The Macho Man Gospel

A recent Christian film, Courageous depicts a handful of middle-aged men who through a series of trying life circumstances bind to together in a resolution to become godly men. Each of them undergoes a transformation throughout the movie from a more timid, passive, reactionary role in their work and families towards a more proactive, responsible, and loving role. The climax of the movie happens when these men draft a covenant vowing to take responsibility for themselves and their families in a bold counter-cultural move toward a “biblical picture” of manhood. At the end of the movie, the main character is seen standing in front of a large church reading the covenant out loud with trembling courage and resolve. Here are a few lines from The Resolution for Men…

I WILL love God with all of my heart, all of my mind, and all of my strength and pray that by my example my family will be taught to do the same.

I WILL lead my family not into serving or loving the world, but to cast their eyes upon the Lord and serve Him only.

I WILL demonstrate to my family what it means to be a man of God and ask their support each day in my endeavor.

I WILL enter into this covenant today and begin my life as a courageous man who will lead his family joyfully every day.

The movie itself could have been worse to be honest. In a long line to kitschy Christian films, this one is perhaps the most tastefully done. Though cheesy one-liners and cultural christianisms abound (along with an unconvincing attempt at cultural exposés with token black and Latino characters) I’ll admit there were some hair-raising moments of inspiration. I’ll also say it seems to have lit a fire in the bellies of conservative Christian men everywhere. There is now a revival of sorts within the “Baptist bent” of Evangelicalism: a renewal of male leadership and initiative passionately seeking to reclaim biblical masculinity from a culture which opposes true manhood, offering jockish passivity as a cheap alternative.

Maybe that explains why for every teaching I’ve heard on Jesus since coming to Georgia, I think I’ve heard at least as many lessons on gender. Sermons and bible studies on male leadership within the household have flooded the church. I don’t think I’m out of my depth to say there’s an obsession with gender, with reestablishing the differences between men and women, with cultivating men who will assume a benevolent authority over their wives and children, leading them with gentle firmness to love and fear God.

At its heart I could almost love the 1-page Resolution. Almost. After all, who wouldn’t want men to reject passivity, take responsibility, and love their families? But I’m witnessing the fallout on the ground level and it’s causing me some concern. Let me lay it out. Then I’ll take a stab at some proactive solutions…

1. Men hear strength with invulnerability. That’s not what the covenant states. It’s what guys hear. Maybe that’s because in our culture, strength and vulnerability are polar opposites on a continuum… be brave or be weak, tremble or be tough. In fact, we know the greatest acts of courage ARE acts of vulnerability. But I don’t sense this is emphasized very well. So there’s a subtle pressure: if things get tough, be strong for your family. If you’re scared, or exhausted, or depressed, muscle through for your family. Walk it out, take control, don’t just roll over. God wants you to be strong, not needy or whiny.

2. Gender-neutral qualities become the sole property of men. Since when were women NOT called to take responsibility, be courageous, and lay down their lives for their family? I’d say a quick study of Ruth, Abigail, Jael, Deborah, Lydia, and countless other biblical women would put that to rest. Also, I think there’s a strong biblical paradigm for men to nurture and to cultivate beautiful things. So is there a difference? Clearly! But in matters of spiritual maturity, I find the bible to be surprisingly gender neutral. We do God a disservice when we draw sharp lines where there is “neither male nor female.”

3. Women become children. As I’ve gotten to know a number of conservative Christians here in Georgia, I’ve been shocked by the disparaging attitude towards women. Now men of every stripe and culture will always complain about their wives, but there’s an added bite down here, a true bitterness against the “weaker sex.” I can’t tell you how many anecdotes I’ve heard with some variation of the phrase, “well, you know how women are.”

Okay, let me share my own stupidity here: Every single time in my marriage that I’ve said, “Debra, I want you to trust me and follow my lead on this one,” I’ve grown to regret it. Usually it’s because those strong-arm decisions come out of my deepest fears and insecurities (though at the time I mislabeled them “convictions”). And fear drives us to control. The message I send my wife is not, “I love you too much to let our family go that direction.” The message is, “you are emotional and not to be trusted with big decisions. You need a strong, rational man to take care of you.” Truth is, my wife is really good at taking care of herself and her family. In fact she’s almost better at it when I’m not around to tell her how helpless she is! Without getting into the expansive biblical debate, I find things go much better for everyone when you treat your wife like an intelligent, capable adult instead of a dependant with curves.

4. Roles begin to supersede maturity. Again, this is NOT the thrust of the Resolution for Men but it IS the thrust of human nature. Parse out roles, draw a line, be a man. I see guys who are seriously concerned about whether they should let their wives do “man’s work” because they fear they’ll be (1) shirking their responsibilities or (2) quietly emasculated by their female counterparts. Then they wonder why their wives aren’t more grateful to have a husband that takes responsibility and honors the woman’s role in the household.

5. Resolutions lead to white-knuckling and shame. More on that here. The idea is that a covenant is a binding thing that can be really dangerous for our hearts. Those “I will never” or “I will always” statements usually create more shame than progress. And behind this gorgeously idyllic resolution, I see the sneaky head of shame slithering up to condemn those rotten, ungodly men who will never measure up to “God’s idea” of a righteous man. Is that happening here on the ground? You betcha.

So let me present a couple alternatives to the “manly man gospel” which I think will do a better job of developing godly, responsible men.

1. Teach sonship. Healthy biblical manhood rests on healthy biblical sonship. We have a bunch of guys trying to be men before they’ve learned to be boys. My counselor friends tell me we all have uncompleted “developmental tasks”, things every child needs to learn before he can become an adult: how to bond with another person, how to be independent, how to tell the difference between himself and another person, how to tell the difference between good and bad… We want to stand up and be warriors but we never learned to sit in our father’s lap. So maybe before we teach guys how to be manly men, we should learn how to be little children. (resource: Jack Frost on spiritual sonship.)

Teach vulnerability. We need to emphasize that great courage comes out of great risk and great fear. Those moments of deep insecurity in which we lay ourselves on the line in a wild “bid for connection” (credit to Brenee Brown)… that has more to do with courage than mere moral rectitude or leadership. We ought to drive home the point that real strength is not an opposing vector to vulnerability, but that they are inextricable.

Develop character, not gender roles. I think we’d better just table the subject to be honest with you. Because we have more foundational work to spend our energy on. Not that gender isn’t important; it’s just that there are a lot more valuable topics for consideration right now. Like, “what does it mean be a person?” “Are you acceptable?” “What’s God’s heart?” “What is good? What is bad?” “What is forgiveness all about?”

Don’t resolve. Heal. Resolutions are easy. Progress is hard. Real transformative personal/spiritual growth goes deeper than our habits or disciplines. It goes right into the dusty corners of our hearts, those long-neglected areas we really don’t want to show our church friends. (And I’m not talking about your closet drinking.) What I’m saying is that discipleship is part and parcel with emotional healing. That’s why the folks I work for developed a group experience to shed light on those dusty corners, to grieve losses, to confront shame, and to understand emotions. It’s called Restoring Your Heart and in my opinion, it’s one of the best things to come out of the church in the last 20 years. Other groups like “Celebrate Recovery”, and “Shiloh Place Ministries” are also doing great stuff in this arena.

Okay… Time for bloopers… And now! For sheer entertainment value, a collection of responses to one reviewer’s unflattering critique of the movie, Courageous!!

“Until you can give a more unbiased review of a movie, you should consider another line of work. Talk about Satan having a position in your life. Your review speaks volumes on how sad it must be to be you.”

“I love to see the reliance on God in this movie. We can not succeed without God. Period. That is not an opinion, it comes straight out of the Book of Truth: Scripture.”

Sounds to me like you have used this review as a way to express your personal beliefs.  How about the fact that it is one of the few movies that are free from vulgarity and sex, and show how fathers are trying to be better role models for thier children??

“Ignorants. people like you criticize movies like this one the way you do because you see yourselves there and don't want to accept your mistakes. But just like its said in the movie the day will come when we will stand before God and we won't be judged by how many wrongs or goods we've done. Good bless you”

“Easily the saddest movie reviewer ever. Maybe his dad never hugged him. A guy as full of himself as nick has no room for the profound message this movie offers.”

“I will pray for you Nick. Luke 23:34, ‘And Jesus said, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do. And parting his garments among them, they cast lots.’”

“You want subtlety Nick? How’s this….America is subtlety going to hell in a hand basket because of views like yours. ‘Woe to those who call evil good and good evil…’ Isaiah 5:20.”

“I am so blessed not to go through life with Nicks "dead in side" attitude.”

“Pray for Nick. The further we separate from Gods will the further we decline as a society.”

“Please, before you say stupid and be belligerent against the producers of this film, why don't you watch it as a human, and not a critic. After you do, please feel free to change your limited intellect and say that you ARE wrong. Have a nice day and stay out of trouble; actually, stay out of idiocy.”

Oh hey! It’s Nate again. Wasn’t that wonderful? In case you’re wondering, I would estimate that at least 75% of the comment thread was made up of these kinds of comments. Ouch, right? I mean, it’s a wonder that anybody could possibly dislike Christianianty after reading something like that!

The Problem of Christian-ese and other Religious Dialects

 “Hey Phil, how’s it going?”

“Hallelujah brother, God is good.”

“So… everything’s okay?”

“Glory to God, I’m washed in the blood of the lamb, man! Praise the Lord.”

Ever had that kind of conversation? Did you walk away having any clue how the other person was doing? When people say that stuff to me, all I hear is, “Religion, blah blah blah. Oughtashareit blah blah blah.” Eventually I give up because while I understand that Phil wants to bring God into his everyday interactions, I’ve lost Phil in the process.

I understand that every community will have it’s own specialized lingo. I also know that a community may emphasize or deemphasize the use of specialized language. In my opinion, it makes a big difference. Here are a few reasons to avoid Christianese:

     1.     Religious language enables hiding and the presentation of false selves. Religious language gives people the tools needed to present their ideal selves rather than their real selves. A well-crafted religious answer can give the false impression that a person is mature, put-together, and impermeable thus shutting down conversation. Even in a loving community, it’s easy for a person to use Christianese as a smoke screen to avoid being truly known.

     2.     Religious language presents a false model for maturity. If a preacher or church leader uses a lot of specialized jargon, constituents (or parishioners) will naturally seek to emulate that jargon. In college, I attended the church of popular Christian author, John Piper. I would watch as ordinary young men would come under his tutelage and at the end of two years, could pray and preach with the precise vocabulary, style, even cadence that Dr. Piper himself used. It wasn’t his fault. It’s human nature. When people seek to emulate someone with a Christian accent, it becomes easier to, “fake it ‘til I make it.” We come under the myth that the use of Christianese is a mark of maturity so we start using it, hoping it will make us better Christians.

     3.     Religious language nurtures shame. When I was in Youth for Christ, I was taught to find ways to mention God in everyday conversations. I was told this would lead to more significant spiritual conversations and evangelistic opportunities. While that may have been true, I found myself feeling a compulsive guilt whenever I failed to bring God up at least once in every conversation. It was like I had an agenda, an assignment in all my conversations and if I failed to complete that assignment, I was a bad student or didn’t really care about peoples’ souls. It has taken me this long to accept the fact that God loves love… and any relationship that reflects authentic care reflects Him to the same degree.

     4.     Religious language can alienate. If a newcomer walks into your church and you bombard him with religious jargon you’re sending a message: catch up or get left behind. It creates a clear delineation between the “in group” and the “outsiders”. So if I can’t or won’t use you religious dialect, I may not stick around for very long. Additionally, religious language can be used to alleviate guilt or justify bad behavior. As one famous preacher says, “some of the nastiest letters I’ve ever received are signed, ‘your brother in Christ.’”

Recognize that even in the bible, there was a general difference between the use of religious lingo in speaking and in writing. Let me give you an example:

Paul writing: “Whom God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his beloved son.”

Jesus talking:  “God’s kingdom is like a farmer in sewing seeds.”

Peter writing: “In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus.”

Peter talking:  “Let me explain this to you; listen carefully to what I say. These people are not drunk, as you suppose. It’s only nine in the morning! 

Do you hear the difference in cadence and tone? I don’t think it’s a matter of “dumbing it down” as much as it’s about choosing a whole new set of words to say essentially the same things. So, if you find Christianese to be second nature, here is some practical advice for unlearning religious jargon:

Speak normal. Recognize that the culture hears religious terminology differently than you or I. Righteousness = self-righteousness. Judgement = judgmentalism. Atonement = @#*%&?! If there’s a clearer, more understandable word, use it.

Drop the KJV. I know you may have grown up hearing, memorizing, and feeling comforted by a bible with Thees and Thous, but the world has moved past that now. If you want to be understood by the other 80% of the culture, “you” will do.

Say it twice. Religious language is meaningless until assigned meaning. If you think a religious term is appropriate, then use it! But also take the time to rephrase it in common English. No need to carry a dictionary around. Just say things like, “Christ became our righteousness... It’s like he knew we couldn’t be good on our own power, so he was good on our behalf.” Saying it twice helps enlighten everyone and it challenges you to think. Do you really know what that term means? Have you really thought about what it means for you? Or are you just copying someone else?

Learn from non-Christians. Pay careful attention to the way people outside your religious community talk about the things you’re interested in as a religious person: love, self-sacrifice, goodness, fairness, heroism, ultimate Reality, etc. Believe it or not, even atheists are interested in what it means to be good, practice justice, pursue truth, and find love. Even if the answers are different, you’ll find we have more in common than we think!

Take the long game. In some ways it’s easier throw a Christianese sucker punch into your banter with the Walmart clerk than it is to spend time getting to know a non-Christian and caring for them whether they become a Christian or not. Very few of us have felt deeply impacted by the words of strangers. It’s the people we authentically know and respect that we turn to. But there’s an act of self-sacrifice for us in becoming that known and respected person. Because to get there, we have to let go of our religious agendas, our notch-in-the-belt evangelism that counts decision cards rather than relationships. We have to learn to love and respect someone we may not agree with.

I’m not saying it’s easy to unlearn this language. But I am saying it’s worthwhile, even crucial. And the more deeply we personalize our faith, the more honestly we evaluate why WE believe what we believe (that is, your answer, not the “right” answer), the easier it will become to speak in plain English about the spiritual life without resorting to a language as easily misinterpreted and misunderstood as Christianese.

"Christian Militia" post under construction...

I would be a hypocrite if I were ready to criticize other Christians but not be the first to accept constructive criticism myself. I’ve gotten some critical feedback on my recent post, “Ready for a New Christian Militia?” from someone I respect and trust and it’s caused me to think more deeply about my experience at an evangelical men’s event last Monday. I think my main point was that many churches have been guilty of using Jesus as a rubber stamp for “Christian causes”, causing more harm than good. Also, many churches paint an inappropriately negative view of culture and the world, fostering fear and sometimes even hatred in the name of Jesus. That needs to be said, and those tactics should never be tolerated. But I need to spend some more time evaluating the way I used Monday’s events to communicate that point. I need to make sure I’ve painted a fair and balanced view of this church and the guest speaker before re-publishing the blog. So at this point, it’s “under construction.” To be continued…

All By Itself- a new personal anthem

Phlegm in my lungs, in my nose, in every pore. Feeling like death warmed over. Responsible for one feverish baby and one fashion diva while Debra was away this weekend. Exhausted before the day even started, I sat in this chair yesterday nursing a cup of coffee thinking with some anxiety about the day’s plans.

I had been asked to lead worship at a small Vineyard church half an hour away and had picked out seven high-octane songs, which were now way out of my soar-throated range. I also envisioned the inevitable scenario of having to wear Levi on my back the whole time.

We’ve done that sort of thing before, but it requires a taste for ambiguity.

But perhaps the greater anxiety was coming from the post-church pizza picnic I had planned with a new friend. See, I started this online meetup group for non-religious folks in my area. My thinking was that it’s a bummer that people who can’t or won’t affiliate with a church or religious group should have to live isolated lives outside of meaningful community. I also thought that in light of my near total estrangement from southern church culture, I may find significant friendships myself that will challenge my church-bubble molds in some healthy ways. Mutually beneficial, supportive, non-evangelistic relationships across a spectrum of spiritual backgrounds. It’s an experiment I know, and one I’ve felt called, compelled, pushed to undertake. But I’ve asked myself constantly if I’m way out of my depth. Well, the leader of another free-thought society contacted me and we set it up to meet for pizza in the park. I felt… a number of feelings.

But as I sat in my stained, white IKEA chair, my brain swimming in a cozy blanket of fat and mucus, a mysterious reference floated into my consciousness: “Mark 4:28”. The thought grew louder and louder until I opened my bible hesitantly to find out just what gives. Jesus compares the “kingdom” (the authority of God) to a farmer scattering seeds. Regardless of the farmer’s ambition or activity, “all by itself, the soil produces grain—first the stalk, then the head, then the full kernel in the head.”

I want to be careful with the application. The whole farming metaphor has too often fed into a, “go hand out tracts and get some converts” mentality. Actually the application I find is much more AND much less involved on our part.

But for me, the thing I needed to hear was that it’s okay to just show up to life as weak, wimpy, and honest. Because I don’t control the growth of people or projects. Not really. I like the humility of the farmer. He works hard but knows at the end of the day that soil and sun and rain are going to do the heavy lifting. He’s a clod-covered cultivator, dignified in ordinariness, naturally doing what he can do and joyfully observing that which he can’t.

I can’t make God show up at church. I can’t make an atheist or a bible-thumper think I’m wonderful. I can’t conjure up approval. I can’t create growth or community. I can be myself. I tend to think that being oneself is the apparatus for seed sowing. The only question is… what kind of seed? Or maybe the “fragrance” analogy is more apt here? Do you smell like beauty or death? It’s tough to hide what comes out of your pores even when you have a nice perfume.

But having been one’s self, I suppose the subsequent release is designed to be joyful. We clod-covered cultivators dance happily with the design of the soil and genetic coding of beautiful and nourishing plants. Not because I did it. Because I was never supposed to do it.

Okay, enough of that! The music thing went well. My voice gone, a feverish baby on my back, I felt a rushing out of some pretense I may have otherwise carried in with me. And something special happened which I had nothing to do with.

(check us rock stars out! No he's not sleeping. He's scoping out the lights!)

And the picnic was nice. My friend comes from what he calls “soft atheism” which tends to value relationships, health, and philanthropy. I genuinely liked him. I related with his evaluation of the religious community I come from. I appreciated his perspective. If he can tolerate my faith, I think he’ll be good for me.

A missionary friend once told me he found it easier to get along with people who shared his philosophy of ministry—his way of interacting with people and cultures—than with people who merely shared his theology. I suppose that makes sense and it helps me understand why though I am a Christian, I may wake up one day to find that some of my best friends are not.

Magic tricks, magic bread, and how to trust a person instead

Thanks for the good story Mark! Ya got me thinking.

That day when evening came, he said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side.” Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him. A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”

He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.

He said to his disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

They were terrified and asked each other, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!”

I’m increasingly convinced that “faith” according to Jesus isn’t faith in an outcome. It’s faith in a person, in a relationship. That might be obvious to you. For me, it’s revolutionary. I see a familiar panic in the disciples.  “Jesus, if you cared about us, you would…”

            And the reply seems to be, “Of course I care about you. And of course I can do something about your situation. But I need you to believe that my care isn’t contingent upon the outcome. I need you to trust me because you know me.”

            I’ll embarrass myself here publicly. When Debra and I broke up sophomore year of college, I started spending time with another girl. I liked this girl but I wasn’t over Debra. So as much as I hate to admit it, late one night I sat down at my computer and typed up list of attributes for each girl to compare them “objectively”. As I read my list just now, I was tempted to laugh out loud, but the stronger response was horror and disgust.

I was so consumed with fear; and in some ways, I was desperately shallow. I talked in morbid detail about worst-case scenarios in which my life would be doomed to eternal misery because of some unseen flaw in the woman I chose to marry. Because of those soul-sucking fears, I led several girls on in high school and college but never got that serious about them. I took myself way too seriously.

            But in spite of my obdurate immaturity, I had a moment of fearless clarity one day after college. It was one of those rare time in which by God’s intervention I found myself in possession of a maturity that rightfully belonged only to a future me.

Debra and I were having pancakes at my house catching up after two years apart from each other. I bought a goose egg from an Asian market as an experiment. When I cracked it into the pan, a fully-formed goose fetus fell out! Masking my shocked revulsion, I shoveled the poor aborted bird into the garbage. Just pancakes then… As Debra and I talked about the last two years, the relationships we’d been in, the growth we’d experienced, the ways we’d felt challenged, a slow realization broke over me like a goose egg. I wanted to marry this woman and I couldn’t quite say why.

At the time, I suppose the reason I could point to was that I saw with profound clarity that she was a grower, a Jesus-follower who in spite of everything trusted God and would at the end of the day, give anything to walk with him and do what He asked of her.

She had faith in God himself, not because she imagined God would deliver the kind of life she expected or hoped for… but because she was enamored with God’s personality, the way He spoke to her, the gentleness and compassion He displayed toward her. So she trusted Him. I suddenly understood that this consideration should top my list.

Over the next few weeks, I remembered the reasons we broke up, the reservations I had before. But suddenly, the stranglehold of worst-case fears was gone. I knew we would unearth new and scary discoveries about each other. I just wanted to do it on the other side of commitment. So I asked her to marry me. And I’ve never felt so good about being told “no”. Nevertheless, 3 months later, I was watching my bride walk down the isle.

I remember standing there, feeling this calm yet savage and rebellious trust. As she walked down in her beautifully modest and understated way wearing that simple ivory dress, the strongest thoughts in my mind weren’t, “She’s compelling, beautiful, mysterious, noble, delightful, good.” The thought that rang like a bell (and has ever since) was, “She’s my choice. And I love her.”

I chose this woman “just because” and I’ve been choosing her “just because” ever since. That surprising resolution settled softly onto the inner sanctuary of my core beliefs. I trusted her. And my trust would no longer hinge on her performance or behaviors. I would always choose her.

I have to be honest though. Most of our conflicts (and there are plenty) come from me reneging on that commitment to trust her, to give her the benefit of the doubt. There are lots and lots and lots of feeble moments in which my heart (and sometimes my voice) shouts, “how can I trust you when you do _______?! I’m just being realistic based on the evidence I see.” But I’m not being realistic. I’m being scared out of my mind. And the fears always have more to do with future projections than present experiences. So the home base of maturity that I have to return to is that calmly savage place of having faith in my spouse, trusting her, and choosing her no matter what and just because.

I guess that’s also the home base of spiritual maturity… having faith. Not faith that everything will work out. Faith that God is with me in everything. Faith that God gives a damn. Faith that God is kind, is good, is involved with me. A new friend of mine says, “I became an atheist the moment my son died.” I have no judgment on my friend for saying that. It’s unwise for me to judge what I haven’t experienced and I can’t imagine the pain of losing  a child. (Though I suppose God knows that pain well… actually if God were the chess-player of open theism, I could almost imagine Him making that same statement!)

But I know that for me, I have to trust my heavenly Dad not because he delivers the good life (or even a tolerable life) but because he’s my Dad and nobody else treats me as kindly as Him, even in the middle of situations that feel profoundly cruel. Who else could I turn to?

So with achingly slow steps, I’m moving away from faith in stuff—in outcomes—to faith in a person, a relationship… ya know… just because!

I leave you with this excerpt from my favorite (nonbible) book in the whole wide universe. Hinds Feet in High Places is an allegory for the spiritual journey. I find it to be beautiful. This scene illustrates what I’m trying to communicate WAY better than I ever could:

            "This" said he, motioning toward the first of the silent figures, "is named Sorrow.  And the other is her twin sister, Suffering.".....Much-Afraid's cheeks blanched and she began to tremble from head to foot.  She felt so like fainting that she clung to the Shepherd for support.

              "I can't go with them," she gasped.  "I can't!  I can't!!  O my Lord Shepherd, why do you do this to me?  How can I travel in their company?  It is more than I can bear.  You tell me that the mountain way itself is so steep and difficult that I cannot climb it alone.  Then why, oh why must you allow Sorrow and Suffering to be my companions?"

A strange look passed over the Shepherd's face as he listened to this outburst, then looking at the veiled figures as he spoke, he answered very gently, "Remember your promise.  Will you still trust me, Much- Afraid?  Or do you wish to turn back to the Valley, to all your Fearing relatives, to Craven Fear himself?"

            The choice seemed terrible.  Fear she knew only too well, but Sorrow and Suffering had always seemed to her the most terrifying things she could encounter.  How could she go with them and abandon herself to their power?

            She looked at the Shepherd and suddenly knew... if she were unfit to love and be loved by anyone else in the world, yet in her trembling, miserable little heart, she did love him.  Even if he asked the impossible, she would not refuse.  

            "Others have gone this way before me," she thought, "and they could even sing about it afterwards.  Will he who is so strong and gentle be less faithful and gracious to me, weak and cowardly though I am, when it is so obvious that the thing he delights in most of all is to deliver his followers from all their fears and take them to the High Places??" 

            She replied, "Do I wish to turn back?  O Shepherd, to whom should I go?  In all the world I have none but you.  Help me to follow you, even though it seems impossible.  Help me to trust you as much as I long to love you."

            He replied softly, "Fear not, Much-Afraid, only believe.  My Peace I leave with you.  My Joy be fulfilled in you. 

Grace and the pedophile

A couple weeks ago, the Chicago Tribune reported that a 31-year-old man was arrested for sexually assaulting a 12-year-old boy he met in a chat room. The mug-shot of a big unsmiling Puerto Rican man accompanied a feature article which spared no detail of the disturbing encounter one night in a park last May.

That man is my friend. His name is Ryan. I know him smiling, joking, and crying; not scowling.

Ryan has an incredible life story of redemption and healing from a dark and broken past. But unbeknownst to his community, a hideous part of his past followed him well into his life as a Christian and did its work in secret spaces that nobody was allowed to see.

What the article didn’t say was that after he was found out, arrested, and released, Ryan called me last May to tell me personally what he’d done. (I cried a lot that night.) He then confessed what he’d done to his friends, his pastors, and his employer.

The next few months, I checked in with him periodically. I even took him to lunch. I was horrified by his behavior but knowing his past, I can’t say I was completely surprised. I understood that in his mind, the sexual predator was dissociated from the nurturing uncle and friend. I believe that profound good and evil lived and grew simultaneously within him. So I tried to support him as best I could. I tried to ensure people were checking up on him, keeping him from hiding, keeping him accountable.

But then one day, I quietly checked out. It was after I gave my testimony to a detective. Ryan and I had already butted heads about whether he should turn himself in (he’d been arrested and released once already.) In the end, I just didn’t want to deal with it anymore. So I hid.

And I’m ashamed that I did. Because for the last month, I’ve felt a strong compulsion, an urgency to call him, to reconnect, and to offer my care and support. Now I’ve lost my chance. I don’t want to be too hard on myself, but I observed a familiar faintness of heart when faced with this painful evil in someone I love deeply. I was kind to Ryan in the beginning. Maybe too kind. But then I drew away.

By contrast, I know of at least two other friends who raked Ryan over the coals. They were honest with Ryan about their anger, disappointment, and loss of trust. They didn’t shelter Ryan from the relational consequences of his choices. But these same two people called him every day, walked with him through painful transitions, and showed exactly the kind of love and support that Ryan needed… not one that ignored the evil, but one that stood face to face with the evil and refused to run. Those guys are my heroes.

Lots of times grace is seen as a whitewash, a blind eye toward evil. Some people can’t stomach the idea of people like Ryan “getting off the hook” with God. It seems unfair that God would forgive such evil people. But grace isn’t a whitewash, a limp-wristed approach to sin. It’s a courageous resolution to deal with sin, to face evil with ferocious goodness, and to meet the demands of justice head on. Our justice system would never execute Ryan for his crime but some people would. Heck, maybe he deserves it. Maybe we all deserve it. (Or maybe it’s just me.) What I do know is that if you multiply goodness times eternity and call that God, I’m not too hopeful for my defense when facing him. I guess that’s why grace is a good idea for me. Because I’ve screwed people over. I’ve done stupid and downright evil things. And I don’t stand a chance. But I know grace isn’t a whitewash (for me OR Ryan). I believe God looks piercingly at my frightened, corrupted self and settles my debt within himself… just because.

The Beauty of Ugliness

If you've been in an evangelical church on a Sunday morning in the last 10 years you may have noticed the backgrounds behind the lyrics on the screen. These are ultra-beautified scenes designed to stimulate people's sense of beauty and pleasure... A dew-laden glen, sun streaming through trees, a child on a swing. They are photoshopped to the max. Today I saw one that amazed me. It depicted a sillouhetted Christ hauling a cross against the background of swirling white clouds and an impossibly blue sky. I laughed to myself. Leave it to Christians to turn a scene as morbid and dark as the crucifixion into something pretty and palatable!

In fact I think Christians have been in the business of cleaning up God's mess for a long time.

Same thing with communion. We got rid of the wine in favor of Welch's. But I rather like the bitter beauty of wine. I mean, it's an acquired taste right? You need a certain level of exposure and romantic indoctrination to fall in love with a well-crafted wine or beer (though most of us would agree there is something innate to be discovered in the drink... we're not just manipulating ourselves). But, as my father-in-law reminds me, it's bitter stuff. And he's right. It is bitter. And it's gorgeous. Life can be like that. And I think that the place where God intersects our lives can be like that. Beautifully bitter. Gorgeously mundane. I mean, why would God command the Jews to eat bitter herbs on passover? Why would he want people to codify and commemorate within the very heart of their spiritual rhythms the bitterness of slavery?

Christians have gotten good at giving lip service to ugliness recently. "It's hard but good." "It's been really challenging but I know God has a plan in all this." But like the artistically framed picture of the passion, it only hints at a reality that's tough to look at, tough to hear about. When I went to see the Passion of the Christ in college, the lady sitting in front of me said during the credits, "I paid 8 bucks for that?!" I think that's how a lot of Christians feel when they find out that Christianity is not an opiate for the masses after all. Jesus told his guys: "In this world you'll have troubles. But take heart, I've overcome the world" (Interesting he didn't say, "I've overcome your troubles.")

Maybe that's why I swear. One, because swearing helps me talk to normal people and communicate that being Christian is different from being Ned Flanders. But more importantly, I feel that well-chosen profanities CAN give the linguistic gravity to talk about the ugliness all around us. And I WANT to have the language for ugliness because when we talk about ugliness with unapologetic honesty, it's cathartic. AND we're identifying with a God who talks about ugliness throughout the bible and makes himself beautiful in the ugly and the everyday.

God is like Pablo Neruda. The Chilean poet had a knack for finding beauty in the little things. Things like a cat or a lemon. And the poetry is breathtaking. I mean...

Cutting the lemon
the knife
leaves a little cathedral:
alcoves unguessed by the eye
that open acidulous glass
to the light; topazes
riding the droplets,
altars,
aromatic facades.


If I were a poet I'd try to write about sunsets and mountaintops, but Neruda seems to see God himself in the lemon. I guess what I'm saying is that God himself sees himself in the lemon... in bitter herbs and bitter wine, in life's disheartening ironies, in our unthinking exhausted moments when we can't even bring ourselves to care. In the ugly and the plain and the bitter, there's God like a kid with finger paints... making art; a strange kind of upside-down image we need a new framework, a maturity of thought in order to decode, to reveal the altars, the aromatic facades, the beauty.