Heresy of the Month

Sarcastic Faith

Getting back from Colorado Springs has been interesting.  I was reflecting on how much I enjoy that conference each year.  It is my favorite time to get together with my Vineyard family.  This is not only because of the gorgeous setting, though that doesn’t hurt at all.  It is all about the people.

Because it is, specifically, a mission leaders meeting, all of the people who attend have a common mission.  Jesus, throughout the Gospels, talks about unity.  Paul harps on unity over and over again.  It seems to be pretty important to those guys, so maybe it should be a little more important to us, as followers of Jesus in community.  When I go to that conference, there is such a genuine and abiding warmth, humility, and love, it is unlike anything else I do as a pastor.  Pastors are notorious for posturing.  How many you running on a Sunday morning now?  WE have had explosive growth!  We have doubled in size since the last conference!  That’s right!  100% growth in one year!  I don’t know, I’m thinking about talking to the Big Cheese about becoming a regional director.  I hope that isn’t thinking too small…

All the time that “Pastor Joe” is saying that, he is internally panicked that you remember he had only 10 people last year, so 100% growth is not all that impressive.  I’ve never gotten into all that.  I think 10 new people in a year is something to be celebrated!  That is 10 people who have found a home in your community.  Even if, by 10 new members, you are counting their children, pets, and extended family from out of state, whom you might see on major holidays, there is a rooting and an anchoring taking place in those people.  That should be celebrated.  However, it is uncool to celebrate.  Just watch any post-game coverage for any professional sport.

“Yes, we won 49-0, but we got lucky.  They have a great team.  They are very dangerous, even though they picked up their QB today…right before the game…through a fan raffle….  You never know what that septic tank cleaner might have done, if our linebacker hadn’t put him in the hospital on the first snap.  I hear he already remembers his name, so that’s hopeful.  Our prayers go out to him and his family.  Playoffs?  No, we aren’t thinking of the playoffs.  We aren’t celebrating this victory, either.  No, we are thinking about Minnesota next week.  Yes, they are the worst team in the league.  I can’t believe they still have professional sports there…  But when their QB is on his meds, and they shoot him up with Novocain, HGH, and pure adrenaline pre-game, he can be really dangerous.  Yes, I heard his surgery to remove the prehensile tail was successful.  I can’t really comment on that, because it seems like it just grew after they played Detroit.  Maybe it’s all the chemicals…  Anyway, our prayers go out to him and his family.  Sans tail, he is a lot harder to tackle.”

Taking victories in stride - in other words, ignoring them - is considered good taste.  It is seen as humility.  When living in a world in despair, I think that is the opposite of what we need to be as church, as a community, and as human beings.  God seems to celebrate everything!  The prodigal son ends in a huge party, celebrating…what?  He spent his entire inheritance.  He took up with prostitutes and criminals.  He was found eating out of troughs for pigs.  What is left to celebrate?  He should feel lucky to be alive, and he should have to endure months of rebuke, correction, and re-education.  Instead, there is a party, just because the idiot managed to not die.  It is a miracle that this kid has enough brain activity to pump blood!  Let’s celebrate!  He’s come home!  Without a GPS!

We are so focused on being cool, clever, ironic, and relevant, that we completely miss the chance to geek out over some of the great things that God does in our lives.  Instead of trading the ashes of our burnt lives in for beauty, we have exchanged our joy for cynicism and sarcastic wit.  Now, this is not to deny that our larger culture is moving steadily toward cynicism and rebellion.  I am not denying the need to be culturally relevant to the people who don’t know Jesus.  We cannot just abandon them to their despair.  But, I never see Jesus trying to outdo the people of his time with rebellion or complaining.  He felt that joy and hope were the most powerfully relevant values to offer to a despairing generation.  He transferred those values through unabashed, geeky, cheesy, embarrassing Love.  His level of love is ridiculous.  We need to emulate that love.

As I was in the mountains, I drove past Long’s Peak. I was reflecting on a trip I took as a teenager, where we did a peak ascent on Long’s as part of a week-long retreat.  I remember complaining on that entire trip.  I actually loved the trip, but it was part of my makeup to complain.

We had a prayer time, led by my friend and mentor, Marcus Cunningham, who is now an Episcopal Vicar in Kansas.  Marcus is a wonderful guy.  I see God just delighting in him.  He has always been a hippy.  He has never been big on things like government, meat, or bathing.  When I was an adult, I actually had the chance to minister with Marcus, working full time with him at a retreat center outside of Chicago.  One day, we were having guy time, just hanging out in his domicile on the retreat center property.  We were sitting around talking philosophy and theology, which tends to make both of us hungry.  I asked him if he had anything to eat.  He said that ice cream sounded delicious, and I agreed.  He was going to get the bowls, and I was tasked with getting the half-gallon ice cream container out of the freezer.  There were two in there, so I grabbed the one closest to the door, the label indicating that a vanilla, chocolate swirl awaited our consumption inside.  On my way to the counter, I proceeded to open the container, and was met with something that was definitely, at least in my frozen dairy experience, not chocolate swirl ice cream.  It was bright red and gelatinous.  Marcus….what is this?

“Oh!” he proudly exclaimed, “That’s not ice cream!  That’s the placenta from Naomi’s birth!  We are so excited, because this spring we are going to plant a placenta tree, where we bury the placenta under the roots of the sapling.  We offer it up as a prayer for Naomi’s life!”

I didn’t hear most of that.  I set the container down and left, no longer hungry for ice cream. 

So, years before the placenta incident, Marcus was leading this prayer time for us in Colorado.  He had us take a slice of a log that we had found fallen in the woods, and we had to pray about a value or character trait for which we wanted to be known.  We also had to pray about an animal with which we identified.  We were then to burn into the piece of wood our trait and animal, and we were to begin to take it on as a name for ourselves.  We were all in a circle around the fire that night, ready to share our name and explain its significance.  Everyone had some really profound identifications, and most of the people were crying because of the depth of healing God was doing in their identities.  I always went for the joke.  My name was “Sarcastic Cougar”.  I saw my sarcastic, sharp wit as a charism (spiritual gift) from God.  I said all of this with a smile on my face, proud of my ability to take nothing seriously.  I felt so cool and “above it all” as I talked about how cool I was.  All these people were buying into this cheesy, emotional crap.  I was way beyond them.  When I was finished, Marcus looked at me across the circle and said, “Thanks, Bill.  I will pray for you.  I want God to show you that you have an identity that is much deeper and more powerful than that.  I pray that you will leave this identity behind.”

I felt like an idiot.  I was an idiot.  I was embarrassed, and my response was to be defiant.  That piece of log is in a box somewhere in my basement.  As I am cleaning, I can’t wait to find it and burn it.  Marcus did me a huge favor that day.  He continued as we worked side by side.  I have always been a hard worker.  Anytime I am taking on a job that is new for me, however, I complain.  I do the job, but I complain.  Marcus would gently and lovingly ask me to stop.  Most of the time I wasn’t even aware I was doing it.  My cynicism, sarcasm, and negativity had become a deep-rooted, behavioral habit.  My whole life I have gone for the joke.  I was voted “Most Likely to Make You Laugh” by my senior class.  My wife has worked endlessly with me to see that, just because something is funny, it doesn’t mean it needs to be said.  As I was driving around Colorado Springs with my friend Omar, we were trying to find a music station.  There seemed to be only Evangelical preaching.  I made a bunch of comments, and we both had a laugh.  But, you know what?  Those guys didn’t deserve it.  I turned off the radio and told Omar that I hated my negativity and cynicism.  I hated that I immediately dismissed all of them as useless in the Kingdom, because their style didn’t match my own.  I couldn’t relate to them, so, in my mind, no one could.  It just gets to the point where I get sick of hearing myself speak.  Have you ever been there?  I had gotten to the point where I didn’t even enjoy hanging out with myself.  I had become an insufferable bore.  To myself!

I have found that I no longer have a tolerance for that kind of negativity and rejection of humanity.  I simply don’t have the stomach for it anymore.  I find that our culture’s tendency to exalt the sarcastic and negative has really wrecked a lot of good people.  Rebels bore me.  I think those people (including myself), who feel the need to always make negative comments, to be really uninteresting, even when others think they are funny or clever.  The dark, brooding, anti-social person (including myself) is no longer my hero.  I no longer see that person as above it all.  I see them (including myself) as being desperate for connection and unable to control their behaviors.  I don’t approach this from a legalistic place.  I just want to start weeding it out of my life.  Hopefully, like Marcus was for me, I can be a person who, by example, leads others back into joy, freedom, and celebration.

I love that missions conference, because those people have found the unity that seemed so important to Jesus, Paul, and others.  Many of them face death almost daily.  Others have spent years in the excrement of human existence.  They have lost money, time, relationships, and comfort, and they have sacrificed everything for the sake of the call on their lives.  If anyone has a right to whine and complain, these people are the poster children for that right.  No one would begrudge them a periodic side trip into venting about the hardships of life.  Not only do they refrain from such straying, but they celebrate every single person that finds hope in Jesus.  They celebrate like the father, when his son returns home.  That is what I want my legacy to be.  I want to be known for my joy and my over-the-top celebration of the lives of real people.

I still enjoy a good joke.  I was at a shoe store recently, and the clerk kept bugging me.  I always like to be left alone when I shop.  Finally, when he approached me to ask if I needed help for the 5th time, I went for the joke.

“OK, maybe you can help me after all.  I am looking for a casual, comfortable leather loafer.  It has to be stylish and well-made.  Oh, yeah, and it is REALLY important that it is resistant to blood splatter and human tissue stains…”

Sometimes old habits are hard to break.  His reaction was worth the indulgence.

Have you had to battle negativity in your life?  Am I making too big of a deal of this?  How do you navigate a very cynical world without losing the Joy of following Jesus?  How does all of this affect your faith and worldview?

On a Mission from God

I am currently in beautiful Colorado Springs, Colorado.  The views are breathtaking.  I am staying at the Glen Eyrie Center, this gorgeous, massive castle set right in the mountains. 

Besides the beauty, there are other indicators that I am in Colorado Springs.  Lots of Air Force people.  The Air Force Academy and Base are located here. 

I have also noted quite a number of huge Evangelical churches.  Nay…not churches….more, like…Compounds.  Every one of them has a compound campus that rivals the local campus of the University of Colorado.  There are Evangelicals everywhere!  When I drove into town I saw them all walking around with their matching polo shirts, perfectly parted blonde hair, and shiny smiles that just scream “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam”.  Now, I have not been propositioned evangelized yet.  Usually Evangelicals are drawn to me like a tornado to a trailer park.  They are usually trying to save me.  Although, I think the fact that they just assume that anyone who is actually physically in Colorado Springs must be saved.  St. Peter is at the city gate, keeping the rest out.  TSA at the airport works for St. Peter.  Of course, the King of Colorado Springs James Dobson has his massive campus here for Focus on the Family here as well.  I keep trying to get the other Vineyard pastors at this meeting to help me toilet paper Focus on the Family, and there are a lot who would go along.  However, I never recruit enough to paper all of the millions of trees on that property.  Besides, the guard dogs and razor-wire fences shake the confidence of even the bravest among us.  Maybe we’ll just “ding-dong-ditch” him later.  Anyway, I almost accidentally hit an Evangelical with my car today.  He wasn’t watching, and he walked across the street without looking, smiling the whole way.  In retrospect, if I had hit him, I could have told the officer that I was merely “Daring to Discipline” a kid who needs to be more careful.  But, I digress. 

I am here for the Vineyard Mission Leaders Meeting.  We have it here every year, and it is a wonderful week of meetings, worship, reuniting, and catching up on the things that are happening around the world.  There are people here who live in very dangerous, oppressive places for 11 months out of the year.  These are countries where professing Jesus is illegal.  Yes, in the 21st Century, there are still many nations where it is a capital crime to pray to. or speak the name of, Jesus.  So, when they are back here for a month and, specifically, this week-long meeting, it is a time of refreshing and power for their thirsty hearts.  They worship Jesus with a zeal and authenticity I hardly ever see.  Our times of approaching God are always overwhelmingly powerful.  The ability to worship God has been hard bought.  For many, it has been paid for with the currency of actual spilled blood and even the lives of precious loved ones.

It is such a stark contrast to drive past numerous, stadium-sized churches to this beautiful castle, dedicated to Christian Ministry, and then to share worship and connection with people who connect with God in mud-floored huts in Africa, secret underground abandoned buildings in Asia, outside in the bug-infested rain forests of the Amazon Basin, or in tiny “safe house” back rooms in the Middle East.  Their desperation for Jesus puts me in touch with my own.  I don’t have to hide my faith.  I can proudly wear my freshly-pressed polo shirt with the name of my mega-church boldly emblazoned on the front, without fear of attack, arrest, torture, or death.

I want to be clear.  I am not saying that I think all of these churches are bad.  I don’t think they are necessarily in error.  The man who built this castle donated it to the Navigators, an international missions and ministry organization.  They are all wonderful.  I think Colorado Springs is a beautiful city.  The Vineyard is an Evangelical community of churches.  I am, therefore, and Evangelical myself.  I make fun of Evangelicals in the same way I pick on the quirkiness I see in myself and my family.  I’m sorry, but we are a weird lot.  But, before I get angry emails, I am not now attacking Evangelicals, though I do see a need for a serious priority shift in our family.

I think the stark contrast is entirely striking.  I think we have lost sight of our mission as Church to care for the poor in this country.  We are afraid to leave our massive structures to seek and save the lost.  We build entire communities of Christians in order to stay with our own kind.  You can walk around here all day talking to random people and then go home, never meeting a person who is a non-Christian.  I see an American Church that has embraced entitlement and privilege to the point of no longer acknowledging the existence of the sick, much less healing them.  We hear presidential candidates talk about letting sick people who can’t afford healthcare die, and we cheer for their deaths!  I wonder what Jesus thought, when he saw those Evangelical candidates say those things, while other Evangelicals in the audience cheered.  I wonder what Jesus would say about conservative, Evangelical Tea Party members calling the poor and those in need of assistance things like, “parasites” and “bottom-feeders”.  One conservative even said that they were all “non-human waste”.  They all said these things on national television.

We have surrendered the mission that Jesus gave us.  We have exchanged it for money, worldly power, celebrity, property, and influence.  Then we, as Christian leaders, scratch our heads in wonder at the people leaving our churches in droves.  We have failed to see our own country as our mission field.  We fly superstar pastors to impoverished places like Africa in private jets or helicopters, where they leap to the stage and preach prosperity to people with no access to clean water, food, or medicine.  That pastor takes an offering from people who make less than 25 cents a day, gets back on the aircraft to go do a press conference on the thousands who heard the gospel that great day in Africa.

Where the hell is the good news in that gospel?  They are poorer than before the superstar showed up.  (Jesus said, “Sell everything you own and give the money to the poor.”)  They are still hungry.  (Jesus said, “Feed my sheep.”)  They are carrying their children in their arms, who are still dying of curable diseases and a lack of access to healthcare.  (Jesus said, “If anyone causes one of these little ones—those who believe in me—to stumble, it would be better for them if a large millstone were hung around their neck and they were drowned in the depths of the sea.”)  They look up at the departing helicopter, the hope in their tired eyes departing with it, and wonder what just happened.  They still feel scared, confused, desperate, and lost.

I want to reclaim my hunger and passion.  I want to feel, again, the desperation of my heart that has been covered over by American privilege.  Our greed and lust are an abomination before God.  I want, again, for all of us to have a renewed sense of just how badly we need God.  You may not know this, but churches in developing nations, like those in Africa and Asia, are sending missionaries to the United States to convert us to Christianity.  I love this country, but we need to wake up again.  We need to see the sin, death, pain, sickness, and slavery in our own domain.  We need to love people to life again.  Tonight, as we worship together with real workers in the harvest fields of God, I am looking forward to the embarrassment of just how much I need the love of Jesus, and just how much love He lavishes on all of us, far beyond our needs.   

This castle is beautiful.  It speaks to the glory of the creative potential of humanity, that such a wonder could be built.  However, it pales in comparison to its setting, as do all of the large cathedrals of modern Evangelicalism. 

The towering mountains, the wild animals, the never-ending sky, the crisp,clear air, the lush pines and flowering brush, and the transcendent dome of unreachable, countless stars, all speak to the Glory and Lavish Love of the Everlasting God.  No, we are not entitled to privilege of our own account.  Yet God, in his endless mercy, chooses to pour more out on us than we could ever receive.  That is a Good News for which I’d gladly spill blood.  Yet, I rejoice that the spilled blood of brave Americans has given me the freedom to worship God as I choose.  I believe God is calling us to no longer take those freedoms for granted.  We have the freedom to go make disciples of all nations.  So, let’s stop using that freedom to build monuments to ourselves, and let’s embrace our true mission to set the captives free!


When have you encountered a situation or person, where that encounter has woken you up in your faith?  How can you live the mission of Jesus for your life?  Where is your mission field?  How is God calling you to give all of yourself, even your own blood, to set free the people in captivity?

Guest Post: Leanne Shirtliffe - "God On the Edge"

Quick note: I have made the "comment" button much bigger at the bottom.  I'm assuming that people were having trouble finding it.  It is at the end of the post.  I have also removed the sign in requirement.  Please comment and enjoy!!

I feel so blessed and so honored to introduce to you the art of Leanne Shirtliffe.  I read this post a couple of days ago, and I was overcome by the honest searching for the presence of God.  Leanne blogs at Ironic Mom.  I am swapping blogs with her today.  So, after you read this fantastic post from Leanne, head over there for my thoughts as well.  But read Leanne's post first.  You won't regret it!  Here she is:

 

I grew up a good Lutheran girl in rural Manitoba. I went to church, I went to Sunday School, I went to Vacation Bible School. I played the organ.

I became a teenager. I taught Sunday School, I taught Vacation Bible School, I stopped playing the organ.

My faith was solid, my faith was safe.            

Then I left that safety.

At 18, I went to college 1500 miles away, in a province I had never been to, in a city where I knew not a soul.

I found a Lutheran church. I dated a Lutheran and became engaged to him when he was in seminary. I played it safe.

All the while I knew I was not called to safety, but to edges.

Opportunities pushed me there.           

I became a youth representative for the World Council of Churches’ committee on Justice, Peace and the Integrity of Creation. Every six months for five years I was flying somewhere by myself, learning geography as I flew over foreign lands, blindly trusting someone would pick me up or that I could follow the directions I was given and board the correct train, bus or taxi. I mapped the world and more. I met people, often students, performers, professors, advocates who were striving for justice in the context of a broken world. People who sang, who danced, who loved, who talked.

I remember Kenya the most.

Inspired by a child refugee I met outside All Saints Cathedral in Nairobi – whose entire family had been murdered in the genocide, I wrote this. Forgive me; I’m not a poet.

- Prodigal Self -

Rwandan girl

I don’t see you

in the sanctuary

performing your rehearsed steps.

 

You swim in a sea of refugees,

the Kenyan cathedral swallowing

you and your yellow robe.

 

Later, outside of worship, the drumbeats begin and

your bare feet kiss the searing cement

in an explosion of spontaneity.

 

In this dance for life,

you, young refugee, offer me refuge and

unleash fierce peace.

 

I kneel, eyes open:

is it in worship?

with the knowledge that I can touch the sun?

 

Rwandan girl

I still feel you

dancing in my sanctuary:

I was lost but now am found.

 

I was finding myself, or perhaps building myself as I traveled the world. I was collecting pieces of me. I was learning that if I let go of my safety, I became more.

I felt God. I met God. Several times. In the Rwandan girl. In a Filipino grandmother. In a Kenyan poet. In a Brazilian pastor.

After teaching for three years at a Lutheran school in Ontario, I ended my safe relationship with the seminarian. I attended an international schools’ recruitment fair. I told myself, I’ll teach anywhere except the Middle East.

I accepted a job teaching International Baccalaureate English to Grade 11 and 12 students. In the Middle East. In Bahrain, a Persian Gulf country so small it was but a dot on a world map near giant countries I knew from CNN: Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Iran.

I sat on the edges of my safety as the KLM flight descended into Manama at 1 a.m. and was met by a kind Indian man, a driver, and a few new teachers who had been on the same flight.

I was dropped off at my furnished apartment and awoken by the call to prayer, this austere desert-like cry I would grow to love.

All of my students were Muslim, all had excellent English, all were planning to attend college in the UK or US. Nearly all did, on scholarships no less.

For my Grade 12 class, I inherited the syllabus, which included the poetry of William Blake. Ever conscious of cultural imperialism, I hid my faith and my knowledge of Christianity. Finally, one girl—the only one in class wearing a hijab—said, “Miss, we need to know about the Bible to understand Blake’s poems.”

She was right.

What followed was a back-and-forth discussion. I learned far more than my students. Mohammed had a prophet named Jesus? The story of the flood is in the Quran too? Abraham was also a prophet? We pieced together histories, we discussed Adam, we tackled Blake. We moved from innocence to experience, mirroring our study of Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience. Later, in the Holy Month of Ramadan, we discussed the discipline of fasting. That classroom was my church. I found God in those students, and I found more pieces of me.

I spent three years there. Marriage followed. My husband (a partially-lapsed Catholic from Canada) and I were married in the same prairie church I had taught Sunday School in. A Lutheran pastor and Catholic priest oversaw the ceremony.

We moved to Thailand, one of the homes of Buddhism. We had jobs at an international school in the heart of Bangkok. The students I taught came from more than 40 countries. The school celebrated everything, from Christmas and Ramadan to Diwali and Loy Krathong.

Monks in saffron robes walked the morning streets. I listened to chanting in Buddhist temples. I attended Buddhist weddings. I began to recognize Thais—security guards, vendors, motorcycle taxi drivers—on my short walk to work.

One morning I had had enough of this chaotic city. The concrete, the noise, the heat, and the stench had me muttering to myself, cursing this apparent City of Angels. I rounded the first corner and saw a decomposing bat on one of the low-slung power lines.

For crying out loud.

Half a block later, I saw a partially eaten kitten on the road.

For the love of God.

I wiped sweat off my forehead and trudged around the next corner.

“Khun Leanne! Good morning!” said Khun Waemon, a middle aged Thai woman who was always gardening at 6:30. “For you!” she said. She handed me a single orchid. “It’s my last one. No more till after rainy season.”

I accepted the orchid and found God in Khun Waemon.

It’s been six years since I left the international life. I’m once again back in the safe zone. I attend a Lutheran church. I work at a steady job. I am married. I am raising two children. I live in the suburbs.

It doesn’t get much safer.

But I’ve also been pushed away from safety. Not in ways I’d recommend.

Over a year ago, the edges found me.

I became ill with pneumonia. And more. MRIs, CT scans, multiple EKGs, and blood work. Heart tests revealed an extra flap that required more tests.

In spite of this, I tried to do it all. To teach, to parent, to write, to pretend I was fine. But I was broken. My brokenness manifested itself in anxiety and extreme insomnia. For months.

I asked for help. God found me, again in people. In my cousin, who had been there. In my friend, who had been there. In my husband, who had been there. In my mother, who’d been there decades ago and who came to me.

I had two mantras, one that I’d ask my people to remind me: This too shall pass.

Another I reminded myself: In the palm of God’s hand.

God lives in people and words, I learned.

Now, I’m finding God in more people. Online, bizarrely. I like to joke that I started blogging because it was either that or move countries. But there’s truth in that. I needed to push myself into something new, something beyond my predictable, suburban world.

I don’t think I live on the edge very much on my blog, but people like Bill and Clay and Chase and Larry and Kelly and Jessica and Renee and Liz and Tamara and Reba (and all the others I’m unfairly leaving out, including my wordbitches Elena and Trish) have held me as I walk around a bit more on the edge.

This post has taken me there, too. Almost literally. But it feels good. It feels good to stand on the edge and take the time to look around.

Counteracting the Karaoke Society

So, how do we follow Jesus in a Karaoke society?  Since I hate when writers and leaders present all of the problems without any solutions, I won't do that.  But it's not as simple as "The Four Steps to Bringing Creativity Back Into the World for Dummies".  I think our path to finding some possible solutions to this problem begins with understanding why we have the problem in the first place.

I have been reading an excellent book by Edwin Friedman, titled: "A Failure of Nerve: Leadership in the Age of the Quick Fix".  I highly recommend the book.  It has utterly revolutionized my thinking on leadership and authority.  In the book, Friedman talks about how there is a real problem in all leadership training throughout the world.  Leaders go through all kinds of training and read all kinds of leadership books.  When they face, what Friedman calls "sabotage", they fold and surrender their authority.  That sabotage is usually in the form of actual, conscious attempts by those being led to undermine the authority of the leader.  He says that the traditional methods of training fail, precisely because they are too linear.  The leader makes a decision.  This leads to certain consequences.  Either those being led will agree or disagree with the decision.  The leader then must move forward.  People will either fall in line or they won't.  Real life doesn't work that way, and it certainly isn't linear.  In the book, Friedman says that every decision is a defining of the leader.  When the leader makes that decision, s/he becomes more defined and stands out more from the crowd.  That changes the relational dynamic between leader and others.  This change causes tension and dissonance in the person being led, because change always does that.  So, every decision is met with sabotage.  The leader, who has been trained in only in causality in leadership, then sees all sabotage as a personal betrayal.  It usually comes from the people closest to the leader, because they have more to lose in the changing of the relational dynamic.  So, not wanting to have a friendship broken, the leader crawls back into his/her hole, licking wounds, and trying to decide if it's worth it to try to ever make a decision again.  According to Friedman, it is not about cause and effect.  It is about the organic presence of the leader.  It is about the willingness of the leader to always expect sabotage from those closest to themselves, and to deal with the core fear and uncertainty that the sabotage represents.  In so doing, the leader becomes more well-defined, the decision stands firm, and perhaps the relationship grows stronger through the displayed efforts toward intimacy.

I have not finished the book, yet, but I think the problem Friedman points out is the issue that is at the heart of the Karaoke society.  We don't want people to step out and be creative, because the dynamic changes.  If an actor is repeatedly making great films, s/he will remain in obscurity, because it makes the general public begin to want great performances all the time.  That means that no one will pay to see a film like Hangover 2 ever again.  There is a vested interest on the part of the entire culture to keep creativity and real art out of the limelight and in the margins.  Raised expectations would destroy our ability to be lazy and money-hungry in our art.  So we sabotage the creative ones who start defining themselves.  We want to keep the status quo.  Really creative people force us to no longer be satisfied with the status quo.  We start to long for something greater than ourselves.  We see that we, as the human race, have the potential for much, much more.

So, how do we resist the increasingly Karaoke culture?  How do we turn it around?  Our level of success in being counter-cultural, our level of creativity and intelligent accomplishment is directly proportional to our level of risk-tolerance.  God has created us to be who we are.  EXACTLY who we are.  God made me big, loud, and obnoxious.  I've said this before, but there is a destiny for me, designed by God, that which only a big, loud, and obnoxious guy like me can possibly be the one to accomplish it.  That means God wants me to be defined as me.  God likes me.  No matter how much the larger culture wants to limit me, because I don't fit the Karaoke mold, I was made for such a time as this.  I know that being me will bring some backlash.  I expect it, and I embrace it.  When it comes from people I love, I will embrace them.  I know there is so much more that God wants us to experience in this beautiful Creation, and I refuse to settle for only what the culture tells me I can have.  I never gave the culture permission to act as a gatekeeper for me.  So, why should I allow it do have that power?

The reason why we abdicate our personal power and authority to the cuture is out of fear.  We have an obsession, especially in this country, with safety.  We want to always be safe and secure, don't we?  We want to keep our children in a bubble, so that they never get hurt and never have to work really hard at anything.  They should have what they want, their dreams should come true (according to Disney), because they are entitled to it.  As long as they fit the Disney formula, they will get it.  We want to be absolutely, positively sure that we are 100% safe on every flight we take.  We want to anticipate and manage risk.  We want fire safety, toy safety, food safety, drug safety, gun safety, travel safety, financial security, prenuptual agreements (so that even our marriages have controlled risks), internet safety, and school safety.  We want to eliminate bullies (because our kids won't ever have to face bullies as adults, so why empower them to do so now?).  We want to blame McDonalds for the obesity of our children, to blame the schools for not raising them right, and to blame school lunch programs for our kids drinking 10 cans of soda a day.  We want heat in the winter and air conditioning in the summer.  We want to always control the temperature, the conditions, and the people around us.  We want to never, ever face discomfort at any point in our lives.  And, furthermore, we don't want the inconvenience of having to pay taxes to make sure we have all of these comforts.  I have news for you and for every person living in the United States: None of us gets out of this thing alive.  I promise you, regardless of how many measures you take to protect yourself, this life is going to kill you.

That's the truth!  You assume a certain amount of risk just getting up in the morning.  And, as I told the group last week, the idea of risk management is a myth.  It's fantasy.  As a matter of fact, look up risk management on Google.  You will see that almost every major published Economist has written a paper recently, saying that our current financial disaster is the direct result of the false belief that risk can be anticipated and managed.  It's a joke!  We're all screwed!!

Not really.  We just have to remember what Jesus always said to the disciples: "Do not be afraid".  We also have to remember that He hardly ever said, "Be really, really careful.  Be safe.  Manage risk."  I think he is quoted as saying that in the NWST (New Wall Street Translation), but maybe it was only in the notes of the Investors Devotional Bible version of that translation.  But, I digress.  The best part of what Jesus DID say (Do not be afraid), was that usually Jesus, himself, was the one who had caused the disciples to feel fear, tension, and anxiety in the first place!  Jesus was awesome at messing with their feelings of comfort.  As soon as they thought they were starting to get that this guy was really the Messiah, he started talking about dying on a cross.  He changed all of the rules of what being a Messiah meant!  When Peter corrected Jesus on that issue, Jesus called him Satan.  This was right after telling Peter that he would be building the Church on him.  Jesus was always causing cognitive and cultural dissonance, as Ken Wilson pointed out to us at the Vineyard National Conference.  Every encounter with Jesus results in our discomfort.  This is absolutely counter to the Karaoke culture's dogma of predictability, safety, and comfort above all else.

I remember, as a kid, playing with real Jarts,  the ones with the super-sharp, rusty, metal points on the end.  We used to all stand in a group and throw a jart straight up in the air over our heads.  The one who would win that game was the one who would run away last.  It was like a great game of chicken!  We had to see how long we could stand being under a deadly projectile plummeting directly toward our heads.  How awesome!  Being a kid was so much fun back then!  I have no idea why they made those illegal.  We would ride our bikes all over town in the summer, refusing to come home until our parents sent the police looking for us.  We would go into old, abandoned houses, making up ghost stories about the family that had lived there, until they were slaughtered by Jason or Freddy.  We would explore the forests near our house and scare teenagers who were making out there.  We would play baseball in the park for hours.  We would go swimming in the nearby lakes and rivers.  We played full-on tackle football without protective pads or headgear.  For that matter, we also played tackle basketball, tackle soccer, tackle fishing, tackle chess, etc.  We would climb all over the car on road trips, unrestrained by seat belts or car seats.  My brother and I went by ourselves to a Chicago Cubs game at Wrigley, taking the bus and the "L", when I was only in middle school.  We were kings and queens of the world, and we ruled absolutely!  Then, we all got safe.

How do we fight a Karaoke society, I ask again?  We get unsafe.  We embrace the truth that Jesus wants us to feel tension.  All the time.  Jesus doesn't want us to be afraid, because fear freezes us.  But He also doesn't want us getting real comfortable.  He wants us to realize that many of the scriptures we use to comfort ourselves - like Romans 8:28: "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." - were actually written by people who were later stoned to death, crucified, set on fire, or fed to lions for loving Jesus and being called according to his purpose.

So what did Jesus mean, when he told us to "count the cost" of following him?  I think that is the     central question here, because how we answer that question will determine whether we go along with the Karaoke culture, or we live free.  I have heard it taught as a cost/benefit analysis, in order to determine to what level we will follow Jesus - much like setting up two lists of "pros" and "cons".  This has led to a lukewarmness and a safety in being a Christian.  Churches have thrown away social justice (taking care of the widows and the orphans), because it is far too radical, risky, and inconvenient.  Then, these fools and hypocrites call all social justice efforts "heresy", so that they can protect themselves from actually having to obey Jesus.  In their cost/benefit analysis, Jesus would never call us to stretch ourselves by parting with our riches.  He wants us to be rich and comfortable in our first-class accommodations for our journey to the Streets of Gold.  As a matter of fact, in our cost/benefit analysis, Jesus would never want us to suffer and die, so lets invent a secret Pre-Tribulation Rapture, where we all get rescued before we get inconvenienced or suffer in any way.  No, when these people count the cost of discipleship, there isn't any.  It's all victory, safety, and glory - as long as you fit the formula.

Then, there are those of us who don't see "Counting the Cost" as a cost/benefit analysis at all.  I don't think Jesus intended for us to set up pros and cons.  I think he's saying that following him will actually cost us everything.  It will cost us our lives.  We may even have our lives end in painful and uncomfortable ways.  Whatever you cling to the most, even if it's your own faith and set of doctrine, will be the exact thing that you have to surrender first.  Is it risky?  Absolutely.  What he calls us to will stretch us to the point of breaking.  Is he safe?  Haven't you listened to a thing I've said?  Of course he is isn't safe!  But he's good!  He's the King, I tell you!  Following him will cost you everything, but it goes way beyond the petty sacrifice of our lives.  His Kingdom stands over and against this world, because it is so much greater, more beautiful, more powerful than I am or that my life is worth.  Don't you miss the adventure and quickening of your spirit when you discover something greater than yourself?  Something actually worth dying for?  I want to be inspired again.  I want to be free again.  I want to break the rules and stop trying to calculate risk.  Then, when I am attacked, I use that to bring others with me into this "greater thing" that God is doing.

Top Five Movie Viewings - Participation Requested!

OK, so I have a confession.  I have started following far too many blogs.  There are such excellent writers out there, and I am always captivated by their topics.  I always feel the need to read all of the comments on each of their posts, and, being the verbal processor that I am, I usually have to weigh in.  At the same time, I usually speak 2-3 times every week, including my Sunday sermon, and all of those require prep and writing.  Most speakers I know will go into their documents and dig out an old talk from years before, and use that for their mid-week commitments.  Actually, most that I know will take great notes on the podcasts of other sermons on the same topic or passage and use that for Sunday.  When it's the Lord's work, it's not plagiarism.  It's the shared gifts of the Body of Christ.  I am an exceptional pastor, so I always want my audience, even if it is just a devotional for a cub scout den, to have brand new, fresh material.  That takes a lot of time, but I am a rabid perfectionist.  All of this to say that I have let my blogging lapse.  This huge paragraph, and that is my stupid confession.

By the time I get to Saturday night, I am exhausted.  And my blog is always so dang intense.  I decided to start having fun with a weekend post every week and see what happens.  I just don't have it in me to grapple with a major faith topic.  Tomorrow, my sermon is on the Eschatological Vision of the Kingdom of God as Conceived by Jesus, Himself.  Or, the simpler title: "The Sky Ain't Fallin".  I should have it up by Monday on the Podcast (link to the right).

So, for the weekend post.  My other passion - besides God, family, friends, books, writing, the Packers, and cheese - would have to be movies.  As summer is creeping in, I always get nostalgic for movies.  All the best movies come out in summer.  My brother and I would be driving my mother completely mad by the second day of summer vacation, and we had a great movie theater just a few blocks from my house.  Back then, there were no PG-13 movies, so almost everything was PG.  MY brother and I would plan how to get my mom so freakin angry, that she would give us $10 to just LEAVE.  We would hop on our bikes and go to the theater.  Especially when it was really hot out.  The A/C would be cranked in there, we would have a huge tub of extra-buttery popcorn and two huge sodas.  That was also back when you could get two tickets, popcorn, and two big cokes for $10 (man, I sound old).  My brother and I would see the same movie, sometimes 20 times in the theater, all through the summer (they also didn't release as many movies per summer then).  I saw War Games 10 times in the theater.  Raiders of the Lost Ark a bunch of times.  It was awesome!

So, that is the crux of the HotM Weekend Post this week.  I want a list of all the top 5 movies you have seen, not based on favorites but the number of times you've seen them.  You have to include movies you saw as a kid.  They don't all have to be theater viewings.  They can also be on TV or DVD, but they must have played in a theater at some point (so no High School Musical, which I must have seen with my youngest daughter 75,432 times - We sing all the songs together).  Also, the point isn't to look cool, so be honest.  Don't just list the awesome movies.  I know some guys who have seen Beaches many times, and they wouldn't admit it.  Finally, after the title of the film, give an honest approximation of how many times you saw it.  Hopefully, I have a few people reading this blog, so I will get a good number of lists.  Go ahead and list them in the comments of the blog, not on my Facebook page.  All right.  Here's mine:

                                    5) Ghostbusters - 22

                                    4) Sound of Music - 30

                                    3) Rocky II - 32

                                    2) Star Wars V: Empire Strikes Back - 43

                                    1) Star Wars IV: A New Hope - 57

 

So, there's my list.  Like I said, not all would make my favorites list, but these are the ones I saw the most times.  Sound of Music is an approximate, but the rest are actual numbers based on scientific method.  Still love Sound of Music.  How can you not fall absolutely in love with Julie Andrews?  I wanted her to sew me some drapery clothes.

So what are your top 5 movies based on number of times viewed?  List them, and send friends over here as well to weigh in.  I have to go to sleep to get ready for church tomorrow, but I look forward to your responses.  Happy summer movie time!