Thoughts on Jesus and the Church

So, my last post about Mr. MacArthur generated some great offline chats with friends about the situation. It was cool. One of the conversations that stuck out actually happened at the Pan this morning with a couple of bros from the Vineyard. After looking at Jeremiah this morning we were talking about what’s going on in life. One of the guys proposed a question that is getting a little more tread these days (and maybe has for a long time): Would Jesus be welcome in the Church, you know, His Church, today?





I first encountered that question through the writing of one FyodorDostoevsky. If you have read many of my posts, then you may know of my love for all things Dostoevsky. Greatest. Writer. Ever. I’m a total fan boy. If he was alive and the lead singer of a rock band, I would totally be a roadie. Fo rizzles.

Although a lot of people swear by Crimeand Punishment or The Idiot, my book of choice is The Brothers Karamazov. Coincidentally, that was also the book that introduced me to the above question. Without this becoming a book review, let me just say there is a section called, “The Grand Inquisitor.” In it, one of the brothers (Ivan) presents a parable of Jesus coming back during the time of the Grand Inquisition. An interview takes place between the Grand Inquisitor (a priest) and Jesus. It doesn’t go so well for Jesus…at all. The point of Ivan’s tell is that the Church has become so systematic that it no longer has room for that pesky Jesus fellow interrupting things. Fascinating premise.

The thing was, as a 20ish year old I absolutely hated the chapter. I thought it was a blight in an otherwise perfect book. Upon re-reading it some 10-15 years later, I’ve come to realize something—what I “hated” about the passage, wasn’t hate at all; it was actually fear. What I was doing was misappropriating my emotions and preventing myself from seeing that I was afraid that I too had no room for Jesus, that I had built such amazing structures I had no choice, but to quietly discard the experience of Jesus for me today. Now…that may be a bit too confessional for some of you, and I understand that. But I also realize we all have these thoughts. We all have these experiences. That isn’t a problem. The problem is when these thoughts remain trapped in the playground of our mind and are never expressed in the light of community. That is when we get in trouble. That is when we keep those masks firmly in place for fear that if our true doubts were unearthed those we love the most would leave us faster that a buzzard over road kill when it hears a Mac truck.

But…that isn’t really the direction this started. I just thought it gives background to this: Would Jesus be welcome in the American Church in October/November 2013? And the short answer is no…ish. So, though many people have written on this, here is my take on why Jesus wouldn’t be welcome today, for some quite blunt reasons, and some more subtle reasons.

Jesus would probably look more like these two than Brad Pitt.

First, Jesus would probably look like a member of Al Qaeda. Most Americans wouldn’t even want to get on a plane with Jesus, let alone see him in the pews. I know this is a bit forward, some may say archaic and others argue justified, but there are stigmas around “Arab” people. Why do I put that in quotation marks? Because most Americans can’t tell the difference between a Palestinian, an Iraqi, a Pakistani or a Libyan. And whether the man in question is Jewish, Sikh, Muslim or Christian there are certain predetermined thoughts that most Americans have toward him. If you get the chance watch the movie Amreeka. It deals with some Christian Palestinian refugees trying to make it in America. Beautifully done. Kind of informs this part of my argument. Jesus’ appearance is reason #1 we wouldn’t accept him.

Second argument, Jesus was homeless. Obviously those sayings of his are the sayings of mental illness because he has no roof over his head. We would be more apt to put Jesus in a hospital or homeless shelter than in the pulpit.

Third, Jesus is single…and single men are dangerous and a detriment to society.

Fourth, Jesus had extreme views, and we want placidity in the Church. And attached to this, the mental illness thing would probably come into play, or he would at the least be labeled pretty temperamental. If that was the view he would be allowed to come, but only tolerated as that guy who is a little too fervent.

Fifth, he would probably be judged as either gay or a hypocrite because of who he hung out with. I mean, what kind of guy goes traipsing cross country with 12 other dudes…and the only ladies he hangs out with are family or prostitutes? I mean, it’s one way or the other here. Did you know he even hung with a dude that committed treason? His company indicates a flaw in his character. And rather than getting to know him, we’d never approach him.



Maybe Jesus should borrow Brad's look?

I could go on and on here, but the truth of the matter here is that our pre-determined views inside the Church would most likely prevent us from seeing Jesus. If Jesus came, depending on your religious slant, you would expect it to be in the form of Rick Warren, Joel Osteen, N.T. Wright, Walter Bruggeman, Martin Luther King, Jr., Tony Evans, Joyce Mayer or Benny Hinn. In other words, we would want him to be successful and that is how he’d influence us. He would obviously either sell a lot of books or have a TV program.

So, I just don’t think we’re ready for a vagrant wanderer to come speak the truth to us in no uncertain terms, calling us on the ways we fake it. Where do I think people would recognize Jesus? Probably, the places like I mention yesterday, shanty villages, red light districts, those types of places. And why? Because they realize their need. Men, women and children there haven’t barricaded themselves from feeling their need. Some of them need literal bread or they will die. Some of them need penicillin or they will die. Some of them need a liberator, or they will die in bondage to sex trafficking. They know their need. So, if Jesus came up to them, I assume, knowing that is dangerous, that they would be able to receive whatever it is he gave. I think this is akin to true poverty…the kind that doesn’t care where it comes from, as long as the help does come.

And the truth is we as the Church have that kind of poverty. Sure, it may not be financial. It may be emotional. It may be intellectual. It may be health. It may be broken relationships, but poverty exists in our lives. And even if there isn’t poverty in your life, there is in the lives of those around you, your community and ultimately your church—the body of Christ.

Thoughts on, well, let's be honest, this is more an emotive rant

So, I haven’t been writing much lately. This was the culmination of several things. First, I got out of the habit of writing when I went to the monastery. Second, I have been editing DMin dissertations like crazy. And third, well, I can be quite lazy when I want to be. What amazing thing breaks the slumber of my inner author? Well…it’s more this dude John MacArthur and some statements that he made. (This comes as no surprise to some of you.) So, here’s the deal. This post is about why I am struggling with JM’s statements, not about the truth of his or my beliefs. So, that is what you are in store for if you choose to proceed. This isn’t a defense of Charismatic/Pentecostal belief (or Catholic belief, since he bashed them too). This isn’t an attack on JM’s beliefs. It is simply processing what elicited such a strong response inside my wee little soul.

So October 21, I am sitting at work and is wont to happen Clint Johnson texted me. I picked it up and saw a rather (I thought at the time) innocuous question: “What do you know about John MacArthur?” I responded, “From what I remember he is kind of a church leadership guru and I think an elder at Church of the Highlands” (***note, this is NOT true, I was thinking of some other Christian leader/writer, who I still think to be a cool guy whoever he may be). Clint responded, “He has a new book out slamming Charismatics and Pentecostals,” to which I responded, “Definitely has nothing to do with COTH then.”

After the texts I looked it up, and sure enough MacArthur was slinging out some very volatile language that hurt quite a few people. Now, I think this is the first point of why I got upset…I started off saying that this guy was pretty solid, and turns out, I was (in my own opinion) wrong. And being wrong, especially in matters of judging someone’s character has a bit of sting to it. That was probably why my mind got fixated on this whole situation instead of dismissing JM’s comments as just another guy opposed to the Charismatic/Pentecostal Church, which let’s be honest, there are plenty of people aboard that train.

But I think what frustrated me the most was the audacity of some of JM’s claims combined with his lifestyle. Because of JM’s standing his tax records are a matter of public record (which I don’t like, but since they are available for public scrutiny, I cite here). One of JM’s claims about the Charismatic/Pentecostal Church was that we all teach the prosperity Gospel. First, not true. Some do, of course, most of us don’t. That claim would not seem audacious if JM didn’t make $400,000 for a 20 hour a week job at his non-profit. That doesn’t include his church job, his job at Master's College (over $100,000 a year), speaking engagements or sales of his books or teaching materials. (***note, if you think I am just making this up, I will be glad to send you a link to the filed tax return which I refer to.)

It doesn’t upset me that JM makes $500k+ a year. Good for him. He found a way to do the church thing and make a lot of money. It does bother me that he slams Charismatics and Pentecostals, who, as a general rule are a lot poorer than most of their Mainline, Evangelical and Catholic brothers and sisters, yet rakes in over half-a-mill. The part that bothers me isn’t the hypocrisy, we’re all hypocrites; it is the perpetuation of Church leaders as scummy profiteers to those who already wave their fingers at us for being terrible people. If I didn’t whole-heartedly succumb to the teaching of Jesus to love His Church, I would run to their side and wave a finger right alongside them.

And I think that is what gets me folks. A buddy (who will at least for now remain nameless) emailed me to say it isn’t worth my while to get upset about JM. He had a run-in with him at one point and got to see firsthand the dirty underbelly. I have no reason not to trust my friend. Is his story colored by the interaction? Sure. But, that doesn’t discount the facts of his situation, which make a lot of sense. So, even with my friend’s advice, I still find myself upset. It’s partly because he came after my tribe, my people. It’s partly because we’re easy targets. But here is the final thing, and where all these little ramblings were headed from the beginning.

My biggest problem is that JM represents the bad side of Modern Christianity. I mean that in the sense of Modernity/Postmodernity as opposed to current. JM represents the introduction of the overpowering arm of reason over faith. To put it scripturally Christians are to, “Love the Lord with all of your heart, soul, mind and strength.” Modernity embraced loving the Lord with all of your mind and strength, and to an extent your soul. But a strange thing…modernity vilified the heart. There is some good reasoning there. We can misunderstand our emotions in situations as our true heart. We can be wishy-washy. But the heart, well, Glen Hansard says it well:

We were speaking earlier of the head and the heart. Actually, the heart got a bad rap in my last spill. Because, actually your heart is the thing that’s (whistles), Nature. Your heart is your nature the head is your culture. The head is responsible for all sorts of madness. The heart (blows his lips)

“There’s a cliff coming.”
“@#$% the cliff.”
“But we’ll be killed.”
“I don’t care.”
You know what I mean?

This elevation of the mind over the heart, the exaltation of the rational being over the emotional, responsive one, created a problem that isn’t new, but I would say was more pronounced: Man considered himself equal with God. Now, hold on there, JM would never say he is equal with God. Sure, but would you really admit some of your weirder thoughts? No…you say it in a different way to convince yourself that it isn’t so bad. No Christian worth their salt says they are equal to God, but when we determine that we alone, and those who believe like us, have figured “it” out, we say that we alone truly understand the heart of God. And that my friends, seems more akin to heresy than some little old lady speaking in tongues. Sure, we Charismatics believe some crazy stuff. I personally believe some stuff that defies my own reason and understanding…things that my mind is like, “You’re an idiot,” but my heart says, “This is real. And this is where reason isn’t enough any more…and you realize that God truly is higher that you, and his ways above yours. These are things you believe because you believe them, not because they can be proved by any rational sense of the being." It's probably one of the few times the Apostle Paul and I can be buddies.

And that’s it friends. That is what bothers me. Sure, the pursuit of our hearts should be sanctification of our souls and the likening of our lifestyles, beliefs and thoughts toward that of Jesus Christ. I agree. And I say, yes. But what I, 35 year old James Love, currently of Tuscaloosa Alabama, attending a Vineyard Church, having some oddly strong Catholic leanings, find so difficult about JM’s comments is that he can so firmly say, “The way of God is for those who listen to songs on the organ (which was invented way after the NT was written), who meet at 11am on Sundays and work in upper-middle class suburbia. That is the Gospel.” When the truth is the trash dump villages of Egypt and Brazil, the swamps of Louisiana and the prostitute-lined streets of Bangkok are more akin to the Gospel picture I see in Scripture.

And don’t think I’m making myself out to be above JM. I avoid these places like the plague. I need to do better. It’s just the true power of the Gospel of Jesus Christ is mind-blowingly terrifying because we cannot contain it. It tells us our petty grabs for power are for naught, our righteous living potentially in vain (because it is pharisaical) and yet our attempts of grasping faith entirely worth it…when lived in the context of community, striving to love one another, those “lesser” than we, and in loving servitude to God. Faith is then an act of the heart (in concurrance with the mind, soul and strength).

 

And...rant over.

Thoughs on The Abbey of Gethsemani

I like writing. I think most of you probably know this by now. I thought while I was at the Abbey of Gethsemani I would do a lot of writing. I also thought, and looked forward to the fact that I would get several days in complete silence. And had that been the goal, I would this morning be quite upset that “those people” ruined my time of silence and reflection. By those people I mean the numerous men and women who would take from me the silence that I longed for. This trip, I only twice initiated conversation, but had no less than ten, maybe twelve people who went out of their way to speak with me.

This image was taken from wikipedia.

And the truth is each time I was quite embarrassed, because I knew that silence was being broken not just for the two of us, but for anyone who was around us. I also wondered why it was that men and women went out of their way to speak with me. Why not the other retreatants? They could easily see that others were speaking, because they heard and saw them. And the truth is, maybe they did that as well. And what I came up with was a few things. And these are what I learned this year at the monastery.

If I really do have this relationship with Christ that I suppose I do, there is something in that that is attractive to others. A few people remarked to me: you seem to happy to be here, or about me always smiling. That is what drew them to me they would say. And the truth is, I just enjoy the solitude found at Gethsemani. It is almost impossible for me not to be happy when chanting the Psalms throughout the day, hiking the knobs, reading, resting, eating simple food and seeing beautiful strangers that I love find solace for their souls. This is a joy to me. And I think that joy is attractive…not the things I do or say.

This image is from the Gethsemani website.

I expected this year to be exactly like last year. I expected that I would do this at such and such a time, and go there at this time. I expected to entertain the same rhythm I did last year. But when I stopped, I realized that September 2013 is not September 2012. I am a regenerating creation. For instance, I have shed and grown 12 new skins since I was last there. How much more has my heart, soul and spirit changed? How much have those changes caused me to need something in fact quite different? What I learned was that holding on to expectations based on previous experience can lead to frustration, disappointment and hurt…that we don’t have to experience. So, I just went with it. Sure, I sought solace, peace and quiet. And I found those things, but I chose not to let the interferences ruin the beauty that surrounded me.

I am not sure if Coptics, Catholics and Orthodox believers say things like this, but in Presbyterian, Baptist, Methodist, Pentecostal and Charismatic churches I have heard expressions such as: We are the hands and feet of Jesus. Some of these men and women that came into my space either acted as the hands of Jesus or needed the hands of Jesus themselves. I was both recipient and giver of the grace of God. And there are very few things in life, if any, more important than partaking in the giving and receiving of life found in Christ.

This photo taken from here.

The last big category is something that some of my Catholic friends here might take offense to, and I want to say to you specifically…that is not my intent. My intent is just to express the reality of my heart and experience. So, here it goes: I am unabashedly a Protestant. There are some marked differences that separate me from my Catholic brothers and sisters. But…I love them. And I will not try to change them any more than I will try to change Protestants of other denominations. The goal is not to win other Christians to my version and understanding of the Gospel. The goal is to walking in the love and unity of Christ’s Church. I don’t know why, but I still hold to a belief I developed in high school that we will all have some things we have reckoned wrong. And the reason I am fine with these misbeliefs is that we, the Children of God, are called to be in pursuit of truth. As long as we continue to pursue the truth we will have teachable spirits that learn to see truth wherever it lies. I see truth in the lives of monastic men and women of the Catholic Church. I see truth in the clergy of the Presbyterian and Episcopal churches. I find truth in the history of the Lutheran, Methodist and Baptist churches. And I find truth in experiences I have in the Charismatic and Pentecostal congregations. There is beauty in all of us that we can partake in. When we fail to recognize true beauty, when we allow dogmatic approaches to our own understanding of the Gospel to prevent us from finding truth in the teachings and actions of those around us, we limit ourselves from growing toward the full expression of God found on earth today. That is Paul’s body in 1 Corinthians. I cannot help but find an expression of reverence in Gethsemani that does not exist in most Evangelical churches. I cannot help but experience a familiarity with God in the Vineyard that does not exist in many Mainline churches. But I need them both. I need them all. That is not to say that truth is relative, but more to say that truth is revealed and we are offered the opportunity to learn and partake in it.

I didn’t anticipate these four points taking up so much room. So, I think I will write more of the little things like I did last year in another post. But for now, you can kind of see how this year at Gethsemani was for me.

Adventures in Geograpy

I went home for Christmas last year, which I normally do. You know, being a small town boy, with small town virtues, and being part of two of the largest families in the world, that are both pretty awesome, going home for holidays is part and parcel to not being shunned and/or kidnapped by said families. Christmas fell on, I believe a Tuesday. I had taken a couple of fall vacations last year, so I didn’t have a lot of leave time. This meant that I planned to fly back on Christmas afternoon so that I could work the day after the holiday. However, geography had a different plan. (I think this is funny. We attribute big scheme activities to fate or God or Mother Nature or Father Time. This time…I’m going to blame plain old geography. Congrats geography…you’re big time now!)

You see three things geographical coalesced into what I call, “a typical James story.” First would be the state of Texas. I use the lower case state here as a play on words, in light of the earlier post about how vague English can be. I mean both Texas as a state in the union, and also the state that Texas found itself in due to a crazy weather pattern. So, the state of Texas contributed to this funny story. A weather front that had slowly been creeping in from the west descended on the Austin area. It brought with it snow and ice and caused major delays.

Second, the state of Alabama contributed to the scenario, same word usage as above. Instead of the icy deluge that attacked Mother Texas, Alabama had a small tornadic outbreak. I, and a lot of others sat waiting around the terminal for delayed flight after delayed flight. It finally became apparent there was no getting out of Austin. The gentleman in front of me at the ticket counter mentioned that if he could get to DFW their flight was delayed enough they could probably get out of Dallas. He went to talk to his wife as I had the same conversation with the ticket agent. He then hollered at me that I could ride with him, his wife and their baby to DFW. And, of course, because I am me, said yes.

Another gentleman heard and asked if he could join the merry band, and it was agreed that, yes, yes he could. So, the five of us set off to rent a car and watch for luggage. Since neither I or the other single gentleman had luggage we went to find cars, as did the father of the little child. I struck out at every rental place so went back to the luggage carousel. The mom of the baby said she needed to talk to her husband and left their infant with me, a total stranger. And we all know what that means…the baby woke up. Apparently this baby will be a free-spirited hippie like myself, because she looked up, decided, "Yeah, he’ll do. Since he’s here, I’ll go back to sleep."

The couple came back and told me that their family decided it was too dangerous and would disown them if their sweet little grandbaby was taken to Dallas amidst this catastrophic weather. So, now it was down to me and the other dude. He said he had found a car and was ready to go if I was still up for it. I decided to give it a shot since after all I was supposed to work in a few hours.

We hit the road and started talking. Talking was a great distraction because this guy was a frightening driver. Not in the sense of swerving in and out of traffic or ignoring most traffic laws. He just drove really fast on icy roads, and talking seemed to help me keep looking at his face and not the speedometer or the road.

So, I asked him where he was from, expecting the terminus of his flight, not inquiring of his native lands, and he surprised me by saying he was from Persia. Now, I pride myself on geography. So, I accessed my mental map of the Middle East, approximately in the Iraq area, and there was no Persia on my map. So, I texted a few of you and asked where Persia was before asking him. Turns out sports fans, Persia is in Iran. Now, some of you are thinking, “Not so fast there James. Persia and Iran are interchangeable terms.” To which I would respond, “Yes, you are correct, but incorrect in this instance. My new friend here wanted to communicate that he was from a specific part of Iran that is quite dissimilar from the rest of Iran. Kind of like Texans say Austin isn’t really Texas, or Americans say Los Angeles isn’t really the U.S.”

So, geography decided to rear its head again there and I learned a valuable lesson or two. But there was one more piece of geography that got in the way of our getting to DFW…well two. The first was a culinary detour known as, West, Texas. Now, for those of you not in the know, yes, I did mean to use that comma. And for those of you in the know, yes, I did make him stop at Czech Stop. The final piece of geography is Dallas and Austin just aren’t close to one another. So, we didn’t get to Dallas on time and had to share a room in a hotel close to the airport.

 

After about 3 hours of sleep the two of us awoke and went to the airport. He got out on the first flight, and I had to pitch a fit to get out of Dallas. I finally got my airline to send me to Charlotte, NC to get me to Birmingham, because apparently Alabama is not important in terms of air transit. And really, whoever decides on layovers these days has no sense of geography. I've been sent to cities far out of the way that make no sense. For instance, this flight to the East Coast to get back to a more centralized locale. Also, one final funny note. When I got to Charlotte I ordered some barbecue and what I thought to be a quite expensive Cream Soda. Turns out it was a cream ale…and somewhat delicious. So, beware when in that airport that cream soda does not equal cream ale.

Adventures in English

Markéta Irglová is a 25 year old singer-songwriter from the Czech Republic who rose to, well, fame in certain circles for her role in the film Once, opposite Glen Hansard. For those of you who watched the film, odd thing I never realized: she was only 17 when they filmed Once. Woah! Also, by way of warning, do not watch this movie with my friend Skye Sant. She will punch you in the arm for making her watch a movie that made her emotional.



I find it interesting that Irglová musically only writes in English. She talked about it in an interview. I think you’ll find it quite interesting: Whatever it is about English, it's very musical. You can bend in a certain way so that it just works. It doesn't sound silly when you sing with English. It flows very beautifully, whereas Czech is quite hard and when you sing in Czech it just doesn't flow as well. English is just the perfect language for music in my opinion. Also, Czech is very specific. When you say something, everyone knows what you're talking about whereas English is a bit vaguer. You have more freedom in the way you speak in English." (Left, Irglova and Hansard with their Oscars.)

 

 

I agree with her, there is something about the English language that is quite shifty. For those of you English majors, yes I did look that up. Yes, shifty is what I mean. English lends itself to cover ups. We have so many nuances, and words to get around saying something. For instance, this week I sat in a meeting where someone was asked a very specific question. To me, there seemed to be only one true answer, but through the turning of words the question was never really answered at all. We all realized what was meant, but we let it go, because culturally we accept that what was said communicated in a satisfactory way, “Well, I didn’t get that done, as it were.”

 

If you know me well, you know that I can be a stickler for language. That is not to say I do not misuse or abuse language. I do that quite often in fact. But growing my family had fun with language. Because of that my family communicates with a humor unmatched by most of my friends and colleagues. We know how to turn phrases in all the best ways.

 

But the primary reason I can be a stickler for words, is because I know how to use dodgy language. I know how to not communicate something quite well in a way that in fact looks like I communicated quite a bit of pertinent information. This skill has come in handy in quite a few accountability situations. I sound quite vulnerable, while not sharing the things that are really important or overwhelming to me.

 

But on the flipside of this is I can get quite annoyed when people use certain phrases. There was a period of time where no one at Antioch-Belton would approach me with the phrase, “Let me be honest with you.” If they did, they would receive my usual diatribe that went along the lines of, “Oh, so has everything to this point been dishonest?” or “Oh, you have been less than honest in your communication before this? Why don’t you tell me how you were dishonest with me so I know what I can trust to be true?” Those poor folks. I was an aimless grammar Nazi who was trying to help them understand the power of words. And for that…I’m sorry ACC-Belton and others who fell into that same trap. (This picture came from here, and was the first one under a search for "shifty eyes."

 

One of the ways that my adventures in the English language has recently started to mature however is in the area of accountability. Wait. James, didn’t you just say, you know, two paragraphs ago, that you used your skills to avoid vulnerability and sharing? Why, yes, yes I did. And because of that, I have become a sort of royalty in terms of all things shifty. For example, I give you this very fake conversation as an example of how I have used my understanding of the way words are used to get around certain topics:

 

Me: So, man, how are things going? Have you had any struggles this week?

Bro: Well, I had a couple of slip-ups this week.

Me, after waiting for my bro to expound: Well, anything specific man?

Bro: Oh, you know, the normal. I slipped up with sexual purity, and some anger things.

Me: You know what, that is pretty dodgy. Slipped up with purity could communicate anything from you thought about someone impurely to you flew to Vegas and purchased time with a prostitute. And anger things could mean you let a cuss word slip when you stubbed your toe, to the fact that you are a mass murderer. Say what you mean. I’m not asking you these questions because I like it. I’m asking these things because you said you want accountability. If you want to be dodgy, let’s not waste our time, let’s instead go eat pizza or take a hike or watch Waking Ned Devine. 

 

First, I wouldn’t have this conversation with just anybody. You have to earn the right to speak to people like this. (That is a freebie, no offering required for that preaching point.) Second, I don't just approach people about stuff in their lives. I don't hold anyone accountable that doesn't ask me to...unless something is about to get crazy, and I can prevent that person from making a huge mistake.

 

Third, this is where a little maturity and revelation have taken something from my past that is a bit shady, and changed it to something not only for my good, but someone else’s. We have this crazy language that allows us to escape honesty and truth. Whether language is a reflection of our culture, or whether language has shaped the culture is an interesting thought to ponder, but isn’t really the point of this particular post. The fact is English and dodginess go hand-in-hand together. (And yes, I can make up words. I went to seminary and they let us get away with all sorts of fantastical phrases that the rest of the world frowns at…and in fact gave us degrees for doing so!)

 

Do with this post what you will. There may not seem to be an overarching point or lesson so to speak. But I think in the subtext what you can find here is a plea to say what you mean. Honesty and truth will always play to your benefit in the long run, whether it be simply in being understood, or having to explain yourself when you are caught after a lie. Or at least...say what you mean to me, because I will be examining your words and (not so) secretly judging you.

My Grandma and Danielle Steele

This morning as I sit waiting on my patients to show up, I’m thinking about how I am getting a little older. I think that is partly just the nature of the beast, but partly because the protagonists in two of my recent books were older men looking back on their lives. I apparently really like that literary genre. So, if you run across books concerning old seminary/bible school graduates reminiscing make sure you pass on the title to me.




The other reason I was reflecting on getting older is I have a trip coming up. I leave Friday and will be gone around a week. I say around a week, because I figure I will be coming home Friday, but am not entirely sure yet. And I like the idea of that being open ended, because that is so free-spirited of me. However, as I sat on my bed this morning contemplating the day, thinking about the week, I thought about making some plans for Wednesday and Thursday. But I found myself thinking, “Well, I am going out of town this weekend, I probably shouldn’t plan anything those days.” And that is when I thought, “I am getting older. When did a trip ever need to be planned before than the day of?” And in case you're wondering about the picture, that is how scared I was of growing up this morning.

That said I have had two trip freak outs. One was with my friends Ashley, Ashley and Bethany. But really the only thing I planned there was the radio stations and approximate stops. I bet they were annoyed that I spent more time organizing what radio stations started and ended where than securing what time my buddy Helton would be home to let us crash at his place. At least…I understand if they would have been. The second freak out was the night before one of our trips to Juarez, Mexico for a missions trip. That ended up being a melt-down of epic proportions leading to two of my friends washing and packing my clothes for me. Yeah…not my greatest moment.

But, again, as I sit here, I think about getting older and how in one way I am becoming a lot like my grandmother. She was a voracious reader. And honestly, half the reason I wanted to write this post was so I could use the word voracious. My grandma tore through books. She could put away hundreds of books a year I believe. And when she ran out of books, she did crossword puzzles. As I get older, reading and little puzzles have become some of my favorite pastimes. But in thinking about reading, and how I am putting away several books at a time myself I was reminded of an old family story.

You see, though my grandma was smart as a whip, and could recite the entire prologue of the Canterbury Tale in Old English…from memory…from fifth grade, she for some reason loved romance novels, and particularly the writing of Danielle Steele. Now, I have never taken the time to read any of Ms. Steele’s work, but apparently she is the 4^th highest selling author of all time, selling more than, get this, 800 million books. That’s right. This lady has sold nearly a billion books.

Well, my grandma liked her books, but at some point felt they were getting a little too steamy for her taste. So, she took it upon herself to write Ms. Steele and let her know. I love that about my grandma. I love that she probably thought, “She just needs to know. She’s a little off course.” So, grandma wrote the letter, and of course Danielle Steele wrote back. She had to. After all, famous writers always personally write back to little old women, who don’t even live in a town, but out in the countryside.

But, for real, Danielle Steel wrote grandma back personally and thanked her for the letter and said she would try to do a little better or something like that. I want to say she sent a book to her as well, but that memory is much foggier, so probably not at all true. It’s just one of those family stories that I found out this morning not everyone in my family knew. I don’t know why or how I knew it, but it tickled me this morning. And it made me think about something in our 2013 society that probably was not as much the case in the mid-1980s when this occurred.

Ms. Steele, whether she took offense or not, took time to write my grandma back. She didn’t chastise my grandmother for old timey virtues that have no place in today’s society. She didn’t tell my grandmother she had no right to accuse her of anything. In other words the normal defenses of televised celebrity were not present. Well…let me take that back, of young celebrity.

In today’s society we have lost the ability to receive critique and the ability to admit fault. And whether Ms. Steele was sincere or not is beside the point. Her reaction to my grandmother however is. She took the time to see what this little old lady from Andice, Texas had to say. Sure, a staffer probably found the letter and thought it was cute, but she reacted in a way that said she was not above it all, that she was not above being challenged. And I miss that in society.

I miss the ability to say, “Let’s think through what you just did/said. Can you see why that would be offensive?” Or even say, “Can’t you see that some of these ‘archaic’ views you despise are actually rooted in both historical and religious history for thousands of years? It’s going to take a while to change. Don’t be so mean about it.” It seems that instead of compromise and conversation and diplomacy we want to beat the snot out of each other with large sticks. And that scares me.

So, in a sense my grandma and Ms. Steele make me long for older days. The pair of them make me long for wise people who can reason together through things. They made friends through their interaction not enemies, while still maintaining the core of who they were. A disagreement didn’t lead to a separation, and I try to let that example remind me of how to treat others…even in 2013.

Talking Pigs and Salvation

Or a brief story of how a nearly 20 year old film changed my faith 

So...you thought I was joking when I said my next post would be a film review about this guy:

Babe...one of my favorite movies for around 15 years.

So, first things first. Here are some fun facts about the film Babe.

1. Babe was nominated for 7 Oscars including four of the top categories: Best Picture, Best Screenplay, Best Director and Best Editing.
2. James Cromwell was nominated for best supporting actor while only speaking 171 words and singing 61.
3. 48 different pigs played Babe including sows, boars and barrows.
4. The actress playing Mrs. Hoggett was only 30 years old. 
5. Babe won the Golden Globe for best film...beating Braveheart.
6. After starring in Babe, Cromwell became a vegan.

So...really though. Why in the world would Babe become an important film for a college freshman? Well, partly because it was the first DVD I ever owned. Weird I know. But I won it in one of those weird Welcome Week games...probably the same game of I never where our friend Mindy yelled at us, "It was a SLUMBER PARTY." Those of you who were there will remember why she had to defend herself.

So, yeah. It was the first DVD I owned...and it was the first time that film reached into my soul. Until Babe films had always entertained me, but they had never impacted me. I realized upon watching Babe that film had the ability to reach you in the same ways literature or music can (although it would take another decade before I enjoyed literature).

The key element to Babe for me was always the relationship between Farmer Hoggett and Babe. In a lot of ways this film was the quintessential God-follower of God movie for me. It followed a lot of the paradigms I understood about God. God was a bit stoic. God rarely spoke. But God was inherently good. And God also spoke true identity. Babe was sheep pig even if there never had been a sheep big before. God spoke it, Babe believed it...lives were changed.

I think what makes Babe a powerful movie, even still today is that message. We all at times feel like pigs called to do a dog's work. Well... something kind of like that. We look at where we grew up, what our skill sets are and then we see the deep felt desires of our heart and we say, "This doesn't make any sense. If only..." and that is where Babe shines. Babe almost challenges you to say, "There is no if only. There is only doing...and maybe actually only being. Be what you are to be." That is a powerful message. Especially for a good Baptist kid who never knew quite how to feel comfortable in his own skin.

I have shown this film in many settings. Most before watching dismiss it as a silly kid's movie. They think it is going to be a silly Gordy type film. (Okay...full disclosure. I've never seen Gordy. Maybe I'm worried that I am the guy that likes talking pig movies.) But Babe is essentially an extended parable. It is a story that informs your own story. That is what makes it a movie I keep in my library...and also Babe 2 which is a far inferior movie.

I could actually go on with the things I love about Babe ad nauseum. Instead let me close with two of the most powerful moments in that film for me. The first is the closing moment. The slow motion gate closing, the emotional apex coming. Mrs. Hoggett in tears. Babe leading the sheep through the pen. It is really a beautiful moment. It brings me to tears every time. Consistently.

There is something so satisfying about the ending of Babe. That though the whole world rose against our heroes, they still stood. And again, there is such humanity in that moment. It is such a universal experience to feel your back up against the wall and only one or two people there with you. So, when that gate closes and the whole world cheers, it tugs at your soul.

But the moment that sticks with me more than that looks a little like this. I think it goes back to two things for me. One my love of the image as God being a dancer, and second just the sweet nature of God toward his creation. I think for many of us we can recite verses about the love of God toward us, but we don't think of God as affectionate. We forget the story of Jesus and John. We forget the tender calling of Samuel. We forget that Jesus wept for his friend Lazarus. There are just the stories of God being tender toward us.

And we see that in our earthly relationships. Some parents and children are extraordinarily sweet with one another. There are grandparents that we remember that would do anything to make their grandchildren smile. Yet, we feel anxiety about seeing God as affectionate. Why wouldn't God sing and dance to cheer us in our weakness? Why wouldn't God whisper our name in a moment of overwhelming despair? Babe was a turning point for me in that it helped me realize that God cared. Not just cosmically, but personally. The stories of men and women in the Bible were examples...not just fiction. If they could have a relationship with God...so could I. And if John could lay his head on Jesus' shoulder (though the word is actually chest) then why would God say that is off limits today.

And that is why Babe means so much to me. It broke down walls in my perception of the God of the universe also being a personal God for me. Not in some ego-maniacal kind of way, but in a, even amidst everything else going on in the world, God cares about my little issues. So...go watch Babe. Let's chat.