Lost at Sea

I’m a crier. Like, I am not sure it’s normal. Ask anyone who knows me well. Actually, ask anyone that knows me even a little. If you’ve ever watched a touching movie with me, or Oprah, or good Lord … a sweet commercial, you’ll know that I get misty eyed reeeaall easy-like. For that matter, if you’ve ever looked for a shirt in my store, you’ve seen me cry. This is not made up, people;  I cried the other day with a customer named, Stacey, because I was telling her the story of what we do – that we strive to help women love themselves, and I just plum lost it. Every email I send to my employees, telling them stories of who we’re capable of reaching and touching, has tears behind it; I assure you.  When my mom and I talk, we spend at least 30% of our conversation stumbling upon the subjects of children in poverty, uneducated good-folks trying to make a living, and gallant Christian women we admire. And yes, we end up crying. I have had to tell my mother to be careful about calling at work … because, well, I don’t know why I care – because I’ve already cried around those people.

I admire crying in other folks. My husband is fairly even-keel, but let me tell you something – and please keep this between you and the other 500 folks that view my blog – that man cries at inspirational YouTube videos. We joke at my work about how “fun” it must be to get invited to our home … Keith and I have literally found ourselves lost in a pile of used Kleenex, after a good run of “No wait, watch this one …”. My daughter cries when “cute birdies” get hurt in cartoons, and I find it endearing.  My father, a police officer and picture of controlled professional-emotion, is not afraid to cry. I have watched him in the pulpit, as he speaks of God’s tremendous grace, cry. And I have sat with him in conversations when I was twelve about his hurting over my abusing his trust, or at age twenty-eight when I wanted to know how to move forward when marriage got hard. His advice has many times included honest tears.

Just this past Sunday, at the end of a long and emotional debate within ourselves over where we should attend church, the answers were suddenly clear as we sat in the congregation of a priest who freely cried in the midst of the pomp and circumstance of his dress robes. Reading from a book, he began to describe a character’s experience of serving AIDS patients. The prose, a beautiful and vivid picture of humble servitude, brought him to choke on his own tears and emotions as he, no doubt, reflected on this phenomenon in his own life and in the life of his congregation.

And I, a product of parents who see Jesus in the lowliest of folks … I, who sees God most clearly among those who cannot possibly repay a favor … I, who struggles to accept God has placed me in a position to serve those in privileged classes … I, who feels most at home in the tiny impoverished town I was raised in… I felt God speaking to the very core of me and I … I held my breath in the most vigorous of attempts to not cry in church. Because, my Friends, I hate crying in church and I avoid it in high stakes.

Is this to say it never happens, that I never lose that tiny bit of control I hold in the tightness of my throat and swift swipes of my finger to my eye? Of course not, it’s happened. But it doesn’t when I can control it. And I assure you, it’s a practiced discipline – the art of keeping my natural tendencies from happening at the foot of the Holy of Hollies. But at some point in my adult life (I recall freely crying as part of worship during my adolescence when I didn’t know better than to bring honest emotion to the Father), I decided it was embarrassing, possibly inappropriate, to cry in church. Or, perhaps, at one point I realized I wasn’t crying tears of appreciation and love for the Father, but tears of remembrance for the mistakes I had made. Maybe I was afraid that people would judge me, or assumed they would know they were seeing tears of guilt. I dunno. But I don’t cry in church.

And then I think of the old hymn, “There is a fountain filled with blood, drawn from Immanuel’s veins; and sinners, plunged beneath that flood, lose all their guilty sins”. There is a fountain, in all of us who profess to know Christ. And wouldn't it make sense that when we are in His presence, when we are hearing His word, and listening to Him speak through His loyalist of servants, that something would spring from that well? It makes sense, too, then – that in those every day moments of grace, my fountain would begin bubbling up. From the Life Source, the Ultimate Spring, comes the physical outpouring and offering of grace in the form of salty tears. So what’s the catch? Why a generous well in my every day, and the nervous turning off of a valve when I am in the presence of other Believers?

Ah and there it is. It’s not a matter of crying “at church” I am afraid of, it’s a matter of crying with “The Church”. Sniffle a little with someone who doesn’t share my faith, and I have provided a powerful witness. Get misty-eyed with another Believer here and there, and we feel the very real and comforting presence of The King. Cry with a body of Believers, though, and suddenly one risks (or perhaps seals a fate of) merging one fountain with many. The Spirit that lives in me longs to pour out and meet you where you are, as parts of the Body that He lives and functions in this world through. And I guess, as marvelous as it all sounds, the recognition of my small part in an infinitely larger purpose that I cannot possibly see or fully understand, causes me to gasp and hope I don’t let my small sense of control be lost in the sea of Who We Are.

The uncomfortable, and equally undeniable, truth is this: I don't want to know what God is capable of doing in my life. And while the smart seventh-grader refuses to do his homework in hopes of being "cooler", and the talented young-gymnast rebels by not going to practice, so do I refuse to plug into anything that would bring about the full greatness of God's work in my life. Let me taste Your Goodness, oh Lord, but keep me, I pray, in the smallness of the world I know and love. Baptize me in the cool refreshment of your Blood, but keep me from the immersion of living and sharing with Your People.

Perhaps you're not a crier. Perhaps when the Spirit pours out of you, it is in song - and yet you will not sing at church. Perhaps the Anointment in you touches and collaborates with the Anointment in fellow Believers when you share revelation of Scripture - but you're much more comfortable doing that with close friends, certainly never in you small group. Perhaps you are a Truth Sayer, and you know this - but also know it offends people, so you keep it for the friends you know won't abandon you. Or, maybe you've prayed for deliverance, and have seen answers, but wouldn't want attention on yourself by sharing this at church. Consider this, my Friends: maybe it is not the possible negative consequences of your sharing that you fear at all. Maybe what you fear is the powerful potential of a great spiritual confluence. Maybe you know, as I do, that life would never be the same - and something about the same seems comforting and safe.

I think of the aging praise-song, "Let. The. River. Flow."

Father, you are an all-knowing, all-powerful, and unknowable God. And yet, we know you. We know you on an intimate level, in a way servants rarely know their King. Lord, know that within my love for you lay the confusion of what it means to fear you. Remove the unhealthy desire to be afraid, instead of to fear. Give me the sort of reverence that causes quite the opposite of hesitancy, but a passion to jump right in. Draw out of me the pieces of You that to connect with the places You reside in others. Let my willingness to spill You out be what draws Your Spirit from others.

May we all dive in.

JNACK

Five Things You Need to Know About Your Christian Friend

1.       She has no connection to, nor does she have the desire to be connected, in anyway, to Westboro Baptist Church.

That’s right, the kooky group of hateful idiots that refer to themselves as “Westboro Baptist Church”, do only that … they refer to themselves with words that are also commonly found in the name of actual Sanctuaries of Worship. Please do not assume that this group has any actual influence in the Christian community, that the Christian community has any actual influence on this group, or that this group deserves near the press it gains every time it shows up somewhere uninvited.

Using Westboro Baptist Church to ascribe feelings and/or stances to your Christian friend or to the overarching community of Christians is much like using a violent gang member, who happens to be black, to ascribe characteristics to a black man. It’s offensive, don’t do it.

2.       He has probably never sat in a church service, ever, where he was influenced or encouraged to hate someone for having different beliefs or living differently than he does.

Funny thing, I have attended literally thousands of church services in my lifetime. I have attended Baptist services, Catholic services, Assembly of God services, Disciples of Christ services, Church of Christ services, Dutch Reformed services, Episcopal services, Lutheran services, Presbyterian Services, Nazarene services, Non-Denominational services, and Methodist services. I have attended weddings, music services, revivals, prayer services, private Bible studies, and school-mandated services. But never, in my thirty years, have I attended a service where explicitly, or implicitly, I have been told it is acceptable on any level to hate someone for being different or believing something different than I do. It would be near impossible for any church, claiming to serve Christ as the Messiah, to do so – it’s against the very nature of the teachings we honor … God is the very definition of Love.

Acknowledge that your friend is part of an historic religion that practices a strict way of living. Disagree with the sanctions put in place by your friend’s faith. Discuss with him why he believes in the standards set forth in his religion’s Holy Scriptures, just as you would with your Jewish, Islamic, or Buddhist friend. But please, don’t call him “friend” and then viciously attack him for attending a secret-society of hateful meetings that do not exist.

3.       You might not realize it, but she faces daily discrimination for her beliefs and, in many cases, is treated as a second-class citizen.

Listen, no thoughtful, intelligent Christian will try to deny the advantage of her peoples for the last several hundred years of Western history. We have pretty much been on top of the world! Our cultural values have reigned supreme; our political alliances have shunned those not in alignment with our way of life. And for a time, our standards were what it meant to be “American”.

But here’s the thing, in 2013, and for those savvy enough to be reading a blog, your Christian friend probably never enjoyed the Christian-benefit of the 50s. Your friend is most likely a child of the 70s or 80s, and grew up in the America that listened to feminists say her faith isn’t in alignment with new reproductive-rights standards, or in alignment with new sexuality standards, or with new consumer standards.

Your friend was most likely raised in a school system that inaccurately applied laws, after a series of lawsuits. She was told she couldn’t pray at the cafeteria table, that she couldn’t write a paper about her God, that she couldn’t start a Bible club, and that she couldn’t hand out information to her friends at school about an after-school church event.

Your friend is stared at uncomfortably if she uses the word, “Christian”, “Evangelical”, or “Jesus” in a public place. She faces termination is she mentions the words at her job, and she is shunned out of any political or social-advocacy discussions, because of the immediate presumption she is an ignorant, closed-minded bigot.

She knows she enjoys amazing religious freedoms, and she doesn’t take them for-granted. She also knows that much of the martyrdom and government-sanctioned discrimination of her peoples in other parts of the world started with laws and movements she is seeing in her own country.

Tread lightly: you can disagree with her stances, but try to admire her for keeping them.

4.       He is very possibly pro-choice, pro-gay marriage, and pro-Obamacare.

If you have a friend that is a Christian, care enough about him to learn a little more about the way his religion is organized. The theology that makes an individual identify with the Christian Church is a belief that Jesus, a recognized historical figure, was the Son of God, sent in human form. From this belief stems an array of doctrines (particulars for the way the overarching theology is carried out). While there will be sticklers in ANY movement or belief system (that has to do with personality, not creed), the vast majority of Christian peoples leave room for disagreement on the lines drawn between these doctrines. As so well put by St. Augustine, “In essentials: unity, in non-essentials: liberty, and in all things: charity.”

Baptists, for example, take an organizational stance that the consumption of alcohol can so often lead to hurtful behavior that it is best to abstain entirely. Quite the contrary, wine will be served, assuredly, at every Catholic or Lutheran function! Many denominations within the Christian faith place emphasis on social justice through charity work, while others place more emphasis on in-house ministries, such as touching lives through Bible study and music services.

It would follow, then, that there are Christian peoples who believe they honor God’s calling by loving the women facing abortions, loving the gay community by supporting legalization of gay marriage, and supporting social healthcare as a means of protecting God’s children. Others believe they are honoring God as the only Determiner of life by opposing abortion, His instructions for marriage in Scripture by opposing gay marriage, and a call for faith communities to support people in need instead of governments supporting people, by opposing Obamacare.

It might be hurtful and frustrating for your Christian friend to spend countless coffeehouse discussions in support of gay marriage only to see you bash his entire faith community on facebook, with the accepted view that “they’re all the same”.

5.       She didn’t write the rules.

Within the reality that lots of Christians carry out God’s Calling in lots ways, comes the necessary acceptance that without Holy Scriptures and definite rights and wrongs and absolutes, a religion is just an elaborate club. Maybe you believe that is exactly what religion is to begin with … an elaborate club. Whatever your stance on religion (many a secular sociologist can lead you to the conclusion is serves a valuable place in society), you can surely agree a person who pushes her own religion’s values and cultural heritage to the side must surely be loosely committed, if committed at all.

Do you need to agree with everything your Christian friend believes? No. Should you be able to openly and respectfully discuss your Christian friend’s opposing viewpoints? Yes. But please, don’t act shocked and mortified that she won’t abandon her Christian denominational sanctions just because they offend you, or the majority of the public, for that matter. In the same way an American Islamic woman wears her hijab, despite modern cultural acceptance of women’s choices; your Christian friend might “wear” her views on gay marriage, or abortion rights.

Please … she is honoring her religion. She did not write the rules, and she is struggling to apply her Holy Scriptures in a world that tells her they’re unacceptable. She is praying, she is discussing, and she is seeking. Let her honor her religion, and keep conflict of issues separate from criticism of her faith.

JNACK

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

Dear Father Who Art In Heaven, Hallowed Be Our Name

Today as I write, there is an unarguably smelly man sitting next to me in the public library. In addition to not voting for Obama, he believes Mexicans are the root of a lot the United States’ labor problems, and thinks if we sent all “liberals” to North Korea, we’d solve a lot of problems. I am not sure if he has a home, I am not sure if he has a job, but what I am fairly certain of is that I wish he’d sat at another table. Any table, but mine.

He doesn’t look like me. He doesn’t think like me. Does he share my education level? Possibly … in his rants you can hear some genuine research. Does he have a family like I do? I don’t’ know. Is he actually a hippie that doesn’t shower on purpose? Maybe. Is he happy, sad, does he care anymore? I don’t know. Here’s what I do know: he and I stand before the Savior on equal footing. I am no more and no less than this man when I stand before our Creator, Who had creative license and immense purpose in birthing each of us into a cold world where we might have a chance at bringing a little light. Did I turn out “good” and did he turn out “bad”?

I had someone ask me once why God would allow “bad things” to happen to “good people”. I have also had people ask how God would ever harm His “children”. Do we not get it? Let me make something very clear: we don’t get to write the rules of the God of the Universe. Do we get to define “good” or “bad”? Can we say that those living in third world countries and living a life for Christ that will surely bring death and destruction to their families just got the short end of the stick? Are we so pompous as to decide only those who look like us, eat like us, breathe like us have gotten the “good”. Who are we, in our tiny … tiny … and again for emphasis … TINY world, sphere, limits – to decide that God is harming a plan we are not the authors of? There is no “good” or “bad” within our limits of understanding, there is only that which is of God and that which isn’t, and I am not so sure we have the ability to consciously decipher the two.

And how can God dare touch His “children” with hardship? Dear Friends, who calls himself a child of God? For me, there is protection and assurance that whatever I face, “… we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose” (Romans 8:28). But for you? I cannot say. It is not as simple as assuming all humans are His children. Again, we are pompous creatures. Let me propose the idea that all I can say for humanity, as with the rest of the world, is that we are His creations. There is a difference.  He will do what He wishes with his creations, in the same way you would with your little pottery trinkets, your painting, your doodles, your tinfoil balls. We are loved by Him, yes, but not by obligation. He owes us nothing. We are but dust in the wind, filthy tags before His thrown. And we question, form this position, why He doesn’t serve us. How can God possibly send a whole peoples to hell?, I’ve heard. How would God allow war?, I’ve head. Why isn’t He saving us from pain?, I’ve heard. Because, regardless of what my pea-sized brain allows, Friends, God is God.  

This illness of believing we ought to serve only a God who serves us first, who makes us His “children” because our mere existence isn’t as simple as a prevalence among those trapped in disbelief (which, of course, has to be of their sheer personal will, because a “loving God” who must look like our earthly understanding of a Father surely cannot predestine or control a man’s salvation!). It runs through our churches, thickly ingrained in our newfound “praise songs” and sermonettes. Have you listened closely, lately, to the words that escape your lips as you lift your hands in praise? Lift them to what? Praise what? Searching your heart and humbling yourself to what? Pay close attention to the lyrics of this popular David Crowder Band song, “oh how He loves us oh how He loves us how He loves us all how He loves yeah He loves us oh how He loves us oh how He loves us yeah He loves us yeah He loves us how He loves us oh how He loves all”. What?

Does He love us?  My goodness, more than we know. Do I find my salvation in meditating on how awesomely awesome I have been awesomely blessed? No, and I’ll tell you why; because the moment I am disfigured, the moment I am stripped of my wealth, the moment my family is harmed, the moment my friends turn their backs on me, the moment I lose my job for standing up for my faith, the moment my country isn’t Top Dog … those lyrics will begin to haunt me and my God is suddenly not all I have focused on and my religion is in sudden stark contrast with the life I associated with it. I do not serve God for the gracious love He bestows on me. I serve God, I praise God, I worship God … because I have to.

I was reading a little publication the other day, called “Daily Bread”. It’s a great publication full of snippets of wisdom and Scripture, no doubt a blessing and service to many who read it. That said, the particular devotion I read referred to a modern-day song, by Jonny Diaz, and it’s a beautiful one. In fact, I’ve cried to it before (though, if you know me … all songs make me cry, but still). The lyrics talk about pressures a female in our society faces to be “beautiful” and alludes to the sexual pressures used to fool us into false worth. The chorus, “There could never be a more beautiful you. Don't buy the lies, disguises and hoops, they make you jump through. You were made to fill a purpose that only you could do. So there could never be a more beautiful you”.

The writer of the devotional proceeded to make the connection with an ancient author who shared the same message. David, in the Psalms, “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made”. Woah. Just woah. Can I curse in a piece giving glory to God? If I can; what the hell? If not; gee – what the heck? Here is why David’s song is not a parallel to Jonny Diaz’s. A little English lecture: fearfully and wonderfully are adverbs, not adjectives – they are describer words for the verb, “made”, and therefore painting compliments not to the created, but to the Creator.

So, who cares? Does it make me a cynical jerk to decide God can do without us if He chooses? Am I hardened to not try and explain away the proverbial African tribe that stands the impending venture into hell because they’ve never heard the Gospel? Will realizing earthly “good” and “bad” don’t hold eternal definitions cause me to ignore those temporarily hurting?

Quite the opposite, Brothers and Sisters. It is only when I realize my disposability that I can truly come to the Father in a genuine awe that begs the question, “How could you love me this much?” It is only when I realize I deserve nothing I have, and cannot choose my blessings that I will fall before Him through “good” and through “bad” with the same heart and appreciation. It is when I realize only His blood bridges me from a humble creature to a beloved daughter that I can see why a stinky man who wants to send Mexicans to North Korea is of the same making and needs to hear that God loves Him through the smile I give and eye contact I will refuse to avoid. It is through this understanding - that I am nothing, but that God is everything - that I stop chasing answers to meaningless questions, but fear not delving into the complicated ones.

“This is my Father's world, and to my listening ears all nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.  This is my Father's world:  I rest me in the thought of rocks and trees, of skies and seas; his hand the wonders wrought.

This is my Father's world, the birds their carols raise, the morning light, the lily white, declare their maker's praise. This is my Father's world:  he shines in all that's fair; in the rustling grass I hear him pass; he speaks to me everywhere.

This is my Father's world.  O let me ne'er forget  that though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.  This is my Father's world: why should my heart be sad?  The Lord is King; let the heavens ring! God reigns; let the earth be glad!”

JNACK