fact.

But at the present, I am on vacation. *Sigh of contentment*
It's the holidays, and I am spending it with family. My parents and I flew to Washington state for Thanksgiving to be with my aunt and her kids (she has six, three of which are still at home and four of whom are younger than me). And I'm so glad to be here. We used to live out here, a couple hours away, actually, and for a time the whole horde of us lived in one house (and shared one bathroom!!).

Earlier this week we went down to Pike Place Market, you know, the big shopping area in downtown Seattle, where they sell the fish? It was in the movie Sleepless in Seattle. Then today we went to the dinky town we used to live in, where I spent my senior year. It was interesting seeing how the town had changed...and hearing how the people I used to know had changed, too. It doesn't sound like it was all that long ago when you put it in years, but it feels like a very long time ago. In fact, I was just telling one of my cousins last night that if the Teenage Me met the Me Today, we might not get along too well. And I've been thinking about why I've changed in the ways that I have. All in all, it's been educational. Probably all this introspective stuff will come out in greater detail in one of my books someday, so I won't spoil it for you now.

Till next time, when I will probably talk (read: complain) about Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, have a Happy Thanksgiving!!