Title Track: Thanks, Postman

I find myself in a bit of a pickle.
See, it’s the middle of the semester: the time everyone just wants to give up and quit, letting grades slip and procrastination kick in. It’s almost spring break – one more day! – and I’m burned out.
So I watch TV. I want my brain to take a break from reading and writing to laugh at Jeff Winger on “Community” or get swept up in the drama of “Heroes.” I’d like to stare at the black box in front of me for an hour and detoxify from everything school-related.
But I can’t. I blame my major.
You know how professors warn you that “this class will kill your love for [insert your favorite major-related activity]”? I’ve heard it more than once. But as a communication major, my love for the media not only gets killed, but beaten relentlessly, kicked around and spit on. So much for detoxifying.
In my media and society class, we’re reading Neil Postman’s “Amusing Ourselves to Death,” which is about how this generation’s prominent form of communication (the media, specifically television) affects the way we think and the way we discover truth. Because television is the predominant medium of our culture, we have become conditioned to certain things. Like, we expect information to be given to us in quick sound bytes and we expect to be entertained.
This doesn’t really sound like a problem, until you really start to think about it. It’s fine to want TV to be fast-paced and entertaining, but if you expect everything to be fastpaced and entertaining, there’s a problem.
Postman argues that our attention spans have been shortened by TV (and, though he wrote the book prior to the Internet, I’m sure he’d agree it has played a part). We can’t stay focused if the content isn’t entertaining.
Take sermons for example. During the school year I go to a liturgical Presbyterian church. The service bounces from prayer to song to Scripture-reading to homily pretty fast – only 20 minutes maximum for each section – yet still I find myself getting fidgety. I’m not the only one, either. The lady in the pew in front of us always does the kids’ word search in the bulletin.
The longest I have to stay focused is only 20 minutes, and still I cannot handle it. TV, what have you done to me? Or think about class: How long do we listen to the professor before we start perusing the Internet? Not very long.
Even as I write this, I see the truth in this. Every time I get writer’s block, I check my Facebook. I can only handle homework for short periods of time before I look for entertainment.
This is why I’m in a pickle. I feel too guilty to watch TV, but know no other way to rest my brain from school work. I wish I had never read Postman and could back to ignorantly blaming my lack of attention on undiagnosed A.D.D.
I’m left to wonder what I should do. How can I rest my brain without damaging it more with television?
I could read – but even I, an avid reader, don’t want to look at tiny print after I’ve spent hours writing a paper. I could play Sudoku – but even that involves a certain amount of math.
Maybe the problem is our time frame for rest. Most of us take sporadic breaks throughout the day between homework assignments. We spend Saturday mornings doing homework then have fun Saturday night.
What if we tried it the Jewish way – what if we worked really hard six days a week and left a whole day for rest, for Sabbath? Instead of taking minor breaks, what if we took one big break.
We wouldn’t need to squeeze in a television show here and there, but could spend the day shopping in Indy or taking a road trip to see friends.
Whenever I think about Sabbath, I get really uneasy. I’d much rather take smaller breaks every day than have one whole day of rest. But when I think about what I’m taking my breaks with – mindless television shows that do more damage than good – the idea of Sabbath becomes more appealing.
Because even though I like watching shows like “Community” after several hours of homework, I don’t feel rested once the episode is over. Most of the time I want to watch another episode and forget about homework completely.
So what do you think, do we try setting aside whole days for rest? Or do we continue bouncing from activity to activity to keep ourselves amused?
The post was originally printed in Indiana Wesleyan University’s The Sojourn newspaper.

February 25, 2010  Leave a comment

Kashrut pt. I

It’s Lenten season, and this is the first time I’ve given something up.

Usually I only have one or two acquaintances who sacrifice something for the 40+ days of Lent, but this year I think just about all my friends are jumping on the sacramental bandwagon. Lindsey’s giving up peanut butter. Abby’s giving up Facebook. I know a kid who’s giving up celibacy. (I think he’s joking, but I can’t be so sure.)

So what am I giving up? Gentile eating habits.

This summer I read “Mudhouse Sabbath” by Lauren Winner, a woman who grew up an Orthodox Jew and converted to Christianity in college. The book is about the Jewish customs she misses the most after becoming a Christian, and why they’re relevant to her new faith.

The chapters on kashrut (dietary law) and guf (body) intrigued me. Jewish law forces us to consider what we put into our bodies and how we take care of them. We must to pay attention to what we eat – no pork, no shrimp or lobster, no mixing meat and dairy – and it in turn becomes an act of worship.

I’m on day two of observing kashrut and I’ve already done a lot more thinking. For instance, I had a burrito for dinner yesterday. This is what I typically get:

Gentile burrito:
1. Tortilla
2. Rice
3. Black beans
4. Ground beef
5. Lettuce
6. Cheese
7. Sour cream

But I can’t mix my meat and my dairy. (The Torah says, “Do not cook a young goat in its mother’s milk”; it’s a way of respecting life.) Now I am forced to choose either dairy (cheese, sour cream) or meat (ground beef) – or neither. So I chose dairy.

Jewish burrito:
1. Tortilla
2. Rice
3. Black beans
4. Refried beans
5. Lettuce
6. Cheese
7. Red onion (for kicks!)
8. Sour cream

This may turn into vegetarianism if I’m not too careful. If I have to choose between meat and dairy, I will always choose dairy.

Nevertheless, keeping kosher is going to be a challenge. But most importantly, it will remind me …

1.) of Jesus’ suffering, not that my cravings can even compare
2.) that my body is a temple of the Spirit
3.) that I should be thankful that Christ’s death and resurrection is why I can eat whatever food I like, “clean or unclean” (Acts 10).

I’m going to blog about kashrut, as long as it’s interesting. Don’t expect every blog post these next 40 days to be about food, but you might see one or two more. Especially when I start craving B-Dubs. (Ugh, which is already. I’m going to miss dipping chicken in Ranch dressing!)

Ezek.

February 19, 2010  Leave a comment

Title Track: Poets

“Poets do not go mad, but chess players do.” – G.K. Chesterton
A few weeks ago my favorite author, J.D. Salinger, died at the age of 91. This was, ironically, at the pinnacle of my Salinger obsession. I had just bought two of his books I didn’t own; I read passages of them every night before bed. Up until his death, I slept with a copy of “Nine Stories” by my pillow. (I mean this literally – for some reason it was easier to keep it tucked by my side than to set it on the nightstand.)
I spend an unfortunate amount of time thinking about Salinger. Admitting this may disprove Chesterton’s quote in and of itself, whether you call me a poet or not. But it’s true. Even when I’m not reading one of Salinger’s books I think about him. I just wonder what he had been up to for so long.
Since The New Yorker printed his fifth and final novella about the Glass family back in the mid-1960s, Salinger hadn’t published anything or starred on any talk shows. I heard once, on the “Colbert Report,” that he recently sued someone for making a sequel to “Catcher in the Rye,” which was the first time he’d spoken to the press in 30 years.
30 years of silence – interesting. This is why I have been thinking so much about him. What could he have possibly been doing?
I had read once that one of Salinger’s characters, Buddy Glass, is the apparent author of all Salinger’s novels. In “Seymour – an Introduction,” in which Buddy is the narrator, he mentions that he’s written several stories about his family and that his brother Seymour, the poet of the family, wrote volumes of brilliant poetry that was not published because his widow has all rights to them.
This got me thinking. What if Salinger spent 30 years writing Seymour’s poetry? Maybe those 15 unpublished manuscripts they found in Salinger’s safe were really Seymour’s poems. I imagine Salinger staying up until 3 a.m. scrawling poems on parchment in the candlelight, his eyes heavy from sleeplessness and booze.
Maybe poets do go mad.
I went to a Derek Webb concert last weekend in Huntington. Webb is known for his powerful lyrics. As he sang song after song about his convictions, I started thinking about what I would write about if I were a lyricist.
I’d probably start by singing songs about love and God and peace and hope. But then I’d see myself getting burned out pretty easily by all the optimism, so I’d move on to angry rants about politics and war and sin and hatred. Then that’d depress me even more, so I’d take a break from music for a few years, join the Peace Corps, then revert back to my original topics: love and God and peace and hope.
I wouldn’t make a good lyricist.
I noticed, too, at the concert how desperately I try to communicate my emotions and convictions through words like Webb. I think this is an inherent need for humans.
Actually, I know it is.
My blog, the one I link you all to at the end of my column, is called Broken-Down Poetry. I stole the name from a quote by George MacDonald, a 19th century writer and lecturer.
He said, “Poetry is the highest form of the utterance of men’s thoughts. There would have been no prose if poetry had not gone first and taught people how to write. Prose is but brokendown poetry.”
That first part – “poetry is the highest form of the utterance of men’s thoughts” – resonates with me. This is that longing to express myself. Not only do I want to express myself, I want to do it well – poetically. But sometimes I can’t. Sometimes my words get jumbled and it comes out like gibberish.
Words fail me. Living has to be enough. I can’t always tell you what I think, but I can show you. I’m crying – I can’t tell you why, but I am.
Paul wrote, “We are God’s workmanship [his “poema,” poem] created in Christ Jesus to do good works.” My life is a poem.
I am, in a way, like the Salinger I dreamed up – writing in the darkness, spending years striving for the right words. Maybe I can’t express my convictions through song, but I can through the way I live my life.
I want the poetry of my life – my actions, my convictions, my attitude – to reflect who I am in Christ. Even if I can’t express it in words.
The post was originally printed in Indiana Wesleyan University’s The Sojourn newspaper.

February 18, 2010  Leave a comment

Creative Writing: On a Bench with Joel

Preface: I promised more creative writing in my 2010 Writing Goals. Here’s round two. I wrote this piece for Prose, and I admit I am awfully proud of it. For the most part it’s in classic style, but I waver from it here and there (which is why I got points docked). 


The names have been “changed” to protect the “innocent.”

—

“It is better to fail in originality than to succeed in imitation,” said Joel, quoting Herman Melville.

Joel sat on a bench in the far corner of the college student center. An empty cardboard coffee cup sat in the empty seat beside him; his MacBook was propped open on his lap. Joel was haphazardly deleting a list of unanswered emails when the girl arrived. He shut the lid.

“Sit down,” he told her, moving the cup. Joel shoved his Mac into the open satchel bag next to his sneakered feet. As he made room for the laptop, the bag’s contents spilled: gloves for the cold, a book of poetry (to be read for class and for pleasure, he assured her), and a digital voice recorder. He put all the contents back inside except for the recorder.

“When I’m driving in my car and I have a great idea, I talk into this,” said Joel.

She nodded. The girl had a recorder of her own peeking out of her side pocket; she pulled it out to show him. “I have one too.”

He continued, “My housemate left it when he moved out, so I kept it. He never could take care of his things.” Joel tossed the recorder on top of the satchel and kicked the bag underneath his seat.

The girl pulled her legs up onto the bench turning to face him, and Joel did the same. He drummed his fingers on the wooden-arched back; he leaned against the armrest. She inched closer, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

The girl was sure she was in love; there was no other word to describe her feelings. While other boys his age wasted away weekends watching movies and playing video games, Joel made art; he read. Joel was not like other boys, always rambling on about football or girls; he spoke about art and philosophy. He was a teacher, the girl his student. All she wished to do was sit at his feet and listen. And she listened intently.

As they sat there on the bench – the girl unaware of anything but him, he unaware of anything but himself – Joel began telling her of his lengthy theories of theology and the human condition. He told her how he was an Epicurean; he does everything with moderation. He told her he hated obese people; he eats everything with moderation.

He told her what it meant to be an artist – unrestrained by anything but one’s own inhibitions. The girl was a writer; she managed to tell him between breaths. He viewed art more highly.

“With art you can be original,” he said to her. “Writers use everybody else’s words.”

Originality was Joel’s favorite trait; he believed he possessed it in heaps. When he got dressed in the morning, when he chose what to eat, what picture to paint, who to speak to – he thought of no one but himself. He renounced imitation. Joel taunted anyone who thought inside the box, and mocked those who tried so desperately to do the opposite.

“To be nobody but yourself in a world that’s doing its best to make you somebody else, is to fight the hardest battle you are ever going to fight,” said Joel, quoting e.e. cummings.

The girl scooted even closer to Joel. He was too distracted by someone behind her to notice. A blond boy who looked to be Joel’s opposite – blond hair, clean shaven, broad shoulders – was walking past. Joel called after him, but the boy hesitated coming over. After a full-arm wave from Joel, the boy walked to the bench. He stood before them, ready to speak – he opened his mouth to start – but Joel spoke first.

“Can I see them?” Joel pointed to the three-foot portfolio the boy’s white knuckles clutched.

He refused. He knew Joel to be a relentless critic. They continued in a ping-pong of pleas and denials until the boy gave in. He held his breath.

“It’s not bad,” said Joel, looking at a charcoal drawing, “but it’s missing something.” Joel spoke a textbook of critiques: the composition’s off just a bit; this shouldn’t be the focal point. Art should tell a story, he said. This doesn’t tell a story.

The boy looked on expressionless.

“You’re upset?” Joel asked him.

He didn’t respond, but looked at the girl for support. She stared back at him with wide-eyes, saying nothing.

“Well, I wasn’t going to lie to you. What good would that do you?” Joel slid the drawing back into the portfolio and handed it back. “Did you have a chance to see my artwork? It’s hanging upstairs in the art building.”

Gripping his portfolio much harder than before and walking in strides much more hurried than before, the boy left without answering.

Joel turned to the girl. “I wasn’t going to lie to him.”

The girl, blinded by her infatuation, could not see what the boy saw. She could not see the self-absorption, the superiority complex. To the girl, Joel was an intellectual, an artist with insight she could only understand if he broke down it down into bit-sized pixels.

Joel was right: the boy’s composition was all wrong.

“It was nice talking, but I need to finish my homework,” said Joel.

Without voicing the truth – her desire to stay, to hear him talk more – the girl got up and stuck out her hand. “Goodnight, Joel.”

He met her hand with his. But mid-shake, he scratched her palm with his forefinger. He smiled. “I like to touch people in a way they’ll remember me.”

The girl blushed as she walked off in the same direction as the blond boy. She didn’t look back, nor did Joel watch her leave.

Reaching under his bench, he retrieved his MacBook, opened it, and deleted a few more emails before beginning his homework.

Afterward: In classic prose, the writer presents a truth to her reader. When my classmates read this, they thought my truth was that “Joel is an egotistical jerk.” That wasn’t my original intent, but okay. 


Dr. Allison, however, wrote the greatest comments on my paper. After Joel acts elitist toward the girl (for the first time), he wrote: “He should be slapped!” And after the girl scooted closer to Joel the second time, he wrote: “She still likes him? Why?”

Oh, Dr. Allison, if only you knew.

February 11, 2010  Leave a comment

Title Track: sXe

I used to think I was hardcore. If you know me at all – and even if you don’t – you can probably find the irony in that statement. I am not even close to being hardcore. I don’t dress hardcore (note the cardigan in my mug shot), I don’t listen to hardcore music and I don’t act hardcore. I’m quiet and conservative – nothing about me is hardcore.

But in high school, I thought I was hardcore. It started freshman year. My friend Katie, who was legitimately hardcore, always went to shows to see her friend Cam play in a band called Chinese Express. As a sheltered 14 year old, this blew me away. I didn’t know teenagers formed garage bands anymore. It seemed so 1980s. I kept thinking about that episode of Doug when he starts a band with Skeeter. Who knew kids actually did that kind of stuff?

I decided that I was going to love this band too. I adored Katie and her hardcore clothing and scene hairstyle and musical knowledge, so I played copycat. Katie burned me Chinese Express’s CD and I pretended to enjoy all the screaming. (Though, I did listen to a lot of semi-hardcore music at the time – lots of Emery – I didn’t really care for all the screaming.)

I would talk about all the local bands as if I knew anything about them: “Oh, the lead singer of SaidHe is awesome, but their music is too raucous for my taste.” Or, “Japan with an E is the worst band ever. I’d rather gouge my eardrums out.”

My junior year of high school I dated a boy in a hardcore band. Luke was the guitarist for Hanacoda, a band that broke up because its members couldn’t decide if they wanted to play for God or for rock-and-roll.

The first hardcore show I attended was at this sketchy local in downtown Fort Wayne. My favorite hardcore poet, Bradley Hathaway, was reciting some of his work and I was dying to see him. My best friend Ashley and I went together. I told Ashley, who looked even less hardcore than me, that we can’t go to this show looking like we usually do. Ashley and I typically wore bright colored polo shirts and neon headbands in our hair. I told her that we needed to look cool and tuff.

So Ashley and I wore matching shirts. We looked infinitely less-cool than we would have in polos.

At the show, Bradley recited one of his most well-known poems called, “The Annoying Hardcore Dude Who Goes to Far,” about, well, an annoying hardcore dude who goes to far. In the poem, he rattles off all the things hardcore kids stand for – animal rights, manliness, not being emo – then exposes their contradictions.

The poem says, “Somebody told me hardcore was a place to share what you believe, but I didn’t like what dude said, so I flipped him off and told him to leave.

“I’m mad at society because my parents won’t buy me a new computer, even though I asked politely. My Playstation 2 is broken, but my Xbox works. When that breaks though, something will hit the fan and I’ll express myself with rage and anger, just like a man. ‘Cause that’s how it’s done, right? You get mad and start a fight, right?”

Bradley argues that these kids are quick to stand up for trendy issues, but not for things that matter – like combating materialism or hatred.

Some hardcore kids call themselves “straight edge” (sXe), which means they are hardcore kids that are socially softcore. This is the category my friends and I fell into. We didn’t drink, we didn’t do drugs and we didn’t have sex.

I think what Bradley was hinting at in his poem is that lots of sXe kids stand up for things, but not always the right things or the best things. There’s a lack of consistency.

And I don’t think this problem is unique to the so-called hardcore or sXe kids.

I think it’s interesting how quick we Christians are to rally against something like gay marriage because homosexuality is forbidden in the Bible, but get drunk on weekends, even when there are more verses forbidding drunkenness. We boycott abortion clinics but cheer on the executions of our enemies.

When I was in high school, I really wasn’t hardcore, I was just ascribing to a culture I thought was cool. I wanted to be trendy; I wanted people to admire me.

Christianity isn’t something we can put on like that. We don’t get to pick and choose who we’re going to love or what truths we want to stand behind. If we believe in a faith that transforms us, that makes us new creations, we have to become more consistent in what we stand for.

February 11, 2010  Leave a comment

Creed

I wrote in my journal today about how I understand why ANGER is one of the Seven Deadliest Sins.

I’m really sick of people’s attitudes.
What’s worse is that I can’t even pretend that my attitude’s any better.
I roll my eyes at people who say mean, bigoted curses,
but then I think worse thoughts in my head.
I need a refocus.

I’m reading a book of sayings by the Desert Fathers, early church monks who lived in the desert (duh) to escape society and politics. I can’t get one line out of my head:

So it is with anyone who lives in a crowd; because of the turbulence, he does not see his sins: but when he has been quiet, above all in solitude, then he recognizes his own faults.

There’s so much truth to that. I think about what I said a few posts ago, about “revertigo,” how whenever I’m on campus I start losing focus on things that matter. It’s because there are so many distractions. So much is going on. There’s so much to do.

At home, my bedroom is my monastery.

Here, though I live in community with my sisters in Christ (my fellow “nuns,” to continue the metaphor), I can’t get the quietness of a real monastery. It’s keeping me from seeing my sins … perhaps because I focus too much on others’.

I really need a refocus.

—

Over Christmas break I wrote a creed, a statement of beliefs in rhetoric that I understand, emphasizing points that I believe to be most essential. I imagine this is a work in progress.

But, in light of that perhaps unnecessary preface, here is my creed:

We believe in God, Maker of all we can and cannot see.
We believe in the Trinity: the holy relationship of Father, of Son and Spirit.
We believe that one Third of the Trinity, Jesus Christ, became human to liberate us.

We believe He was born of a virgin’s seed, lived on earth as a human, was tempted – like us, suffered – like us, but remained without fault.

He was tried and put to death as a threat to the Empire. And on the third day he resurrected, reacquainted with his followers, and ascended into heaven.

We believe in sola gratia – that only through God’s radical forgiveness we can be Liberated.
We believe in sola fide – that only through taking Jesus seriously can we receive His Grace.
We believe in sola Scriptura – that only through God’s Speaking can we know this Truth.

We believe in the universal Church, acting as Christ to the world: professing peace, love, grace and justice. We believe in the Kingdom already established on earth, and not yet complete.

Amen. 

—

Is there anything in my creed you would emphasize more? Is there anything you’d emphasize less? 

February 3, 2010  Leave a comment

Title Track: The Unlikely Disciple

The end of last year, my sister Sam visited Indiana Wesleyan from Purdue. After she spent my last points at Wildcat and we settled down in the back corner of McConn, I began tutoring her in Photoshop. (Sam is not computer-savvy; comparatively, I am Steve Jobs in tech skills.)

We spent a few hours working, and by the time Sam left, full on Firehouse Grill chicken tenders, she told me how cute our school is – her words, not mine.

Sam, who is agnostic, told me she liked IWU and would attend there, if it weren’t for all the rules.
I laughed to myself because I knew my sister would have to adjust to more than just the rules. Sam has never been submerged into the Christian subculture.

She doesn’t understand our evangelical lingo: “I am saved!” “God spoke to me!” “Jesus lives inside of me!”

She doesn’t understand why we listen to worship music on our iPods, or why we sign a contract, promising not to drink, watch R-rated movies or dance.

She especially doesn’t understand why we go to school with kids who have the same beliefs as us, learning from professors who have the same beliefs as us, in order to have careers among people with different beliefs than us.

I try to explain it to her, but I haven’t been successful. (Especially since I don’t know the answers to all of those questions myself.) Some things must be experienced firsthand.

Over the summer I read “The Unlikely Disciple” by Kevin Roose, a memoir by a secular college student who decides to attend a semester at Liberty University, the largest Christian school in the country. Having never gone to an evangelical church – let alone had any born-again friends – Roose observed the culture of the Christian university as a complete outsider.

What I liked most about the book was Roose’s attitude toward Christianity. Though he never converted to the faith, Roose never stooped to mock the faith or put anything in a false light. Even though there were moments of frustration, Roose acted respectfully (even Christ-like) toward those with beliefs foreign to his.

And I think that as IWU students, we can learn from his experience. I know we don’t go to Liberty and that our rules aren’t as strict as theirs, but reading “The Unlikely Disciple” as if Roose had attended our school instead of LU forced me to put things into perspective:

1. Not all IWU students are Christians. It’s easy to assume that since you chose to go to a Christian university, that everyone else has and for the same reasons. Roose discovered that at LU, he wasn’t the only non-Christian. In my year-and-a-half at IWU I’ve met non-Christians who played the game well.

I’m not suggesting that we go around demanding people prove their faith in God in one way or another. (Spontaneous testimony sharing?) But I am suggesting we take interest in others’ faith with God and respect where they are: not condemning them for being less holier-than-thou or nagging them to conversion.

2. Not all IWU students are straight. What frustrated me about the Christians in Roose’s book is their homophobia. I know as Bible-believing Christians we can’t ignore that homosexuality is a sin. I get that. But can we please stop treating gay people like untouchables? Can we stop using “gay” as synonymous with “stupid”? (I know I talked a lot about this a few columns ago, but it still drives me crazy.)

3. Not all IWU students are Republicans. Granted, Liberty was founded by the late Jerry Falwell, father of the Moral Majority – IWU doesn’t boast of those beginnings. But still, I’ve engaged in several angry conversations with people who just assumed I was a fellow conservative. That is, they think that until they see the Obama Health Care bumper sticker on my desk. Then they shut up. (And start praying for my soul.)

Hint: you don’t have to be a Republican to be a Christian. Hint, hint: just because you hate everything about President Obama and his politics, don’t assume everybody agrees.

“The Unlikely Disciple” also reminded me of how lucky we are at IWU. We go to a university that holds fast to Christian doctrine, but doesn’t speak harshly of those with different beliefs. I can’t imagine President Smith inviting a famous atheist on campus to debate the origins of life. And, unlike Falwell, I know our president would never call people names on national television.

I can’t end this column without a shameless plug: please read this book. Learning about a conservative evangelical college in the point-of-view of a typical, non-religious student puts so much into perspective. At the very least, if you’re frustrated with IWU’s policies, at least recognize that our rules are hardly strict compared to schools like Liberty, Bob Jones and Cedarville.

But I hope that you’ll read this book in order to see that our attitudes need to always reflect Christ, even within the bubble. You never know who’s paying attention.

January 29, 2010  Leave a comment

There will be snacks

College makes me cynical.
I used to be so optimistic and hopeful and daydreamy, but ever since I started mingling with so many like-minded people with their stupid morals and stupid agendas* … ugh … I’ve grown exhausted. Optimism used to come so naturally. Now I have to work at it.
* When I’m cynical, I stereotype.

But I think this might be changing – slowly.
A few posts ago I described Grace as a hug. I can’t get over that. It’s not a perfect analogy by any means, but I can’t stop thinking about it.
Grace hugged me a lot last week.
The weather is beautiful. The sky might still be grey and dull, but it’s warm. *Hugs*
Two of my favorite Salinger books came in the mail. *Hugs*
I bought the Avett Brothers’ album “I and Love and You,” which is beautiful. *Hugs*

Believing that we don’t live according to a merit system is wonderful. When I do something wrong, God doesn’t punish me. God doesn’t just bless me when I do something right. Everything in life is a gift.

I don’t have to earn anything.
How freeing.

—
These Grace hugs are making me more generous. I find myself wanting to give my money away. I tell people I’m praying for them – and I actually do pray. (I don’t usually tell people I’ll pray for them because I know I’ll forget.)

I know this isn’t coming from me. It has to be God. I’m just not a very nice person.

You know how in elementary school we had to list three adjectives to describe ourselves, and “nice” is always the default description? Lauren is QUIET, CREATIVE and NICE. False. I’m not nice. (Side note: what if we were honest about those three adjectives? Lauren is SELFISH, INSECURE and AWKWARD. Thank God for Grace.)
—

I think of the Kingdom of Heaven, of Zion, of the New Jerusalem. The Bible talks about a redeemed world established by Jesus, but not complete until he returns again.

The Kingdom of Heaven is like a tiny mustard seed.
The Kingdom of Heaven is like the yeast a woman kneads into dough.

I think of Christianity as a grassroots movement. I think of the early church meeting in attics and sharing money and food. I think of everyone having enough.

In the midst of my cynicism, I’m realizing how desperately I yearn for Zion. I want to be part of that underground movement, not like the Christians on their megaphones who turn our faith into a Political Party, a Crusade or a Religion.

I want to be part of the Kingdom. I don’t want to pretend that going to church or talking Christianese means more than it does. I want to serve like Jesus served. I want to be the last in order to be first. I want to live open-handedly and give to the poor. I want to lose my life to save it.

Andrew Bird sings about a post-Apocalyptic world. His description is so elementary, but I think it’s what I want the Kingdom of heaven to be about:

I know we’re going to meet some day

In the crumbled financial institutions of this land

There will be tables and chairs

There’ll be pony rides and dancing bears

There’ll even be a band

‘Cause listen, after the fall there will be no more countries

No currencies at all, we’re gonna live on our wits

We’re gonna throw away survival kits,

Trade butterfly-knives for adderall

And that’s not all

Ooh-ooh, there will be snacks there will

There will be snacks, there will be snacks.

—
As Christians we talk so much about the Kingdom to be established, but what about the one on earth? What about the one we have a hand in creating?

Maybe this is why I have been so cynical. I don’t think we’re establishing the Kingdom, just adding to the noise of the culture.

I want to be Kingdom-minded.
I want to focus on things that matter.
I want to delight in the Hugs God gives me. (Oh, I’m aware how cheesy that sounds.)

Living for God looks less like a formula, and more like a story.
But like all stories, there’s conflict.

Establishing the Kingdom of God means overcoming fears. It means getting over our human desire for comfort, and believing that there are thing worth living and dying for. It means taking risks. It means acting irrationally by the world’s standards, for God and for Love.

And not everything will go as planned.

But it’s okay.
Because there will be snacks.

Everything in life is a gift, a snack table at the funeral of our life-as-we-know-it.

Cling to Grace.

“To him who is able to keep you from falling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy – to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen.” Jude 24f

with love and squalor,
Ezek.

January 25, 2010  Leave a comment

A cynic’s take on Summit Week

Life has been going well. My work load has lessened; my classes still interest me. Ironically enough, I feel it’s as good of time as any to write about cynicism. Maybe I won’t have to label this blog with “rant” or “disillusioned,” but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

This week was Spiritual Emphasis Week, or “Summit,” where IWU invites outside pastors to speak and worship is (usually) obnoxiously loud and fun. Of the three Summits I’ve been to, not including this semester’s, two have turned my beliefs upside down.

And I expected God to do it again. I figured, hey, since I’m trying to figure out what to do about this PLC internship, I bet I’ll find out during Summit. God speaks so clearly then; of course I’ll magically know what to do.

Maybe just because I thought that God would make this easy for me he decided not to. I didn’t really learn anything during Summit this semester.

Okay, that was an exaggeration. I learned some stuff. I learned how our society is rotting and it’s our divorced parents’ fault. (Ha, that’s another exaggeration.)

Let me back up.

I finished re-reading “The Unlikely Disciple” by Kevin Roose, a memoir about his semester at Liberty University. But here’s the kicker: he’s not a right-wing evangelical Christian. I know there are a few non-Christians at IWU and even more democrats, but that’s not a line you tread at Liberty U. This is Jerry Falwell’s school. The guy is the Pat Robertson of the 80s and 90s (really up until his death in 2007). I’m just trying to make connections here. Most of you know who Falwell is anyway. Hint: he blamed gay people and the ACLU for 9/11.

The first time I read this book, over July 4th, I became almost disgusted by how similar IWU is to LU. I mean, I don’t think our biology professors teach strictly young-age creationism and I know bringing Sean Hannity onto IWU’s campus would not bring as much mirth to the Wildcats. But IWU is pretty conservative. And a tad fundamental. And we can get so caught up in trivial things.

(In one chapter, Kevin has to go to an accountability group to help with his masturbation. The guys in the group talk about the week’s “falls” and give each other advice about how to stop touching themselves. Kevin realizes how backwards this is: Liberty is so focused on combating a “victimless crime” like masturbation and homosexuality instead of caring for the poor and marginalized. Are we the same way?)

But even more than our concern on seemingly trivial issues – because there is a time and place for that – we’re good at provoking graceless guilt.

Back to Summit Week. This semester’s theme was “You Asked for It.” Students got to post questions on a blog about sex and dating, and our chapel speakers answered them on stage.

In theory, this is a cool idea. How often do you hear a pastor say, “masturbation!” or “orgasm!” in chapel? But really, it got pretty ridiculous. Not that these pastors said much I disagreed with – though a few things were a bit too conservative to my liking – but sometimes it gets really old being told and retold not to have sex before marriage and to not look at porn.

But what was so frustrating is how guilty it made me feel. I am a pure as any star IWU student, but I still felt guilty. Maybe I should feel guilty about going to a boy’s apartment alone. Maybe I should feel guilty about thinking Tom-Cruise-Hair (this kid on campus who has really, really, REALLY nice hair) is cute. Maybe I’m lusting.

Or the one that really started getting to me: maybe I should be mad at my parents for divorcing.

Uh, no. This is where I put my foot down.

I don’t think this was the Summit speakers’ intent, but on the Wednesday morning message about how divorce became socially acceptable in the 70s screwed us over, a part of me started getting upset. My parents have been divorced since I was six and I’m getting mad now?

I shouldn’t be mad: I love my step-family. And my mom and stepdad model a healthy marriage for me. I don’t think growing up with my mom and dad fighting all the time would teach me what a marriage is supposed to look like. Even if I saw their commitment as refreshing, the fighting would get old.

Not to mention there’s also a pretty good chance I wouldn’t be at IWU without going to Northeast Christian, which we started going to when my dad was dating Kelli.

So chapel speakers: I’m okay that my parents got a divorce. I’m sorry that you didn’t get over your parents’ divorce, but don’t spark anger in me for no reason.

Can you see? It’s guilt.

I skipped the last session of Summit on Wednesday night. This morning I asked Lindsey if they mentioned Grace at all. Nope. Six do-this, don’t-do-this sermons and no mention of Grace.

So I guess it’s up to me. …

Guys, it’s okay. Really, it’s okay. We’re humans. We make mistakes. God loves us now – even if we haven’t overcome sexual sins (or otherwise). I know we hear how much this or that will screw our future marriages over, but know that nothing can screw up your relationship with God.

You’re forgiven before you repent.

Can we please stop talking about how much wrong people are doing and (to use Miles’s illustration from last spring semester) “turn on the lights of nobility”? You know: encourage. Show Grace.

Maybe there is a place to address sexual issues in a corporate setting, but why at Summit? Perhaps this goes back to my original frustration of God not catering to my big internship dilemma. Maybe Summit was really good for you. I guess I need to step out of the way and let you appreciate it – even if it drove me mad.

I just want us to focus on things that matter. I don’t want to be known as the girl who cares more about keeping her purity than helping the poor.

With love and squalor,
Ezek.

January 22, 2010  Leave a comment

Stereotyping!

I’ve been extremely cynical these past few days (thanks a bunch, Summit!), so I thought I’d channel that angst into … uh … stereotyping people.

Okay, I explained that poorly. I just think in charts. (Remember that episode of How I Met Your Mother when Marshall finds out that the print shop at work can make charts for him, so he makes really random charts all the time, driving everyone crazy and eventually leading them to do an intervention?) It’s like that.

Elizabeth and I were waiting outside of our classroom for Dr. Allison to unlock the door. While the rest of our class socialized, we sat on a bench observing. Rather, I observed. I don’t know what Elizabeth was doing.

Anyway, I came up with a theory based off my class. It’s pretty true, with only a few exceptions. Observe:

Of course if I were to put myself onto this chart – not officially a writing major yet or an English major – I’d put myself with the Girl English Majors, like Elizabeth. (I know that’s pretty unfair. I’m calling myself quiet and cool. Most of the time neither of those are true.)

But really, start plugging people into this baby. It’s amazing how true it is. I mean, if we’re going to generalize people into harsh categories like this.

I have another theory about comm. majors too. It’s also filled with lots of rude stereotypes.

THEORY: Comm. majors have more fun than any other major.

PROOF: Communication is the department you turn to when you don’t have any other academic interests. You’re not a huge fan of school anyway, so you might as well do something enjoyable. ‘Cause really, who DOESN’T like being on the radio or filming basketball games or acting?

MORE PROOF: Since you aren’t as academically-minded you don’t spend your Saturday nights doing homework. You actually have fun, unlike those crazy nursing and pre-med/bio majors. (More stereotypes!)

EXCEPTIONS: Me. I’m a nerdy comm. major and I have plenty of academic interests.

I have more theories, like how elementary education majors get to relive childhood. And how CM majors are arrogant. Haha. That’s not really true. I only know one CM major, Santos, and he isn’t arrogant. I like ruffling feathers.

—

Back to that cynicism: there will be a blog to come. I want to wait a little while till I’ve cooled off and heard everyone’s side of the story. No use ranting.

So enjoy this not-always-correct, yet pretty-much-correct chart and the other theories that followed. And have a lovely day.

See you on the cynic-side.

With love and squalor,
Lauren Deidra

January 21, 2010  Leave a comment

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