Why I Write about Race and Disability

So, I know it can be hard to understand why an able-bodied, thirty something White dude cares about race and disability so much. So instead of writing why I thought I would just show you why:

This is my sister-in-law and neice

These are my cousins Emily and Kim

Golf married my brother Keith. She is from Thailand and moved to America after their marriage. Sammie, one of my three beautiful nieces will always be seen as Asian, even though she is half-White.














Emily and Kim (though we all say Kim and Emily, because that is the proper age order) are adopted into the family. But, honestly, I have no memories of life before them. They are close to my age, and they have always just been Taylors to me, like anyone else.

This is my cousin Blake, and his aunt and uncle

These are my cousins Danielle and Jamie

These are my cousins Bradyn and Parker.

This is my cousin Blake. He, along with my cousin Stephen have severe developmental disabilities. Blake will never be able to walk or talk. But he certainly loves us so well. His Aunt Magali (next to my cousin Joe) is from Mexico and married into our family.









Danielle and Jamie are also adopted memories of our family. Now, unlike Kim and Emily, I remember life before them...a wee bit. And because they grew up quite a ways from the rest of us, I don't know what their experience has been like. But, as with many of you, push comes to shove, I'll shiv you if I have to for the sake of either of them!







These two lovely fellows are Parker and Bradyn. Bradyn is the big brother. These two guys, like my cousin Blake, have some developmental disabilities, though not quite as severe. Their dad, and an aunt and uncle are also 1/4 Japanese.








So, there it is. This is one of the myriad of reasons I care about race and disability. It also gives me a chance to show off my beautiful family. For me race and disability aren't just culture issues, or America issues, or even issues pertaining to faith. For me these issues even go beyond friendship and passions. For me...some of these things just boil down to this: these are my people. This is my family.

Thoughts on Trayvon & Zimmerman

Before I get into what I want to say, I want you to look at this picture. Maybe like a whole minute before you read anything else. Really. Don't just glance, look at this picture:

Now, I know it is a terrible angle, and that a cell phone replication isn't the greatest way to recapture an image. I get all of that. But there is something about this picture that for a few months captivates me every time I see it. I sometimes even avoid the hallway it is in, because I know I will stop.

And here is what I feel I am learning from it: this is a prophetic picture of the future of America if we want it. It is a picture of man helping man...period.

I think there is a key phrase in what I just said above that must be examined, and it really is the framework for everything written here - if we want it. And this type of desire is not rainbows, kittens and giggles. It is the type of want that we have to work for, strive for and go through fire to get. It requires payment, some of which has been paid, but we still owe immensely to obtain.

The other day I posted something on Facebook that was quite heartfelt. It was about my feelings of the perpetuation of "the other" in response to the verdict of Trayvon Martin and George Zimmerman. I thought it was really good, and so did quite a few others. It got a lot of likes. But one thing I noticed is that only one of my African American friends "liked" it. This could be a chance, in my own life to join the ranks of the "What's wrong with them club?"

But here's the deal. My friends on Facebook are actual friends. Like, I have lived life in some regard with them. Admittedly most of my African American friends are from my time in Los Angeles. That is the one period of time where I had deep and meaningful relationships with non-white, non-hispanic people. Sure, that could speak poorly of me. But the reality is, crossing those lines in seminary and in church in L.A. is much easier than in Central Texas or Alabama. And I didn't know better in Texas, and I have to fight hard in Alabama to even make progress in cordiality often times.

The African American friends I made in L.A. are just like the rest of you. I worked with them, I worshiped with them, I hung out with them, I went to school with them, I shared meals with them. In other words, and I hate this word, but we all know what it means, these are not token friends. These are not friends I pull out of a back pocket to say, "See, even though I'm a Texan, I'm not so racist."

A couple of these friends, that I am forever thankful for, allowed me the space to say, "Hey, this is where I started, this is where I am, and this is where I want to be. Help me. Help me breakthrough the lies that have surrounded me all of my life." And I think, and only they can say for sure, at first my honesty was an affront. But because it was sincere, they saw that there was no malice intent. I was just a kid who had no ideas what a lot of African Americans, Latinos and Asian Americans went through. Because of their encouragement, and because my church had just folded I sojourned in a Black Church. I wanted to experience life as the minority. And Black Church (or Asian Church, or Native Church, etc.) was as close as I was ever going to get.

Friends from Pasadena Church.

Admittedly, I went to a black church that was striving toward racial diversity so it was easier. The pastor was also quite contemporary and the congregation was behind the vision. Even still there were rough days. There were men and women who remembered this being a good, strong black church. Their hearts had a hard time with change. At the end of the day could I say that I understood what it was like to be the minority? No. But at least it was a small enough taste to know that there was in fact something different going on. And that friends, is the message I can bring in the midst of this.

What I can say is this: there are different America's being experienced today. For the most part if you live in a homogenous neighborhood or city things aren't that bad. As we know however statistically most homogenous neighborhoods are white. There may be a few places that are strictly Latino or Black, or even Korean, Chinese or Native American, but for the most part, even if these places have relative peace, lands like the reservations or border towns are relatively poor and have substandard education, law enforcement and the like.

I also know this: I have friends who get pulled over for the color of their skin. They wouldn't lie to be about this. These are good people that I have entrusted my life to, that fight with every fiber of their being for reconciliation. So, to combat a stereotype we see played out these days, these are not "Angry Black Men and Women." These are men and women that have nothing to gain by telling me a lie. And those friends tell me that they are experiencing a different America.

Another thing I know: a lot of Whites don't understand why this case is Black-White. And as racist as this sounds it's because most people look at this man and do not see a White guy. They see a Hispanic, a Latino, or in the worst cases a "Mexican." (Worst cases meaning people who call all Latinos/Hispanics Mexicans, not that Mexicans are bad people.) What they don't realize is the dude is half-white. His dad is White; his mom Hispanic. But in today's America that one half determines the whole.

So, why be so negative? Why do I help perpetuate the problems of segregated America?

As you could imagine, I just don't see it that way. I don't see that I am saying anything that isn't already true. In this sense I am recording what already exists. The truth is that until we are able to acknowledge that there are co-existing American narratives that are true we will not see true racial harmony or acceptance. In most cases we have what I like to call tolerance. There is almost a pervading idea that "If I have to, I will," across our country. And we take that as enough.

But the problem is it limits what any of us can do. If Whites feel that their programs that reach out to ghettos and minorities are so great they are failing to embrace the humanity of those they serve. Sure, the program is good, but more than likely you are serving a charity not a person. It still leaves you as superior until you decide to actually do some life with others.

On the other side of the coin the limits are obvious. Poor education, sky rocket arrest levels, suspicion just for looking different. These are all limits. But there are other limits too such as behavior modification for the sake of acceptance, limited scope for your future, loss of hope and a continuous performance just to be accepted. Heck, having to get an education just to have your voice heard is a problem. And these things exist.

This post could go on-and-on. This is like an ice cube chipped off an ice berg. It isn't even a one-billionth part of the issue. But, I want to by saying this. I asked a few of the friends I mentioned above to write a response to what I wrote here. Because truth be told, I could still be flying blind here. And I hope that they have the time to respond. It will also just provide some perspective from voices I trust. These won't just be "flaming voices of dissension," they will be well-thought and worded...but most importantly written in love.

Until then, let's have a conversation. Let me know what you are thinking about these ideas.

Thoughts on Why I am the Worst Evangelical Ever

Preface: As I have mentioned in a previous post, I find myself in a part of the Church that is often referred to as Charismatic, Neo-Pentecostal or Third Wave. Basically these are all terms for the same thing. Typically we are marked as Evangelicals who harp on an experience known as the Baptism of the Holy Spirit which is often accompanied by some sort of manifested spiritual gift, such as tongues or the prophetic, that a lot of the Church purposes to believe, but do not frequently experience. This is kind of important in understanding the context and language of this post.



This is basically my new car. Kind of fun.

So, I found myself this week in an interesting situation. I met a dude while buying a car (oh yeah…I own a Mazda now, not a Nissan truck). A couple of days later, out of nowhere I got a prophetic word for the dude. (See…context and language!) Since I once lived with the guy I bought the car from, I told him, but felt specifically I should ask if this other dude was a Christian. Turns out he was an agnostic. This put the whole scenario on hold for some reason…probably so God could do some business with me.
So, I stopped, and was thinking, “Maybe this is just a prayer scenario.” But then my friend said I should just share with him and he would explain to him what was going on. For some reason this seemed like a good idea. However, in the midst of things, I felt like God was saying, “Don’t share the Gospel with him. Just give him the encouragement.”

Now. I would think at this point we have about three divergent points of view:

View #1 – You lost me at prophetic. What the hell are you on about?

View #2 – Why would you not share the Gospel? You’re a heretic, and did you notice you just used the word “hell” in view #1? You should only use that word when sharing the Gospel.

View #3 – Totally makes sense. He is after all in Mississippi and heard the Gospel 147-million times…this week.

Now, being past the situation, I am pointedly in camp #3, but in the midst of the situation I was closer to camp #2. You see, I grew up a good Southern Baptist. Sharing the Gospel, preaching on street corners, doing missions…these are the things you do. It is part and parcel to being a good Evangelical. So, I wrestled with it.

Now, my inner-Evangelical is still freaking out, and here is (I think) why: what I did seems mighty close to universalism. It seems close to saying, this dude is okay without reminding him that Jesus is the way, the truth and the life, and none come to the Father except through him (John 14:6). That was troublesome to me. But, what I felt was this—I was actually learning to trust in the sovereignty of God. I was learning to say that God is God and I am not. I was reminded of this Scripture: What, after all, is Apollos? And what is Paul? Only servants, through whom you came to believe—as the Lord has assigned to each his task. I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God has been making it grow. So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. The one who plants and the one who waters have one purpose, and they will each be rewarded according to their own labor. For we are co-workers in God’s service; you are God’s field, God’s building. – 1 Corinthians 3:5-9.

But ultimately, since I feel, for me personally this is a season related to learning obedience, I made it a point to not share the Gospel, and even told the dude, “First off…I am not trying to convert you.” I went on to share the word. He was surprised, but encouraged. And I left it at that…and am leaving it at that unless something else changes.

What I felt in this situation, is I was called to a specific purpose. I needed to trust that God knows the way of this dude’s heart…and I don’t. I don’t know why God wanted me to speak this particular word. I don’t know why God didn’t want me to share the Gospel. I do know that in this situation it was what felt like obedience. But it also created a tension that I have to deal with. And I would say we all have to deal with.

It reminds of this: evangelism is good…with certain caveats. I don’t think I will ever be a street corner preacher. I would suck at that. And if I try to function in that, without the blessing of God, I will probably do more harm than good. I believe God has called me to use my gifts and that applies to evangelism. The problem is, until this encounter I had never seen the intersection of something like the prophetic with evangelism. They were two distinct entities. I think this is the result of one too many spiritual gifts assessments. I “know” what my gifts are. However I have let that knowledge keep me from learning how they are a part of all things faith.

I'd be the worst street corner preacher ever. And that billboard is perhaps

the greatest photobomb in the existence of the interwebs.

Just because I am a guitar-picking, hospitable prophet (tongue in cheek…please know I would never call myself a prophet!!!) doesn’t mean I’m not called to evangelize. I think we all know this. But I lived in such a way that I removed myself from that part of faith.

But more than gifts, this is about our common faith (since, if you are reading this, you probably have some sort of Christian faith background, if not, you are welcome for fresh ammunition in your arguments that we neo-pentecostals are crazy). As an evangelical one thing I am supposedly about is evangelism. However, I have not been the most active evangelizer. I make known my faith, but I’m not a preacher. And I think because of problems with techniques, I have shied away from this entire side of our faith. Meaning, I’m obviously not an evangelist, because I hate cold-call, street corner Bible-thumping.

But this encounter reminded me of something. God has uniquely crafted each of us, and called each of us to the manifold Kingdom of God. My responsibility is to learn obedience to my part. This time I was called to something akin to evangelism, but I was only called to a specific part. I view it is planting a seed. I will probably never reap the harvest with this guy, but I trust that the harvest will be reaped. I trust God’s sovereign plan, however that looks, will be accomplished in his life. And that is all I need to do. I don’t need to weigh myself down with excess baggage and guilt for not laying out Romans road, or whatever your congregation uses.

And I think that is how I understand that I have not resigned myself to universalism. What I have done is determined, “God is sovereign. I can trust that my response to Him is enough. And I will be responsive to Him throughout the process with this guy or any other person.” Even if that makes me look like I’m a terrible Evangelical.

Thoughts on Mixed Messages

First, I need to give a shout out to my friend Mark Anthony Chase for the assist on this post. I think reading his Facebook post on the contradictory nature of the Bible probably planted the seed for this post. It also, gives me a chance to plug one of my favorite TV shows of all times Pushing Daisies. Why? Because every time I think of Chase, I think of a line from that show that said, “Mark Chase was no stranger to murder.” It’s hysterical really, because TV Mark Chase, and my real life friend Mark Chase are nothing alike, but I now always think “Mark Chase was no stranger to murder” when I read his posts about the Giants, basketball and his love for Aaron Cho.



I love Pushing Daisies. So pretty.

Also, an assist goes out to the boys of our Thursday morning Panera men’s group. This morning we were talking about fear and Psalm 56. It was a good convo and kind of was the water to the thoughts presented here. So, without further ado: thoughts on the mixed messages I received growing up with religion always around me in American culture.

So first things first a quick list of values espoused by Church and American cultures (at least the forms I grew up with)

Church                                                  America

Humility                                                 Pride

Generosity                                              Consumption

Community                                            Solidarity

Faith                                                       Reason

Belief                                                     Skepticism

Okay, admittedly things look like I am quite down on America, and a lot of older Americans will probably challenge my thoughts on American values. I’m down with that. I understand. But, I am talking about the America I observed growing up. The America that said, pull yourself by your bootstraps, you will never make anything of yourself riding on someone else’s coattails. You are the only solution; don’t depend on anyone to help you. There are no handouts, there is no free lunch. Take all you can; you never know when it’s going to run out. I think when I talk in the clichés that we use, you can see why my list is as it is for America.

My involvement in Lion's Club once led me to wearing this suit.

And for a lot of “good church folk” the response has been to bring those beliefs into their daily life while giving mouthplay to ideas of faith and humility. It’s like the business owner who in church says that “You know God has really blessed me,” and in Lion’s Club, “I’ve been busting my hind end to make this work.” Now, while both statements are true, this type of thing leads to duplicitous living. (Yes, dudes of small group if you read this, duplicity must be my word of the day!) In other words, we use the statement that advances our cause in the moment. So, in church I use one language and present a different face than in my other social organizations.

Is this a condemnation of that sort of living? Sure, but not a harsh one. I understand the realities of church and world relationships. The reason you join Lion’s Club (I still proudly own my purple and yellow!) or Rotary is to establish good professional relationships. If the nature of your organization is not expressly religious, you watch your tone. It’s plain good business (Scripture: shrewd as serpents, innocent as doves).The reason you join a church could be the same reason, but I hope it wouldn’t be. I hope the reason you join a spiritual community is actually, you know, to take of your soul/spirit (but we won’t delve deeper here!).

And the deal is these ideas merge and become married so to speak. I think the very nature of most “American Christians” is quite duplicitous. We say that we trust God and then make all the plans ourselves. We say that we praise God for our successes, but people better pat us on the back when we pull something off. In other words there is a disconnection between word and action. And that is the culture I grew up in. And so did most of you. To me it make sense why I get so “screwed up in the head” so often. Everything I am taught has a counter point.

I think what presents itself then is the opportunity to work out our faith with fear and trembling. Odd transition, eh? But I think there is truth in it. When we are raised in contradictory belief, we can begin to search out truth. When we are taught have faith and work hard, we get to search out what that means. The Proverbs for example say that someone who loves sleep will go hungry, and Matthew says that the birds of the field and flowers are clothed by God’s provision. Contradiction! Work hard in one scenario, trust God in the other. Again, it presents an opportunity for working through this to find out how to live.

Which presents me with a unique situation this week. I have been trying to sort through life. If you’ve known me for any length of time, you’ve probably notice I transition a lot. I am always changing this, doing that, wondering if I should go there. It’s just what I do. I’m a mover, a gypsy of sorts. I don’t know why that is. Most of my family is settle in, rooted people. So, it is strange, to always be looking for the next thing. For example, my step-mom asked when I was moving back to Texas, and my response was classic James: I feel like there’s still one more adventure first.

So, in the midst of another, “should I stay or should I go” season, I felt this simple prompting from God: what do you want? Now unlike the Spice Girls, I can’t “Tell you want I want, what I really, really want” (Mims, that is for you!). It is a bit unnerving. And I realized why. I have been so caught up with an understanding of “following the Spirit” that I have forgotten the teaching of Jesus giving us the desires of our heart. Because even that phrase we stop and say, “But Jesus will show you what your desires should be.” So, in other words, I have kind of removed my own humanity. I have made life such a responsive thing that I have forgotten to take account of what it is that really brings me joy.

So here I am at this crux of trying to follow Jesus and know what my heart desires. It’s a strange thing. It’s almost like a new frontier for me, and I’m having to look at Paul’s words and think, “I guess I need to work this out.” So, if you see me with my head in the clouds, you can remind me that there is still this earthy, natural part of me that God is working on…and maybe you can help me figure out what I want…what I really, really want.

Thoughts on a Dancing God

This morning as I sat down to do my morning reading I was struck with a funny thought. In Chapter 6 of Henri Nouwen's Spiritual Direction, one of the reflection questions was "How do you picture God?" A seemingly normal question, and a priest once told Nouwen it was THE question. So, I sat down to think on this and oddly my mind went to Mia Michaels. Before I get into more of my thoughts on how I see God, take a gander at this piece that Michaels choreographed:

 

This isn't really even my favorite piece she has done, but the imagery involved goes a little more with where this post is headed. As I closed my eyes to meditate on God, to begin to answer how I pictured God, I simply saw this dancer. This dancer that went about singing and painting, and throughout the process creating. In other words, I saw this creative, emotive God that went about the process in great artistry. And the understanding of what I saw was this, God is beautiful, so why would the processes of God not also be beautiful. 

Now, I know that some people with a more utilitarian view of God may take issue with this. Engineers, scientists and others who tend to view things more orderly and mathematically may have come to see God as this very functional being that perfectly situated Earth where it could sustain life, and the human body so that it is perfectly functional. And I am down with that really. But what it made me realize is that as we are all made in God's image, the ways that we view Him/Her will be quite different. Also, the season we are in may change the way we view God.

I think that last thought has frequently paralyzed me in the past. Changing views on the eternal God who never changes makes me a flake, doesn't it? This morning that thought finally kind of lifted. Why would God, a multifaceted being always present Himself to me in the same way in every season of my life? If I am broken, in need of grace, mercy and compassion, why would God present Himself as harsh judge? If I am full of myself and blind to how my actions are causing others to suffer, why would God present myself as a doting mother?

 This is my favorite dance of Michaels' I have seen.

That is not to say that God changes, or that God is indeed flighty and insecure. Indeed that cannot be so. It also doesn't mean that we conjure up God in the image of what we need (want) in a given moment. I think anyone with college loans can attest that God isn't a banker who delivers a check anytime you want it! Also, anyone who has been seriously injured in a sporting accident or car wreck can attest that God isn't a magic fairy who magically heals all wounds at once just because we are inconvenienced. (Though I will not dismiss the possibility of God erasing debt or radically healing someone! These things happen.)

What it means is that God is other. God is not human. God is not restricted to the things that we can do. So creation of earth and human life need not only be the work of a scientist...it can also be the work of a dancer...or a teacher...or a craftsman...or a farmer...or whoever it is that we need. Because God is all of those things. We have teachers and craftsmen and farmers and singers and doctors because we are reflections of God.

So this morning, I am thankful for God showing herself through a reflection of someone like Mia Michaels.* God is creative, and beautiful. And the God that is reflected through Michaels beckons us, the children of God, to watch this beautiful intricate dance and then in turn join in that dance. And in doing so we do the job of following Him.#

So, though not the most Orthodox of posts, I think it goes to show part of the process I am going through these days. God as dancer is not something 18 year old James would have grappled with, and may not be something 63 year old James is into, but in this season of life it is God showing James who He is...and I am.

* For those of you concerned with a feminine pronoun attributed to God, I would encourage a look at the original Hebrew throughout Old Testament Scripture, particularly Isaiah and Psalms. Also, the word from which we get Spirit is feminine. 

# For those of you concerned I rely so heavily on masculine pronouns for God...I get you, but I'm still in process and it reflects the traditions I come from.

Some Thoughts on the Cross

As I am sitting here in Panera, an old phrase I used to hear quite often at a church I was a part of came back to me. "You have to go through the cross, not around it." I am not sure of the origins, but I am assuming that Jimmy Seibert either originated or brought it to our congregation. The basic premise was simply this, when you faced a situation, you could either go through the situation or find a work around. Either way you would come out on the other side, but if you went through the situation there would be transformation. If you went around, similar situations would more than likely continue to show themselves, and you would be presented the opportunity, over and over again to go through. So, obviously, the choice was persevere in difficult situations.

I hold that to be a great teaching. However, college-aged James, was a lover of avoiding pain, and found every possible path around myriad problems that presented in my life. I think this led to a long period of disorientation in my life. Even sitting here now it makes me think of the exodus story. The amazing thing about the Israelites was even while lost they still maintained this connection not only to a rich history with God, but also continued to hear the voice of God. It is interesting that when we talk about "back-sliders," "nominal Christians,""old believers," or whatever name we use, we automatically discount any sort of spiritual life. Sure, more than likely most men and women when "running from God," are trying to close a chapter of their life, but for 40 years an unfaithful people still heard from a faithful God.

Which reminds me of the story of Jonah. Poor old Jonah was the quintessential runner, yet his story makes it in both the Christian and Jewish canons, as well as the Qur'an. Jonah had cultivated some sort of relationship with God; God says, "Hey Jonah, go tell your worst enemy that I love them. It should be fun!" Jonah, was like, "Sure Man! Let me go catch a boat," and then whispered under his breath "to the furthest locale away from those nut jobs that I can." We know the rest of the story. God uses wind, waves and a godol dag (dang you Steve Wyrick for the torment you caused on my poor freshman Baptist soul saying Jonah was swallowed by a dag) to get Jonah where he needed to be. Another example of God's faithfulness meeting humanity's unfaithfulness.

God cares for lovable losers.

I think it shows that God cares for the lovable losers of the world. And somehow God brings about the suffering needed to develop lasting character in them, even when they can't seem to face it on their own.

The stories of the exodus and Jonah are close to my heart for obvious reasons. I'm no Job. Outside of my tattoos, the mere thought of pain allows me to display one of my greatest skills...getting the heck out of dodge. I am a runner. Maybe I am no Usain Bolt or Haile Gebrselassie, but I know how to get scarce when need be. I have almost made a career out of it! And that is the thing about these stories...those of us who run can both be challenged and encouraged by them.

Somehow the God that I choose to follow acknowledges that I have this propensity to cave to less than ideal thoughts when I'm scared. Sometimes when the cross lays before me, I break out the calculator to determine the circumference needed to skirt around the issue. And though I know that isn't ideal, I think it makes God smirk a little. I don't think it necessarily "pleases God" to see me run around, but I think that my weakness is what attracts God to me, and vice versa anyway. If I didn't need God in those moments, what would be the point of relationship anyway. It's a living reminder that God is God and I am human.

Now, for those of you who are a bit stronger than me in your faith, your consistency, or whatever measure, you may sit here thinking, "But you need to go through. You need to persevere. You need victory." And I say, "Yes and amen." But truth be told, it has just taken me a while. Yet I somehow choose to believe (maybe Marx's opium?) that this is the trajectory God has me on. Sure, I could have been more faithful here, more trusting there, and could be much further along. I admit that. I am not saying anything contrary to that. But the journey needed for me to learn dependance on God and community, the stories I needed to lead me into eternal faithfulness were learned in dark hours. And I treasure those now.

Even now, there are times where the temptation for me is to go around situations...but I'm learning. Without going into too much detail, I currently find myself in weird circumstances. I am trying to figure out a situation, I am trying to force solutions to said situation, but I keep coming back to this sentiment: "Choose God. Be with God. That situation will diffuse itself." Maybe that brings comfort to some of you. It scares the snot out of me. I don't like trusting in someone I can't see and faithfully hear to provide a solution I could take care of on my own. Really...I don't. But there is a part of me that understands that God is more faithful than I could ever imagine. That God has better plans than I could ever conjecture. And I choose to go through the cross of believing that.

I would hit the brick everyday!

Now, personally I would rather "Hit the Brick" and wait for God at the shuffleboard table there in Roslyn, WA, with my friends Doug and Erika (with an Irish Death in hand!) while I wait, but instead, I sit in Panera, gradually becoming a fan of the Crimson Tide. And somehow that part of the journey, becomes sweeter. Even though I have tried to run from Alabama since the first week I got here, even though at times Alabama feels like the cross I endure, it has become a sweet place for me. It is become a place where running has been blocked. Instead of calculating what it would take to traverse around situations, I have plunged into them. I have learned to trust that God is in the midst of pain and suffering, joy and peace, brokenness and healing.

So, in essence, I am finally growing into revelation given a long time ago. And instead of condemning 19 year old James for not learning those lessons long ago, I just appreciate that I am learning them now while making some life-long friends in the process. Some co-conspirators in what it looks like to follow Jesus in changing circumstances. Learning what it means to go through the cross when culture offers countless pain killers. It really is an interesting time place to learn these lessons. So, I wait. I wait in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.

Thoughts on the Vulnerability of Art

I was on Spotify the other day listening to the Bon Iver radio station, you know, as all we aging hipsters do. I came across this song that just stunned me. It was called “I Was Broken” by Marcus Foster. This song was beautiful, so I decided to listen to the album and look up a review or two as I read. The first and only review I read said something like this: This album is self-important, but even worse you can tell that Foster played it safe.

First of all, the fact that we pay people money to review albums, movies, food, etc., is kind of ridiculous isn’t it? Before we can even begin to know if the reviewer is trustworthy is to have a baseline to know if that man or woman has the same kind of palette we do. It could be that person really only likes nerd core music with heavy synth. (I am sure there is someone out there like that.) There are just so many variables when it comes to listening to a stranger’s opinion on something as varied as music.

It would be quite different than listening to your best friend’s opinion, or that of your aunt. Sure, you listen to what they say, but in the back of your mind you can think, “Tilman is really artsy. He likes TheFountain and I just don’t get that film. So, when he says this is a great art house pic, I need to take that in consideration,” or, “Sure, Aunt Sue hated that, but what country album has she liked since Dolly and Porter split?” We have the context and know how to interpret things…plus, studios aren’t groveling to get good reviews from Tilman and Aunt Sue.

So, back to this review of Foster’s Nameless Path, sure this reviewer may think that the album is self-important. I think that can be a fair assumption about many artists or their albums. Some artists are consumed by their craft. Some think they have created the next Rhapsody in Blue, and that is fine. Artists take a while to find their place in their scene and deserve to be proud of what they do. Assuming Foster is a reasonably young artist, it is probably even accurate. (I don’t know Foster or his music history, so if you somehow read this Marcus, I’m not saying you’re a prideful git. Still friends, eh?)

Where I take issue with the reviewer is this: how is releasing an album in any way, shape or form safe? Really, how can releasing part of yourself for public consumption and judgment ever be safe?

Art by its very nature is vulnerable and aesthetic. Let’s start with aesthetic first. According to trusty dictionary.com aesthetic means: “The philosophical theory or set of principles governing the idea of beauty at a given time and place.” So, aesthetics concerns what is beautiful. Robert Pirsig deals with this idea and adds that it also concerns quality in his Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. We hear adages about beauty from the time we are kids: “Beauty is skin deep,” “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” “She’s beautiful on the inside.” Just from these three we see that beauty is superficial, personal and hard to gauge from the outside. Interesting when you stop to look at what we are taught.

I think most of us would agree that there are personal, local and universal beauties. I love The Royal Tenebaums, a lot of my close friends hate it…personal beauty. I grew up in Florence, Texas. Most of us would argue there is something beautiful about The Cotton Gin that most people on the outside just don’t get…local beauty. Most people, no matter what they think of classical music, can agree that Aaron Copland’s Rodeo is a great, defining piece of music…universal beauty.

There are certain things that somehow transcend nationality, race, culture, age, religion, sex or any other demographic you want to add to that list. For instance, I think we can all agree China’s 2008 Olympics Opening Ceremony was beautiful. You may go into human rights violations and all sorts of other things that from the back end would detract from that beauty, but, the product presented was pretty. And that is the first part of the arts.

The second part is vulnerability. I think even Weird Al Yankovic would agree that any piece of art you submit is an extension of yourself. It is vulnerable to offer part of yourself for public consumption. Rejection of a song that you wrote and carefully crafted can be nerve-wrecking. It is just the nature of something is intimately personal as art, music, food and the like.

My contention with the reviewer is that by Foster writing, recording, mixing the album presents a part of who he is to the public. Foster also has to contend with record execs, producers, mixers and even other musicians in creating the album. If an executive says something is too much, guess what, Foster has to scale back. There are so many things that go into the process of creating an album that an assessment that it is too safe just seems invalid, especially for a younger artist.

And, because of my context I think of how this relates to things done via the Church. There are probably many great songwriters across the Church that either have no outlet to create, or are afraid of the general response across their congregations. I know; I feel that. I have written a few songs in my day, and am scared to death to ever play a song in service, because extending something so precious to me is frightening. What if my song is rejected? What if that in turn makes me doubt the validity of experience that went into creating it? There are so many questions that go along with that. Because at that point the critics are no longer nameless and faceless…they are your friends and family. They are elders and church staff. And that rejection is hard.

But to conclude, we haven’t seen a lot of risk demonstrated on the local level. We like our Bethel, Hillsong, Passion, Vineyard, Stephen Curtis Chapman, Carmen or whatever niche it is that the Church latches onto this month. And so, we say, “Do that new Chris Tomlin song,” instead of saying, “Is there anything emerging locally? Is there something that is coming out of the ground right here, right now?” And I think that is because it is riskier to pursue something unique and original than to continue promoting what is currently established. And it also says to the creative members of community, “It’s time to do your part. Give us that new song.”

So, I guess there comes a place and time where the mutual vulnerability of artist and church meet. And it will be raw, risky, emotive, vulnerable by the nature of even giving it a go. But I think the risk of beauty will always outweigh the risk of safety.