The Color Purple

One recent morning after dropping my daughter off at the sitter's, I came across a familiar sight during my drive. As I tried my best to stay near the speed limit, the pavement flowed slow enough for me to notice roadkill. But this wasn't like some poor kitty kat or a squirrel or even a sparrow. What I saw was a big ol' possum (technically, it's "opossum" but local vernacular allows me the relief of skipping syllables) stretched out and clearly deceased. I couldn't help but think if the driver who did the deed had a few seconds to decide if he were going to drive over the animal or try to dodge it. Possums are odd liking things and they have a creepy gait to them. Watching one is like being pulled into a vision created by Tim Burton. You just have to know what you're in for if you decide to look. I imagine that this driver looked, felt no sympathy, and decided this grotesque creature had just walked out to its final destination.

How do most people respond to the grotesque? I wouldn't even say "grotesque". What about things or persons that we might consider less attractive? Do we find it easier to discard, disregard, dismiss, deny them, or in some cases, even destroy them? Something in us wants all things to be attractive. To not upset our enjoyment of the world. But what does that say about how we conceive of the Creator of all things?

I was forced to think about my own attitude in this area when I attended a reception for senior artists at UNC-Charlotte. My friend, Bridgit had a fascinating display that, in my words, "normalized the odd". When I shared this thought with her, she said that some of her art is an attempt to challenge popular definitions of beauty. She is not content with the limiting everyday aesthetics of the status quo. I would say "amen" to that especially if we confess that our world was made by the God of glory.

Possums are not mistakes. They must have been puzzling to Adam and Noah just as they are to us, but that gives us no excuse to exclude what God has made and declared good. If we are not free to ostracize possums, then how much more are we not at liberty to disrespect human beings that we may deem "out of place"?

You're too dark. You're too light. You smell funny. You don't get our jokes. Your hair is too fuzzy. You can't dance. You must be hard up for a date. You sound "ig-nant". Etc. Etc. Sometimes we can't control who ends up in our space, but we can determine how that person will be received. We can embrace them as the Father embraces us. We can turn our me-centered cliques into an odd place for others. Maybe we'll be surprised by a greater beauty than we are able to behold for ourselves.

The Bourgeois Diet

"Mommy, when I grow up I'm gonna have chicken biscuits and lattes before school." Don't hear too many children saying that, do you? I think there was an inner child within me that leaped with glee this morning as I stopped at both Chick-fil-A and Starbucks before going in to work. I felt so grown up.

I was up since 6 AM and successfully navigated I-85 traffic, dropped my wife off at work, and endured a line at DMV all before 9 AM. I did some grown-up things during grown-up hours. So as I listened to the sanctified jazz tunes of the Six-Thirty Band (from Redeemer Presbyterian in NYC) in my car, I decided to treat myself to a taste of middle class. A "boojzie" breakfast, if you will.

I felt so middle-class as I walked into Starbucks to order a pumpkin spice latte. My eyes fell to a space below the register where there were Nina Simone and various Canadian musicians' albums for sale. How un-kiddy this place is! There I stood among grown-ups from their 20s up to even their 70s, being bathed in popular smooth tunes, early conversations, and the smell of mature coffee beans. This ain't the Tiger-Mart, y'all.

And Chick-fil-a with its successful marketing to middle-class families! Even with a playground in the back, their stores are set apart from Mickey D's and the BK by at least 10 years. How did they do that? How did they get people within the broad spectrum of middle-class values to eat the same stuff? How did Starbucks and Chick-fil-a become associated with being middle class? Of course, the question that kept burning in my mind was, "Why am I drawn to this?"

Somehow maturity has become linked to social class. In other words, there does not seem to be a great sense of ownership and of "running things" if you are still in the lower income bracket. Sure, you have responsibilities, but you still haven't "arrived" (or so we are told). But if you can afford chicken with your biscuit at a restaurant that wears its vision on its sleeve and purchase an international dark beverage while identifying melodies from Brazil, then you must be one of those people "running things". These places cater to the highly educated, plain and simple. They cater to people who are conscientious about where they eat or who have an acute self-awareness to the point that they think about what others think about where they choose to dine -- even for breakfast.

There's some distortion at work here. I'm not necessarily saying any of this is bad. Wanting to grow up is a good thing.* I just think it's interesting how what we eat can say something about our sense of achievement. When you're all grown up, you can hang with the big boys for $4.00 a cup. But moving up the ladder may not be the same thing as maturing.


* Shameless plug: Catch the new "Grow Up" sermon series at Christ Central Church starting this Sunday in the Neighborhood Theatre.

Your Daddy is a Jerk

There has been an ongoing conversation about the lack of males within the Christian church. I'm currently listening to a talk at Laus Deo radio called "Where Are All the Brothers?". The pastor featured on the program wrote a short book with the same title.

I have wondered if one of the reasons (and this is a complex issue) why there is either real or perceived lack of male presence or tangible masculinity in the church is because of shame-based sanctification. Here's what I mean: how many young men have been shamed by their caregivers to grow up and "be a man"? How many boys have only had shameful behaviors exhibited by the few older men in their lives? How many times have they heard "don't be like him" whoever 'him' is? Take a young man who has made it one of his goals not to live ashamed before his mother, grandmother, etc. and then put him in a church where they are taught to walk not by the Spirit of grace but by the fear of shame and what do you think will happen? The burden is too heavy. "Wow! Jesus is gonna nag at me too? I can feel like a loser by my d$*n self. I ain't going to no place filled with a thousand mamas with an emasculated man in the pulpit."

Don't get me wrong. Men do need to mature. They are called to mature out of obedience to the Lord. But I think there's another way forward besides shaming the crap out of young men who may already be doubting their ability to be good husbands and fathers. There's a profound difference between walking with Christ in weakness and feeling like a punk everytime you hear His name. Only one of these brings the dignity that men long for.

Thoughts?

Moment

As I sat underneath the shade of a tree this morning and watched the balance of grays and yellows bob around the black and white ink opened on my lap, I became thankful. Thankful that I had the capacity to recognize beauty when it's staring me in the face. Thankful that I could feel a cool breeze in an unhurried space for at least moment. There are two things that I associate with summer and that's heat and stuffiness. You would think that with the absence of official school activities that the summer would be less jammed, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Weddings. Construction. Road trips. Applications. Fundraising. The summer is just so hot and cramped. Yet is there time for God?

My little poetic moment this morning happened while I was reading Eugene Peterson's Eat This Book. For anyone struggling with the why and how of reading the Scriptures (like me), I recommend this one. I came across a good quote about contemplation that I think is worth thinking about. It's from Kathleen Norris (as if you know who that is - at least I didn't) who believes the true mystics are ...

... those who manage to find God in a life filled with noise, the demands of other people and relentless daily duties that can consume the self. They may be young parents juggling child-rearing and making a living... if they are wise, they treasure the rare moments of solitude and silence that come their way, and use them not to escape, to distract themselves with television and the like. Instead, they listen for a sign of God's presence and they open their hearts toward prayer.

It's so tempting and easy for me to ignore God. To only seek Him out when I want something done or fixed. I've found the biggest obstacles to seeking God fall somewhere in the areas of shame or idolatry. I'm either completely focused on something or someone else that I think will "get me through" the day (of course, I never really ask about where I'm going) or I'm overcome with too much shame to even approach God. I'm thankful for the breeze, for others who struggle (like Norris), and the word of the prophets (see Isaiah 61:10, 11) that grab me gently by the scruff and bring life-giving conviction. Convicted to remember that there is not one moment in which I am not living before the presence of God. Convicted to remember that by grace I am known by the true and living God and I actually have the capacity (and duty) to reflect and know the beauty of Christ in the midst of a crowded life. Even if only for a moment.

Let's Talk

I'm not sure why I feel the need to put this stuff out on the web, but it sort of feels like a celebratory thing.

Here's my current reading list (gosh, I'm such a nerd):

Eat This Book, Eugene Peterson
- Has been wonderful in reminding me that reading the Scriptures means slowing down, listening, and being ready to use your feet. Walk it out!

The Divine Conspiracy, Dallas Willard
- I've only read twenty pages so far and I'm already questioning how I live my life. I'm also willing to help Willard build a deck if he'll teach me how to kick like he does. Wax on, wax off.

Apologetics to the Glory of God, John M. Frame
- A required text for the class I'm taking in, you guessed it, apologetics. This is Christian worldview stuff on steroids. Scholarship that actually helps you hope again. Nobody knows anything without Christ? I mean, whoa!

The Decline of African-American Theology, Thabiti Anyabwile
- Reading this one as a favor to a good friend. Has been hard to read because, well, just look at the title. I'm well-acquainted with the decline, but don't quite agree with all that the title implies. This book also makes me feel very conflicted about where I am vocationally. Here's the question: How much do you actually care about the Black Church or the discipleship of Black people in America?

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What would you get if you put Jill Scott, Lauryn Hill, Bob Marley, Ben Harper, and Dave Matthews in one bowl with the Indelible Grace music? For those of you who know what I'm talking about, give me your thoughts. I'm thinking through music styles for an eclectic RUF community that I hope to start at UNC-Charlotte in Fall 2009 (psst - we need funds to do this).

Expand

When I begin to feel stressed out, I tend to remember the happy places where I used to dwell. One particular memory relates to a time I sat outside the Guggenheim Museum back home praying for an opportunity to talk about Jesus. My heart was racing with excitement because I was reading through Edith Schaeffer's Christianity is Jewish at the time. I thought to myself, "How awesome would it be if I got into a dialogue with a non-Christian Jew about the Messiah of his people and mine right here in front of this incredible museum." Alas, my only conversation was with a man who enlightened me on the history of Irish Spaniards. That was kind of fun actually. I miss my city, my people. I miss the desire to be "out there" discovering the world, learning from others, and waiting to introduce the King.

Camp Songs for the Restless

While most people think about the road less traveled, I think about the road that’s sick of my footsteps. As I was driving in to work this morning, there flowed within me a sudden urge to tour the countryside of North Carolina. I had no particular sites in mind; I honestly just did not want to go to my job. I had nothing to look forward to, so the call of “the journey” started to sound real good. Can’t you hear it now? A little bit of Doobie Brothers. A little bit of String Cheese Incident. A little Norah Jones. It’s your own personal Forrest Gump soundtrack to get you going nowhere. Hey, it’s all about the journey, right?

I remember Jenny from Forrest Gump who was this kind of restless soul. She was always on the journey. Every time she bumped into Forrest she was always asked, “Why can’t you just go home?” Wow! That’s the question, isn’t it? Why can’t you just go home? Home for Jenny meant pain and hopelessness. It meant abuse and degradation. Now I’m not trying to compare my job to a home with an alcoholic for a father, but whenever your destination seems really unpleasant jumping on “the journey wagon” starts to look real good.

The hope of the Christian life is more like a pilgrimage than it is a journey. Jesus said to his disciples, “You know where I am going and I am coming back for you.” I have met many Christians who feel like their life is more of a journey than it is a pilgrimage. Their life is not the way of Abraham or the million who walked through the Red Sea with Moses. Honestly, any Christian who’s lived long enough will experience this at some point. You begin to lose sight of the destination. You begin to forget Jesus is bringing you somewhere and that He has not left you as an orphan. All of your destinations become exclusively earth-bound with no hint of redemption. Hard jobs. Hard kids. Hard singlehood. Hard marriage. Next thing you know you’re looking to pack your bags and grab your old mixed CDs from college.

Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.” Did you hear that? The Christian life is a journey filled with thorns and thistles, but it is also a pilgrimage to the Father who is our certain destination. The journey, the way is Christ Himself. He who is well acquainted with thorns calls us to walk with Him. He shares in our sufferings. But it is not without meaning because the Way will also lead us home. Wherever Christ is, there is always a little taste of home. Soon we will sit in His living room and worship by the fire of His glory.