No More Apologies

We just started school here this week; and at the kickoff meeting for all of the teachers, one of my teaching friends was asked to speak to all the teachers in the district. This is no easy task, and she did it quite well. One statement that I really liked inside the speech is when she said she was getting really tired for having to apologize for being a teacher. We seem to be under constant attack, especially from state and federal government. Education is an easy kicking post, and one that's driven constant "reform" efforts for the last century.

Later in the week I was reading the American Literature textbook that I'll be teaching from this year. In some background reading about the Puritans, it was clear that the editors of the text took great offense to any group of people who dared to take religion seriously. Mocked by this "unbiased" and "historical" article, the Puritans were taken to task for their irrational belief that the Bible should be a basis for daily life. It was a bit frustrating to see, but not entirely shocking. Full of half-truths and an air of superiority from the writers, the article exposed the Puritanical sin of religious thinking as opposed to "rational" thinking.

Eventually I connected these two events in my head, and a thought came to mind: I'm also quite tired of feeling a need to apologize for Christian thought in our society today. Now, I'm under no illusion that Christians are somehow oppressed in today's America. However, I do feel an increasing majority demanding that if Christians are going be be open about their faith, they had better simply share it in a "faith-lite" can with great taste and a less "filling" theology. I'm done being okay with that.

Look at the political environment. While I don't support much of his politics, Rick Perry should not have to apologize for organizing a prayer summit. I will never vote for Michele Bachman, but she shouldn't have to explain why she "submits" to her husband and how she could ever run a country with the backwards view of marital mutual respect. And President Obama should never have had to answer to critics who had a problem with him inviting Rick Warren to pray at his inauguration. This is foolishness. Frankly, Mitt Romney should also not spend one minute explaining away his Mormon faith, either.

So I'm done. I will be proud of my faith instead of quietly rationalizing it. I am a zealot. I am "too religious." I'm not going to apologize for the fact that I'm not sure about evolution, but I'm certain there is a Creator. I won't say I'm sorry for having a belief system that I strictly adhere to and respect; not out of intolerance and bigotry, but out of faith in God's promises. I won't rationalize and explain the fact that I believe the whole Bible is the written word of God, not just the parts of it that are convenient and safe.

I understand that I spend a great deal of words on this blog challenging myself and others to be better. I point out weaknesses, and I also am not sorry about that. We must be better. We must hold ourselves to a higher standard and reflect on our weaknesses. Christians individually and as a group have made significant mistakes. But following Christ too well is not one of them. I can no longer apologize for loving Christ and trusting that He is who he says He is. I'm just not sorry.

Desperate Times

I mentioned in my last post that I recently finished reading a book about C.S. Lewis and the radio broadcast talks he gave for the BBC during World War II that eventually became his classic book, Mere Christianity. The book goes into detail to describe the great lengths the BBC went to in order to provide Christian encouragement to England in some severely difficult times in the war. One particular bombing stood out to me:

"The orchestra could not cram itself into the small emergency studio, but Dr. Welch was determined that listeners should not go without their music that night. The microphone was placed under a table, and with bombs crashing all round the building, Dr. Welch delivered his talk, announcer Stuart Hibberd read quietly from the Bible and Paul Beard played the violin on his knees." (p. 77, C.S. Lewis In a Time of War)

This is an act of desperation. With bombs flying and buildings crumbling around them, huddled in some emergency studio because the normal one had been destroyed, these individuals knew just how badly the nation needed Christ at this time. They did not run for cover, seeking their own safety. They risked it all for unknown results. They were merely determined that on this night, during this crisis, England would not have to do without God. If there was comfort and hope and salvation to be found, they would be a part of it.

Where can this sense of desperation be found now? These men knew where their hope came from. There is no other reason to sit under a table a midst bombing, playing hymns on a violin, at the risk of great personal injury or death, unless you know deep in your soul where true comfort comes from. There may be no greater love for a nation than to abandon personal safety and comfort to provide what is so desperately needed.

And what are we desperate for now? What are we willing to go to great lengths for, to endure threats to personal comfort or safety? Football tickets. Political one-upsmanship. A great deal on Black Friday. An opportunity to check our Facebook account. Great abs. This is what I see passion for now, in myself and society. We'll stand in lines, give up sleep, offend friends, and devote countless hours to these.

How desperate are we, though, to provide Christ? How much are we confident that this is what our friends and family and neighbors and enemies need in the middle of all the storms in life? And when we do bridge that gap, do we do so in order to "win one for our side" and prove that we're right, or is it because we're desperate to provide comfort?

We're all thirsty. We're all desperate. All of us. The question, then, is this: what are we desperate for, and what are we providing to those thirsty souls around us?

Anyone Need a Tambourine Player?

I've always wanted to be a live musician.

Ever since college I've been using that analogy to describe the perfect job. My perfect job will never involve a public musical performance, unless doing push-ups to the chorus of Vanilla Ice's classic "Ice Ice Baby" at weddings counts. However, I've always wanted to look like a live musician in a job I choose to do.

If you've ever seen any really good musicians playing live, you know what I'm talking about. The really good ones are not only fantastically skilled, they also make it look easy and appear to be having the time of their lives. They are beside themselves, lost in the passion and skill of doing what they love really, really well. When Emily and I attended Orchard Hill Church in college, there were two individuals there who were phenomenal. Both named Tim, one of them played guitar, and the other played the drums. They were unbelievable. I got a ton of joy just watching them play, and it is only a small fraction of the joy it looked like they were having making music.

This weekend Emily and I, along with my cousin and her boyfriend, went to see Blues Traveler play. John Popper, the band's lead man, was phenomenal. Another friend of mine was there, and while we were listening to Popper do things on the harmonica no human should be capable of doing, we openly hoped the band would be in need of a couple of tambourine players for their next tour. At one point I turned to my friend, an avid exerciser, and said, "Can you believe he's getting paid to do this?! It's like you getting paid for running."

And there it is. That's the beauty of being a live musician in whatever career field you've chosen.

I've also grown up a little bit since college, and I've come to understand a few things about this dream. First of all, no perfect job exists. No matter what job you are in, no matter how perfectly suited you may be for it, at least 10-20% of it you'll probably hate. As much fun as it looked like John Popper was having, I'm quite sure that he wasn't looking forward to all the travel required of him. He maybe even wasn't looking forward to doing the exact same performance, demanding the same energy level from fans, a mere one night later at a different venue. Even though this may be his perfect job, he can't be "live" (and therefore passionate and joy-filled) in all of it. And neither can I.

Secondly, I'm not even sure how instrumental my occupation is for this "live musician" dream/goal. A very good friend of mine stayed at our house for four days a week or two ago. We met ten years ago, and because he now lives in Germany, we don't see each other as often as we'd like. Out for supper with him and my wife on his last evening here, the question was presented to each of us how we had changed in the ten years since we met. After thinking about it, I mentioned that I think I'm a lot less career-oriented now. I'm less worried about climbing a figurative ladder and making a name for myself in some profession. All those things are nice, but I'm not as desperate as I once was for that type of recognition. Of a bigger priority is what my occupation allows me to do. I can't imagine what kind of job opportunity it would take to lure me away from a house I love in a location I love because of its proximity to many of the people I love. I'm in no hurry to "move-up" professionally. Life is too good in too many other ways. When I think about it, I get to be a live musician in many areas of my life. The dream isn't exclusive to work.

I saw this goal put into different words while reading a book about C.S. Lewis, an author who I would say writes like a metaphorical "live musician." In it, Pope John Paul II gave Lewis this praise: he said Lewis "knew what his 'apostolate,' his divine calling was. . ." This, in and of itself, is true of so few people in the world. But the Pope added one more thing: "And he did it." Another person, listening to Lewis deliver the BBC radio broadcasts during WWII that would lay the foundation for his classic Mere Christianity, said this: "Here was a man who was 'laid hold of by Christ and who enjoyed it.'"

This is what being a live musician is all about. This is the high praise of a life lived well - to know what you're being called to by the God of the Universe, and passionately and successfully doing it with joy. Not just in a job, but in an entire life, well-lived.

Change We Can Believe In

I think there's a fundamental misconception about Christianity out there that I'd like to address.

One common criticism of Christianity is that it requires some people to become who they are not, forcing them to give up their "authentic self" to satisfy a God who apparently doesn't love them for who they are. Many looking for religion in their lives (or basic priorities by which to live, religious or otherwise) are trying to find a "good fit." The question becomes, "What works well with who I am, what I want, and where I'm going?"

Let me be clear to all seekers out there, to anyone interested in possibly, maybe, at some point looking into that Jesus guy; to all of those people who have grown up learning about that Jesus and are trying now to decide for themselves what a Christian lifestyle looks like; to all non-believers who look to scrutinize the faith and search for flaws; to all of you, and to the Christians trying to fit Christ into their lives, I say this: you absolutely must be willing to give up your "authentic self" to follow Christ.

Realistically, following Christ doesn't "fit" anybody. And that's really the point. Christ is offering you something vastly different than what you have now. The offer, but also the requirement, is that you become a completely different person. You cannot be who you are now, find Christ, and then not change. And you won't want to.

If you don't want to change, Christianity is not for you. Christ is not in the business of taking you as you are and letting you stay that way. Nor is he in the business of finding a way to fit into your existing life, of taking up a tiny corner that still has some room, of being taken out at convenient times and put back away when the singing and clapping is over. Following Christ will never be a convenience. You are told to put to death your "self" and all its longings, live sacrificially for the benefit of those who at best don't know you and at worst persecute and hate you. You are told to submit - to parents, then to your spouse, also to your boss and your government.

People seem shocked by this and cite it as a reason to avoid the faith. But how shocking is it? What can you really achieve in life without becoming a different person? Personally, when I was in high school, I wanted to be an athlete. That required me to be a vastly different person - I had to become stronger, more aggressive, more skilled, and tougher mentally. I did this through a lot of hard work and repetition of activities that usually weren't a lot of fun. I did all of this so I could go from being a terrible athlete to at least an average one. When I recount that story, nobody is thinking, "How unfair! Why did you have to become something different than yourself to get what you wanted? Why didn't your coaches just value you for who you are? This is outrageous and bigoted!"

I had to become something different than what I was in order to be a teacher, a marathon runner, a husband, a father, an assistant basketball coach, and a user of power tools. I had to change, grow, adapt, etc. in order to be successful. When I refused to adapt, when I tried to be "who I am" with the same skills and knowledge and priorities, I failed. No one is shocked by this. This is how life works. The Christian faith is only slightly different.

With Christ, the offer is not success. The offer is eternal happiness and contentment. It's not comfort or money or praise, but it is a chance to be better and more joy-filled than through any other offer, anywhere. No, Christianity will not fit your lifestyle. It will not embrace who your "authentic self" is.

Christ wants much more than that for us.

First Words

The other evening a friend called me.

It was another perfect evening on my front patio: 8 pm, the girls in bed, a quiet and comfortable evening outdoors with a good book in my hand. When the phone rang and I saw who it was, my first words were not about the near perfection I was experiencing. Instead I immediately mentioned that someone a couple of blocks away had apparently just acquired a drum set and they were interrupting the silence of the neighborhood. I was being inconvenienced, and I told him about it.

"How's the rest of your night, going?" he then asked. I recounted the events of our "bath night" for the girls at the house. In my rendition of the events, I left out my two beautiful children, my wife, and the time we got to spend together. I mentioned instead the chaos and how it was also an inconvenience of epic proportions.

"So what have you been up to the last couple of weeks?" was the next question. I mentioned my recent grad class, the horror of the experience, and how burned out I was about it.

My first words on the phone that night were all complaints. And all utterly stupid.

In this particular phone conversation, my friend was calling to let me know about a tragic event in his life. He had real problems, unspeakable problems, with pain I can't even fathom. He called me, his friend, looking for support. Instead he got trivial complaints.

In those opening five minutes it's possible that I lost a lot of credibility. My first words in that phone conversation indicated that I have absolutely no perspective in my life. I am one of the most blessed people in the world living a rewarding, comfortable lifestyle in which I am surrounded by people who love me. And I stupidly complained about a drum set three blocks away.

It's easy to complain. Too easy. Unfortunately, it seems like many people open conversations that way and end up in some sort of complaint competition, serious or not, sharing in varying degree of detail and dependability the inconveniences in their life.

There are times to share real hardships. I'm a big believer in honesty, and I don't think it's appropriate to answer the question "How is your day going?" with a lie of "Good, and you?" to satisfy social norms. However, first words must be carefully chosen. First words in all conversations need to respect the fact that you don't know what the person you're speaking with needs right now. You don't know what they've experienced, and you don't know why they want to talk.

The only thing you do know is that they don't need your complaints. Not in your first words. Especially when, like me, you really have nothing to complain about.

The Danger of Efficiency

Catching up on a few blogs I follow the other day, I found a common theme running through some of them: the quest for efficiency.

Perhaps my greatest flaw, or at least the one obstacle I consistently put in my own way, is the habit of over-scheduling commitments. I put myself in the middle of 3-4 activities at a time while also trying to maintain physical, spiritual, and marital health. I also chase around two young children. All of this motivates me to seek the most efficient way to get things done. My blog reading, however, has made me reconsider. Consider the following:

• One common strategy for efficiency is multitasking. This is not effective. First of all, brain research says the mind is incapable of focusing on two things at once; instead, what we're doing is switching (doing a little of one thing and then a little of another). First of all, it doesn't work: on average people spend 50% more time on the tasks while "switching." Worse yet, it forces our brain into a state of continuous partial attention. We become less able to focus on one thing. This is disastrous for relationships, as we try to talk to one person while texting another, or check email or Facebook while hanging out with the family. It's bad for our relationship with God as well: "We do not want to be efficient worshipers, driven by a desire to get more of God in a shorter amount of time. We do not want to be hurried worshipers who value speed over quality." (See post)
• Our quest for efficiency also often keeps us from being generous. While we usually think of being generous with our money and resources, generosity is also a virtue requiring our energy as well. Instead of being generous with our time and energy and attention, efficiency inspires stinginess. Hurriedly getting through items on a to-do list, for myself anyway, usually makes me much less likely to listen to those I love or to those I am called to serve. (See post)
• Tony Dungy, speaking about his current Bible-reading, referenced I Corinthians 13, what some would call the "love chapter." He said that what stood out to him was "Love is not irritable" (verse 5). We are fundamentally incapable, then, of loving others while being irritable. And the number one way I often get myself into a state of irritability is when I'm interrupted while trying to be efficient with my workload.

Perhaps efficiency isn't all it's cracked up to be. Writes Matt Perman, "Make it your first priority to seek that which serves others and benefits them; let efficiency be the second consideration, not the first."

When Good Times Come to an End. . .

Tonight's blog I'm addressing to those for whom life is going quite well at this point in time.

It's not that I don't care about those who are struggling; I just don't know what to say to you. I have yet to come up with words that are effective in actually making someone feel better when things are at their worst. I think back to some really rough patches in my life, and I can't recall one time where someone's words were exactly what I needed to hear. When tragedy strikes, no words seem to matter.

However, when things are going well, most people (including myself) are pretty willing to listen to anything, even advice. In tonight's personal Bible reading, I came across a couple of statements that I thought were remarkably applicable to people when they are struggling. I'm not struggling now - I actually have it quite good - but when I read the words I hoped that I would remember them when times are tough and I don't know where to go.

The first is in Job. Job has just lost all his riches and all his children. Everything important in his life is gone. Job's response, when others tell him to complain: "Shall we indeed accept good from God, and shall we not accept adversity?" These are wise words, and they are words to take heed of when gargantuan trials strike. However, when I've had those huge trials, if someone were to have quoted that verse to me and told me it would all be okay, I might have punched them in the face. These are words you don't want to hear when you're in the metaphorical depths of hell. That's why those of us who are not currently in those metaphorical depths would find it wise to learn that truth now, and remember it later.

The second quote came from Psalm 121:7 -

"The Lord shall preserve you from all evil;

He shall preserve your soul."

The promise isn't that, as Christians, we can expect an easy life where everything goes well. The promise is that our soul will be preserved, which is far more important than our comfort. When jobs are lost or money is gone or personal attacks are flying, this is important information. However, if you don't know this before problems arise, you certainly won't want to hear it when they do.

So for those of us who are fortunate enough not to be in pain or consumed by worry or fear or dread tonight, led us soak in this truth in preparation for the day when trials come. And may we remember that for those around us who are facing those trials, these words (and probably all others) may not feel like wisdom.

I would suggest a hug instead.

Part-Timers

It is difficult to remember a time when I held more contempt for someone than I have the past month for the professor of my July graduate school course.

There have been rivals, for sure. The superintendent and school board president in Nebraska who tried to rid themselves of me because their daughters received the wrong post-season basketball awards, for instance. Or the school board in Nora Springs for giving away my basketball job here. An ex-girl/friend, for a time. These have all been high on the list, but I've always been able to convince myself that there are some redeeming qualities to these individuals, despite their actions towards me. I have not, however, been able to attribute any positive attributes to my professor. I have convinced myself (with great help from her actions all month) that she is pure evil, perhaps even the devil incarnate.

I am wrong, of course.

I recently got done reading a book called The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie, and this text highlighted why I'm wrong. The book is not "absolutely true"; it's a novel, and one that I really enjoyed. I like Sherman Alexie's writing, and if you've never read anything by him (and don't mind a little PG-13 language), I'd suggest picking up one of his texts. This novel is about a teenage Native American who decides that in order to have any sort of hope in life, he must transfer to a white school off the reservation twenty miles away. This creates an identity crisis: at the school, all anyone sees for a time is the fact that he's Native American; at home on the reservation, all anyone sees is that he is a traitor who has sold out to white America because he is too good for reservation life. Junior, the book's protagonist, is a part-timer: he is not defined completely by his Native American heritage or by his"white" education. He is not full-time anything.

Obviously the book is about Junior and his experiences, but what Alexie does well is continue this "part-time" theme with other characters. None of them are full-timers either. For instance:

• Junior's father is an alcoholic. Alexie is able to portray him as both an alcoholic and a good father. At one point Junior says, “Yep, my daddy was an undependable drunk. But he’d never missed any of my organized games, concerts, plays, or picnics. He may not have loved me perfectly, but he loved me as well as he could” (189). Junior also describes Christmas, when his father takes the only money the family has, leaves on Christmas Eve to go on a drinking binge, and doesn’t return until January 2. When he does return, in the fog of a hangover he gives Junior his last five dollar bill as a Christmas present. Junior’s response displays the situation perfectly: “Drunk for a week, my father must have really wanted to spend those last five dollars. . . He could have spent that five bucks and stayed drunk for another day or two. But he saved it for me. It was a beautiful and ugly thing” (151).
• Alexie also shows how the popular and rich are not perfectly and full-time happy and content. Penelope, one of the most popular girls at Reardon and an object of desire for Junior, is the perfect example. One day Junior discovers the girl is bulimic. She explains to Junior that “everybody thinks her life is perfect because she’s pretty and smart and popular, but that she’s scared all the time, but nobody will let her be scared because she’s pretty and smart and popular” (108).
• Junior is fiercely loyal to his friend Rowdy, despite the fact that Rowdy is almost the exact opposite of Junior. Rowdy is tough and prone to fight and break the law and blow off school. He is unpredictable and merciless in his commentary. But he is also Junior’s protector, so all his rage and violence and questionable behavior often comes in defense of Junior.

An author is doing a pretty good job of writing if they show the drunk as a good father or the rich and beautiful as the vulnerable. It's a rare skill because audiences don't want to believe it. They want other people to fit nicely into one full-time uncomplicated box of either good or evil. Like I want to do with my professor.

It's been said by some of my friends that it takes a certain amount of time to get to know me. My wife calls it being an "acquired taste." The ones who acquire that taste hang around long enough to realize that I'm not a full-time confrontational, brutally honest jerk who seems quite sure of his own opinions. I'm not full-time anything; I'm a part-timer, just like Junior, just like his father, just like everyone else.

Unfortunately, that means I'm going to have to include my professor in that category as well. Perhaps she is only 90% evil.

***Note: This summer I've added a new feature to the blog - my reading list for the year. It can be found in the right-hand margin. If you have any questions or comments about the books I've read, I'd love to hear from you.