I'm often told (by folks that read this) that I'm too hard on myself. And for years I've countered that internally with the thought that I'm probably not hard enough.
But maybe everyone's right and I'm wrong.
I've written ad nauseum about my problems, my shortcomings, my character flaws, my imperfections. I've publicly berated myself for them, partially as a method of cleansing, and (admittedly) partially in an effort to convince myself (and others) that I'm self-aware, introspective. Like the kid sitting under the tree in college writing in his journal or composing songs on his guitar.
In these self-rebukes, I've often consoled myself that though I'm wrong and stupid and vile, all I need to do is ask forgiveness and ask for help and all will be right. My evil will be overcome.
But in all these years, I may have missed the point.
Christianity is a fascinating idea. I've written before about the two 'laws of humanity' that we take for granted, even though they are impossible to reconcile, namely:
1) There are no moral absolutes. We are a product of a naturalistic world with simple cause and effect reactions. No such thing as good or evil, right or wrong - just social constructs.
2) People do terrible, evil things all the time. Indeed, there are some pretty wicked people in this world, some of whom have done some really nasty things to me or someone I love. Thankfully, I'm not one of those people. The things that I do that could potentially be construed as evil or wicked - that's just because people don't know the circumstances, don't understand the context.
Those ideas sit in tension in our subconscious, and we try to avoid addressing them (most likely because we know that thinking about them means trying to make them make sense, or else abandon one of them and rethink our position on the world.)
Christianity is fascinating because it doesn't try to sweep these ideas under the rug. It says that there is a natural order to the world, there are laws that exist that have cause and effect, but there's something else behind it - something that determines what is good or evil. It says that yes, I have screwed up just like everyone else, but that I'm not an evil person. Even better, it says there's a way to have a clean slate, a way to be associated with the character of someone who is not evil, and in so doing slowly, often imperceptably replace our muddled characters with His.
That's the story that I've come to believe in. Or so I thought.
All these years of writing have been from a paradigm that says that because I do evil things, because I screw up, I am an evil person. It's the classic 'worm theology' that various churches in various centuries instilled in its people, and it is one of the most deceptive lies we're fed (though we often don't know it.)
All these years, I've subconciously held onto the belief that I'm not a good person, and that I'm really lucky I've got my belief system or else I'd be totally screwed.
But I missed the point entirely. My heart is good. Your heart is good. I am loved just as I am, and so are you. The dirt and the evil things that we do are not who we are - they are what stand between us and a loving, faithful God that desperately wants to be closer to us.
Yes, it's true that this God is just and good, and that my evil actions are what has driven a wedge into that relationship. But those are my actions, not my heart. My soul is good - held captive, a faint image of what it can and should be, but good nonetheless.
It's funny, for all my talk about living life a certain way, I've always had the priorities in the wrong order. I can't take on my faults with a frontal attack - I can't create a to-do list that I can check off.
"Hey look, I'm not greedy anymore... Check! Seeya pride - I'm on a roll!"
I can try as hard as I want to berate myself into being a better person, or I can let go of the idea that I'm a bad person in the first place. I can decide to finally acknowledge that God created me in His image, as something good and loving and worthwhile. I can decide to acknowledge that I'll continue to screw up, but my chances of 'living intentionally' go up dramatically if I let Him do the work in my heart instead of stubbornly continuing to try to do it myself.
I can realize that after all these years of trying to remove the logjam of evil thoughts and actions that have kept me out of the kind of relationship I want, I somehow missed the self-imposed dam, the subconscious idea that behind all those actions is a person who is unlovable, unworthy of such a relationship.
I've tried for years to be less judgmental towards people - perhaps it's time to be less judgmental with myself.
I'm tired of being unaccountable for my actions.
I'm tired of living in a culture that tells me it's okay, I can do what I want. I'm tired of being told that everything is subjective, tired of being told that I can rationalize away my worst thoughts and deeds. I'm tired of being able to chalk my lowest moments up as 'learning experiences.'
I'm tired of seeing people make commitments to each other with no intention of honoring them. I'm tired of hearing about couples getting married only to divorce within a few months. I'm tired of flippant, off-hand comments about someone cheating on someone else, as if such behavior is natural, expected, normal.
I'm tired of being let off the hook.
I want to meet people who don't insist I put on a mask to hide my faults. I want to meet people who are willing to call me on my bullshit.
I write one day about the perils of greed, and the very next I pass right next to a guy asking me for help. Call me on it.
I say something in jest that makes someone feel a little less respected, a little less honorable, a little less beautiful, a little less amazing than they are. Call me on it.
I cut corners on a project because, hey, it's not like anyone else is giving 150% anyway. Call me on it.
I write something clever. People tell me it's clever. I puff myself up like I was the source of my ideas, my intellect. Call me on it.
Don't tell me that I'm being too hard on myself when I point out my faults. Help me work on them, help me become a better person, help me keep the curtain pulled back. Don't make it easy for me to slip back into normal habits. Expect better from me.
And then take the next step. Expect better from yourself as well. Don't put on the mask. Someone asks you how you're doing - tell them. Show your warts. Talk about your demons. Ask to be held accountable.
It's so much easier for us to slip into a mode that says everything is okay, as long as we're happy. It's easy because no one expects anything more from us. Because if they expect more from us, they have to take the next step and expect more from themselves. And that's a difficult thing to do.
I don't know how to change the world for the better. I don't know how to convince our leaders to make intelligent, moral decisions.
But I do know that if I want to hold them accountable, I have to start with myself first. I can't rail againt my leaders or my friends or my family for lying or cheating or stealing or boasting or hurting others unless I'm willing to first confront myself.
And when I do confront myself, openly, honestly....I find a lot of dirt.
There are so many things I do - daily - that I'm not proud of. Things I'd like to do differently. I screw up all the time. I'm not strong enough to live the way I know I should. Not on my own.
I need someone to hold me accountable. But the person holding me accountable can't do so unless they first examine themselves. And once they do so, they find a lot of dirt. They discover that they too need someone to hold them accountable.
Our lives, the organism of humanity, appears to me to be more and more related to accountability. We are not islands. The decisions we make impact us, often in the long term, almost certainly in the short term. Our decisions impact those around us, those we love, those we don't even know exist.
Unfortunately, our nature seems to lend itself to screwing up. Nobody's perfect, and that's probably on purpose. But the answer to screwing up is not to be let off the hook. The answer isn't to rationalize it away. The answer isn't to call it life and forget about it. The answer is to strive to be better - to resolve to lie to each other less, steal from each other less, hurt each other less.
And the best way I've found to support our push to be better is to have someone to hold us accountable. Someone who loves us enough to not let us off the hook, to cheer us on when we succeed, to rebuke us and build us up when we fail.
Are you willing to be held accountable? Are you willing to examine yourself? Are you willing to hold someone you love accountable n similar fashion?
If we did so, I bet the world would very quickly become a much different place.
When you're in elementary school, you start a club. A spy club, or a ninja club, or a boys club or a treehouse club. And in doing so you create your own little world, something you identify with. You and your select group of friends who are in your club suddenly have something that other people don't, and for some reason it's a good feeling. It feels good to tell people that they can't be in your club. It feels good to talk about how stupid people are who aren't in your club. It's feels good to take a young, fragile person who has hopes and fears and insecurities (just like you) and turn them into a caricature - you and your friends call them a dork or a loser and in the process destroy a little piece of their heart...probably in a way very similar to what happened to you when your older brother or sister or friend told you they didn't want you to hang out with them.
We learn when we're extremely little that there are people who are 'in' and people who are not. We learn that if you're not in my group you're probably stupid. In high school we get in fights at the mall or at a party with a group of kids because they go to a different high school than we do - because they committed the travesty of living in different neighborhood we learn to hate them for no apparent reason.
We grow older and hate people because they root for a different basketball team, or because they vote differently than we do, or because their God is different than our God or because their skin tone is lighter or darker or because they speak a different language.
We do it because it feels good to turn people into cartoons. It feels good to feel like you're better or smarter or prettier or faster than others, and the easiest way to do so is to take these complicated, emotional, talented, fragile people and package them up into a singular idea. Once we turn them into cartoons it's easy to hate them.
It's easy to call George Bush an idiot or Bill Clinton evil. It's easy to call the kid downstairs a punk. It's easy to call the guy sitting across from us on the subway a drunk. It's easy to call the beautiful girl on the other side of the bar stupid and easy. It's easy to wave an American flag and dismiss people's complaints as ignorant or unpatriotic. It's easy to shout from a pulpit that the gay guy in the car next to at a traffic light is demon possessed. It's easy to call your Christian coworker an intolerant sheep with no understanding of the real world.
They're not part of our club, so there's something wrong with them.
What's hard is to rip up the membership card.
What's hard is to not get into a stupid argument about whether the Raiders or the Broncos are the better team.
What's hard is to realize that the girl who walked by you on the street with the 'go to hell' stare is probably immensely self-conscious because of magazines telling her how she's supposed to look and talk and interact, that she may have been hurt emotionally or otherwise by a slew of guys who didn't value her as a person.
What's hard is to contemplate the unthinkable tragedies that might have happened in the life of a guy that's reduced him to sitting on a corner without having showered in a week, humiliating himself by having to hold out a three day old paper coffee cup begging you to drop in your spare change.
What's hard is to have a conversation or read an article about protests in France or wherever and ask yourself whether their protests have some serious merit.
What's hard is to acknowledge that every serious political candidate you're seeing on television has lived a pretty extraordinary life, has done a great deal to impact the lives of those around them and holds the ideas they hold (is willing to put themselves on television at our mercy to spread those ideas) because they truly believe that they will help the country in the long run. What's hard is to be willing to admit that the idea that one party is right about every idea while the other party is hopelessly insipid...is pretty insipid.
What's hard is to be aware that there are indeed villians in the world, but they are in much shorter supply than we think. The majority of people we treat as villians are fragile, broken, self-conscious people just like us. And the hard thing is to respond to people, with their scars and blemishes and dissenting ideas and misguided actions....and love them.
We should all consider letting more people into our club.
Forget that - we should all consider getting rid of the club.
Simplicity is a difficult thing to come by. We live fragmented, disjointed lives, always running from something, to something. We're trying to get more and more done with less and less time. It's an impossible race that leaves us tired, empty, drained.
We as a society love to prize the man or woman who can do it all. We force thousands of college students out the doors of our universities each year with a diploma and an unwritten mandate to work 80 hours a week to 'make a splash.' We drill it into them that success is exceedingly important, ensuring they do whatever it takes to add a few extra cents to our price per share.
Of course, if they're good we do reward them. But being good all too often means neglecting other aspects of their lives. They marry without understanding the commitment that covenant involves. They have kids thinking that they can realistically maintain their responsibilities both at work and at home. Over time, they're left in a mode of being consistently stretched to their limit. When they're working they're beating themselves up for not being at Jason's soccer game. When they're making brownies they're silently stressed about all the work they're not getting done.
And that's just the work-home dynamic. All the while, they're not exercising enough, not reading enough, not volunteering enough, not talking to their friends or extended family enough.
We long for a simpler life, a life with less stress, more fulfillment. We wish we weren't tired all the time. We wish we didn't feel like we were constantly neglecting some important aspect of our lives. But we haven't the faintest idea how to actually accomplish this.
We tell ourselves that we're just casualties of our society. The world of today places these demands on us, just as it does to everyone else. There's nothing we can do - except do our best to cope.
But what if there was a simpler life to be grasped - what if there was a way to find a more serene, peaceful, balanaced way of life?
What if you could say 'no' to people? What if you could decide beforehand how many commitments and of what variety you would undertake, resolving not to take on anything further? What if you could make a commitment to work on at most five projects or take on five clients, and be able to confidently turn down anything more, even if they were to be spectacularly profitable for your career or business?
What if you could stop desiring to be 'well-known?' What if you were to reject the notion that being more blogged about or technorati'd or whatever represented some measurement of success. What if you didn't care about your online identity nearly as much as you do?
What if you resolved to use plain speech? What if you stopped trying to manipulate people with your words, stopped trying to get people to understand you or see your way? What if you stopped flattering people when you didn't really mean it, racking up a series of small favors in hope of being repaid someday? What if you could only use 1000 words a day, and had to give up the ability to explain yourself? What would your words be? What if you could do this without worry? What if everything that came out of your mouth was full of honesty, sincerity, grace?
What if you could stop desiring more? What if you made a resolution to identify a standard of living you could be comfortable with, a standard you wouldn't rise above even if your means expanded considerably? What if you made the decision that as long as your needs were met, the rest of that money could be given away to people or causes that could benefit dramatically from it?
What if, every month, you went around your house and looked for something that you deemed valuable...and gave it to someone you knew who's life would be blessed by it? What if, instead of cursing aloud to anyone who would listen when that 10 year old stole my iPod in the subway last year, I just gave it to him before he could take it?
What if we approached our financial life as a system of pipes instead of a system of buckets? What if money was an instrument to be freely shared instead of a status symbol to be hoarded?
What if we got rid of our televisions and read more books, visited more museums, took more walks, made more friends? What if we played outside more - when was the last time we actually played?
What if we realized that our kids laugh 20 times more often than we do? What if we tried to be less serious, more joyful?
What if we got closer to the earth? What if we studied the trees and the flowers and the birds and realized that their existence was singular, their purpose clearly defined? What if we realized that maybe our lives are supposed to be similarly ordered?
What if our lives were meant to be focused on one thing, on one Person? What if that person were able to give us everything we needed to have happy, healthy, productive lives? What if that balance we could never seem to find were given to us - if we realized that everything, including ourselves, has a season, a proper time and place? What if we were to submit to those cycles of life, and to determine the proper place for everything by asking this Person who loves us and desires our happiness?
What if simplicity of life weren't something to dream about but something to be grasped? What if less really was more?
I have always had a problem with trying to do big, important things.
It’s not a problem in that it often works – for whatever reason, many projects I’ve undertaken have been successful for just this reason. But it’s a problem because I’m often closing a door to the mundane as a result.
We as a people don’t really like the mundane, the practical. We shy away from jobs that need to be done, instead looking for the jobs that have great titles and prestige but no lasting impact. We avoid doing the two or three simple things that would ensure a life of physical well-being, opting instead to make bold New Years resolutions and try to lose 30 pounds in a month. We decide to plan elaborate parties for those we love, inviting everyone we know and spending a fortune in the process...but fail to do the simple, tiny things that make the object of our affection know that we love them every day.
We choose big and public over small and hidden. We want to do something remarkable and great – and let everyone see how remarkable and great we are in the process.
You’d think pulling it off would be enough, but it rarely is. Once we’ve tasted success, made our big score, proved to everyone that we’re smart enough or beautiful enough or talented enough to succeed…we have to do it again. We’re trapped intro thinking that the only problems that should be solved are the big ones, the only battles worth fighting are the public ones, the only lives worth leading are the admired ones.
We can’t for the life of us understand why an author or musician stops after one hit record to be a mother. We can’t comprehend why an athlete would retire after winning their first championship to join the ministry. The idea of a Fortune 500 CEO leaving their post to be a teacher? Impossible.
There are enormous problems in the world that need people’s help. But there are also tiny problems in the world that need a great many more folks pitching in. There’s the school down the road that can’t afford an after school program and could desperately use some volunteers. There’s the church looking to help feed some homeless people this weekend. There’s your father or mother or sister or brother or cousin who you got in a fight with six months ago and haven’t talked to since. There’s the boyfriend or girlfriend or husband or wife who wonders if you still love them.
Since college, I’ve been a great boyfriend and a great worker. I’ve been a lax son, an even worse friend and a miserable brother. I’ve gained 30 pounds, haven’t donated nearly enough of my time or energy or resources, and have turned down countless opportunities to do important, soul-filling work in obscurity. I’ve worked countless hours doing work with concrete, very visible deliverables, ignoring many other things in the process. My agenda has been focused on what’s big and public and remarkable, often at the expense of what’s small and unnoticed and truly worth doing.
Truth is, no one’s life is going to be improved that significantly by my interface design. No one’s life is going to be forever altered for the better because you closed that deal with the big foods conglomerate, or because you wrote that article in the paper about the top 10 places to buy a handbag.
But that $5 bill you gave that guy on the corner? That might have kept him from going hungry tonight. When you got home from work, threw your bags down, ran to your girlfriend and told her how much she meant to you? That was probably the most important thing you did all day. That prayer you said for your coworker as you were falling asleep? That could end up changing their life.
In a world where everyone is clawing to be more important, more visible, the guy who's really blessed is the guy who's too busy changing their world to care whether you or I are paying attention.
With the wedding and my upcoming move to Chicago, I’ve been worried a lot about money lately. This week I resolved to not spend any money eating out.
This afternoon, as I was sitting in a Starbucks, I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything all day. A few minutes after I realized I was pretty hungry, I was pleasantly surprised by a barista, who randomly decided to bring me a cup of coffee and a sandwich. I asked what I did to deserve this gracious and well-timed gift.
She said, ‘nothing.’
I used to think that pride was the most troublesome vice to overcome, but I think there might be a worse one. As I walk through the streets of New York and listen to conversations, as I pass the enormous billboards painted onto buildings, as I look at my bank statements and calculate where my money has gone, as I see how I react to the homeless guy outside the deli, as I purchase the overpriced burger from the overpriced restaurant that I went to because it’s trendy, I’m faced with an enormous truth.
The desire for more is terribly destructive.
We live in a world that prizes accumulation of goods above almost all else. Our status in life is determined much more by the size of our pocketbooks than the content of our characters. We want to associate with people who have money, we long to be in a position where others want to associate with us for the same reason. We look at US Weekly or watch Cribs and not-so-secretly long for the lifestyle that these people possess.
We can’t avoid it. Even those of us who would consider ourselves free from the lusts of pop culture are constantly worrying about how much we have, how much we have coming in, how much we’ll have when we stop working. We worry about where the market is going, how our IRAs are performing, how much equity we’ve built up in our homes. We read books and attend seminars to learn how to improve our net worth, to discover the seven secrets to wealth and happiness. We argue and fight over our finances with our loved ones, and those fights lead (more than any other factor) to the destruction of our closest relationships.
We spend more than we make. We look forward to the weekend so we can hit the sales. We clip coupons. We stockpile. We hoard. We obsess.
We are outraged when the cost of gas goes above $2.50 a gallon, but don’t bat an eye at the fact that half the world lives on less than $2.50 a day. We’re so busy talking about the exclusive club that we managed to get into that we walk right by the guy on the corner holding out their paper cup – the guy who may or may not actually be homeless but whose circumstances are such that they’re forced to degrade themselves by standing on the corner with matted hair and clothes that haven’t been washed in weeks, holding out their paper cup in hopes that we wake up from the absolutely pointless conversation we’re having to toss them a quarter or two.
We enter into bitter court battles to “win” what we “rightfully deserve.” We go to war to “preserve democracy.”
We work an insane number of hours so we can get the promotion that will cause us to work more hours so we can get the next promotion that will cause us to work more hours to buy the expensive suits we need to look as good as the other people on our rung of the corporate ladder and finance the houses we never live in and the cars we never drive and the exotic vacations we never seem to take because we have to work some more.
This is the world I live in, the world you live in, the world our parents and friends and loved ones and co-workers and acquaintances and fellow subway passengers live in. We are the wealthiest people in history, living in the wealthiest country in history, living lives of absolute decadence.
And we’re rotting inside. We’re worried constantly. We’re tired and overworked. We’re envious and covetous. We’re gluttonous and unhealthy. We’re bitter and heartbroken. We’re dying, and we can’t take it with us. Worst of all, we’re so blind we call this worry and jealousy and green and anger and hardness “the American dream.”
I worry all the time about money. I worry whether or not I’ll have enough to pay my credit card bill. I worry whether or not I’ll be able to cover rent. I worry whether or not the market will crash. I worry about what my standard of living will be like when I’m old.
The funny thing is, there has never been a day in my life when I went hungry. There has never been a time when I didn’t have anything to wear, a day when I was forced to sleep outside.
Growing up we didn’t have much, and I always looked at the other kids with their cooler toys and cooler clothes and wished our roles were reversed. But looking back, my childhood was amazing. I had loving parents, a great companion in my younger brother, amazing friends, all the food I could ever hope to eat, a bunch of clothes in my closet I refused to wear after a year, a television in my room with a video game system. My life was pretty amazing.
When my first business failed and I was forced to take a job in Seattle waiting tables, I thought my life was over. I had such little money it was crazy. But looking back, that was a pretty amazing time as well. I lived in a beautiful part of the country, rooming with two friends who absolutely went out of their way for me, knowing I couldn’t carry my fair share, never once condemning me or calling me out on it, exhibiting a kind of generosity and patience I’ve never seen before or since. I met amazing people serving up plates of fish. I gained a newfound appreciation for my skills and my passions. I met a girl on a random evening in a different city under the most unlikely circumstances, and spent the next three months getting to know her over a ridiculous number of long-distance conversations.
Literally every single time I’ve been the slightest bit tight, circumstances (or something else) intervened. It has truly seemed like any time I needed something I was taken care of.
It happened in my childhood. It happened in college. It happened in Washington. It happened today in the coffee shop.
My posture about money and wealth and status must change. I must learn to not care what you think about me. I must learn to stop worrying about where I will live in a year. I must learn to stop fretting over the global economy. I must learn to give that $20 in my wallet to the guy who needs it, and do so joyfully. I must learn to let go.
I must learn to consider the birds of the air, and the lilies of the field.
For all my character flaws, I feel as though I'm generally a pretty good natured guy. But these past few weeks I've been extremely angry.
The majority of clients we work with are fantastic - good natured, easy going, and excited to be collectively striving to acheive a shared goal. But once in a while you get a bad apple.
For some reason, we have a disproportionate share of bad apples in the form of faith-based schools. Again, most have been great to work with. But we've had a few recently that seem to absolutely contradict their beliefs via their behavior.
The irony in some of the emails I get is so heavy I feel like my desk is going to break under the weight. The following represents an exaggeration, but by the tiniest of degrees:
Dear Sean,
I woke up this morning hoping it'd be a good day, but I see you've decided to destroy such a wish. I'm sure I've worked with more idiotic companies in the past, I just can't seem to think of one off-hand. If you'd consult the copy we submitted to your incapable hands on February 12th, you'll clearly see that the second paragraph on page two is supposed to say "...our culture is the product of our students and their relationship with Christ. With God as their counsel and guide, they conduct themselves with dignity, patience and grace." You misspelled the fifth word, idiot. Call me when you've fixed this, and when you've gotten a clue.
This client has called our salespeople shady, our designers incompetent, our editorial staff lazy and our client services team liars. For a company that is used to having productive client relationships, regular recommendations to other departments in the university, and clients who volunteer to stand up in front of their peers to testify to the effectiveness of our programs, these couple of clients have represented enormous drains on resources and employee morale.
In a way, though, dealing with these couple clients has been an enormous blessing. I used to wonder why so many people criticize Christians when they slip up, or when they exhibit patterns of behavior that seem contrary to their theology. But now I get it.
Engaging with these few bad apples has seriously upset me. I've never felt as ashamed to be associated with Christianity as I am when my colleagues read the emails that are blasted their way from these folks in Christian higher ed. It is absolutely appalling that they don't recognize the sharpness in their words, don't understand that every single word that comes out of their mouths or is typed into a correspondence has an impact on what people think of their faith. They, of all people, should know that their obligations as representatives of their university pale in comparison to their obligations as witnesses of the faith they claim to profess. I pray their institutions don't produce graduates of simliar character.
I get it now - Christians are held to a standard, whether we realize it or not. People are often dispositioned against the beliefs already, and any character flaws, vices, or careless words serve as fuel on an already smoldering fire. I don't claim to be a great (or even average) carrier of the proverbial torch, but when I see an email from one of these clients taking something that my team has put a ton of energy into and just rip it to shreds, it breaks my heart. Not because we have more work to do, but because of the bad taste it leaves in the mouths of everyone they come in contact with.
You claim to walk with God - I fear you took an enormous fork in the road somewhere. Open up that Bible you claim to love to much and read try reading it again - you skipped a few testaments.
I have plenty of theories about what makes a relationship work and what doesn't (in college, I wrote a book on the subject and sold it to guys for $50 on the Internet. Sold nine copies...I think my mom still keeps them in her basement.)
But if I had to say there was one rule that has served me particularly well, it's this:
Always think twice before saying something that might hurt their feelings. Never think twice before saying something that will make them feel good.
More...
On those rare occasions when I find myself in a conversation about the inherent goodness of people, I like to talk about kids.
I went back to Colorado again this past weekend to look for wedding sites. While we were back there we spent some time with my parents, and they ended up showing Michelle a bunch of videos from my childhood. It was amazing to see how different my brother, my friends and I all looked. But what was most striking was how mean we were. The video is full of us making jabs at each other, hitting each other, and generally trying to make each other feel bad about themselves. It was quite a spectacle.
Now, one could simply chalk it up as 'boys being boys' and move on. But I think it deserves a little bit more attention. Think back to when you were a kid. Think about how mean people were to each other. Think about how badly you/they desired to fit in, to be a part of the 'in crowd.' Think about how, if you were to go inside the little minds of the boys and girls you knew growing up, you'd likely find an immense amount of insecurity and envy.
Think about the stories your parents used to tell you about your childhood. Think about your own children during their first few years - and be honest. Did their behavior express patience, gentleness, goodness, humility, self-control? Do they constantly look for opportunities to help out, to think of other before themselves? Do they voluntarily give up something that they have, something that they love, so that someone else can enjoy it?
We like to believe that deep down we're very good people, and that perhaps the world, the media, or some mental illness is what corrupts people and turns them into something bad, something they're not. But it seems to me that by and large, it isn't the vices and the character flaws that we have to learn - it isn't badness, evil, sin, whatever you want to call it - it doesn't seem to me that society forces that down our throat. It seems to me that by the time we know what's going on, we're already very good at many of those things.
I grew up in an extremely loving household. I had two sets of fantastic parents who loved me and cared for me and made me feel special and important and worthwhile. I didn't have anything traumatic happen to me - didn't grow up in a bad neighborhood, never had to watch someone die, never was confronted directly with how unfair the world could be. And yet I was just as greedy and selfish and insecure as the next kid. I didn't have to have a rough life to learn these things - they came quite naturally.
Even now, if I'm really honest with myself, I know that many of the things that would make me a 'good person' - the acts of genorosity and kindness and the like - even after all these years, they often are still more difficult than the alternative. Even though I feel extremely guilty after lying or being self-centered, though I kick myself after for not giving money to the guy on the street or for saying something in anger, if I step back and think about how it feels beforehand, it seems to me that the less virtuous action is the easier action to take. If someone says something stupid or offensive to me, it takes work to not say something sarcastic back to them. It takes work for me to take out my wallet, hand a guy a few bucks and walk away without thinking about how that guy should get a job or about how virtuous I must have looked to the passersby.
Lots of people like to believe in the goodness of people - they like to think that sure, there are exceptions like Hitler or Hussain or their third grade teacher or their boss, but those are exceptions. And the things that they do themselves that are less than virtuous (and that, if they were truly honest about it, happen all the time) are swept under the rug, or shrugged off with a "well, nobody's perfect."
Watching that tape this past wekend, thinking about my childhood and the childhood of pretty much anyone I've ever known, I know better.
November 26, 2005
The season of giving is supposedly upon us, but as in years past I'm a bit of a humbug. It seems as though I'm not alone.
I've been witness to a number of conversations in the past week or so about panhandlers and the things they do to 'trick us' out of our hard-earned money. We're appalled when we read in New York Magazine that the bum on the street corner below our office is making upwards of 24K a year. We get noticably angry at the guy who apparently tells the same sob story to everyone he meets about how his daughter is going into surgery and he needs cab fare to go visit her because he can't walk all that way given his injury sustained in the war.
Is he lying? Probably. But who's the villian in this situation - him or us?
More...
November 16, 2005
The Bible is just a crutch. God is a belief system that man created to make ourselves feel better. We like to be drawn into a story, and that's what this old book is - a story. Passed down from generation to generation, probably embellished and changed as the years have passed. It's a myth, something to make us feel better.
That's the argument, that God and Christ and Adam and Eve and the Bible represent are a story. And I wholeheartedly agree.
More...
November 03, 2005
I had a very interesting conversation with a coworker the other night. It started with a conversation about job stuff but quickly turned into a talk about the meaning of life (it's officially a trend.) I explained to her why I see us not as evil people but broken people who are missing something very big and real and important, and that as a result we do lots of mean and terrible or stupid or hurtful things to ourselves and others in an effort to capture that piece that's missing. I talked about how for me, being a Christian isn't about being right or about avoiding something terrible but rather is about rediscovering a long lost love.
It was interesting - she listened. It wasn't like those discussions in philosophy class, or those debates one has in bars about the meaning of existence. Those are about proving something, and that's probably why they just result in people getting angry.
People say don't talk about religion or politics. But I'm realizing politics and religion are two completely different things. Politics is about figuring out what's right and wrong. Religion is (or should be) about understanding why we behave the way we do and why we all feel like we're missing something. It should be about that search. And, ultimately, it should be about an amazing love relationship.
I've heard it said that you can't love something unless you've seen someone else love it. If you think about all the televangelists and the people standing on blocks in college yelling about the end of the world, and even of the thousands and thousands of well-meaning people in churches all over the country who don't talk about love but rather about being good enough and right enough...when you think about all of that, it's easy to see why people are turned off or downright hostile. You're selling them an idea - and idea that goes against their worldview and a sell that reinforces why they don't like 'people like you' in the first place.
When I talk about what it's like to be in love with my girlfriend, that doesn't invite hostility. More often than not, people not in a relationship want to hear about what it's like and want to know more.
If I talked about my relationship with God the way it's meant to be, what would people's reaction be?
October 29, 2005
Had an interesting conversation with a budding improv comedian and weekend philosopher last night. The conversation was over drinks, and as such it jumped from topic to topic every 15 seconds or so. But looking back it seems the heart of the conversation was about meaning.
My friend asserted that by focusing on meaning (referring to my faith) I was confining myself, limiting myself to a tiny view of a much larger world. He said the only way to appreciate life is to understand that there is no meaning (since we're all accidents, the result of an endless series of evolutionary mutations large and small over billions of years) and to 'embrace what is now.'
This troubled me, because my entire life is constructed around meaning. The more I thought about it, the more It seemed as though all our lives are constructed around meaning. The things we say, the things we do. The job we have, the shows we watch, the things we buy.
More...
October 08, 2005
You'd be amazed at how many people get upset when they learn that I really don't care about the whole evolution vs. creationism thing.
My Christian friends wonder how I can not care about a debate that is so pivotal to the "Christian cause." They wonder how something as big and important as the origin of life could be so unimportant to me.
My non-Christian friends wonder how I can not care about where we came from. They wonder how I can just blindly follow a faith that is incompatible with science and reason.
I used to be very interested in the subject. I used to read book after book about the origins of the universe, about dinosaurs, about hydrodynamics and volcanoes and the like. I used to get into intense discussions with folks about the various theories, their counterarguments and the counterarguments to those.
But at some point, not exactly sure when, I woke up to a startling reality. I realized that how I got here is significantly less important than why I got here.
More...
July 17, 2005
This is the fourth in a series of posts on building a personal sanctuary. You can find the introduction here.
Cultivating Silence
Eventually, you reach a dry spot. You find yourself at a place where it's impossibly tough to break through the curtain - you believe in God, you trust that He is loving and wants the best for His children....but you don't feel Him. You don't really feel like He's there. Our God is loving, to be sure, but He's also distant, cold.
More...
July 08, 2005
This is the third in a series of posts on building a personal sanctuary. You can find the introduction here.
If there is one thing that has kept people from praying, it's the fact that the relationship is so often missing from the message. We know we're to pray when we've screwed up or when we want something, but that's generally about it. If we're to progress in our spiritual lives, if we're to find that peace and joy that is so often promised us, it is vitally important that we start there.
It's vitally important that we begin where God began - with a love story.
More...
June 30, 2005
This is the second in a series of posts on building a personal sanctuary. You can find the first post here.
There is a school of thought that is extremely pervasive in the world, Christian and otherwise. For most people who would call themselves "spiritual," life is divided into their thought or spiritual life...and everything else.
I'm certainly no exception. I often feel like I have to put myself in a "spiritual place." That is, I often feel as though my thoughts or my actions - or simply the way my day is going - somehow keeps me outside of the realm where I can enjoy a relationship with God. More importantly, I feel as though I only have a certain amount of time in my day that can (or should) be devoted to growing that relationship.
More...
June 23, 2005
Anyone who knows me knows how difficult it has been for me to progress as a Christian.
After college, there was a six month period of time where I experienced explosive growth - if not in deed at least in thought. Things that were once abstract and hard to comprehend were opened up in my mind like a giant door. God graced me with the ability to wrap my head around many conundrums that trip up those new in the faith - and serve as barriers to those who don't believe. Things like the the problem of evil, the reason why we so often feel alone, or the realization that pride represents our biggest obstacle to God were blessings I feel fortunate to have received, even to this day.
But since this time I've largely stagnated.
More...
June 12, 2005
I saw Deep Blue last night. What an amazing movie...
I found myself confronted by a strange truth as I was enjoying this film. Watching what must represent some of the most jaw-dropping underwater footage ever recorded, I continually thought to myself, "Man, God is so amazing to have created all of this!"
This awe was tempered quickly by the realization that I was likely one of the only people in the theater sharing that thought. The thought that two people could watch the exact same thing and arrive at completely opposite conclusions made me strangly uneasy.
More...
April 08, 2005
I've got all these opportunities for spiritual nourishment. I've got dozens of translations of the Bible online or in a store. I've got all these churches, all these small groups. All these bookstores, all these books, cds, radio programs, retreats, conferences.
In this culture of abundance, I have so many opportunities.
And how do I respond to them? More often than I'd like to admit, I come to that opportunity, I say "eh, it's not quite convenient enough. It's not quite entertaining enough. I've got...other things to do."
Whatever the reason, I say to those opportunities "no thanks." I have an attitude towards my God that is way too cavalier, way too wishy-washy. It's....casual.
Why am I like that? Why are you?
There was a man named David. He had a passionate pursuit for God. An earnestness, a hunger for God that makes me look ridiculous.
Why does he do that I don't?
It could be that he tasted God...but no, that's not it. I've done the same, and I'm still very casual about the whole thing.
Something I read struck me though. David once wrote, "O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you. My soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you....
because I'm seeking you in a dry and weary land where there is no water."
You and I are never going to pursue something that we don't prefer. When I look at my pursuit of God, I must back up and look at my preference for God. And often, that preference is lukewarm at best.
Why is that? Maybe it's because you and I don't have the conviction that God is the only water available in the desert of our lives. We think he's one of a number of options. You and I are living in a culture that is always telling us there are other diversions, other worthy pursuits, other goals - all of them equally capable of quenching our soul's thirst.
And so we go to those options. And we take them up, and we look at them, and we say, "man this looks good. Maybe this will do it."
David lived with the conviction that everything else was a mirage. You pick it up, you think it's water, you drink it, and it's simply sand. He believed he lived in a dry and weary land with no water - there was no other option.
What would happen if I believed the same? I think that all of a sudden, when I decide to live my life with a conviction that I'm walking through a deserted existence - one that is beautiful in so many ways, but when it comes to quenching my soul's thirst is simply inadequate - then it transforms my relationship with God from something that's a nicety, something that is convenient on Sundays (or every other Sunday, or at Christmas and Easter) into a necessity that my life is dependent on.
And isn't that what we long for, in the deepest caverns of our hearts? We desperately want our souls to be filled to the brim with longing, with a desire that no man or army can ever subdue. We want to long after something.
And, if we're honest with ourselves, I think we'd admit pretty readily that it's not in shopping. It's not in our jobs, or in our paycheck, or in that cool project we're working on. It's not in our writing, our music, our hobbies. It's not in our friends, not in our families. Not in girlfriends, boyfriends, husbands or wives.
And the deeper we dig, the more we come to realize that it's not in ourselves either.
We have a thirst that's waiting to be quenched - I've seen it in everyone I've ever met. So few people find that oasis we're dreaming of. For most of us, we waste our days and weeks and years drinking sand. We're rich, respected, fat and happy. We have full social calendars and more friendly acquaintances than we can keep track of. We have sofas and iPods and Tivos and cars.
And we're empty....dry.
Believing in a barren world in a culture hell-bent on maintaining its illusion of abundance. When the curtain is pulled away, you see it so clearly - you curse yourself that you didn't see it earlier.
But you probably did - the trick is to keep the curtain pulled away. To never confuse the sand for water again.
And then? To pursue the true oasis with everything you have.
It's scary, thinking about throwing caution to the wind and giving up the sand that seems to comfortable and safe. But if we pride our intellect and cherish our hearts...is sustained, purposeful ignorance really an option?
No. There is no other option.
April 01, 2005
'God is love.'
'God is big.'
'God is everywhere.'
'God is us.'
'God is dead.'
'I have no idea.'
What is God like? What would you say if someone were to ask you?
The typical response would probably be something like, "I'm not sure." And, of course, with that response would come an air of indifference. Like it's not that important. Like you have more important things to do and my question has interrupted your day.
But what if what you think about God, what I think about God, what you believe about God, what I believe about God....represents the axis on which our lives turn? What if that were true, not just for a Christian or a Jew, but for the Atheist, the Agnostic, the guy who 'just hasn't given it that much thought?' What if it filtered into everything about our life's journey?
In the midst of constant sleep deprivation and errands and business and shopping and watching movies and eating dinner, many of us (myself included) feel as though we're too tired to think about it. We believe that thinking about this question should only take place when our minds are fully attuned, perhaps in some locked, sterile room with no doors or windows. Or perhaps in some monastary in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to do but spend months contemplating it. As for now, we've got too much of the real world going on to worry about it.
But here's the thing - the real world never goes away. It will always be there, trying to fill our lives up with business and pettiness and a myriad of activities, all of which pale in significance to this.
Some people disagree with me on this point. Some people wonder why these 'religious crazies' make such a big deal out of it. After all, it's all conjecture anyway. We'll never really know where we came from...
But it does make a difference! If I truly believe that "in the beginning, God made the heavens and the earth," that "God so loved the world that he sent is only begotten Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have everlasting life"....
If I truly believe that, how can it not be significant? I would suggest that your belief system, whatever it may be, should serve as the foundation, the groundwork on which every aspect of your life is framed. That means for me, the belief that God created me and loves me and wants more than anything in the world for me to wake up and pursue a relationship with him...should impact the way I act at work, the way I interact with my friends, how I spend my free time, how I spend my money, how I eat, how I treat the environment, what my political leanings are, how I treat my spouse....everything.
I'm not saying my belief is right (well, maybe I am a little.) But I am saying that you need to stop pretending like your belief about who you are and where you come from and why you exist belongs in the periphery. It should be the very DNA on which your thoughts, your actions, your life is constructed from.
Otherwise, you're not living. You're keeping yourself in a perpetual state of daydreaming, filling your life up with enough things to keep your mind off of the big important question that hounds you when the lights are out and there's no one else around.
It really is that important.
So what is God to you?
February 27, 2005
There is no defense for the unguarded moment.
I've long believed that we decieve ourselves when we call ourselves good. We all like to believe that there is immense evil in this world, that terrible things are done by terrible people. We throw Saddam into that list, perhaps the President, and often our boss or coworkers.
But we never think we're evil ourselves. We cringe at the word. Of course we're not evil - we're good people deep down. And that time we yelled at our spouse or in frustration told our friend something we regretted or made a decision at work that was less than ethical....well, nobody's perfect.
But what if it's the other way around? What if these vices and issues and "slip-ups" that we all know too well about represent more than we think? I think that, rather than being the exception to the rule, what we do in moments of stress or frustration, when our guard is down, are the most telling demonstrations of our character.
And right now, I know I don't measure up. If I'm truly honest with myself, the fact is that much of the time, doing the honest, humble, generous thing is the most difficult thing in the world. And it is such because that's not a part of my natural character - it's a struggle.
That's why I need God in my life - because no matter how hard I try to "play Christian," no matter how much effort I put towards putting on a good show, there is simply no defense for the unguarded moment or that slip of the tongue. And what comes out during those times is, to a very large extent, who I am.
I need to be changed, need God to work in me and bring about the transformation that I could never bring about myself. It's an inside job, a work of the heart.
It seems like the hardest thing in the world, but it also brings with it a certain amount of release. Because once I know, truly know that I can't do it myself and am forced to rely on God to do it for me, there will be a certain amount of rest. And with discipline, patience, and a willingness to pick myself back up again time after time after time, there will come a day when I'll no longer have to try to be humble and patient and kind and generous.
Because I will be humble and patient and kind and generous.
August 30, 2004
My business partner was telling me about a movie he saw that showed how they farm chickens these days.
The chickens grow up in the cages. Their beaks are burned off. They never walk, never move. And then they're killed. Sent to us, and we eat them. That's their life.
For some reason, as he was telling me this story, my mind instantly pictured a newly married couple, sitting in their new house, picking out wallpaper color.
The guy has a nice job, working as an regional manager for a medical supply company. He spends his days riding around in a car from client to client. His nights are spent watching TV. His weekends, doing odd jobs around the house, maybe enjoying a poker night with his buddies.
His wife works for a cosmetic company in the marketing department. She works long hours, hits the gym after work to run on a treadmill. She comes home and cooks dinner. On the weekends, she treats herself with a trip to Nordstrom to buy a new handbag.
Soon enough, they have a kid. Their weekends are now spent at Costco buying things in bulk to save money. They compare and contrast the various pros and cons of different brands of diapers.
And so it goes. We know the story - most of us live it in some form or another. And there's nothing inherently wrong with it. It was how I was raised. It's how we live today.
But is it how we're supposed to live? I don't know.
What were Adam and Eve supposed to do? I mean, before the fall, what was their purpose? They must have had one. What would life have been like if there was no fall?
Forget that. It happened. Fast forward. What kind of life does Christ offer us? By believing in him, we get absolved of our sin, and get to look forward to eternal life spent with God.
But what do we do here in the meantime? Is our life to be spent simply waiting to die? Is it supposed to be, on the whole, no different than anyone else's?
[Some of the people who read this aren't Christians, and might not get what I'm talking about. Apologies.]
What is our purpose here on Earth? Is it to take a job driving around town selling medical supplies? Is it to spend our weekends mowing our lawn or looking through an IKEA catalog? Does it not make any difference, as long as we're nice honest people who treat each other with respect and kindness?
Or is there more?
Christ's ministry lasted three years before he was killed. Once he started on his path, he had 36 months of life. And my, what a life it was.
Paul and Peter and John and the others lived longer. They evaded jail, were beaten, attacked, plotted against. In the end, all but John were killed because of the path they were on - and John had to live out his final days in jail for the same reason.
I once heard someone say, "If Christians today were Christians the way Paul and Peter were, the world would be a very different place."
If we were Christians like Peter or Paul, what would our lives be like? I don't think we would have to be in ministry - indeed, I think the realms of business, law, politics and others could use strong Christian men and women as well. But what would a Paul-like businessman look like? How would his days be spent? His weekends? How would his business operate? What would the profits of that business be spent on?
Would we be likely to find him shopping at Costco on the weekend? Would he be watching Law and Order on a Thursday night?
Our we living our lives with true, purpose? If we are made in the image of God, if we are "more than conquerors," if we were "fearfully and wonderfully made" - is the life of the typical American Christian living up to that glory?
I don't have an answer. I honestly have no idea. But there's been something tugging in the back of my mind since I moved, and it has brought me repeatedly back to that question.
I have a fear that we run the very dangerous risk of playing Christianity-lite. We're Christians, but Christians in the same way the chickens in the cages are chickens. Our beaks have been burned off, our feathers aren't shiny, we never move.
We are glorious creatures, made in the image of God. By accepting him and growing in our relationship with him, we're able to overcome the stain of sin.
But to what end? To spend our days in cubicles, our nights in front of the TV and our weekends putting up new wallpaper?
What if we were Christians the way Peter and Paul were Christians? What would we do differently? What would I do differently?
July 29, 2004
"It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship....There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal."
-C.S. Lewis
My mind has been playing around with this idea of glory for a few weeks now. I spent the better part of six months last year writing about my character flaws in an effort to remove them. The writing went over very well with people, and they gave me credit for my bravery in writing about how wretched and useless I was. They praised me on my perceptiveness noticing that I'm basically a broken, twisted person who should never be allowed near the presence of God, and that for some unknown reason He's still interested in me.
Those deep thoughts? Mostly crap.
Read the story again. It is a tale of God's constant pursuit of man. He is the lover, and we are the beloved. He went through ridiculous pains, even coming to Earth to suffer a gruesome death on a cross, because He loved us.
Why would he go to such efforts for useless rabble? Why would he pursue to relentlessly a useless, terrible, wicked people?
He doesn't.
When one becomes a Christian, we are taught that we are given a new heart. We are taught that the Holy Spirit literally comes to live inside of us. Our hearts become good. Yes, we still face battles with the flesh and with the enemy. But our sin? That is not who we are. Read the story again - it's right there.
What's better? We are glorious creatures, created in the image of God. We are tainted, to be sure. But God's on a quest to restore our glory.
Think about it - if all it was about was our going to heaven or hell, what would be the point of life, other than looking forward to dying and being with God up in the clouds? Life on earth would be pretty pointless. But that's not all that it's about. God created an amazing planet that he was proud of, filled it with an endless variety of animals, and finished it by creating a glorious creature called man. What was His plan for all of that before the fall? What was the purpose of our lives before Satan got involved and mucked everything up?
There had to be something. Perhaps that's what life is really all about - rediscovering our special purpose. And I have a pretty good feeling it's more than finding a wife and having babies and moving up a corporate ladder working in a cubicle and playing golf on the weekends.
I'm becoming more and more convinced that the exciting part of life happens after one becomes a Christian, not before. We Christians (although we'd never admit it) find ourselves looking back at our days of wildness, of nights spent drinking and smoking and sleeping with assorted women. And while we admit that it wasn't the best way to live a life, a part of us aches to recapture that wildness, that sense of adventure. There's certainly little wildness in a weekend spent trimming hedges and sitting in church.
But what if life isn't about finding God and then living your life as a safe, cautious, meek good citizen? What if life as a Christian and a life full of adventure and passion and excitement and risk aren't mutually exclusive? What if we truly all have callings, and those callings go far beyond the pursuit of a pay raise or a larger house or a new bowling league to join?
I'm realizing that the Bible speaks of a much more exciting life. I'm realizing that we're not worms but for the grace of God. I'm realizing that - at our best, living a life based on God's will - we have the ability to shed our mediocrity and become the glorious creatures we always thought we could be.
I'm beginning to realize that there are no ordinary people. If only they realized that about themselves....
July 24, 2004
What is it about our greatness that frightens us so much?
It's a question that has been nagging me for a very long time now. For years, I've looked at people who have had so much potential, and without fail have chosen to take a path of mediocrity. It makes me so sad.
I recently hit a wall in my life, prompted by a revelation. It was that revelation that helped me get out of Colorado, and put me on the seemingly ambiguous yet determined path I'm now on.
My life has been characterized by accomplishments that I should not have been able to pull off. Literally everything I've ever done with any amount of fervor has been successful. This is not said to brag - in fact, few things in life have brought me more confusion and, at times, frustration.
I'm a Christian guy, and I've been raised on a Bible that talks about how the meek inherit the earth, how suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character, and character hope.
My life has been pretty devoid of suffering. Life has been a cake walk. And it has scared me to death.
At what point do I begin to suffer? If suffering is necessary to produce character, do I lack character? Does my ability and strength represent a barrier to a relationship with God?
These questions have been in the back of my mind for years, and they bubbled to the surface in the past year. There was a certain amount of paralysis, and it showed. I didn't pursue the business back in Colorado with the passion I needed to make it work. I was questioning whether entrepreneurship was for me, and begin to look for the first time at the possibility of being in someone's employ.
It was frustrating. Frustrating because, for the first time, I wasn't putting much effort into things. Frustrating because for the first time I was becoming lazy. And frustrating because I was in love with someone who knew it. Someone who knew everyone's lofty opinions of me, of my opinions of myself, and was willing to say it was a bunch of crap.
In many ways, she was a misguided girl. But when it came to diagnosing my funk, she unknowingly helped me uncover what had been eating at me all those years.
Deep down, in spite of the success I had achieved, I knew something: I had yet to really try. I had yet to live up to my potential, yet to truly harness the ability given to me. It finally began to tear me apart, and she was there to see it all.
The entire time I was pursuing goals or coming up with ideas, I was dealing with two conflicting feelings: pride, and guilt. I spent a considerable amount of time writing about the pride issue, trying to embarrass myself in a public forum to kill the demon. The writing became somewhat popular, which fed the beast. I was left even more egotistical than I was before - which had the unfortunate side effect of increasing the guilt as well. There didn't seem to be an end to it.
Of all the sins, pride is the most difficult one to conquer. I've learned that lesson well. But I discovered something recently that changed my course, that righted my ship gone astray: my pride was not only a sin, but was in fact keeping me from living up to my potential.
Because I grew up knowing my talent, and because I knew that with even a modest amount of effort I could do very well, I put my life on cruise control. Life was a cake walk, because I did just enough to be successful. I was accomplishing things, but I was holding back. And I was holding back because my pride blinded me to the fact that I was deathly afraid of what I could truly be.
What is it about our greatness that frightens us so much?
There are times in our lives when we feel greater than we are. We take a hike and get a rush upon reaching the summit. We look into the eyes of a beautiful woman who is taken by us, or into the eyes of a man whose strength we admire, and we feel like we could take on the world.
Sadly, we spend most of our lives trying to kill this feeling. We tell ourselves that we are naive to trust that feeling - that it is childish or silly. We dismiss it as some sentiment from the past, that has no real substance or grounding in real life. In church, we're taught not to trust this feeling for fear that it will lead to pride or send us down a dark path that leads to a wall being constructed between us and God.
But, in spite of the rationalization, our hearts refuse to give up on it. We still find ourselves paying ridiculous amounts of money to sit in theaters and watch two lovers overcome the odds and find each other - and it's worth it to us, to get that lump in the throat or capture that lost feeling for a few fleeting moments.
There is indeed something underneath the surface of most of us that refuses to die. It's a feeling that is impossible to describe or attach a name to. But it's there - the desire to be a part of something larger than ourselves.
This feeling scares the hell out of us. It scares the hell out of me. It's what has kept me on the sidelines of life, taking my accomplishments and the pride that comes with them, and refusing to take on a true challenge. I've lived a life that settled for everyone telling me how great I was, rather than knowing in my heart that I've stretched myself to the fullest extent of my ability.
Continuing to live that way, I can see clearly the path that would be possible. I could live a life building a company, finding a wife, settling down into a house, having some kids, going to church, being a good citizen. And then what? Is that my story? My adventure? Is that the passion that burns in the deepest parts of my soul that refuses to be extinguished?
That's a path I could live in my sleep. That would not challenge me. That would not be a path God would want for me - something I've realized recently.
In spite of the "worm theology" that many of us have grown up with, the fact is that we are not terrible, useless people but for the grace of God. Go back and read the story again. God made us in his image - an image of greatness. The taint of sin tarnished our glory, and the rest of the Bible is an epic story about God trying to win us back, to restore that glory. We are called "more than conquerors," we are called to embrace the glory set within our hearts.
We are meant to make something of our lives, to shun mediocrity, and to finally embrace the glory that God has given us.
That feeling inside of us that refuses to die? I've come to believe that it is the knowledge that God has something very big planned for our lives.
That intense fear of living up to what we're meant to be? I've come to believe that is the enemy's all too effective method for keeping us asleep, living lives of mediocrity and convenience - lives spent anticipating our next performance review that will move us up to second deputy assistant for the logistics division at XYZ Corp., a promotion that would allow us to trade in our Taurus for a newer Accord and still have some money left over to contribute to our 401(k) plan.
In the quiet moments of the night or the earliest moments of the morning, when there's no one left to put a face on for, do you wonder if that's all there is to your life? Is that supposed to be your story? Have you "given up on storybooks?"
What is it about our greatness that frightens us so much?
March 28, 2004
A utopian society does not exist. Never will.
Activists and intellectuals have talked for centuries about the promise of a utopia. They've talked about a city on a hill, shining as a glorious testament to mankind's achievements and successes. They've talked of a perfect world where man's faults have been removed and our inner goodness finally shines through in full force.
These individuals look at our society, or the society of their respective time, and decide that there is so much promise for man, if only we could get rid of the social injustices that plague the world. If only we could get rid of corporations or George Bush or the terrorists or Anna Nicole Smith, we could finally shrug off the stain of unreached potential and collectively move towards a world where everyone is happy.
If only we could solve the hunger problem. Or no longer have war. Or get rid of capitalist greed and the small number of individuals who crave power and put the rest of us under their feet. Or get those religious nuts to move to some deserted island. Then the world would be a better place.
After all these centuries and all these generations, each of which had their own fair share of societal optimists, we still haven't reached that place. Mankind still insists on hurting each other and the world. People and countries still grapple for power. Individuals hurt their children or spouses or friends or themselves.
Maybe we can try harder. Maybe each generation before us just didn't try hard enough. Sure, we were able to push for civil rights and liberated oppressive countries and fought for individual freedom and whatnot. But our country still isn't perfect. We have people without food or jobs. We have a drug problem. But it's nothing a little elbow grease wouldn't fix. Perhaps we all should get together and hold a summit and come to agreement on a plan to finally rid the country and the world of social injustice. Maybe if we all finally come together and speak with one voice, we can do it.
There's a certain amount of arrogance in assuming that our generation could possibly do any better than any previous generation. While it's wonderful to hope for better things and to choose to live our lives with goodness and charity, attempting to get the world to do the same is a losing fight.
Why is this? Could it be that our inner natures are not ones of goodness after all? Is it possible that there's a reason why the easy thing is also generally the evil thing?
People often talk of Christianity as a crutch. They say that people use it to give themselves something to believe in. Perhaps this is the case, at least for someone dabbling in religion. But dig deeper, and you discover the truth of the matter - Christianity is a ridiculously difficult thing to do. We talk of belief casually, as if it represents nothing more than a fuzzy warm feeling inside.
Christianity does have tremendous joy associated with it. But to get there, you must first come face to face with the terror. You must confront the fact that there will never be a Utopian society because we are not good people. You must face the fact that any sedative will only be temporary, whether it be the pursuit of money or sex or power, or even the positive values of humility or chastity or benevolence. You must confront the fact that, no matter how much independence you try to set up for yourself, you exist only because God decided that you should. You must face the fact that every day you rebel against him, and yet he still pursues you with a ceaseless passion. Perhaps the most difficult truth of all, you must confront the fact that your life has a purpose, perhaps a purpose of tremendous magnitude, and that you are called to give up everything you have for the Lord.
Once you've faced the terror, you find joy. Once a community collectively is willing to face their flaws and the truth of the world and their place in it, they can find peace and love and contentment. Then, you have a truly Utopian society.
Will this ever happen? Of course not. It's too hard.
March 06, 2004
Imagine a trial in which a serial killer was convicted. Before the judge handed down the sentence (which would surely be death,) someone ran into the courtroom and said they wanted to take the man's place. Though they didn't know the man, they wanted the man to be able to go free and they to suffer for his crimes.
What would the perception of the general public be? My guess would be shock, dismay, perhaps even anger. Would this person be called heroic for taking the place of the murderer? Would this person be called idiotic? Crazy?
I personally can't imagine the reaction of the masses to such an event.
Maybe that's why there aren't that many devoted Christians.
We fail to recognize that Christ died for sinners, not for good people. Moreover, Christianity claims that we are all sinners. In fact, according to the Christian worldview, our value is exactly the same as the serial murderer.
It makes us uncomfortable to be lumped in with a group of criminals. But we can take heart. Because while our value as people is exactly the same as the convicted murderers of the world, it is also exactly the same as the most upstanding citizens, the wealthiest magistrates.
And that value? Zero.
Apart from God, the Christian worldview would assert, our value is negligible. It doesn't matter how bad or good we've been. Without God serving as the centerpiece of our lives, there is in fact no good. There are certainly things considered by the world to be good, but actions, thoughts and deeds don't make us good. They don't create our value.
If we're using our goodness as a measurement of value (a claim that most people wouldn't naturally assert and yet one our hearts demonstrate when thinking of ourselves in relation to the serial murderer,) then our value is nothing. We get no goodness except from the goodness given to us by God, and that goodness only comes by our willingness to trust in his promises.
Many people in history have died courageously and with bravery. These people died saving the lives of people deemed good by the world, and therein lies much of their value.
But how many people have been celebrated by running into the courtroom and offering their life instead of the serial murderers of the world?
I can only think of one.
March 05, 2004
If entering into the presence of God is the goal, why do I stop short of that goal so often?
I think there's something in many of us that still seeks "safe" religion. That is, we only want to progress in our faith so much. Religion in moderation, so to speak.
We go to church. We pray before going to sleep. We attend Bible study. We lead Bible study. But we still insist on standing with one foot outside the door.
I know exactly why I do this. It's because I'm still unwilling to give up the things of this world.
I'm unwilling to listen to what God really is commanding me to do because it would be uncomfortable to me. I'm still hesitant to repent because repentance means I'm acknowledging that it's a sin. And once acknowledging it as a sin, I have to resolve to not do it again. But deep down, I still want to.
Why is it that we are so willing to settle for mediocrity? Why is it that we are so willing to put in 60 hour work weeks, focus intense energy on our loved ones, or fanatically pursue perfection in our physique, and yet are content with mediocrity in our spiritual lives?
If God is really who we say he is, and if we believe that his promises are true, shouldn't we approach our spiritual lives with a fervor many times more powerful than our work or our relationships?
He offers the chance for us to construct a sanctuary in our hearts. He offers us the chance to literally allow Christ inside of us. The chance to experience the presence of God in a manner beyond our wildest expectations.
And we choose not to. We choose to continue living lives of intentional ignorance, of rationalization, of hedonism. We choose to close our hearts off from the full extent of God's love.
Why? Is it because Christianity is "inconvenient?" Is basking in God's love not worth adhering to his laws and facing weird glances from others in the supermarket or coffee shop? Is enjoying peace and contentment and joy not worth people you don't know thinking you're silly?
It's frustrating to realize that I reject Him every day, even now. It's even more frustrating to know that the odds of me doing a better job tomorrow are pretty small.
I've come to understand that I can't will myself to change. It doesn't matter how hard I try - my nature is not one of goodness and love, and no amount of hard work and elbow grease will solve that. What's necessary is for me to openly and honestly fall at God's feet and ask for his grace to change my heart. Ask for him to work in me. Ask for him to give me the courage to become the kind of man he really wants me to be.
But what about tomorrow? What about that business meeting? What about that date? Having to be humble and pure of heart and meek and in all things glorifying God will really cramp my style.
March 04, 2004
They say truth is stranger than fiction. I wholeheartedly agree.
The past few weeks have been met with intense discussion about Christ and Christianity. I've read dozens of opinions about the absurdity of Christianity and the ridiculousness of a group of people believing in what is little more than a story book, one that has been passed down from generation to generation, losing more and more of its meaning as it has been retranslated and revised.
It's been claimed by many that Christians are dreamers. They claim that we live in a made up world with a made up God. They claim that we created Him and wrote a book about Him because it makes us feel better believing there's something out there besides the world we see and taste and touch.
The Christian worldview does sound absurd. As my good friend and business partner pointed out, the Christian believes that God became a man and lived his life as a carpenter for 30 years before preaching about the Kingdom of God to 15,000 people, give or take. And now that he bore our sin for us and was resurrected, so too will we be resurrected if we trust in him.
And once we have trust in him, we get to enjoy continually growing communication with the Father through him. And how do we do this? By kneeling by our bed, closing our eyes, folding our hands, and speaking to him. By being dunked in water. By eating bread and drinking wine or grape juice. By singing songs to him. By not eating for a day or two or more. By reading an ancient book, making notes in the margins, looking at the Greek origins for words and thanking him for showing us truth.
And all of this is what draws us closer to this God that became a man and walked on water in an age without satellites and cable TV and the Internet. A God who chose to reveal Himself and His plan for saving the world in a three year period of time to an infinitesimal segment of history's population.
Absurd. All of it.
But not only is the Christian God an absurd idea to the human mind; the Christian God also happens to be a terribly scary God.
I would submit that the Christian worldview is one that man would never want to make up.
There is an entire mass of people that claim to be "spiritual but not religious." They believe in an impersonal God, a God that sits up in the clouds and just wants us to be happy, or even no God at all - just some force of energy that represents goodness and love. They believe you can take what you want from the Bible and ignore the rest, or even concoct your own belief system out of thin air. They believe we can all do whatever the hell we want because we're all naturally good and will all end up in heaven or wherever eventually.
We live in a world full of anger and hatred and death and destruction and despair. It makes us sick, it makes us cry, it makes our heart break.
That is why we call ourselves spiritual - because we want to believe that there's a God that frowns upon all of this. A God that is all-good who will eventually right the wrongs in the world.
But we also live in a world full of temptation and lust and greed and intense desire, and we daily submit to those temptations and desires because they feel good.
That is why we say that we're not religious - because we don't want to believe there's a God that frowns upon all of this; because a God that is all-good will most likely hate most of what we do ourselves.
A God that hates the evil in the world, but doesn't think we're evil. What a great deal!
Is this not infinitely more absurd than the Christian worldview?
I would submit that a belief system of such irony and intentional stupidity exists for one reason - because in the back of our minds we subtly grasp the intense terror that the Christian God would represent, and we want to avoid it at all costs. Give us the love, the peace and the joy. But repentance? Submission? Fear? No thanks.
The Christian worldview believes that the God embodied in Christ is the same God that opened a hole up in the earth and swallowed a group of Israelites. The same God that created the violent upheavals that led to mountains. The same terrible, jealous, wrathful God that destroyed Sodom because of their full submission to the temptations of the world. The same God that could not even be looked at because of His holiness.
The Christian believes that this is the God that became man and built tables and chairs. This is the God that picked children up and put them on his knee. This is the God that allowed himself to be handed over, violently beaten, put on a cross and crucified. This God allowed his most cherished creation to condemn Him to death.
And now this God offers to love us and give our hearts peace and comfort. But he also tells us that by following Him our lives will be ones of intense suffering, perhaps even death. Even worse, he tells us that some who call him "Lord" will not enter his rest. He tells us that if we drift away and harden our hearts and waver in our belief and continue to be disobedient - without letting us know how much disobedience or what degree of unbelief crosses the line - we risk losing this great gift he's offered us. He tells us that if we commit blasphemy of the spirit we will not be forgiven, but doesn't tell us what that means.
Why would any man or woman create a belief system like this? Why would they create something that not only sounds absurd and offensive to the human mind, but requires us to face the worst parts of ourselves? Forces us to admit that we aren't good at all, and desperately need God's grace to survive? Why would they create a belief system that makes other people look at you weird, call you names, persecute you? And why would anyone else follow it?
They follow it because they believe it's true. All of it. They believe that God does indeed love us, but not in the detached, ridiculous way we'd sometimes like him to. They believe that he really loves us - allows us to suffer because he loves us, is willing to rebuke us because he loves us, is willing to let us choose to reject him because he loves us.
We believe in a God who became a carpenter. A God who let us kill him - an act of sin - so that he could take on and remove our sin. An all-powerful God who created the entire universe and then became a frail human like us. A God who created all and knows all and yet desires a close intimate relationship with us, desires to help us through our petty insignificant problems at work or with a loved one.
Absurd. Terrifying. Wonderful.
February 20, 2004
What does it mean to be pure of heart? What does it mean to be chaste?
The obvious answer is to have never committed impure acts or thought unclean thoughts. The obvious answer is to live your life with holiness and purity.
In today's culture, the answer often feels like an impossibility. I've yet to meet a single person who would fit under this definition. Even if they haven't broken their chastity in word or deed, they confess that they've thought impure thoughts in their minds. Often.
I find it amazing. All this talk about purity and yet I've never met someone who's done it.
Which leads me to one of two conclusions.
The first would be that the whole purity of heart thing isn't really true. The concept of purity as described in the Bible is ancient and needs revision.
Makes sense, right? After all, none of us can live our lives with the purity God asks us to in the Bible. Indeed, the idea of something like sexual purity seems to contradict our very natures. If pride is the biggest obstacle to God, lust is definitely the most common. Our bodies and minds crave it. We're haunted by the desire day and night. And every message we see or hear, whether it be on television or in movies or music or in conversations with our "liberated" friends, we're bombarded by one singular message: It's okay. It's healthy. It's natural. It's fun.
And so we fall, just like all of our friends, just like everyone else at a given bar on a given evening is desperately hoping to do, just like everyone living in our sexually-rich, love-poor country.
But what if what the Bible says about it is true? What if the premise given by our friends and our culture is true, but the conclusions and extrapolations are false? What if sex is natural and healthy in certain situations (i.e. the context of marriage as described in the Bible,) but outside of such a dynamic leads to destruction?
It makes our blood boil to even hear the idea, much less give any serious weight to it. It makes us angry because of the impossibility of it all. Why on Earth would God create us the way he did, stick us in a culture full of hedonism, and then say "don't touch?"
So we fight the idea. We say it's too hard. We say it's impossible. We keep entering into relationships, even Christian relationships, and keep doing the same things. Or we avoid the relationships all together, opting instead for single evenings of passion and excitement without the repercussions or consequences.
But we don't answer the question. We avoid the question. What if it's true?
What would a world be like if we were to in fact surrender to our desires fully? Would it be a place of happiness, health, joy? Is it just a coincidence that the sexual revolution coincided nicely with dramatic increases in disease, rape, broken families, abortions, battered women, impotence, lies and jealousy? What if there was in fact a direct relationship between increased desire and decreased health?
What if it's true?
Which leads to the second option; that everything is as it seems, and yet God created us to rise above it.
But we've already established the impossibility of the whole thing. We've agreed that none of us are truly pure of heart, and that we all, at various times and in varying degrees, have broken our chastity in thought or word or action. We sit and stare at the daunting idea of living a pure life and conclude that it's impossible.
I took two years of German in high school, and three semesters of German in college. I can't speak German. There is a small cloudy spot in the part of my brain reserved for understanding and learning German. And every single time I sat down and looked at a test, I stared at it blankly before concluding that it was going to be impossible.
And then I did my best.
Sometimes I did surprisingly well. Other times I fell completely on my face. But I tried. I didn't spend the whole time thinking about whether or not it was impossible. It didn't matter - it was mandatory.
It's true - having a pure heart is something that is indeed impossible by ourselves. We need to ask God. And sometimes, even after having asked, we'll still fail. So what do we do; conclude that it's impossible and resign ourselves to a life that's less than what God intended? Or do we get up, ask God's forgiveness and try again?
Perhaps having a pure heart isn't as much a decision as it is a process. Maybe God intentionally designed our world to make failure likely and common. Maybe he wants to show us that having a pure heart of our own will is indeed impossible. Maybe it's another way God's desperately trying to show us his love for us if we can just be willing to finally depend on him.
February 08, 2004
Let's get one thing straight. God didn't have to create us.
The Christian worldview of God, the God of the Trinity, already had everything. Within the dynamic of the Trinity existed the perfect love relationship. The Son
