WHY: The Marriage Metaphor

I enjoy a slightly hipster-esque–Indie–Folksy–Blue Grass band by the name of The Civil Wars. One of the first songs I fell in love with is called Poison and Wine. I love the words, I love the timbre of their voices, I love the way they haunt and redeem my heart with every chord.

Last week was a bit of a rough one emotionally. Not only for me, but also for others that I know and love. Sometimes, there is this illusion that seminary students, counseling students, future pastors and teachers have their “stuff” figured out. But the truth is, we’re actually very messy people.

A few brief examples:

My friend who is “engaged” but is on break.
One that I look up to who is struggling with depression.
There’s another who is struggling with burn out from ministry (already!) and depression.
A new friend who is coming out of depression but has mixed direction on life.
Another who is dealing with childhood abuse.
Everyone who can’t afford their lives.
The one who is so desperate for love they keep going back to the same broken relationship.
My friend who longs to know that God does love him.
The one, surrounded by friends, who still feels alone.

These are the people I do life with, each and every day. It’s exhausting, it’s beautiful, it’s truth. Over the weekend I went out with a couple friends after one of them had moved into a new apartment. I had heard some basic things about his off kilter relationship, but that night I asked a few more questions. I wanted to get to know this man better, and as a friend, part of that required knowing his story, his relationships, his hopes, the things his world revolves around. The story given was not long but it was full of sorrow amidst lingering hopes. When we returned to their house from the restaurant, I stood outside with the roommate I am very close to suddenly found myself overwhelmed by sadness. I burst into tears. My friend wrapped his arms around me while I cried and repeatedly mumbled the same questions.

Why does He let this go on?
When is He coming back?
When will He put things to rights? Bind up our sores, heal our broken bones?

My friend, of course, couldn’t say. These are questions that have plagued human history and Christianity is no exception. The failure of God to come when we expect has always been a mystery in human suffering.

I managed to pull myself together enough to get in my car and make it onto the highway. I pulled the pieces together and placed trembling hands on the steering wheel as I guided the little sedan through late night traffic and construction. It didn’t take long, however, before my lack of control resurfaced. Two exits after my entrance to the highway the same sadness overwhelmed me. I cried the entire way home, a twenty minute drive of blurred lights and stifled sobs.

In the midst of this, as I pounded my steering wheel and demanded to know when He will return, the sounds of The Civil Wars whispered through my stereo. Poison and Wine seems, at first listening, to be a song of dried up hopes and long forgotten love. It is a relationship kept alive only by the power of will, by sheer stubbornness. Or so it seems.

There is a part in the song that suddenly hit home that night on the highway. The music crescendoes and the man sings in a terrifyingly raw tone, “I don’t have a choice, but I still choose you.” They surge into the chorus where their voices mingle together, singing desperately, “Oh, I don’t love you, but I always will!”

It seems so open, so broken, so lost and hopeless.

But I suddenly understood why the Prophets, Israel, the New Testament writers–why even Jesus himself–calls us His wife. The Scriptures have long said we are the promiscuous wife who runs to others, who forgets her first love, who stands on the street corners outside a house of sexual indecency, who lies and scorns the things of her husband. We have always gone running to other things, and God has always stood waiting.

That is only one side of it though.

It’s true, I’m a child of indecency, and I often go after things that lead only to my destruction. It’s true that I pursue other lovers, that I forget the One who redeemed me, who cleaned me, gave me new clothes and took me into his home with nothing to offer him.

But there is another side, the one we face day in and day out. It is the side of sinful reality. The world is broken. Jesus hasn’t yet come back. We speak of progress and the improvement of man, but we have only improved ways of killing each other, ways of keeping the poor underfoot. I railed at God in my car on Sunday night, beating the steering wheel with a tightly closed fist. It isn’t the first time my car or my body has been abused for the frustration of His postponed return. Sunday night won’t be the last time I get angry and tell God He’s wrong for waiting, it won’t be the last time I ask Him to come back right now and save us from all this mess.

But, I realized the marriage metaphor is not only about a wife who has abandoned her master.

It’s about a wife who waits patiently for her husband, trusting that he’ll be true to his word as he always has been.

“I don’t have a choice, but I still choose you,” they sang as I raced down the highway through a construction zone where even the cops themselves drive over the limit. I stood in the city, burning its way to the ground in selfish debt and hopeless sin. I drove on the edge of town to a place where the sin and violence are the stories in the lives of my neighbours.

And I thought, I’ve tried to run from the faith so many times, Abba, but you always hold on to me. I don’t have a choice. I don’t have a way of getting out of what I know to be true. I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to.

But I don’t want to leave.

I don’t have “freedom” to leave. But even if I did, I wouldn’t want to. Even when I don’t love God, I always will. I will always choose Him, even when I think He is dawdling in His return. It’s like a marriage. A covenant. I agreed to stay, and so I will. Just as He has waited and stayed for me, so I will wait on Him.

WHY: The Hunger Games

[there are spoilers regarding the plot. beware]
[this is also ridiculously long. no apologies.]

I don’t read much teen fiction. To be honest, I don’t lately read much fiction at all. I’m working through an ancient copy of Robin Hood in Old English, but other than that the last novel I read was actually for class–I just turned in the paper yesterday. I wanted to read The Hunger Games because the movie previews looked intriguing and I have this need to read the book before seeing the movie based on it. The timing for such a plan didn’t work out this time as I saw the movie on Spring Break before I was able to access the book. So I did the reverse of my normal and I saw the movie last Tuesday, but finished the book this morning over breakfast.

It was decent. I mean, let’s be honest, I don’t think Suzanne Collins’ strength is in her writing ability… it’s fairly simplistic. What is motivating is her plot line and the dialogue. The characters aren’t poorly developed, but you don’t get to see as much as you might want since it’s written in first person. Collins’ use of present tense was a good one. I’ve done some experimenting with present tense and it’s always fun to write in. I enjoyed reading it because it forces you to be a part of the novel, to experience what is going on just as the characters do. In a sense, it draws you  in and makes the story more real, more tangible, as you fly through the pages of simple writing and intensely fractured view of reality.

There’s been this storm of opinions about The Hunger Games. It’s ranked #5 on the list of banned books for 2010 thanks to violence and sexual content. You know what else made the list that year? Brave New World by Huxley was  #3 while Nickeled and Dimed by Barbara Ehrenriech was #8. I’ve read them both. I can’t lie, Huxley’s book was a little disturbing as a sheltered high schooler and I didn’t like it. In college, Ehrenreich’s book changed my life, my view on poverty in America. She might be one of many reasons I live in the inner city on less than $1000 a month.

But the Hunger Games… People are angry about the violence, the situational ethics, the sexual material, the brutish and flawed government presented, as well as a thousand other tiny details. Here’s where I’m going to get myself into trouble and not support my more typical conservative opinion on the media we put in our heads. Usually, I don’t like graphic media. I don’t think that we should overly engage violence in our entertainment, and I’m all about keeping certain aspects of sexuality in the bedroom, between husband and wife. I want to follow the mandate to only focus on that which is good, pure, lovely, righteous. I think that’s why Christians have flipped a lid over The Hunger Games. A game of 24 teenagers thrown into a massive arena and told to kill or be killed while the entire event is nationally televised and the nation is required to tune in? It doesn’t sound like anything pure, lovely, or righteous. But wait before you stone me when I say this:

Kids should read this book. And I mean kids: high schoolers. middle schoolers. the whole lot of them.

Just like I had to read 1984 and Brave New World.

Collins paints a realistic and sobering picture of a dystopia. It’s a world where the districts outside the capital scrape by with very little while those inside the great city wait anxiously for each year’s new edition of The Games. It’s a reality borne of previous war and strife, a rebellion which the Capital put down and constantly reminds the districts of when they reap children (tributes) for their games. I think there are a few major reasons kids should read this, and parents or adults without kids should read it alongside them–not only to help talk through things with their children, but also for their own benefit.

Situational Ethics
It’s true, there are situational ethics in the book/movie which lends itself to a problematic view of absolute moral truth. When you’re thrown into the arena, told to kill or be killed, it doesn’t leave much room for negotiation. There simply isn’t time to consider right and wrong. Not when you are being hunted by a teenager twice your size who’s been training for this event for years (even though that’s technically illegal). It makes sense that parents and others are unnerved by the perverse lack of rules governing the games. In a post-modern world where anything that makes you happy is accepted (so long as it doesn’t infringe on my rights), people want to cling to some absolute, ethical standards.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t stand up. Christians themselves accept a certain amount of situational ethics. Do I lie to the Nazis about the Jews hidden in the basement? Or do I tell the truth and get them all killed? Hm. That’s situational. That’s not a clear ethical choice, if you consider that both options are technically “wrong,” or engaging in some amount of “sin.” So you take the least of evils and you lie about the Jews and breathe a sigh of relief when you’ve saved not only your life but those who have been placed in your care.

In the Games, Katniss (the main character) says finally at the end that she doesn’t want any other tributes to die. She, by volunteering to go in her sister’s place, broke the norm of those in her district who consider the Games to be a death sentence. While in the arena, she puts on a good show for the watching world, often struggling not to openly mourn the loss of those around her. In the last few chapters, she mercifully ends Cato’s life as he is slowly being eaten alive by mutated dogs. When the end comes down to her and Peeta, the other tribute from her district, Katniss makes a choice not to kill though he is volunteering to die for her. The pair break free of the situation and the ethics found in the arena as they decide to commit suicide and end the Games without a winner. So, you see, the argument about situational ethics doesn’t hold up. This is one reason kids should read the book: to be reminded that when all the pressure of the world tells you to do something you know is wrong, you don’t have to do it. Some things aren’t worth living for.

Humanity
There are several instances of nudity in the book. These are not perverse, they are carefully crafted. During the week before the Games, Katniss and the other tributes spend time in the Capital, training and interviewing on television. They are scored on their abilities, they are the consideration of gamblers, they vie for sponsors, etc. In all this, Katniss is repeatedly dressed in various costumes, her hair is done, her face disappears under makeup, she is instructed how to act and talk, and somewhere in the mess of costumes and acting, she loses her humanity. It is not as though Katniss herself forgets humanity, but rather she becomes an object to the people around her. Those in the Capital do not see a young woman who provides for her family at home. They see only a subject to be manipulated and wagered on. When they are in the arena, it is sometimes as though the tributes forget themselves and forget that the others around them are also humans. Instead, they are only prey–as Peeta will refer to himself and Katniss when Cato hunts them. They are objects of slaughter by their fellow man, for the entertainment of those who in the Capital, who are entirely devoid of reality.

It’s important to read things like this and be reminded that “they” are always humans too. We’re in the midst of two wars. Our men, our women are still overseas–or have you forgotten? We’re facing another deployment in my family. Maybe this time the military will actually tell us where he is sent. But the thing I come back to, time and again, are the people who are already over “there.” The Afghanis, the Iraqis, and the thousand of others whose lives we are involved in without ever claiming responsibility. They are human too, they have value and worth in the eyes of God. Do we remember that? Or do we simply dehumanize them so they are easier to kill? So that they are simply objects to bet on? It’s easy to do that when there is distance, when we look at them as something to be modified, molded into our cultural likeness. It’s what the people in the Capital do. They hold Katniss and the others at arms length–able to engage them and their stories enough to make the Games interesting and entertaining; always pushing them far enough away so their deaths don’t quite matter. Our children should know better. You don’t do this with other humans, no matter the past rebellions, or the class divisions. Because people do not become animals when you throw them into the arena, no matter how they act. The imago die may be distorted but it is not erased.

Entertainment
The book and movie both acknowledge that the main point of the Hunger Games is to keep the various districts under control. But those in the Capital do not always remember the war in the same way the Districts do. For them, the Hunger Games are cause for celebration. There are parades and parties that last late into the nights. Do you see what is wrong with this? These people are celebrating the entertainment that they find in watching teenagers kill each other. I’ve started to read Amusing Ourselves to Death . It’s a brilliant expose of what is going wrong in America when we only want to be entertained, rather than required to think. The first chapter compares 1984 where we are overcome by something outside of us (i.e.: Big Brother) and A Brave New World where we are overcome by that which is inside us. His argument is that we are being destroyed by the second.

I think that the Hunger Games is a simplistic version of this argument for my generation (or the generation behind me). Collins’ shows how wrong it is to watch people kill each other as though it’s only a show. It’s a startling discourse on our obsession with entertainment without thought. For the educated, it harkens back to the battle of the Minatour when 7 boys and 7 girls were sacrificed for the city of Athens; more historically it is a science fiction version of The Games in ancient Rome when we reveled in the blood of the gladiators and slaves eaten by half starved lions. You see, this isn’t a new thing. It’s just reinvented, cleaned up with more technology and brighter colours (and noticeably less sand). It’s a question for us:

will we become the Capital?
Thirsty for entertainment to the point of throwing children to their deaths for our amusement?

or will we stand and fight when such a time comes?
Will we remember to think for ourselves and remember the value of human life?
Will we stand up to the government, as Christians,

as humans?

 

or crumble into oblivion? stupefied by our own refusal to engage?

WHY: The Super Bowl Isn’t Worth It

Disclaimer: I’m not a Broncos fan. First and foremost, I stand behind the Pittsburgh Steelers…which is another post (or series of posts) in and of itself. Secondary disclaimer: I don’t love American football. I prefer futbol and EPL. So I could be wrong. But I think, for the most part, I’m not.

Last week there was quite the watch on ESPN and NFL websites as Peyton Manning went up for grabs as a free agent. Peyton seems like a decent guy. He’s a little old, but he’s got a wife that he met just before college (I’m a sucker for sweet love stories) and two kids. He does good charitable work, runs summer football camps, etc. He’s a good quarterback too.

But I really wanted Tennessee to take him.

I’m not a part of Tebow-mania. His brother attends the same school as I do, and that sort of takes the novelty out of it. I mean, they’re just real, normal people. At the same time, I do love Tebow. He makes missionary kids everywhere pretty proud. He does good charitable things, and he loves things other than football. He’s a decent quarterback too. Better than Elway was in his first season.

I was pretty sad when we traded him.

But the reasons I was upset really don’t have very much to do with what I just told you. Based on those scant thoughts, I might as well pick them based on good looks or something else trivial. No, I was upset when we took Manning and traded Tebow for other reasons.

1. This is our third quarterback in as many years. Before Tebow was Kyle Orton who had a decent couple of years before this past season. Let’s not just leave it with quarterbacks, how many coaches have we had in the past few years? The lack of stability unnerves me. You don’t build a team by throwing new players into the mix, or changing the coach every season or two. Whether or not the fans are always happy shouldn’t matter (at least not at first) because fans want celebrities and we’re obsessed with having a good show. You usually don’t make a good season out of a good show because you usually don’t make a good, solid season out of a single player. We had a chance to build something around Tim Tebow. I think we should have held onto him and given it one more season. Some stability would be good, some consistency might help to build a solid base for future seasons. Instead, we snagged Manning and we’re hoping to ride him for all he’s worth next season… which leads to another problem.

2. Next season. But what about 2013? Or 2015? Let’s be honest folks, Manning is old. He’s at the near end of his career. We signed a five year contract and all my guy friends who are much better experts than I am are all wondering if he’ll even make it that far. What if we build an entire system around Manning and he bails out because of age before we have a chance to see this through? It doesn’t make sense in the long term to take Manning.

3. What about all those kids who looked up to Tebow? I live in the inner city. You think role models aren’t important? It’s one reason that Roethlesberger really frustrates me. You shouldn’t treat your position at the head of a team, full of hype and publicity with such apathy. What about those kids who loved him, who needed a hero, who needed someone to admire? In a nation so obsessed with sports and entertainment, at least Tebow gave the kids someone decent to look at. Leaders in sports should remember the incredible influence they have on a society that pays nearly a thousand dollars for a set of season tickets.

4. $95 million. We signed Manning for Ninety-Five-Million-Dollars over five years. I don’t care what kind of a quarterback he is. This bothers me for a couple of reasons. The amount is exorbitant and it just shows our misplaced priorities as Americans (or as humans).

• That’s akin to the size of the budget gap in the City of Denver. The gap that closed governmental offices and forced city employees to take furlough days. Do you know what that money could do in my city? Do you know what it could accomplish in the refugee services? Can you imagine the educational reform? No man is worth that kind of money. I live on less than $15,000 a year and I’m paying for graduate school. He throws a football. Instead of investing that money in a player who isn’t going to last five years, why doesn’t the Bronco’s franchise do something in the city? They could act as though they are part of something more than just a sports team but a part of the community. This, I suppose, is my greatest problem. With lack of snowfall, we’re going to have a hard summer with water, with jobs, with everything. If unemployment wasn’t already a problem here, it’s going to get worse.

 

• The fact that we pay $95 million to a single person while we have starving people in the same city shows that we value sports and entertainment more than meeting the basic needs of humanity. I’m not talking about huge changes. I mean better services for refugees and immigrants so they can contribute to society rather than remain a burden on the cities’ budgets and resources. Or making our education system function again. I know it’s not the city that is paying for Manning’s salary but the franchise. However, I do think it shows h ow misplaced our priorities have become. The Broncos could be a part of this place, they could have helped the city. Instead, they spent money on a quarterback, and expect a city with growing unemployment and steady financial pressures to pay his income when we buy tickets we can’t afford.

I’m not angry. I think Manning could take us to the super bowl. That would be exciting for a sub-par team like the Broncos (who have long struggled to compete seriously). But I also think that something is seriously wrong with us for paying so much money to a man that does little more than run and throw a well aimed ball pretty far on the field.

WHY: I’m Sticking Around

I almost left my church. It was going to be a pretty blasé yet really epic decision. I mean, I like new things. I used to have an obsessive desire to start over, try new things. I used to try to do that every 8-12 months. I leave churches, housing situations, groups of friends, etc. It’s good fun, you see, never being tied down. It’s easier to leave a little dust on your shoes and keep moving up the trail towards what seems better things. So it was going to be blasé. Not a big deal.

But it was going to be an epic decision because I’ve been at this church (off and on, of course) for about six years. I have long struggled with the established, institutionalized church. While that is a different post entirely, it has to be acknowledged because this part of the reason I loved my church. They’re really laid back and wonderful. On Sunday, we canceled church because the roads were icy. The church I work at had a solid sheet of ice for a parking lot. From the nursery windows I watched old women slide, wrenching their husband’s backs as they grabbed for anything rather than tumbling to the ground. My church family, on the other hand, seemed to care more about our safety so we canceled. Or there’s the time my roommie and I took three girls from our apartment complex who couldn’t sit still and who tried reading the Bible out loud, in broken English during service. No one minded that. No angry glares, no whispers to hush us up, nothing. Just a few glances of endearment towards the children between us and nods of approval to me and Molls. I don’t think that would’ve happened at a typical church. I fit in this church in some ways, because it’s easier and there are no expectations. So it would have been a massive shift to head back to the stereotypical church like the Southern Baptist congregation I had visited with its pews and hymnals.

But I’d been unhappy for awhile, you see. I was hurting and frustrated. I may have even  been beyond frustrated, I was exasperated because I didn’t know where to go or what to do to make things better. I felt that we didn’t talk about sin because we were afraid of hurting feelings. I felt shut out because I was actually pursuing Jesus and righteous living, because I wasn’t the same girl as a year ago, and I felt that some people resented that. On the flip side, I didn’t know where to put in effort or where to build into community. I felt that few people wanted me and I struggled to see how leadership was actually helping to build community or spur us on to a race well run. I was fed up. For weeks I talked with friends about leaving. But I kept thinking there was something wrong, something that didn’t seem right in my decision to peace out of a congregation that so frustrated and endeared me.

So I met with my pastor.

I emailed him for two months. We would find a time, then cancel, then not find a time because of school and travels,but finally, we settled on a bright Monday morning at 9am. We even went to the Seminary which was convenient for us both and offered hot coffee in the student center. We sat down after a brief (and somewhat awkward) hug.

And then I talked. We went over niceties at first. Was I dating anyone from Seminary yet? How were classes? Was I making it financially? Was I worried? Did my roommate and I talk about deep things? But ten minutes in I’d blazed through those questions and we were on to the real reason I wanted to see him.

I apologized first, because I’m pretty insecure and I don’t feel like I’m allowed to have complaints and frustrations. So before I laid into my list I apologized and swore that I wasn’t trying to just complain. So he sat, and he listened to my explanation of where I’d been hurt, where I was confused or felt misled. I pointed out specific things in leadership that had been difficult and confessed that I’d been really bitter about a variety of situations. My pastor sat there, the big hulking man with a bald head and scruffy chin, he took it all in, nodded and interjected only occasionally.

And when I was done he said one thing.

“I’m sorry.”

I decided, in that moment, I was sticking around.

Because he looked me in the face and he said he was sorry. He said that as a pastor he hadn’t always done a good job, he acknowledged that they were having to clean things up, and he said he was sorry for the way I was caught in the crossfire. I was sort of dumbfounded. I’ve never had someone say that, never had someone take responsibility and be genuinely sorry for how I, as a lay person, had been poorly served by the church.

There was more to the conversation, of course.

He challenged me about some things. He was gently rebuking in a few of my bitter moments. He told me I should be praying for people, and looking for how I could be a blessing to those people I had been hurt by. I think he could have quoted Matthew and said it was me praying for “those who have persecuted” me–even those in the church. But he didn’t. I think he knew he didn’t need to give me scripture. He just needed to remind me that it was written and I should be doing it, if only for the good of my own soul and the obedience we owe to Jesus.

And then he left. I went back to homework.

So this week I’ll be at church, celebrating Big Table and cheering on my awesome roommie when she shares about the ministry at our apartment complex.

At least for the moment, until I think that God has called me elsewhere, I am here. I’m sticking around.

Why: The Advent Gap Is Terribly Good

The other night as I drove home, I listened to the end of a newly burned cd and reflected over the days events. The music is a compilation of two Avett Brothers’ albums and half of a David Crowder album as well. It may seem an odd pairing but they are two of my favourite groups/singers to listen to, so for me the flow is quite natural–from blue grass to techie rock worship…I don’t think it gets much better for my musical needs.

That day I had an exam which went pretty miserably. I studied all the wrong things and was tested on the areas where my review had been weakest. Funny how that happens. I was probably the only one whose exam covered the Gospels instead of Acts. I’m sure Bl just glanced at me and counted out the exams in that order so I would get the one that didn’t cover the material I knew. Old family friends with high expectations do things like that, you know.

And then I hung out with some friends, which turned into hanging out with one friend. It’s funny how some relationships develop quickly and others take time. This one fits that first category. We hit it off right away and have been spending a good deal of time together since our earliest conversations.

That night we talked about some rough things. We talked about dysfunctional families, unhealthy dating relationships and mistakes we made in every possible arena of life. We hugged for a long time at the end and I think were both close to tears. There’s something refreshingly painful about being honest and open with someone. So much of life we walk in fear of rejection–at work, in friendships, in school, in marriage. The closer a person comes to us and our heart, the greater potential for pain when they discover something in us they don’t like.

As I drove home, the cd had switched from Avett to Crowder. He sang something I haven’t heard in many songs, or heard preached from many pulpits.

He said that Jesus loves us, we are loved and that is enough.

The title of the song is Happiness.

To think that Happiness is defined by the love of God reaching into our world and redeeming us from the pit, the muck, the mire, the mess.

I’m going to harp on Advent for only another week and a half.

 

But it struck me how it doesn’t seem enough.

 

I want so many things. I want the cockroaches in my apartment to vanish. I want to have more money so I didn’t have to work over break. I want a boyfriend. I want a bed frame so my blankets will stop falling off when I move at night. I want an Audi A7, or even just a hatchback, turbo Audi A6 would be nice.

But more than all that I just want God. I want to know him, I want to be known by him (or to be brave enough to acknowledge that he knows me in my deepest darkest secrets and the pettiest selfish desires). I want to learn to love others, to do it deeply and well. I want to be honest, but not selfish with my needs. I want to speak truth and wisdom, and I want to do it gently.

I want my friends lives to be better. I want them to be healthy, healed and whole. I want the dysfunctionality, the abuse, the addictions to end.

 

Advent is a bittersweet time.

 

My NT professors are all about the Kingdom of the “Here and Not Yet.” Advent is the epitome of that theme. Jesus has come, but Jesus is still coming. The Kingdom is here! Among us! I can sit on a rock watching shooting stars in the mountains with my friend and laugh and cry. We can be honest and real and we can do that because Abba gave us Jesus and we are being restored in him!

But I have friends who return to Christmas with families that cause pain despite being called “christian.” I have a friend whose father died of a sudden heart attack–who never saw his son attend seminary and never saw his own ministry come to fruition. I have a friend whose marriage was ended by “the church” and others whose families struggle with various addictions.

 

We are being restored, but there is much work to be done.

 

I turned off the highway tonight, behind the buses that patrol Colfax, looking for those who are lonely, homeless or headed to the nighttime work that is keeping their families alive and housed this wintertime. I cut across three lanes of traffic and slid along the solid sheets of ice that cover the road to my complex because the city I live in is too poor and too lazy to pay for plows and care for its people. All the while Crowder sang that to be loved is enough.

 

It is enough.

 

But then, it isn’t.

 

Because, while Jesus died and redeemed us from our sins, he is also yet-to-come and redeem the world from all its strife and pain and grief. Advent is bittersweet because we remember the glorious victory wrought in Mary’s womb! But we hold that in tension with the sorrow of today, the pain next door, the loneliness in our hearts. And we remember that while he has already come, we are still waiting,

waiting,

waiting for him to come again.

 

It is painfully sweet.

Why: I don’t watch R rated movies

I watched a movie over the weekend that was rated “R.” I thought it would probably be for some foul language mixed with violence. They also mentioned a bit of partial nudity which usually means a woman’s backside. Since I have one of those, I wasn’t too worried.

But the movie turned out to be a bit gory. I shut my eyes for a good portion of it. I wanted to quit, but I have this desperate need for closure, and since the movie ended up being a bit scary, I really needed the closure so I knew those bad guys weren’t out wandering the streets.

But the movie started with a home invasion, and after that scene, I knew it was going to be several days before I was truly okay. You see, I was housesitting that same weekend, in a place where the wind howls all night around the homes and the dogs have a fight at least once a day and the heater makes this awful metallic whining noise that is a bit creepy in the middle of the night.

So, each night, I had to make a friend come over and walk through the house with me, to ensure that I was alone and safe. I’m twenty-three. I shouldn’t be so easily frightened.

But that scene keeps replaying in my mind. Not only that one, but others from the movie as well. And it disturbs me, not because I’m afraid of someone invading the house I’m watching or the apartment I live in. Right now, the sun is out, I can see neighbors doing yard work, the dogs are mostly getting along, and I’m more concerned about lunch than about someone entering the front door and stabbing me.

What disturbs me is that there are people out there who are socio paths and do these things. And it disturbs me to have those images in my mind. It also unnerves me that people can write these scripts, and act the parts and then they walk away as though it’s no big deal. Not only that but we watch these movies, and we think it’s okay to watch a man and his wife be attacked for no reason, to watch their little girl be killed by two druggies. We find it somehow enjoyable to watch such things. In fact, we almost cheer the father on when he exacts vengeance on those who took his family from him! We cheer him on, despite the gruesome nature of the killings he performs in the memory of his loved ones.

This is gross.

How can we do that, how can our culture celebrate such things?

As a Christian, there’s a whole other dimension to it. How can I say that I’m thinking on what is pure and holy if I’m watching such atrocities while enjoying my Ben and Jerry’s and attempting a relaxing night after a long afternoon spent in the book of Ephesians and lexical studies? It’s ironic and it seems contradictory.

I’m always frustrated after a movie that’s rated R. There are only three in my memory that haven’t completely freaked me out. (Gladiator, The Patriot and Braveheart) Even those three were painful to watch at certain moments and they aren’t movies that I own. I can’t watch movies like the one this weekend because they actually frighten me, they don’t help me to meditate on good things and they actually take away my hope for humanity because there was nothing redemptive in the story. There was only blood and violence and destruction.

Those aren’t things I think a Christian (or any person) should spend their free time focusing on.

What do you think? Write off all movies that are R? Or try to sift through the ones with gratuitous violence and sex for the ones that do have meaning and weighty significance to their stories?

death

It’s winter-time. Sierra and I painted pictures of trees. We talked about how leaves fall off of trees during the winter, because things die. But I also reminded her of the summer time and how the leaves will come back, because things will return to life after a long sleep through snowy winter months.

A few friends have had grandparents struggling with health lately. This is not foreign to me, but I think I have been more distant from the deaths of the elderly in my family because of physical space and we always had a forward view of death.

This was something spoken of in a recent class. We were discussing the Last Supper and the implications of an eschatological meal when the culture in which Jesus was born was sort of obsessed with mealtimes.

And this was said:

when we face death, we must remember the meal, the fellowship, and the party.

It’s the party with the best wine, the best food, the best people around–the ones you’re close to and the ones you’ve always wanted to meet. This, my professor reminded us, is how we must view death.

It doesn’t do away with the sorrow and the lament. We weren’t supposed to die. By all means, lament and mourn and wail. Grief is normal and natural, it is important. But we have to remember that just like the trees which die during wintertime, death is necessary to bring on the next life.

Le Jesus Politique

I went into this paper assuming that Jesus was only a political  figure in how he may have been misunderstood by the Zealots who were searching for a militaristic Messiah. Being a good westerner, I know the importance of separating church from state. And I assumed that Jesus (being so forward minded) didn’t plan on being understood as a political figure. He was coming to save us from sin.

not a political regime.

Obviously, Jesus didn’t overthrow Rome.

and  yet, after all my research,

I don’t think Jesus was so apolitical.

This is changing the way I read the gospels. It is obscuring the way I view our nation. And my role in our political system.

My paper is supposed to be 13-18 pages. I’ve only written there paragraphs. (and 18 pages is not enough space to cover all of this)

Obviously, I’m not done.

But I just want to throw it out there:

what if Jesus was incredibly involved in the political scene of his day? What if he was calling for an overthrow of Rome from beneath because he was calling for radical redefinitions of society? What if he was crucified as a political insurrectionist, rather than a simple blasphemer who was getting on everyone’s nerves?

what if being a blasphemer and an insurrectionist were the same thing?

 

also, I really liked the quote below and since it doesn’t fit in my paper, you’re being saddled with the responsibility of sharing in my appreciation.

“Give me proof of the existence of God,” said Frederick of Prussia to his chaplain.
“Your majesty,” replied the chaplain, “behold the Jews.” The survival of Israel is a miracle of history…. [Until The Coming of Messiah and His Kingdom; Robert Shank]

cash monies!

that’s what Ethan calls them….

I spoke with a friend recently about being broken financially. We were talking about what it means to have our needs met on a daily basis, or monthly as we pay rent each month and not every single day. We discussed the temptations and dangers of credit cards. We bemoaned the incessant need our generation has to “hang out” but never do anything at home. Why can’t people come over to my apartment for coffee and food? Why must we meet at the Old Mill and spend money even if the drinks are only $1 after 8pm? Or, in our vanity, why do we have to have that new dress for the wedding when the one we wore to the last college roommate’s wedding was just as good?But mostly we talked about the fear and the humility in this sort of circumstance. I’ve been regretting my recent hair cut (and by recent I mean July). I left about four to six inches on the floor of that salon. I think I whimpered each of the three times she swept it up so she could keep cutting. Every time I look in the mirror lately, I regret that decision. I love the haircut. But it’s grown to that awkward stage again, and I can’t afford another trim. I don’t think I realized how much of my identity was wrapped up in my appearance until lately when I’m in an institution surrounded by men–many of who you can just feel are on the lookout for a wife. It’s humiliating. And we talked about the fear. What if I can’t pay my rent next month? What if the loans are insufficient? What if the loans are too much and after school I don’t find the right job to pay them off? What if I’m stuck in this financial hole forever? What if I’ve made the wrong decision? Will God refuse to work good from this blunder? And, lets be honest, sometimes I struggle to find full confidence in God. What if he doesn’t come through with rent money? Of course he always has in the past, but there are fires and earthquakes, debt ceiling crises and entire countries are going bankrupt. My measely rent payment could get overlooked by the omniscient God of the universe! He’s got an entire universe on his hands! My friend told me that she was caught at a light just off the highway recently. It’s a common spot for the homeless to hold their signs and hope for a few dollars from the well air conditioned and comfortable drivers. She had cash, a very rare occurrence, and there was a man, holding his sign with chaffed hands. His hair, once red, was now bleached an awkward orange by the Coloradan sun and his beard was mangy to put it kindly. He looked tired and worn, thinner than the dirty white tshirt stained with time and sweat. My friend said she reached into her wallet and pulled out a five, the only cash she’d had in days. She said she handed it to him out the window as the light turned green and the traffic eeked forward in the midafternoon heat. He wished many blessings on her and she drove away crying. I asked her why she cried and she shrugged her shoulders dismally. It was so hard to give him that money. Even though I’ve got a car and an apartment. It was hard to give it up and it shouldn’t be. But it was scary too, because it was my lunch money. What will I eat now? I would’ve brought lunch but I had the money and I was going to just buy something—- she said a bit more. And then with a little light in her eyes she seemed to have a new thought. “Do you think this is how the woman with her two pennies felt? Do you think she was scared to give all she had?” Ethan, who is generally full of good wise things to say, nodded his head before I could even give the question proper thought, “yeah,” he said, “of course she was. But that’s the thing, she was afraid, and she gave it anyway.” I think, being poor is so good for me, for us. It’s humiliating. My hair won’t cooperate lately and I’m wearing mostly hand-me-down clothes. But it’s so good to be honest about this stuff and to walk along the river from one job to the next while telling God, I don’t know how you’ll do this. I’m trying my very best. And I just hope you come through even though I dont’ always believe you will. And then, it’s so great to see him pay my credit card, pay my rent, pay my health insurance. It’s stressful, and it’s scary and I hate being the object of charity now when I used to be able to give my money away. But I think that right now this is good and true and right. I’m not at the point where that woman was. Between my four jobs I dont’ think I soon will be. But I do know that even if I do end up throwing my last few dollars into the plate at church he’s probably going to take care of it. After all, he holds the universe together. I think he can manage my rent.

pithy prayers

I wrote this in class recently while I sat through a tedious lecture that was…fairly unenjoyable. We have an adjunct currently as our normal professor was out for surgery. And God knows, we’re all just praying he recovers quickly so that he can come back. I ask people if they like our class and they give me this wide eyed stare of horror over the tops of their Macs and PCs and other [distracting] note taking devices. I’ve started to just laugh at the reactions. I commiserate as well. But when we sit in the back corner of the library griping over class…well, the commentaries are somewhat more intriguing than a rehearsal of “and OH MY GAW, she is SO, UGH. That’s all I can say, just ERRR” and other frustrated noises. But it provides for some good bonding as I’m the only girl in our happy little study group that comes with a secret handshake and password.

Anyway. The actual thing I wrote which is slightly less amusing and somewhat more thoughtful. But only slightly and somewhat.

Today we prayed before class, as we always do. With Gabrien in the hospital prayer this week has taken on another, more full sort of meaning. As Josh (classmate) pointed out last week, I can do nothing for anyone. I may only pray for them–that God in His grace and mercy may transform their hearts (and that they will be open to the transforming work of the transforming work of the Spirit).

So prayer, then, is a serious business. It’s about change, right? One would rather hope that seminary students are rather decent at praying..or at least we would have rather sincere prayers whether they be simple or elaborate in the making. But today, when my fellow students prayed over class after the reading of Proverbs 30, such was not the case.

We prayed that God would speak to us and open our eyes as we studied methods of interpretation and textual criticism. Of course this is a good thing to pray. But given our abiding dislike of the professor, shouldn’t we have prayed for certain teaching abilities? Or for our attitudes as we consistently reject her teaching in frustration? I mean, if we’re shooting for sincerity in prayer…

Somedays it seems we approach the Father in a rather flippant manner. I mean, parts of the world are falling to pieces and my class prayed that our hearts would be open to the word of God as we learned about words studies or “lexical analysis”? Really?

It felt trite for so many reasons. First, why does it matter in light of everything else that could be prayed for? But it also felt trite to pray so–so earnestly for something so small when we don’t genuinely believe Abba will save our friends, our children, our world. Somedays, I don’t even believe it.

Then, on the drive home I passed a church that I usually respect for their half-way decent signs. But in the dark of Tuesday evening this sign glowed with a rather disappointing message. “Animal Blessing: Thursday 10AM.”

Oh my word.

Seriously?

We’re blessing pets now? What, are we PETA disguised as a church? Don’t get me wrong, I love animals. I dream of the day when I can own an Irish WolfHound. But we’re blessing pets? How do you even do that? I mean, what do you say to bless a pet? “Be blessed with long life in the land that your God is giving to you?” Oh, wait, that’s Aaronic and it’s contingent with honouring your mother and father. Hrmmm.

So we pray these ridiculous things, and we approach God when we need a good grade on an exam or help in focusing because God knows I just can’t say no to Facebook and Gmail and texting on my phone! (mostly no pun intended) But do we really take big things to him? Like where we’re going, where we’re working, who we live with, who we live around, what we do with our money and…and…oh, you know, newborns who are in the hospital on oxygen and the sin of our congregations?

I don’t know. I’m guilty in all those things. I am using this blog to procrastinate on a paper that I”ll probably ask for a good grade on the night before it’s due when I’m pulling an all-nighter. But I’m also learning this thing called prayer. I’m learning that if I trust God for good grades, and if I think he’s concerned with such a ridiculous thing, maybe he cares about the lost and the broken and my next door neighbors. And maybe I should learn some respect for the God of the universe and not treat him like a sugar daddy in the sky.

thoughts?