They Call Him "Mr. Popularity"

Confusing relationships: we've all had them. It’s the ex-boyfriend that still lingers as a friend. It’s the girlfriend that you have nothing in common with anymore, but you've been friends since high school, so she still has meaning in your life. It’s the relative you only met as a child, but sends you birthday cards. It’s the co-worker you love personally, but bothers you at work. Or, it’s the best friend you are suddenly a manager over.

I have balanced and battled this phenomenon since birth because I am a female and know all too closely the most famous of complicated relations … the “frenemy”. Some I have learned to manage and others I have mastered. Social media works wonders! The ex-boyfriend gets a “happy birthday” to let you know you don’t hate him, but no private instant-messages. The girlfriend gets, “congrats” for the new baby and lots of “likes” on her photos, but no group invite to the cocktail party. The relative can post old photos, and suddenly you realize that her bonds with your mother are the reason she loves you so much, and there is new appreciation. The co-worker posts on her wall about how she loves the people she works with and you smile. And the best friend learns that your boss is also on fb, and there is a light-bulb moment that she can’t cross lines that might put you in an awkward position.

There is one complicated relationship, however, that I have spent my most solitude of moments attempting to balance. My deepest moments, my most sincere of moments, my most complex moments have been dedicated to understanding one that perhaps I cannot. I serve a God who crafted the Universe, He crafted me, and He crafted my child. He has no beginning and no end, and His Scriptures paint Him on a throne, administering The One True Kingdom … to be revealed in all its glory one day. He is the author not simply of life, but of death. Those who serve Him will enter the eternity He controls and those who do not, He will cast into punishment. And yet, within these Truths lies the Reality that He broke off a piece of Himself, His Son, to come and walk and serve with commoners to share with a simple world a simple message: that He is accessible.

I don’t care what you say, women may ask you to not buy a gift and then scold you for not giving one, we may ask for an honest opinion and then cry when you give it to us, we may tell you we hate our best friend and then embrace her with tears and joy … but we are, at minimum, easier to understand than This Guy. We don’t command that every knee shall bow, but sit with the undesirables in the cafeteria. We don’t own everything in heaven and earth and then stage our child’s birth in a barn with fifthly animals. And I assure you, all the facebook and twittering in the world isn't helping me on this one.

It isn't much, but here is what I do know about complicated relationships: you error on the least of consequences.  The consequence of not reaching out to an ex-boyfriend I am still friends with is that he might be offended and might even say means things about me to other people. The consequence of being too buddy-buddy is that I hurt My Beloved and my daughter and possibly our marriage. I choose the first option. If I reach out to a relative I don’t know too well, I can end up having to fork out an extra Christmas gift every year. If I don’t, I can lose out on learning new things about my heritage and can hurt someone who cares about me. I choose the first option. 

I believe in a merciful Father, I believe in a forgiving Father, I believe in a Father who listens and cares and hurts for us. I believe in a Heavenly Host who lifts up the tiny chins of those on their faces before Him and says, “You are loved.” I believe in a Savior who turns solemn and memorized hymns into sincere praise. I believe in a Prince of Peace who hears desperate pleas to the Almighty in times of war and opens soft arms to welcome hurt souls into an eternity of comforts unknowable to us. I worship and bow down to God who took a small penny from a poor woman and chose to use her as an eternal example and picture of all He really desires from us … our best.

Brothers and Sisters, my goodness I believe in a God who sees us in our reverent moments and reminds us He does not have to be called down, He has always been here.

I also believe in a Father who stands waiting for the praise He deserves while we perform for ourselves in our church services. I believe I serve a God that is glad to hear we are working to impress the masses as a faith community, but reminds us He needs to be impressed; that is our work here. I believe I bow down to a Lord that remembers the era of Gothic architecture, causing worshipers to be in a state of “awe” even as they walked in, and waits for the same quiet and reflection as we laugh and slap high-fives in our steel buildings. I believe this same God hears the cries and singing of third-world villages that have no building at all, but worship in the face of those who might kill them for their faith, then mourns to see us nod our heads at universalism in an attempt to show we are tolerant. I believe I serve a God who knows exactly who He is, and hurts that we do not.

And here is the key: I believe there will be many who called Him a “friend”, but failed to revere Him as their Savior. I also believe that as the Lord looks at them and says, “I never knew you”, there will be worship leaders, pastors, evangelists, and well-intended Believers who will recognize those faces as the ones that were invited to seeker-friendly services, to small-groups around coffee, to concerts and events, to services … all tailored to spread the message that a relationship with Christ isn't complicated at all.

May we choose to error on God picking our chins up from the floor, wiping away undeserving tears, and mending the wounds of knees set in constant prayer and whispering gently, “It’s okay. I am here.” 

JNACK

O Yam of God

I have joked, a number of times in my life, about how I do not know where I am from. Born and raised in Warrensburg, MO, my family bought an RV when I was 6 and traveled to Colorado, where we spent the next eight years in Trinidad. We spent another two years in Walsenburg before moving back to Missouri. I spent my high school and college years in Hannibal, and then city-hopped a bit before ending up in Kansas City. Then, after meeting my now spouse, I moved back to Colorado and lived in Denver. I am now 29; half of my life has been spent in Colorado and half in Missouri.

Just over a year and a half ago, I was given an extraordinary opportunity to move back into the “house that built me”, and Keith and Mady found themselves sharing the very house I spent my junior high years in, in Walsenburg. Additionally, they were able to spend their share of time in nearby Trinidad, complete with driving tours of my old stomping grounds, and coffee dates with some old friends.

I know where I am from now.

There are a great many self-revelations, affirmations, and actualizations that come when one realizes where home is. Some may never know because they have lived in the same place so long they have never questioned the implications of being home. Some have been so hurried to leave home they miss the lessons. Others, and I believe I am in a rare and blessed minority, are given this profound experience of wandering and learning and exploring and then coming back with new sight and appreciation, and a sensitivity to the question, “How did this place, and these people, shape me?”

Oh, I wish I could fully examine, in words, the glorious, glorious answers to those questions. I am new, I am whole, and I am acutely aware and appreciative having answered those questions. I am refreshed, revived, and newly passionate having answered those questions.

I am loud for a reason. I am opinionated for a reason. I am honest for a reason. I am sensitive for a reason. I am loyal for a reason. I am loving for a reason. I am a bitch for a reason. I get offended for a reason. I am close to my family for a reason. I am expressive for a reason. I am limited for a reason. I am not limited for a reason. I studied what I studied for a reason. I protect whom I protect for a reason. I feel a calling for a reason. I serve my God uniquely for a reason. I reach out to others for a reason. I close myself off to others for a reason. I am ghetto for a reason. I worked on becoming refined for a reason. I question things for a reason. I accept things for a reason. I judge who I judge and I embrace who I embrace for reason. “I yam who I yam …” for a reason. 

I hope I never reach a point in my short life when I refuse to continue to grow and refine who I am. But, I have seen home, I  have remembered and smelled and touched and listened to all that went into making me who and what I am, and so I hope desperately, also, that I never reach a point in my short life that I apologize for who and what I am. To build on who I am is to honor and give new life to the people and rich culture of Southern Colorado, who breathed life into what I have become. To change and hide who I am is to erase beautiful colors from this unique mosaic.

Brothers and Sisters, if you are serving my God, but have never considered your Home, you are missing out on a great many self-revelations, affirmations, and actualizations that come when one realizes where Home is. I cannot claim to have reached the fullness of this concept, but believe we can catch a glimpse of these Truths through Scripture and experience.

1. When we realize where our Home is, we realize we are Sons and Daughters of The King on High.

Boy, that changes things, doesn’t it? Do we conduct ourselves in a way that reflects our Inheritance? Do I take comfort in this when I obsess over my earthly possessions, without stopping to realize I am heir to a heavenly Kingdom? Do I act as a gracious Royal, taking mercy on those who have not been Chosen? Do I work to share my eternal wealth? Do I understand the depth of the riches awaiting me, therefore making it easy for me to give it all away, while here, to those in need? Do I carry myself with the kind of grace you would expect from someone given so much?

2. When we realize where our Home is, we realize this earth is temporal.

Someone at work really getting to you, lately? Feeling like you don’t make enough money? Regret you never got an agent and became a super model (okay, sorry, that’s … that’s just me)? Can’t stand that people who cheat the system get ahead? Bothered by who’s in political office?

When you know where your Home is, you are able to look past this world’s frustrations, and begin to look at this life as a ticking clock, with such limited time to do Good.

3. When we realize where our Home is, we realize where it isn’t.

There is so much Scriptural evidence to encourage us to not be alarmed when this world rejects us, persecutes us, and is perplexed by us. And yet, we fight against a human nature that desires desperately to be accepted. This manifests itself in what I believe has been the weakening of the American Church over the last 30 years, as we have worked to change our message, our music, and our manifesto to please a society rejecting our traditions.  Be careful to enjoy an existence where no one here notices you don’t belong.

Maybe you are living in the same little town you always have. Maybe you are reading this on your iphone while whipping through interstate traffic and scoffing at the old dirt roads you’ve long left behind. Maybe you’re wandering aimlessly through your day to day and wishing you knew where home is. Wherever you are, if you profess to know Jesus Christ, Heaven, ultimately, is your Home. My wish for you is that as this becomes more real and more evident in your life, that you share my conclusion:

You are forgiven for a reason. You are loved for a reason. You are embraced for a reason. You serve for a reason. You let things go for a reason. You are kind for a reason. You are called for a reason.  You meet people for a reason. You are blessed for a reason.  You face consequence s for a reason. You are in your family for a reason. You listen for a reason. You sing for a reason.  You study for a reason. You submit for a reason. You endure hardship for a reason. You grow for a reason. You can say, “I yam who I yam” … for a reason.

I hope you never reach a point in your short life when you refuse to continue to grow and refine who you are. But, you have tasted Home, and so I hope desperately, also, that you never reach a point in your short life that you apologize for who and what you are. To build on who you are is to honor The One who made you. To change and hide who you are dulls the vibrant red that was shed for your Salvation.

For Better, I am Worse

Luis C.K. has this really hilarious bit where he shares his appreciation for being white. His witty rant includes the admission that he can safely enter a time machine and go back to any place in history, only to be treated like a king. Really, he says, a white man – how much better can it get?

I may not be a white man, but I have certainly had a similar realization in my life; I am not just white, I am middle-class to boot, and American! Schweet. I fear some of my constant pokes at the white middle-class (I often choose to refer to this culture as, “suburban” for the sheer typing convenience of one word, rather than three) has wrongly offended folks who believe I have some sort of inaccurately placed hatred towards anyone living in the outskirts of Denver. Not so. Much in the way folks refer to black people as “thugs”, I like to refer to white folks as “shallow” and “ignorant”; simple syntax and we all know I don’t really mean it that way, so why would anyone be offended? After all, I had a white person in my wedding …

Here is the thing: yes, sometimes I feel ashamed of what other people in my culture do or say, but I don’t know what it means to have a deep confliction  with what I am or what I represent. I have never had to come home and think, “If I weren’t black, my teachers would respect me.” I have never looked in the mirror and thought, “If I weren’t gay, my parents would respect me.” I have never walked out of store and realized if I weren’t Hispanic, the clerks wouldn’t have followed me so closely. And I have certainly never struggled with what I presume breeds guilt as all these thoughts run through my mind when I know I should be proud of who I am.

Or have I? White? Check. Female? Check (some resent this, I don’t … turns out being pretty can get you places, I embrace it). Middle-Class? Check. College Educated? Check. American? Check?  Good to go, right?

Not so. Not so, because I have spent the last few months starring in the mirror and wrestling over by very being, my very soul, my personhood, my heritage, by culture, my core.  I felt, suddenly, that ping of guilt as I realized I didn’t want to be who I am and who my parents raised me to be. I didn’t want to embrace my culture and the very fibers that made me who I am. That feeling of not wanting to let my parents and my friends and those who share my culture and my heritage know that I secretly wished I wasn’t one of them. That feeling of thinking, “Things would be so different if …”

Things would be so different if I didn’t know Christ. There it is, for the world and the entire internet to read. Yea, there it is. I have been facing life decisions that cause people to remind me of what I can’t do and  what I am limited to do, because of who I am, because of my lineage and a piece of me that cannot change. There are many who understand us to be a religion, but those of us who know … well, we know. We are a people, a culture, and an identity. And no more can a person hide ethnic features than I can hide the markings of a loving God who has chosen me for His purpose.

I can’t hide them, but I can resent them, just as an individual might find herself wanting to change the very features that make her unique and yet part of a distinct ethnic or cultural community.  The hope, though, for that young person with “black people hair”, with a “Jewish nose”, or with the traditional sari her mother is making her wear, is that as she grows and matures, she begins to not only accept herself, but find pride in what both sets her apart and makes her part of that community. We hope for her that she eventually shares the thoughts of India Aire, “I’m not the average girl in the video …”

Certainly, in the case of my faith community, we hope the same for our own. As a person matures in her faith, she begins not only to accept that this is not simply a lifestyle but an identity, but she begins to embrace it and celebrate it. And yet, here is what I know: in those deep moments, in the quiet and the dark moments when I stared at the wall thinking, “How can I get out of being who I am?”, I was as close to the heart of Christ as I have ever been.

I do not serve a God who needs me. He continues to function, to love, to create, and to write histories through all my insults and my anger and my resentment. Just as we have drawn pictures of earthly tribe-leaders, patiently allowing young students to test the boundaries of their traditions, so we serve a God who lets us try and remove our cultural dresses and war paint, lovingly promoting us to adulthood as we come back, embarrassed that we failed to see the value of our customs.

And suddenly this realization: that there is a level of spiritual awakening that occurs when God is clearly and certainly your burden. He is not simply your Healer, your Friend, your Father, your Savior – but the heavy cross cutting deeply into the frame of who you are. And then you get it – that He asks you to bring Him all your hurt and to place it at His feet, yes – but that He also assures us that He is a stumbling block. And He takes all your sin on the cross and becomes all the filth that you are, but then assures us we will be persecuted in His name. If we only experience one side of His promises, do we see Him fully?

Father, I am sorry that there are days I am ashamed to be Yours.  I ask forgiveness for the days I wish I couldn’t see You. I ask for guidance on the days I wish I was not chosen. Please cleanse me of the moments I resent my inability to run from the One that owns me. But Lord, thank you for the struggle. “For many are called, but few are chosen.” Matthew 22:14

Fixated

When my best friend told me what “GCB” stood for in the new ABC hit drama, I wasn’t shocked, but I was offended. The idea that someone would make fun of those with my faith isn’t a new one on me, but the fact we’ve reached a place in our society where it is so accepted to do so is still disheartening. In the push to be accepting of faiths that have been traditionally pushed aside and degraded, our society must find a loophole to still have a least favorite. We haven’t welcomed all religions into our arms - we have simply traded new ones out for the old ones.

Albeit uncomfortable, curiosity got the best of me and I watched the pilot of Good Christian Bitches, or as we’ve established, “GCB”. It was, in a word, delightful. It’s everything you’d hope for in good TV: caddy women, social satire, and a few good [lookin’] men. For those who haven’t dipped into this guilty pleasure, the plot revolves around a woman who returns to the community who knew her in high school as a snooty and popular cheerleader. Now a humble and good-hearted widow, she finds herself working hard to reconcile with those who remember her former-self and facing reverse roles with those who now mistreat her. Set in Texas, there isn’t a one character that doesn’t fall victim to the Conservative Evangelical stereotype.

But that’s just what it is: a stereotype. Like the over-the-top characters sketched on SNL, we can remove ourselves from personal offense because it so obviously can’t be us. South Park was funny not because we admitted the accuracy of its allusions, but because the humor was so preposterously offensive that we couldn’t take offense. Entertainment is just that – a place to deal with raw emotions and life without ever having to face it in reality.

And yet, stereotypes come from someplace, don’t they? It makes great late-night banter to poke fun of black men being racially profiled (Ohio State law professor Michelle Alexander’s work reports that prison has now held more black men than slavery ever did). And who can deny the endless material Brittany Spears gives comedians (Peggy Orenstein writes, “Brittany embodies the predicament of ordinary girls writ large. They struggle with the expectation to look sexy but not feel sexual.”)? And then there’s all the great celebrity divorce stories (according to the Center for Disease Control, the US holds a divorce rate of 50%). So, why are we still laughing?

We’re laughing, perhaps, because of the inevitability of the unsolvable. Listen, I am no opponent of advocacy; I studied charities in grad school for a reason. I whole-heartedly believe in prevention programs, education, and bleeding hearts when it comes to social justice and righteousness. But, deep down inside, isn’t the reason we laugh because we know it’s all we can do? Don’t we know that at the end of the day the world is still human? Isn’t it possible that even the purest of humanists, even the most dedicated agnostic who has no choice but to believe in the possibility of our perfection … don’t we all know what can’t be fixed? Isn’t that why we must laugh?

I have so often explained to folks that my belief in Jesus Christ comes from a place not of knowing what I can be or am in Him, but in knowing simply what I am not and can never be without Him. As rags! As filthy rags, and I am humbled daily when I realize He is still by my side. My hope is not completed in knowing that I can pray myself out of something or somehow transcend my earthly desires and habits. My hope rests in knowing that I can try my best while I am here – I can advocate and educate and encourage myself here - but my hope rests in knowing my completion awaits on the other side. It is in entering His Kingdom that I shall be made whole.

I cannot be fixed. But I can be loved. I can be embraced. I can be accepted. I can be cherished and blessed. I can be guided to do better. I can enjoy the company of sweet brethren who know the pains I face and celebrate their joys with them. I can be told, “It’s going to be okay”, and rest assured it’s true, even if it’s not today. I can sing praises to the One who made me and pray to a God that answers me. I can be loved, yes – but I cannot be fixed.

Are you trying to fix someone today? Are you trying to teach them the love of the Father without beginning with this simple truth, that God cannot fix them so long as they breathe this air, walk this ground, and bleed these wounds? Are you busy fixing others as entertainment so that you can avoid living the harsh reality that you cannot fix yourself? Are you laughing at the stereotypes of homosexuals, of adulteresses, of thieves, of murderers, of cheaters, of saints? Is it funny that people hurt, because there’s no place else to put it? No shelf, no tidy answer, and no place to store it … so you laugh?

Brothers and Sisters: God is good. He is gracious and He is faithful to complete the good work in you that He began. But know this: when we believe His promises are to be revealed in completion on this Earth, we believe a lie. Take comfort, my friends, when you hurt. Take comfort when you mourn and when you fall short of your potential. Take comfort when you see what the world thinks of you and when it makes fun of you for entertainment. You are not a stereotype, you are a human in dire need of a Savior, and that keeps you in good company.

JNACK