It's usually the content of humorous reflections on previously unfinished business that when finally done, leads us to act like our lives are complete. . . even though we know deep down inside that isn't even close to the truth. Since this illustration is fresh on my mind, I'll use it: The Phillies win the World Series. Frustrated fans who have waited a long, long time look at each other as they jump up and down in jubilation, screaming, "Now I can die!" Not really.
This morning I was reminded of the amazing "Now I can die!" uttered by that righteous and devout old man of Jerusalem named Simeon. He was waiting for "the consolation of Israel," that sweet comfort of seeing and knowing the Messiah.
Mary and Joseph bring the infant Jesus into the temple to be circumcised. Simeon takes the baby that came as part of this ridiculously unbelievable - yet amazingly true (yes Bill Maher, it's ridiculous and true!) - unfolding drama of redemption that could only be conceived by the Creator of the universe who so-loved His fallen creation that He would come to undo what had been done. As he's holding Him in his arms Simeon says these words: "Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel."
Amazing. What's flawed has been fixed. Messed up beyond self-repair, now we can be made over. Don't you love Christmas? Now I can die!
There's a tradition at our church that I absolutely love. On the Sunday before Christmas, our service ends with the singing of the Hallelujah Chorus, that thrilling piece from Handel's "Messiah." Members of the congregation who can sing - and a smattering of those who can't - join the choir and some musicians up in the balcony for some three-plus minutes that are absolutely unbelievable.
Now I'm not the kind of guy who sits around and listens to classical music. But this is one piece that I could listen to every day of the year. I remember as a kid watching my dad take the vinyl discs from his boxed "Messiah" LP set, then placing them carefully on the metal rod on our record player. The music, which was not exactly my type, filled the house from time to time during the days before Christmas. Hearing the now familiar music takes me back to those early Advent seasons. All of that is rather nice in and of itself, but it's my growing understanding of the amazing, liberating, and life-giving message Handel penned and embedded in such a beautiful piece that makes my hair stand on end. In fact, it's a hopeful message that we should hear and heed every minute of every day.
I listened yesterday and was reminded of who I am - a sinner deserving of nothing but death. In his mercy and grace, God has come in the flesh to undo what's been done in every nook and cranny of creation and life, to usher in His everlasting Kingdom, and to breath new life into me. Consider the simple, straightforward, and earth-shattering text of the "Hallelujah Chorus":
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! For the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth. Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth. Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
The kingdom of this world Is become the kingdom of our Lord, And of His Christ, and of His Christ; And He shall reign for ever and ever, For ever and ever, forever and ever,
King of kings, and Lord of lords, King of kings, and Lord of lords, And Lord of lords, And He shall reign, And He shall reign forever and ever, King of kings, forever and ever, And Lord of lords, Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
And He shall reign forever and ever, King of kings! and Lord of lords! And He shall reign forever and ever, King of kings! and Lord of lords! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
I recently read a story regarding how transcendent Handel's music and message really are. An orchestra performed "The Messiah" in China to an audience unfamiliar with Handel, his music, and the God of the Bible. In the audience were all sorts of people, including communist military and government officials. When the time came for the conclusion of Handel's work and the playing/singing of "The Hallelujah Chorus," the audience rose to it's feet, with the exception of the straight-faced and still-seated officials. Nobody knew this tradition existed. They were simply moved to doing it. Afterwards, one attendee said something like this: "I don't know who God is, but I jumped to my feet because at that moment He was here."
This week we celebrate the fact that God is, and He is here. He has revealed Himself in His Son. I invite you to take a few moments, to turn up your speakers, to watch and listen, and to ponder the amazing reality that Mr. Handel's work continues to communicate with timeless clarity. And if you so desire, stand up.
Hallelujah. Praise Jehovah! The Kingdom of this world is become the Kingdom of our Lord!
Got a great YouTube link from my buddy Mike Flavin this morning. It features Alec Greven, our culture's new relationship guru. It seems that Alec's struck gold - most likely literally - by writing and speaking about how a man should conduct himself in relationships with women. I'm sure that the recent media frenzy over this guy along with the success of his best-selling book, How to Talk to Girls, will result in fame, fortune, and some kind of match-making website.
Mike offered some great advice on how to use the video. He played it for his middle school youth group guys and then had a great discussion about love, dating, and relationships. I like that idea.
Here's the clincher. . . Alec is only 9-years-old! Which begs the question, how old was he when he dated that girl way back when he lived in Seattle?!?
Got to run so that I can watch this video and listen to Alec's advice a second time. There's so much in there that you've either got to scribble fast or keep rewinding. The first time around I realized that my wife would probably appreciate it if I showered everyday and washed my clothes more regularly. Thanks Alec! I'll let you know how it goes.
I finally did it. Based on the fact that everyone reading this has either had it done already or will experience the joy of doing it sometime in the future, I think it's okay to talk about it. Katie Couric will be very, very happy with me. Yep. . . . I had my first colonoscopy this morning. Merry Christmas to me!
For those not familiar with the process that I went through over the weekend, let me tell you about it. The weekend was spent preparing for my trip to the Gastroenterologist, a trip which began at 6:15am this morning. Normally when you use the word "prepare" before the word "trip" it's a time filled with excitement. Hmmmm. This was a little bit different. Here's how it works. You must stay at home. Traveling is risky. Why? Because your preparation involves three things. 1) Eating nothing for a long, long time. 2) Drinking lots of everything named "water" (with a variety of special additives that all include the three letters L, A, and X somewhere in their name) for a long, long time. And 3). . . . You must stay at home. . . . because. . . . traveling is risky. Of course, taking these three preparatory steps lead to a level of excitment that keeps you awake for the entire night before the procedure. However, it's not the excitement of anticipation, like, let's say on the night before Christmas or before going to DisneyWorld as a kids for the very first time. Rather, it's the opposite of another type of ". . .ipation" that keeps you moving all night. . . . moving from the bedroom to another room that starts with the letter "B." This movement from room to room takes place because of another type of constant movement.
I'll spare you the details of what happens when you arrive at the Doctor's office at 6:45am. Suffice it to say that the procedure itself. . . . from the time you arrive until the time you leave. . . . is somewhat humiliating. I looked up the word "colonoscopy" in the dictionary. Webster's got it all wrong. In my humble and now experienced opinion, the prefix "colon" is from the same Latin root word meaning "complete." "Oscopy" is the Latin word for "loss of dignity." Put them together and what do you got? It seems strange that we pay (thousands of dollars I might add) for this to be done to us. It's even stranger that insurance companies finance such humiliation. And, while most medical instruments have names that don't reveal where they are placed (stethoscope, laparoscope, duodenoscope, etc.), the instrument these folks use is named in a way that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. . . the ENDOscope! I have no idea what my stetho is. I have no idea where my laparo is. Where is the world is my duodeno??? But then there's the endo.
Let me get serious for a minute. I try to process all of life theologically because, after all, all of life is so flawed that the rocks, trees, hills, and yes. . . even one's colon. . . cry out for redemption. When I got to the Doctor's office this morning I happened to show Lisa the reading that I had brought with some other items in a little white plastic bag. On Friday night I had picked up a brand new copy of Cornelius Plantinga's Not the Way It's Supposed to Be: A Breviary of Sin. Ironically, the book's title echoes a thought I was having during every waking moment of the preparation and procedure. Sure, I found that to be some humorous irony. But it's actually quite true. In the book's Intro Plantinga writes: "The whole range of human miseries, from restlessness and estrangement through shame and guilt to the agonies of daytime television - all of them tell us that things in human life are not as they ought to be." Plantinga goes on to remind us that the shalom of God's good creation has been vandalized by sin. Shalom is the way things ought to be. . . . universal flourishing, wholeness, and delight. Shalom is a colon without cancer, blockages, polyps, etc. It is a colon experiencing the joy and wonder of "colonhood" in God's perfect created order. It is a colon without need of a colonoscopy. . . . ever!
While my morning was spent in a way that it was not supposed to be, I look forward to a world where my colon's health will be perfected along with everything else in our sin-soaked creation that groans. In a very real way, what I experienced this morning is a wonderful reminder of why we should go out of our way to celebrate the coming of the Redeemer who not only gives us the hope of new life, but will eventually usher in a Kingdom so complete in its perfection that all colons will be unquestionably fine and fully without need of photographic investigation. Yes, things will be the way they are supposed to be.
Until then, I thank God for the Doctors, nurses, technicians, and other people in that room who do what they do. Before we got things going this morning I looked over my shoulder to one of the nurses who was standing strategically behind me and asked her, "What ever possessed you to take this up as a vocation?" She told me that she liked the hours and the routine. Okay. Whether she knew it or not, there's more to what she does than that. Along with the rest of the crew, there was something happening at a deeper spiritual level. The head of the practice is a fellow believer. I know him, although he wasn't in the room today. I know that for him his work is about bringing honor and glory to God by bringing the Kingdom order of God in some little way to be realized on this fallen sphere in people's physical insides. That's really what happened to me in there. Because what shouldn't be is, an entire medical practice exists to prevent what shouldn't be and provide for what should.
Could it be that Christmas is also about. . . . colons????
The older I've gotten the more I've become convinced of the value and absolute need to ask ourselves the right questions. Sadly, I think most people are like me. We learn to ask the questions about thirty years too late. I think that is by and large a typical habit among people in youth ministry.
We are young. We are idealistic. We know what we're doing. . . or at least we think we do. And so we start to do. . . . usually without stopping to assess the world around us, seek the will of God in His Word, and then and only then engage in ministry that is marked by faithfulness and obedience as opposed to "what works." I realize this may sound like an overstatement or some kind of generalization, but I'm trying to capture and communicate a corrective approach to so much of what we've been doing for so long. . . . usually without evaluation.
This is why I asked some pretty specific questions of theologian David Wells. Wells has earned a well-deserved reputation as a critic of the contemporary church, particularly the market-driven consumer-oriented seeker-sensitive variation along with the emergent types that have been popping up in reaction against the aforementioned seeker-sensitive congregations. I firmly believe that no matter who we are or what we are doing in our efforts to worship and serve Christ, we must always be asking questions that force us to evaluate everything we are and do in light of the Scriptures. No one and no one way is beyond scrutiny.
That's where David Wells comes in. If you've ever read any of his books you might conclude that he's a critical, angry, unsettled man. And then you meet the man or sit under his teaching. He's one of us. A brother in the Lord. A member of the Church. And it is that Church that he loves so very much that he can't help but speak in response to what's happening from the perspective of a deep and discerning knowledge of and love for God's Word. I've grown to appreciate this man and what he says. However, I don't think his work will be fully appreciated until history has a chance to look back on it and we say, "Wow. . . that guy really had his finger on the times."
If left to ourselves, few of us would ever pick up any of David Wells' books. That's why I want to challenge you to get brave, open yourself up to some self-evaluation, and start working through his latest book, "The Courage To Be Protestant: Truth-Lovers, Marketers, and Emergents in the Postmodern World." We posted a review of the book on our CPYU Bookshelf blog back on October 13. Last week we posted a short interview I conducted with Wells about the book. You can read the full text here.
Here's the last question I asked Wells along with his answer. . . . I think you'll see that this guy is passionate about Christ, the Kingdom, and kids. . . .
CPYU: If you were to address a room full of youth workers and you had the opportunity to communicate one message to them, what one message would you communicate?
DW: It is time to get brave. Let’s stop the pandering. Kids see right through it. Let’s give them the real thing. They are looking for it. No one has demanded anything of them; let us tell them that if they come to Christ, he bids them die. No one has told them that they can know truth as something other than their own private perspectives; let us tell them there is Truth and those who know it, lose their lives. No one has told them that there is a different way of life. What many churches have done has been to run after the kids fearing that they will be lost irretrievably to MTV, rock, sex, and drugs. So, better to give them small, undemanding doses of Christianity that won’t interfere too much with their lives and which they will be willing to accept, than none at all, we think to ourselves. Wrong! If we tell them that they can have Christ on their own terms, we are selling them down the river. They instinctively know that. So, let us not make fools of ourselves anymore.
My friend Troy sent me a link to a news story from the UK this morning. The story is about The Immersion Project and a thought-provoking little video from Robbie Cooper that looks at the role digital media is playing in the lives of our kids. More specifically, the film (below), gives us a straight-on view of the faces of kids as they lock-in with full attention to the TV screen as they play violent video games.
If youth culture is like a snowball tumbling on its own down the face of a steep mountain, rapidly picking up mass, volume, and speed, then our fast-evolving digital media culture makes up a good amount of the white stuff that the culture's picking up as it tumbles down the hill. In recent youth culture seminars I've found myself reminding people that seven years ago we wouldn't be talking about things like Facebook, social networking, Twitter, micro-blogging, etc. Indeed, the world is changing and changing fast. Now, all this stuff is pervasive. We have to figure out where it's come from, what needs it's feeding, and what it's doing to us and how we are choosing to live in the world. It's effect is not nuetral, and our faith must inform both our response to its existence and the manner in which we choose to employ it in our everyday lives. These are serious matters that are just starting to be discussed with any sort of seriousness.
I don't know about you, but looking into the faces of these kids and hearing their comments. . . . well. . . . it's somewhat sobering. This isn't research. It's real life. Take a look and tell me what you see.
Yesterday was the holiday we know as Thanksgiving. As a Christian, my memories are of Thanksgivings that had an aspect of deep gratitude towards God for His multiplicity of physical and spiritual blessings. As an adult, Thanksgiving has become a day of contrasts. Our culture is changing. On the day we should be thinking thankfully about good stewardship, we've gotten all wrapped up in spending.
I've got the feeling that we need to dig deeper and deeper to remember and celebrate what Thanksgiving is really about. That's one of the ironic detrimental results of abundance. . . . . so much stuff that we fail to see, recognize, or remember the Source of it all. In other words, we should be more thankful than ever for what we do have. Instead, we tend to complain about never having enough. And then we spend a good chunk of the day planning our route to redemption through the accumulation of stuff on the day after.
Today is Black Friday. . . . and I'm not sure why I've capitalized the name of the day except for the fact that it's now attained some level of status as a holiday. According to legend, the name was coined by members of the Philly police department who had to handle the overwhelming crowds and traffic in the city on the first shopping day after Thanksgiving.
Now, it's crazy. In Lancaster, Pennsylvania - where I live - the Rockvale Square outlets opened at 12:01am this morning to accommodate shoppers. Are you kidding me???? I read reports of people who had camped out in tents in front of a variety of stores in a variety of places in order to be the first through the doors. Want to know how crazy it is? A Wal-Mart worker was killed and four others injured when eager shoppers stampeded through the doors of a Wal-Mart store on Long Island this morning.
Look at what we've become. We're nuts. Seriously. Maybe an economic crisis with long-lasting consequences that will drive us to our knees is just what the Great Physician ordered.
I just got back from Nashville and the third of the this year's three National Youthworker's Conventions. By the way, kudos again to my good friends at Youth Specialties for making it possible for youth workers to gather together in this setting.
My time at last weekend's convention took on an interesting personality in terms of one theme that kept coming up over and over in my conversations with youthworkers. That theme was adolescents, children, and their sexuality. It was a constant theme before, during, and after the convention. It came through in questions, news reports, Facebook postings, and snail mail. The pounding has left me heavy.
Like everything else in this post-Genesis 3:6 world, God's good gift of sexuality has been fundamentally flawed and is in desperate need of redemption. Sin has polluted how we think about and do our sexuality. It has polluted how we think about and do other people's sexuality as well. It's complex. . . . far too complex to even begin to dissect here, but the realities we face require - I'm increasingly convinced - those of us who care for and love kids to be "undoing" the polluted sexual messages and practices of this world, and "doing" the sexual messages and practices of the Kingdom. In a clear way, it's simply living out the way and will of the Father that we pray every time the Lord's Prayer crosses our lips. . . . "Lord, may your Kingdom come in all of its power and glory in and through our understanding and experience of both ours and other's sexuality."
I left for Nashville already somewhat broken and haunted by the conversation I blogged about a couple of weeks ago. When I arrived at my hotel, a blog-reading youth pastor asked if I would be sure to tell the story and address the reality in my seminar. I agreed. I decided to speak openly about pornography and other flawed expressions of sexuality that exist in our culture today. Sadly, it's all part of the soup even the youngest of our young swim in on a daily basis. I wanted to address how these things hurt kids not only now as they are often-times victims of sexual abuse - both visually (the sad and sorry stuff they see) and physically (the sad and sorry perversions perpetrated on them by others) - but the sad realities of where this will all lead as they reach adulthood themselves and are prone to live what they've learned in relationships with the adults and children in their own lives. It's quite scary.
Then, while I was there in Nashville, I was reminded of the ugliness of sexual and relational sin over, and over, and over. Both a map for kids and a mirror of where we've sent them, there's the new Levi's ad (posted below) and the link that someone posted to it on our CPYU Facebook page on Thursday afternoon. It left me wondering. . . . how will this fruit of the sexual revolution of my childhood bear fruit in both today and tomorrow's youth culture?
Then there was the local news story that broke in our paper on Friday morning. This one was about a man that I know who plead guilty to multiple counts of multiple types of sexual molestation of multiple girls ages 6 to 13. He was sentenced to prison on Thursday. Ever since he was arrested several months ago, this story has left my head spinning. I wonder how he got to the point where he could and would do what he did. I wonder how his horribly skewed and perverse expression of his sexuality will affect his young victims who were robbed of a sacred innocence. . . . both now and for the rest of their lives. What about the estimated 1 in 3 girls and 1 in 4 boys who are victimized by sexual abuse before they reach the age of 16? What fruit will this epidemic bear in people, relationships, and families over the course of the next 20 to 30 years?
Then there were the stories of abuse I heard while I was in Nashville. Again, it's epidemic. Youth workers themselves who had been victimized. I heard horrible stories of youth workers who perpetrated with vulnerable young students. And, there are those stories like the one close to home that is sadly, not just something happening here. . . . and families, churches, counselors, and youth workers are left dealing with the messiest of messes that are never completely undone this side of the new Heaven and new earth.
With all this fresh on my mind, I began my day today with reading Ecclesiastes. Verse 18 of Chapter 9 jumped off the page as I thought about the consequences of sin and how its "sound" never ceases. In fact, it echoes and reverberates out from generation to generation. . . . oft-times increasing rather than decreasing in volume. The author says, "one sinner destroys much good." That's certainly true when it comes to sexual sin. That's what happens when our children are violated.
When I got into the office this morning there was a letter on my desk from the Pittsburgh Coalition on Pornography. The back page contained "A Confession for Sexual Brokenness" for use in congregational worship. Because of our shared brokennes, I pass it on to you in it's entirety here:
Suggested introduction by leader: We come now to our time of confession. Christians all over the world recognize the profound harm that pornography and sexual sin are having upon our culture - and upon many of us individually. God says to be free of sin, we must first confess our sin - so in a spirit of humility let us be first to confess our sexual brokenness before God - and we hope and pray that our confession will ignite a revival of God's standards for sexual behavior around the world. So, whether or not you've committed sexual sin or experienced sexual harm or brokenness - or if you would simply like to pray for our sexually broken culture, would you join with me now. . . .
Leader: O Lord our God, today we come before you to confess that in our sinful nature we abuse your gift of sex, which you meant to nurture our marriages with love, pleasure and children. Lord we have made sex an idol in our culture and sometimes in our personal lives as well. Lord, we often allow envy, pride and lust to control our sexual behavior rather than love, fidelity and selflessness.
Congregational Response: I know my transgressions and my sin is ever before thee.
Leader: Lord we confess that sexual sin has left many of us broken. Some of us have failed to keep your standards for love, devotion and purity in our relationships - or in our entertainment choices. Some of us nurture bad habits of lust that keep us from giving ourselves fully to our spouses. Some of us have been scarred by sexual abuse and yearn to forgive and be free from emotional pain. Some of us have developed a sexual addiction that controls our behavior, damaging ourselves and those we love.
Congregational Response: Hide thy face from my sins, and blot out all my iniquities.
Leader: Lord we cry out to you for healing. Please accept our confession of sexual brokenness for ourselves and for our culture as we pray silently to you now. . . . Lord we thank you that you are faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness when we confess our sins to you and to one another.
Congregational Response: Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me. Do not cast me away from thy presence, and do not take thy Holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of thy salvation and sustain me with a willing spirit.
Leader: Hear now the good news; a broken and contrite heart the Lord will not despise. There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and death. Amen.
I typically get funny looks when I admit to Christian friends that I've always loved watching Bill Maher. I was disappointed when his Politically Incorrect went off the air. I found it to be especially eye-opening and stimulating. Somehow, Maher and his guests would consistently pop the lid on cultural issues. . . . getting down and dirty with commentary and opinion that crossed the full spectrum (usually) of idealogies and worldviews on the issues at hand.
People also find it strange that I like Bill Maher himself. He's incredibly gifted. I would have been jealous of the guy if he had sat a row over from me in any of my high school classes. He's smart. He's funny. He knows what the issues are. Rarely do I agree with him, but sometimes he does get it right. I have yet to see his film Religulous, but it's on my list.
Since I don't have HBO at home, I only get to see Real Time when I'm on the road in hotels that have got HBO access. Monday night I was in Boston when I caught Real Time. The entire show is worth a look for those of you who are culture-watchers. But what really grabbed me was Maher's seven-and-a-half minute interview with Sean Combs (aka Diddy, P-Diddy, Puff-Daddy, and a host of other variations that are impossible to keep up with). As a culture-watcher, I found the interview to be brilliant in a variety of ways. Maher is his typical funny self. Combs is uncharacteristically humble - something I've never seen from the guy before. What grabbed me most is their interaction with each other, the way their worldviews are expressed, and the topics that they cover in their short time together. They hit everything from politics, to racism, to music, to religion. Of course, when doesn't Bill Maher mention religion these days????
If you're a culture-watcher, give this clip a look. It's a mirror of where we're at as a culture. It's a clear picture of the context in which we've been called to minister. It's both hilariously funny and deeply sobering. This is our world. . . . like it or not.
Let's get some discussion going on this one. Thoughts?
I'm changing names and places, but the story is true. So true that it kept me awake one night recently.
I was speaking to parents and youth workers in a community far from our office here in PA. The back of the large auditorium was empty, except for one person in the back right corner. I didn't have my glasses on and the distance was far. My eyesight is good enough, however, to make out that the person was moving around a bit. Sitting on the floor, against the wall, in a seat, and then back on the floor a few times again. It wasn't distracting. Just unusual.
Towards the end of my presentation on youth culture I decided to throw up some slides and offer some explanation that isn't usually a part of a three-hour talk. This time, however, I decided to include it. In hindsight, I know now that these were not my plans nor were they simply a hunch. My little diversion out of the ordinary was a focus on the world of online pornography. How our kids seem to find it. How it seems to find them. And what it does to them both now and for the long-term.
At the end of the evening with Q and A over and the room mostly empty save for a few stragglers, a woman came to me and asked if I would be willing to speak with her fifteen-year-old son. "Of course." Then she left the room. I soon realized that the fifteen-year-old who had expressed a desire to talk with me was the person who had been moving around in the back corner of the room.
I'll call him Seth. A high school student, Seth appeared to be an obvious target for any teen bent on making themselves feel better by harassing the weakest of the weak. There were some communication issues. Some physical issues. And more, God bless him.
In our conversation, Seth showed a deep desire to please God. I'll spare you the details, but it was my short detour into speaking about pornography that God used to have Seth seek me out. All I can say is that Seth's story is horrid. What was done to him and how that has shaped him in his 15 short years. . . horrid. Sin perpetrated on a young victim not only caused tremendous pain and confusion, but that sin begat multi-layered sin in Seth's life. . . and Seth told me he wanted to break free.
After spending time with Seth I invited a third person into the conversation. . . . someone from the community who loves Christ, who is well connected, and who has committed to walk what's going to be a very difficult road with Seth, getting this extremely lovable and broken young man the help he needs. Still, I went back to my hotel room and had a difficult time sleeping. Why does this kind of crap have to happen? Why does it have to happen so much?
This is why we do what we do. To those of you who pray for us at CPYU. . . and to those of you who partner with us to make what we do happen. . . thanks. God is at work, undoing what's been broken in this world. Pray for Seth, will you?
So now it's come to this. . . . our culture that is. I got to the back page of the first section of yesterday's Sunday News and there she was. . . . Paris Hilton. . . . the celebrity who exists solely for the sake of celebrity. She's flying through the air with that crazy lazy "Who am I? Where Am I?" and "Hey, I'm posing for your again. Keep snapping those pictures." look that's become so familiar. This time she's flying through the glittery air with fairy wings and a magic wand in a promotional ad for her new line of fragrances known as Fairy Dust. I look at her photo and wonder if she's serious. How can you do this and not laugh????And if she is serious, why?
Then, I read on. Paris is coming to our local mall. Not only that, I could be one of 300 customers "to make a qualifying purchase from the Fairy Dust by Paris Hilton fragrance collection and receive an autographed picture from Paris herself." How can this be? Well, Paris is serious. And because of our ridiculous obsession with celebrity she's going to be making some serious money when she gets to Lancaster. If I want to meet Paris and have my photo taken with her, I have a choice of spending $135 for Package Number One, or $166 for Package Number Two. Do the math. If 300 people purchase Package Number One, that's $40,500! If 300 people purchase Package Number Two, that's $49,800! Not bad for a few hours "work." But I wind up the real winner because - as the ad tells me - "a kiss of fairy dust" and my "dreams come true."
Hmmmmm. . . . my dreams would come true. That's left me wondering. . . . let's say I pay the $135.00 and I'm one of the first in line. Then, while I'm standing with Paris I spray a little misty squirt of Fairy Dust on my neck (oh, is that the proper place for it?). Would Paris then disappear right before my very eyes? Not from the face of the earth, but from her position of cultural prominence and influence? Should I try this?
I just looked at the full-page ad again. If space aliens on a reconnaissance mission landed and this piece of my newspaper was the only thing they found, what would they think of us? Better yet, what should we think of ourselves?
Oh. . . . and if only we could catch the CPYU fragrance in a bottle and sell it. . . .
According to some people, the world ended at around 11pm last Tuesday night. Now, these people are depressed, down-in-the-dumps, morose, etc. Many of these people are fellow followers of Christ. I've even heard some of these people speculate on whether or not Barack Obama might be the Antichrist. By the way, I've been around long enough to have heard the same about other Antichrists dujour.
According to other people, the world began at 11pm last Tuesday night. It appeared to me that many of the people who descended on Grant Park and other places around the country to celebrate Obama's victory were heralding "good tidings" of "great joy," almost as if the Savior had come.
I understand that these seem like blanket overstatements on my part. However, they capture the two ends of response on the 2008 electoral spectrum. I voted. I won't tell you how I voted. Some of my fellow believers would be happy with my vote. Others might think I'm off my rocker. I know because I've had these discussions. As I voted, I tried to do so through the lens of my Biblical world and life view. Sure, that perspective informed the issues for me and directed my decision on who to vote for. But even more than that, it gave me perspective. So as the sudden void of a 24/7 barrage of political messages and posturing has left me with more time to think, I'd like to share some perspective. . . for the simple reason that I think our responses to the election are often indicators of a lack of faith and Christian maturity, rather than a sign of faith and Christian maturity.
So. . . . my thoughts. . . .not exhaustive. . . . and certainly not very deep. . .
God's got this all under control. He's taking our country and world where He wants it to be. To those who think that it's all starting to fall apart due to the election results, you need to realize that it was all falling apart a long time ago. And if we are proud enough to believe that it wasn't all shattered until now. . . well, that's just a sign that our own falling apart led us to accept and believe a delusion. Which is, of course, proof positive that it's all fallen apart. In my own humble opinion that's based on my own personal experience. . . I think we feel good about the country when we feel good. And feeling good is predicated on the chicken in our own pot and the car in our own garage. It's symptomatic of our deeply embedded North American materialism, which is - by the way - epidemic in the church and our homes. Maybe, just maybe, a crisis that would shatter our idols and force us to our knees in dependence on God is just what the Creator ordered and just what we need for the sake of our own spiritual growth.
If God's in control, then we don't need to be afraid. So. . . . why are we? Perhaps we should be spending less time complaining about the change we think is about to come, and more time looking in the mirror at the changes that need to come in our own lives based on our fear. . . . including a little more dependence on God.
Government can't save us. Numerous societies have been down that road all throughout history, and it's never worked. Those who think Obama is the Savior are wrong. And those who think that Obama is the opposite are equally wrong. . . . simply because their despair is an indicator of the fact that they have relied on the political status quo to save them (whatever that means), and now that the political status quo has moved them from a place of comfort to discomfort, the world and their lives are doomed. Either way is idolatrous. . . replacing the Creator with something created.
Let's say Obama is the Antichrist as some Christians believe (and there's no way of really knowing is there?). Do we really think that our vote could have changed God's grand plan to redeem His world and work out what He's had in store for all eternity in His way and His time?
Maybe the most valuable thing to come out of this election is the truth about ourselves. We live in a media saturated world with a media that's saturated by spin. Fair and balanced? I don't think it exists anywhere or at either end of the spectrum. Yet, we still buy into it when it caters to our leanings. Truth is, as well, that our world is hungry for the Redeemer. Obama won't do it. And truth is, as well, that the component of the church that placed their faith in McCain and Palin are equally wrong. Don't misread what I'm saying so that you hear me say that however you voted you were wrong. I'm simply saying that many on both sides have placed their faith in people and things that don't warrant our allegiance.
So, for the next two months and some days our responsibility as God-following citizens of this country is to live under the authority of our current leaders as long as they don't require us to disobey the authority of our Lord. In addition, we should be praying for the President and all others in authority. And, when the new administration takes over, these commitments must continue.
And remember, "as iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another."
Finally, I knew my blog title would catch your attention. What are you thinking about the election?
Sometimes we need a reminder. I got a well-needed reminder last weekend at the National Youthworkers Convention in Pittsburgh. I stood in the back of the room as Mark Yaconelli issued the reminder from the main stage. Some of you heard it a few weeks ago in Sacramento. More of you will get to hear it in a few weeks in Nashville.
Mark challenged us to slow down, eliminate the distractions, get quiet, and look for God in unexpected places. He's there. And isn't it good to know that He's there in the midst of our dark times? Mark told us about the turmoil and darkness of his middle school years as he was walloped by his parents' divorce. It was the late 1970s. Mark retreated to his room. He escaped into his trusty 8-track player, his K-Tel Disco 8-Track, a polyester clad John Travolta, a set of headphones, and the opportunity to dance through his pain. Mark sees it as a gift from God. Mark's message came through loud and clear. I thanked him for it later, and I've been trying to slow down and experience God's revelation of Himself that is so evident in His world that surrounds me. By the way, if you're going to be at the NYWC in Nashville, don't you dare skip out on Mark Yaconelli's talk. . . . and stay until the very end!
Today I woke up to one of our patented Pennsylvania cloudy fall days. The sky's been gray. But as I walked to the car the beauty of the neighbor's tree caught my eye. There it was. In the midst of the darkness of the morning and the death that is fall. . . . there was beauty. No human could conceive of or create the intricacy of a tree nor the rhythm of the seasons that lead to the beauty of the fall that fills these parts this time of year. This is the doing of God and God alone.
No matter what happens in our world or our lives. . . . God is. . . . and He is in control.
So last night it happened. . . the Phils won the World Series! As the game went into the top of the ninth with the Phils up by a run and Brad "Lights Out" Lidge on the mound, I turned to my wife and tried to explain what it meant. "As a little boy, this is what you dream about," I said. "The dream has only come true for me once before. On three occasions I was nothing but teased. That's why I'm excited about what I hope's about to happen." She smiled at the little boy who had done the explaining. A few minutes later, we smiled together as a bunch of overgrown boys in flannel suits pig-piled in celebration. It was fun to watch.
I had a difficult time sleeping last night as a cascade of baseball memories flipped through my head. Like most people, I can chronologically chronicle my life with song titles from the world of popular music. My ongoing love for the brand of America's National Pastime played by the Phils has served me in the same manner. I can chronicle my life - remembering my age and where I was when. . . - with my baseball memories. My first time visiting Connie Mack Stadium. . . and several times thereafter. Remember when we went to Connie Mack with the church and the guy sitting behind my Sunday School teacher, Mr. Mock, spilled a watery beer from his paper cup all over the poor man? The "world" had literally touched and saturated a member of our group and Mr. Mock's shirt to the point where we smelled ice-cold Ballantine all the way home, and some in our group wondered what poor old Mr. Mock was going to tell his wife! That same night, my dad graciously purchased me a Foremost Wiener that I promptly drowned in spicy brown mustard. I cradled it carefully in my hand with a thin piece of tissue paper that had been wrapped around the bun by the vendor. I was so engrossed in the splendor of the game that I finished my dog and wondered where I had put the paper wrapper. I then realized that I had eaten a hot dog, a roll, some mustard, AND the tissue paper. It seems that there are baseball-watching memories (many sad - I'm a Phils fan, remember) that coincide with every year of my life. Then there were my high school and college years, complete with the dozens of trips down Broad Street to the Vet with the Phillies-watching quartet that included me, Randy, Curt, and Dick. Man, did we ever have fun. Then, we'd gorge ourselves on "soft pretzels! Five-for-a-dollar" purchased from any number of shady post-game parking lot characters who used their bare hands to break off those pretzels from the lines that filled their rusty old shopping carts. (We weren't as concerned about sanitation and disease back then.)
Childhood was also filled with baseball-playing memories. From our home-made diamonds and after-school backyard games at the Heilman's and Katz's, to my little league days at Alverthorpe Park, to Home Run Derby played in the front yard with a yellow plastic wiffle ball bat and humming wiffle ball (Off the front of the house is a single, low roof a double, high roof a triple, and over the roof a home run. . . . and, did you know that a wiffle ball can be hit hard enough to go through a window?), to the days when everyone else was on vacation and I was reduced to throwing pop-ups to myself in the driveway (every one of them the last ball hit in the two-out bottom-of-the-ninth of the 7th game of the World Series. . . and Oh how I remember the time "we" lost the game when that beat-up old rubber-coated hardball went past my outstretched glove to hit me square in my nose. . . which then bled profusely - game over), to evenings during high school and college spent shagging fly balls with my buddies Curt, Randy, and Dick.
To be honest, there were also those times in my adult life when I tried desparately to recover or at least catch a glimpse of what could have been (ie - my professional baseball career. . . come on. . . we all dreamed about that at one time). On my 40th birthday I wanted to see if I could still hit a ball. I took a couple of high school baseball players down to a full-size field in Marietta that sported a left-field fence with the same dimensions as Veteran's Stadium. Hit one out - I reasoned - and the dream could live on. The good news is that I put three balls off the left field fence on the fly. . . but none went over. Dream alive. . . sort of! Then seven years ago, a friend asked me to join his team for a good-old-fashioned game of hardball at a local field of dreams facility. After dressing in gray flannels in a barn next to the stadium, I got to catch, play third, and go into the outfield. The guest pro that day was Gaylord Perry, who just so happened to umpire and call me out on strikes (yes, he's blind). The good news was that during my first at bat I put one over the center fielder's head and to the wall. Dream alive. . . sort of! However, what should have been a triple turned into a double as the guy on base ahead of me was so slow that even I was able to catch up with him after rounding second.
Reality is that the dream was only ever far-fetched. I no longer watch the games and the players thinking, "Hey, I could do that." I'm even old enough to have moved beyond looking at the umpires and thinking, "Hey, I could do that." I've had to come to terms with the fact that perhaps the great majority of major league managers and coaches are. . . .well. . . . younger than me! . . . Thus leading me to conclude, "Hey, I'll never do any of that." Still, I continue to go out in the yard and throw the ball with Josh.
So here's where my baseball dreams sit today. . . and I don't think they are at all unrealistic. The Heaven so many of us look forward to isn't really what Heaven is going to be at all. Clouds, wings, streets of gold, harps, etc. That's not what we can expect. Don't get me wrong. There will be nothing to compare with being in the presence of the Lord for eternity. But those false notions of Heaven always struck me in my humaness as somewhat, dare I say, boring. Heaven will ultimately be the restoration of all that has been broken by sin here on the earth. I look forward to a new Heaven and new earth, all minus the horrible flaws that have become so familiar. And, I believe, there will be baseball . . . along with alot of other amazing things we never expected. A major league? I'm not so sure. Maybe. But the game? It will be there, and I'll be playing. It might not be pretty (my play, that is), but I know that I'll enjoy every minute of it!. . . . to an even greater and incomprehensible extent than I enjoyed watching that fun group of guys pile on each other last night.
If you're a Phillies fan and you found yourself last night celebrating by saying "It doesn't get much better than this!," you're wrong. It's going to be a whole lot better when our Heavenly Father opens the page on the Chapter in His story that's titled "Consumation". . . the one that follows the prior three chapters of "Creation," "Fall," and "Redemption." Everything will be awesome, including the baseball!
And the other day, I eyed up a low-priced bag of balls and nice wooden bat at Sports Authority. . . which I'm going to pick up for a long-overdue office game of Home Run Derby at our local ballfield. Who's going to hit the ball the farthest? We'll find out!
I'm tired right now - really tired. I returned from four days in Pittsburgh that were absolutely exhausting, but absolutely energizing. I want to tell you about my trip with the hope that you might begin to think creatively about how CPYU can serve you and your community.
The vision for this trip was birthed several years ago by some folks at the North Hills Reformed Presbyterian Church in Pittsburgh. As they began to examine how to best utilize CPYU's presence not just as an event, but as a ministry tool, God opened doors for a relationship between the church and the Pittsburgh Alliance Against Drugs - a non-sectarian organization headed by some wonderfully passionate and energetic folks who want children and teens to be spared from the scourge of drug abuse and addiction. Working together, the church and the Alliance planned an aggressive schedule for my visit. As the plans were put together, other folks and institutions joined the effort, and what resulted was an absolutely amazing few days that are already serving as a springboard for further ministry in the Pittsburgh area, particularly in the public schools.
Here's what we did. . . .
Their preparation was amazing. They set up a website, scheduled interviews on major radio stations in the area, and blitzed Pittsburgh with publicity. In addition, the folks at the church prayed diligently, something that was very, very obvious during my time in town.
On Thursday morning I spent several hours with a large group of 8th grade students who have been indentifed as peer leaders on their respective public school campuses. Students came from over 15 districts, along with their teachers and counselors. I challenged and equipped them to think critically about their media choices, taught them how to process media through our brand new Minding Your Media 3(D) Media Evaluation Guide (based on character and virtue), and then sent them off with a charge to make a difference among their peers by teaching them to do the same.
We packed up and headed over to Eden Christian Academy, the second-largest Christian School here in Pennsylvania. My good friend and CPYU Board Member Sam Siple is doing an amazing job in leading an institution that is committed to teaching students to engage God's world from the perspective of a Christian world and life view. I spent the afternoon with all the middle and high schoolers, along with a large contingents of teachers and parents. What did we do? I used our faith-based version of our 3(D) Guide - How To Use Your Head To Guard Your Heart - teaching them how to make God-honoring media choices from the perspective of mindful critique as opposed to mindless consumption. It was a refreshing group of kids who are trying to find their way through adolescence and into a Godly adulthood. What a privilege it was to be with them!
By the way, with both of the aforementioned groups we focused on evaluating and discussing Katy Perry's new hit video, "Hot and Cold." It's well worth talking about!
That evening, I spoke to a large group of parents, educators, and community members at the Pine Richland High School Auditorium. This non-sectarian presentation on numerous aspects of contemporary youth culture led to lots of good discussion afterwards.
The next morning was a highlight for me. Orchard Hill Church graciously offered their state-of-the-art building to the Alliance for a resource fair, presentation on youth culture, and a panel discussion. Members of all youth-serving sectors were present, and I was told to enlighten them not only to trends in today's youth culture, but to offer distinctively Christian responses. I love opportunities like these! We ended the morning with a panel discussion, featuring members of the Pittsburgh area drug treatment community (Doctors, Social Workers, etc.), along with yours truly, a pastor, and a Biblical counselor. Again, my discussions afterwords were quite fruitful.
But the day didn't stop here. I was back to the North Hills Church for a six-hour afternoon and evening presenation on "Engaging the Soul of Youth Culture." The great majority of those present were seminary students, who we trained in cultural exegesis.
A short night of sleep (sort of!) was followed by a five-hour faith-based presentation at the North Hills Junior High School Auditorium on Understanding Today's Youth Culture. Again, it was a wonderful time of interaction and conversation.
Here's an interesting story from Saturday morning. . . . and it shows just how God answers our prayers. As I walked into the building I was following a group of back-pack clad students who were being quietly led to Saturday detention. . . that's right. . . . The Breakfast Club. One female student arrived late for detention and was not allowed in. On her way out of the building she stopped at a prayer booth. This had been set up to offer folks who were struggling with a variety of spiritual and relational issues to write out a prayer request, which the folks at the church were committed to praying for. The church then promised folks they would follow-up with them in two weeks. After filling out a card and requesting prayer, the young girl left. She returned a few minutes later with her father, who also spent time at the prayer booth. Their circumstances - a sister/daughter addicted to heroin - was what led them to return. Now, the church has a great opportunity to do ministry in a family with deep need! But it didn't stop there. When the detention was over, two of the boys who had detention stopped by a booth for a crisis pregnancy center and entered into a one-hour conversation with the director. They too, left the building. But they came back. . . . .with their parents. . . . who also entered into conversation with the director.
The needs of the world are great. I am grateful for the folks in Pittsburgh who have developed a deep vision for meeting those needs in obedient response to the One who has given them life. And, I'm especially grateful to the God of great surprises who always does more than we could ever imagine or ask for.
I'm back in Lancaster right now. The weekend in Pittsburgh is a memory. Still, God is there and is at work, using our meager efforts to further His Kingdom and bring glory to Himself.
I'd love to be a part of this kind of thing elsewhere. How about it? Can we serve you?
So some of you have been wondering about my silence regarding my beloved Phillies. It's called caution. And it's a caution that's grown out of experience. You have to remember, my two most vivid early cultural memories were the assassination of JFK in 1963 (Second grade), and the late-season collapse of my beloved 1964 Phillies (Third grade). For what it's worth, 1965's personal tragedy arrived in the form of having a girl push me face-first into my locker, which resulted in the loss of a front tooth, which in turn has resulted in dozens of hours in the dental chair and thousands of dollars in dental bills in the years since.
But all of that's forgotten - mostly - this morning as I sit in anticipation of our first World Series appearance in 15 years, and maybe - just maybe - our second World Championship in 126 years. I've been quiet because the Phils had to get past the Dodgers. I happened to be in California while the Phillies were playing there. My buddy Chap Clark, a Dodgers' fan, sent me a stream of harassing text messages beginning with "Dodgers in 4!" That was followed up with "Dodgers in 5!", "Dodgers in 6!", "Dodgers in 7!", and then finally, "Rockies in 8!" (which was the equivalent of a white flag).
So now we're there. My antique Phillies Bobblehead - purchased at Connie Mack Stadium during the aforementioned 1964 - is sitting happily on my desk this morning. . . . even though he has a broken neck. And I'm especially excited as Lisa and I were able to be in the stands during what many in the Philly media are calling one of the greatest nights in Phillies baseball history (thank you Chris. . . I still owe you a kiss for that!). We watched as Brett Myers rattled C.C. Sabathia and got the fans all riled up in a maddened frenzy. Even better, we got to see Victorino (is there anyone more fun to watch in MLB today?) hit that slam. I was only able to watch on TV when the Tugger jumped off the mound with his arms in the air back in 1980. I can say I was there when Victorino's picture - which will live on in Philly sports history - was snapped. You know what made it even better? I had just finished downing a Philly cheesesteak when he got that hit. Does it get any better than that?
Sadly, I'm getting on the turnpike in a couple of hours to head west to Pittsburgh. I'll be watching tonight's game in the comfort of a lonely hotel room. Doggone it! It was a joy to stay up late with Josh to watch the Phils win the pennant the other night. He was sad, very sad, when as a seven-year-old the Phils lost in '93. I wish I could watch with him and the rest of the family tonight. Oh well. If we win, we're going to the parade!
So. . . a couple of thoughts to put it all in perspective. First, let me sound like a follower of the Phils: Does anybody out there think Tampa deserves this? Come on. The franchise is only 10 years old. Not 126. And, isn't this the franchise with the fans who didn't start showing up until. . . last week? Oh, so NOW you like your team?!? I'm sorry. I'm a part of a team following that's consistently been labeled the most loyal and knowledgable fans in baseball. you have to be when you endure your share of losses from the professional sports franchise that holds the record for more lossess than any other. Let me enjoy being a "homer" for a little while.
Second, let me speak to the World Series from the perspective of a follower of Christ. Baseball's a great thing that we need to embrace and enjoy. The image of God shines through in the game's strategy, order, beauty, and athleticism. But just remember, if you're a Phillies fan and the Phillies win, it won't last. It won't make life any better. Oh, it will be fun. But the momentary thrill of victory (which I long to experience again!)is no substitute for the joy of ultimate redemption. In other words, the ache that was there for fans who live for Phils, will come back sooner than next season's first pitch is thrown. And if we lose. . . well, it's not the end of the world. Yes, we need perspective.
Now. . . one last thing. . . . Hey Chap. . . . Phillies in four!
I just spent three days in the past, present, and future. It was a 72-hour run that drove home the fact that culture rolls on. . . . picking up mass, volume, and speed. And, I was reminded that depravity is woven in and through everything, but the Gospel of Kingdom is a real as ever. . . and the Kingdom that's come is still coming!
I spent all day Friday with Britney Spears. Well, it wasn't in the flesh. . . but then again it was. If you're confused by that last statement, all you have to do is check out her new video for "Womanizer." It's the one that jumped from #96 to #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 in no time at all. It's a huge pop culture presence this week. I've made the risky decision to embed the video here in my blog. But I do so giving you fair warning. Britney shows us who she really is, both figuratively and literally in "Womanizer."
Lest we forget, the video's really about showing our children and teens not only who she is, but who they're supposed to be. That's why I think it's important to reckon with "Womanizer." My time with Britney and "Womanizer" resulted in a new 3-D review of the song that you can download here. The envelope's been stretched again, and we can't ignore it. Rather, we have to face it head on. Britney's "Womanizer" present casts a reality that gives us all a glimpse into a future - a very near future - that we must be addressing prophetically, preventively, and redemptively.
Saturday and Sunday were spent in the present of my past. The church where I spent my high school years, only to come back a little over ten years later to serve as the youth pastor for six years, was celebrating a mission's weekend as part of their 50th anniversary. Because of the role Supplee Presbyterian Church played in my own life and spiritual development, the fingerprint of God's gathering people at Supplee is all over CPYU. Now, they support our ministry. It was a joy to see old friends, to reconnect, and to see what God has been doing in everyone's lives. It was very, very enjoyable. Thinking back to my own high school years, my time in youth group, and my time leading the youth group. . . . well. . . . it only hammered home the fact that culture is changing and changing fast. But what really jumped out at me are two committments that have remained strong at Supplee for as long as I've known the church - a commitment to the proclamation of the Word, and a commitment to proclaiming that Word to kids. It's needed to balance the message that Britney heard, that Britney's embraced, and that Britney's passing on to a generation of kids hungry for redemption.
So. . . . know the Word, know Britney and the generation for which and to whom she speaks, and prayerfully work to communicate the Word into that very disheartening reality.
This morning I've been getting ready for a big trip to Pittsburgh scheduled for next week. I'm working with a couple of churches who have put together a very aggressive schedule of events, most of which are designed to engage the culture-at-large that exists outside the "walls" of our congregations. The folks in Pittsburgh have been diligent in the task of framing, wording, and preparing in ways that are truthful without the "noise" of turnoff. . . . which, by the way. . . tends to typify many of our shameful efforts to engage a watching world in compelling ways. In an email to one of the event's organizers earlier this morning, I suggested some wording changes in something I was putting my name to so that the message we want to share doesn't get lost in translation.
This all got me thinking about a couple of conversations I had last weekend at the Youth Specialties National Youthworkers Convention in Sacramento. The first was about some of the infamous stuff done by the brothers and sisters over the years. Or perhaps I should say, the infamous stuff made by the brothers and sisters in an effort to bring more folks into the fold. A couple of us got to talking about Christian "witnessing tools," you know, that Jesus Junk that we think is more effective than an embodied apologetic for the faith. One of those things that we talked about has been sitting on top of my desk since the day I picked it up - almost 10 years ago - in the exhibit hall at one of the conventions. Actually, and I'm ashamed to admit this, I paid for it. It's a can of root beer. . . Holy Cross Root Beer to be exact. Never heard of it? Neither had I. I think it's Christian root beer. . . . or at least that's what the guy manning the booth told me. What makes root beer Christian? I still haven't figured that one out. Is it Christian because the can features a cross, a "Jesus Saves," and references to Acts 16:31, John 3:16, and Revelation 20:4-6? Does drinking it draw one closer to God? I can't answer that because I've never popped the top to take a swig. Does that mean that 10 years later what's in my can is actually better than what was in there when I first laid eyes on it? Who knows? All I do know is that if this is the best we can do. . . or even if we think this is an effective tool in our witnessing arsenal. . . . well, then we're nuttier than we think. And I don't mean "nutty" in a nice way.
Another weekend conversation was had with some of my favorite new friends who are ministering to kids through First Presbyterian Church in Boulder, Colorado. Kim is one of the female interns who used to be a waitress at Appleby's. She told us how waitressing at the chain on Sunday afternoons was always an embarassment. Why? Because the restaurant would fill up with the brothers and sisters from the after-church crowd who would eat a normal amount of food, then leave an embarrassingly abnormal tip. . . . like a gospel tract sans cash. Do we seriously think that we're leaving a good impression when we share the Gospel of being cheap, cheesy, and uncaring with a piece of paper that winds up provoking anger before flying into the trash? Are we really caring for people when we demand that they wait on us for $2.01 an hour plus tips. . . . and we don't leave anything? Shame on us.
It made me think about this funny little video that's been floating around on YouTube. I watched it and laughed. I watched it and was embarassed. I watched it and thanked God that I'm not like that. . . . or am I (we)?
So I'm scratching my head this morning for the millioninth time while saying, "Why didn't I think of that???" I've always wanted to invent something. Problem is, somebody else always gets the idea that I don't. So, I guess it's hopeless.
This morning's prompt was an article on a brilliant idea that's come from the Ford Motor Company. They've developed some new parent/teen technology that's sure to sell a few cars. Here's the deal. . . Ford has developed a new techology that will be available on many 2010 models. Parents who own the cars equipped with the new teen-limiting technology give their teenaged drivers a key that's loaded with a computer chip that limits the car's top speed to 80 miles per hour. (Of course it's a great idea for highway driving, but the cynic in me quickly realized that kids can still go 65 miles an hour over the speed limit in a school zone!) But it doesn't stop there. Parents can also program the key to limit the volume on the car's sound system, thereby elminating what is one of the most common distractions for teen drivers. (Do you think they could also include a text-messaging jammer?) The key can also be programmed to make the car sound continous alerts if the driver isn't wearing a seat belt. Great idea.
Now think about all of this in relation to adolescent development and youth culture. We all know that the brain's pre-frontal cortex takes awhile to get all wired up. . . . like several years. . . . many of those years ending in the suffix "teen." Lack of judgment and an overactive impulsivity gland (I think there is such a thing)combine behind the wheel in some pretty frightening recipes, many of which can and do quickly lead to disaster. I'm still sitting on some closely held secrets about some things I did behind the wheel when I was a teenager. It is only by God's grace that I never got hurt or hurt anyone else. And you'd better believe I've never told my immediate ancestors or descendants some of this stuff. I might have benefitted from a car equipped with Ford's MyKey.
Enter today's teenage driver. The impusivity factor not only continues to exist, but is fed, fertilized, and watered by an ethical weather front that's moved into and stayed in the neighborhood. If you've been to any of my seminars you've heard me talk about postmodern amorality. I use my fist as a demonstration tool. My clenched fist represents a commonly held standard of morality. I place my other hand on that fist to represent behavior that conforms to the standard. . . . behavior that can then be labeled as "moral behavior" . . . like what happened when I hopped behind the wheel as a teen and I obeyed all the traffic laws. I then lift my hand off my fist and move it around through the air, indicating behavior that doesn't conform to the commonly held standard of morality. . . like what happened when I'd choose to break the law. I was being "immoral." Then I take my fist and make it disappear behind my back. This is the loss of commonly held standards of morality. In this "amoral" world moral and immoral behavior becomes a conceptual impossibility in terms of societal standards that are accepted and held to by all. Everyone defines morality for themselves, doing what's right in their own eyes (ever read anything about that anywhere?!?).
And this is where our teens now live. . . . and the MyKey becomes a sad commentary not so much on teen impulsivity, but on our moral condition. If we are no longer committed to exercising the internal constraints and restraints of self, we need a growing combination of "someones" and "somethings" outside of ourselves to rein us in. Are you looking to get a job in an expanding field? Go into law enforcement, litigation, etc. Are you looking to invent something that will sell? Invent the MyKey.
Come to think of it, most of us would be out of a job if human depravity would cease to exist. Someday it will. But it won't be because of anything we've done or made.
Will my hopes be dashed again? Or will my beloved Phillies take a different path this year and fail to disappoint? We'll see. It all starts this afternoon. Perhaps it's timely that I've been thinking and writing quite a bit about sports lately - our kids, our pressure, our spectating, etc. It helps me to keep it all in perspective, win or lose.
Because of that, I thought I'd pass on a couple of things I've penned in the last few weeks. First, there's an article I did for our latest edition of ENGAGEthat you can download here. It's called "Turf Worship," and I think it lends itself well to these fall days filled with baseball and football.
Then, there's this little excerpt (below) from that article that we included in this months CPYU Parent Page. Let me know what you think.
Here's what I wrote for the CPYU Parent Page about the sports pressure we put on our kids: Researchers at Michigan State University report that 70% of kids who play youth sports drop out by the age of 13. Sadly, many of these dropouts are gifted athletes who should be exercising their God-given athletic gifts and abilities long into their teen years. Others are late-bloomers whose discouragement leads them to hang it up, causing them to miss out on the years of successful play that could be theirs if they would only be encouraged to hang in long enough for their bodies and skills to develop. Then there are those who continue on while allowing the pressure to excel to lead them to try to get an edge through cheating and/or performance enhancing drugs. It’s not good.
I recently shared a cab ride from the airport with a dad who was more than happy to tell me about his athlete-daughter. He informed me that she was so highly regarded as a soccer player that their family’s summer would be centered on traveling around the country to various showcase tournaments where she would be able to display her skills. In addition, he told me that his daughter was a highly successful baseball player. “Baseball? Not softball?”, I asked. “Do they let girls play that down in Georgia?” “Yes,” he enthusiastically answered. “She’s leading the league with 7 home runs.” I was impressed. Then I asked, “How old is your daughter?” “Six,” he replied. Ouch. God bless that little girl.
The pressure’s even greater when parents live vicariously - trying to find redemption for their own athletic failures, unfulfilled dreams, or empty lives – through their kids. Many pressure and push in the hope that their kid will score the college scholarship that will lead to a professional contract. The reality is that college scholarships are few and far between. A pro career is highly unlikely. According to research from Dan Doyle at the Institute for International Sport at the University of Rhode Island, there are 475,000 fourth grade boys playing organized basketball in the U.S. At the same time, there are only 87,000 high school seniors playing basketball. Of those 87,000, only 1,560 will win Division I scholarships, 1,350 will win Division II scholarships, and 1,400 will play at non-scholarship Division III colleges. Of those 4,310, only 30 will make it to the NBA. Still, parents push, push, and push some more. Do you want to know how bad it’s gotten? Go to a local soccer field where elementary-aged kids are playing an organized game. Don’t watch what’s happening on the field. Turn sideways and look down the sideline. And, just keep on looking and listening. Be prepared. It might break your heart. Then ask yourself, “Am I putting on too much pressure?”
Last Thursday Alecia Moore hit #1 on the charts with her latest single, “So What.” I’ve always found the singer known as Pink to be quite intriguing. For one, she and I share the same geographic roots, both of us growing up in the Philly suburbs. But even more than that, it’s her story that’s grabbed me the most. A child of brokenness, her music has consistently reflected her battle to come to terms with her past while taking control of her present and future.
But “So What” was occasioned by even more brokenness. This time, it was her separation and divorce from motocrosser Carey Hart, the man this seemingly strong and assertive woman proposed to and eventually married in January of 2006. I spent some time watching and re-watching the clip last Thursday. Then, I took the time to write a 3D review of the song and video that we’ve posted on our site (hand it on to parents and be sure to discuss it with your kids).
I went back and read an article I had written on Pink in 2002 as she was bursting onto the music scene. Knowing her story and watching it continue to unfold is a helpful exercise in understanding today’s youth culture. She’s a map for our vulnerable young kids, telling them what to think and how to live. She’s a mirror for those of us who love and minister to kids, providing us insights into where our culture’s at, and where it’s headed.
Since watching Pink’s “So What” last week, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about the map she’s drawing and the images of culture that she and her music reflect. For what it’s worth, consider these thoughts. . . .
First, brokenness runs deep and wide. Okay, so most adults will watch the video and get mad at Pink simply because she’s mad. Get over it. That’s what happens when creation and fall are experienced without going any further into redemption. Genesis 3:6 is where most people spin their wheels and live. Being broken hurts until it all gets fixed. We can’t expect the unfixed to act fixed. In reality, Pink does us a favor by putting an easily understood face on the brokenness that’s out there. We can choose to pass by on the other side, or stop and help. . . no matter what the cost to us. Remember that story?
Second, this is where our girls are going. Pink dresses raw. She speaks raw. She sings raw. She looks raw. Some would say she is raw. This is the new and evolving face of what it means to be a lady in our culture. Much of it is rooted in the brokenness they’ve experienced at the hands of the men in their lives. . . . and they’re resigned to an “I’m not taking it anymore!” approach to life. It’s increasingly taking the form of the sexy tough girl. Again, we might not like it. As a result, we might do all we can to convince our girls to act like a lady. But it’s only when the inside-stuff from which the outside-stuff flows is transformed, that the outside-stuff is an indicator of inward transformation.
Third, try as hard as we like, we can’t redeem ourselves. In a way, Pink’s no different than the rest of us. Things have fallen apart and we try hard to fix it through diversion, attitude, or just toughing it out. Reality is, it never works. When things slow down and we’re alone with ourselves, we realize the gnawing just continues.
Finally, healing is needed. Remember the old Sunday School song “Deep and Wide?” The “fountain flowing deep and wide” is the only place to go to drink of the life-giving “Living Water.” That should make us all the more eager to turn “So What” on, and then to respond with the love and grace of Christ.
If I were to ever write a memoir (and I’m not planning on it, by the way), there would be two chapters devoted to two of the most significant experiences and periods of my life.
First was my time spent working as an MHT (Mental Health Technician) on the adolescent ward of a private psychiatric hospital outside of Philadelphia. It was the mid-1970’s and the mental health profession was dangling on the tail end of its “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” period in terms of diagnosis and treatment. Patients were labeled, largely misunderstood, locked away, drugged, and monitored. I remember my time spent working with schizophrenic, manic-depressive, and psychotic teenagers as one largely void of hope. The fact that a sedated existence was the best scenario for a group of kids almost my age did a real number on me. I loved my job. I loved loving these kids. But there was no love at all between me and the reality I faced for eight hours a day in that dark place. In fact, the experience was so void of hope that during my second summer as an MHT, I spent my days fighting a growing stomach-ache that had me spending many of my hours at home doubled up in bed. My nerve and stress-induced gastritis went away when I returned to school in the fall, but the memories of what I saw and experienced have never left.
Of course, since then, new technologies have allowed scientists to map and understand the wonders and complexities of the brain, along with many of the malfunctions that the fingerprint of human depravity have left on this organ that once was all that God intended it to be. In hindsight, I know that my young friends could only be diagnosed and treated based on a limited body of knowledge. In today’s world, those same kids would have the advantage of better diagnosis and treatment. But doing the best with what was known at the time, a small army of adolescents walked back and forth in a locked ward, prisoners to their sickness. . . . with the seen and unseen “locks” of their lives serving as loud and clear cries for the Kingdom of God to come and undo what sin had done.
The second period took place a few years after my time at the psychiatric hospital. Newly married, we had moved to the north shore of Massachusetts to attend Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary. The combination of academic rigor and the idyllic New England setting served to help me focus on things other than people suffering from mental illness. In many ways they were forgotten. Little did I know that beneath the appearances of a seminary community intent on pursuing a deeper knowledge and understanding of God (ie. It all looked great), there were classmates and even professors who were struggling to keep it all together.
Yesterday I finished reading a brand new book that served to pull the curtain back on a reality that stood in front of us regularly in the seminary classroom, but which we never even knew existed. David Lovelace has written a compelling memoir, Scattershot: My Bipolar Family (Dutton, 2008), that chronicles the deep and debilitating battles with mental illness that four of five members of his immediate family of origin waged back then, and even up to today.
The book caught my eye not so much because of its topic, but because of one of its principal subjects, David’s father Richard. When I arrived on the Gordon-Conwell campus in 1982, Richard Lovelace was one of the most beloved professors and a well-known champion of the truth in evangelical circles. He had written one of the most widely-read and critically-acclaimed books of the late 1970s, The Dynamics of Spiritual Life. Arriving on campus, we not only looked forward to sitting in his church history classes, but it was a treat to hear the many hilarious stories regarding Dr. Lovelace’s eccentricities and absent-mindedness. Some of them were so incredibly out there that you actually wondered if they were true, or simply legendary.
Reading Scattershot served as a catalyst for the collision of two of my worlds – that suburban Philadelphia psychiatric hospital, and Gordon-Conwell seminary. While he has seemingly turned his back on the faith in response to a combination of his own bipolar battle and the fundamentalism of his childhood, David Lovelace tells the harrowing story of his family with a combination of ugly detail, ongoing love for his parents, and grace. His father is no longer just a professor who stood in front of the class or was seen walking across campus. Scattershot reveals the depth of his humanity and struggle, as David’s writing forces readers to laugh with the family when appropriate (I learned even more about Dr. Lovelace’s experiences and eccentricities), and cry with compassion over the deep darkness of mental illness, especially when viewed from the inside out.
The book features one of those stereotypical early 1970s church directory photos on the cover (can you say “Olan Mills?”). We’ve all seen them, and most of us have been in them. . . . complete with the plaid sport coat. But there was torment lying under the surface of the five smiles, and the words hidden behind the book’s cover lay it all out in ways that will open readers’ eyes to a world that while it lives in our midst, we might never know, inhabit, or even understand.
