Rent

I saw a production of “Rent” this past weekend.  The theatre department at my school put it on.  WOW, do we have some talent here!  They sounded amazing together.  I came close to crying many times throughout the show.  For those of you who haven’t seen it, Rent is rock musical about a group of friends, most of whom are dying of HIV AIDS.  It follows a year in their life, chronicling their journey with each other and the disease.  Like most modern musicals, it makes you think and reflect.  I watched as one girl pole danced, another started a lesbian relationships, a third watched his gay partner die.  I just wanted to run up on stage, hold each one in my arms and ask “WHY? Why are you doing this to yourselves? Go back home! Go to college! You can have a wonderful, prosperous life.  You don’t need to be rebellious!” 

How tragic that this is very prevalent in American society.  We’ve told people that truth does not exist and whatever feels right to them is the correct path.  We’ve led them straight to their deaths; we should feel intense shame.  Every time you treat someone’s sexual struggle with anything less than empathy and sincere love, you have helped push them down a path you don’t want them to go.  Please don’t misunderstand me.  I’m a firm believer in personal responsibility.  People need to own up to the responsibilities of their actions.  But that includes us.  I’m sick of people pointing a finger at gay communities while failing to examine their own hearts.  

If you have ever prayed for God to break your heart with the things that break His, you should not allow your heart to feel disdain and anger at people who are hurting.  Even if it is of their own doing.  The prodigal son received censure only from his brother.  His father’s arms were held open for the day when the prodigal would return.  

Blessings,
Em

p.s. Here are my two favorite songs from the musical!

My list

Yesterday I promised to look for good in my local community as my own personal act of patriotism.  This is my way of telling all America’s 9/11 heroes that the country they sacrificed for has not completely abandoned they values the died under.  I’ve decided to do this simplistically with a bulleted list.  Here is what I witnessed the past week:

America is Good

• An older-than-average student returning to college after her youngest child moved away from home.  She waited until her mothering responsibilities were over before devoting herself to her newfound dreams. 
• A friend delivering cookies to her invalid neighbor who is laid  up due to knee surgery.  After spending hours visiting, she bought more food to bring to the sick man later.
• A religious organization that I have never particularly cared for nor supported invited a “non-churched” friend I know to hang out with them.  They stayed up til 3 am playing card games, then invited her back the next day.
• A girl willing to work a small job for a family who had formerly gossiped about her “fall from grace” when she became pregnant.
• A college professor taking time to send me a detailed e-mail when I asked him a question.  His response was full of truth and he refused to skirt around his personal convictions.
• A man who puts up with confusing, complaining and questioning e-mails from myself and others, but diligently searches out very detailed answers that we are seeking despite the vast amounts of research and writing it causes him to do.  This is not his job; he likes helping people so he does this voluntarily!
• College students studying Early Childhood Education taking young kids to the local Farmer’s Market and the owner teaching those kids what the different vegetables are.
• A family willing to leave their church (and therefore their friends and comfort zone) when that church openly accepted corruption that they could not, in good conscience, be part of.  This was done despite the fact that moving churches added another 2 hour drive for this family each sunday and they have a young child.

This is a short list.  I didn’t spend many hours searching and I know that so much more good remains!  But now I want to hear from you.  What is your list?  What good have YOU seen in your community?  

Blessings,
Em

book review: Fine with God, Christians I can’t stand

I just started reading a wonderful book entitled: “I’m fine with God, its Christians I can’t stand.”  It’s a tongue-in-cheek, humorous look at the errors Christians make that just plain tick people off.  And it also suggests that some actions of the Christian Conservative Right may tick God off as well.  As a member of the Christian Conservative Right…I HIGHLY recommend this book!!  I’ve enjoyed reading it so far and have been able to exclaim “Oh, I know just what you mean!” more than once throughout.  The other great point is that its not written with a condemning tone, but one that invites people to laugh at ourselves!  If that sounds like something you need right now, order this book!  Here is the trailer for it:

Do animals go to heaven?

If not, it isn’t for lack of asking…

 

                

holiness

I am guilty of using this blog in ways that characterize me as one of those “contemporary teens” that make up an ever-growing part of the American Church.  But if you met me, you’d realize that was not true.  I was raised in a traditional baptist church (I realized while growing up that there are huge stereotypes that come with that.  To clarify, my church was not the wear-long-skirts-and-don’t-have-any-fun kind, but we were baptist nonetheless.)  I really shouldn’t be speaking in past tense, as I still attend there whenever I am home.  It is one of the dearest places in the world to me.  People have said that the word “Home” is the most beautiful word in the world…I’d say “Home Church” falls closely behind it.  (Okay, that’s two words…but who’s counting?)  

Church is not the only traditional experience I’ve had.  I also worked at a small, traditional baptist bible camp.  We never had a large stadium with a trap-set, big-screen projectors and a worship crew decked in tattoos with spiked hair. We weren’t trying to promote a “cool”, modern Jesus.  We have a small chapel with terrible accustics and are usually led by a guitar or two and almost always get squeaky feedback from the mics.  We offer a down-home, country type feel. 

When I went to college, everyone assumed I’d find a big mega-church with a contemporary service to attend.  Most teens do. I was no different than other youth, searching for contemporary outlets as much as I could, hunting for role models and adults who could relate to me.  I didn’t disappoint.  I tried these big churches with their “youth-oriented” outlets.  My little home church could fit in their entryway.  I was herded to a booth where one of the many pastors handed me a sharp, professional brochure that listed all the Sunday School classes being offered that day.  “These classes don’t apply to you,” the nice man told me, directing my attention to the back side of the pamphlet.  (Apparently I was not allowed in the Sunday School class for new parents.  Not a joke–that really was one of the classes.)  I chose a class I was allowed in.  I picked it because they were studying the life of David (my favorite Bible character.  Anytime you study David, be assured, I will show up!)  I learned that day that I just can’t get away from my roots (not that I want to; I don’t).  I had, unknowingly, picked what turned out to be the “old people’s” sunday school.  The only other young person in the room was a mentally handicapped man who couldn’t leave his elderly parents.  Ya, I found a different church that wasn’t trying to segregate or advertise salvation.  Not surprising, it was a traditional one.  I won’t lie and pretend that its the greatest church ever.  Its not and I would never make it my permanent spiritual home.  But for the few sundays I am there out of the year, it was my preference. 

Have I proven that I am traditional yet?  Because I could go on with more examples.  To save time, I won’t.  So, this having been clarified, you have only to click the “Topics” dropdown box on the right side of this blog and hit religion to see that lately God has been speaking to me about very modern spiritual issues.  Contemporary issues.  Yet today, once again, He finally brought me back home.  It started with attending a special church service at that Bible Camp I used to work at (the same old one I mentioned earlier in this post).  Old, rickety pews…the smell of torn hymnals…the hum of an accustic guitar…and that beloved, nerve-grinding twang of the old out-of-tune piano.  We sang hymns, with people breaking out in harmony.  Talking with those people throughout the afternoon and discussing life was a great blessing, as well.  It was small, personable and filled with laughter and fun. 

Then this evening, I was scrolling through our DVR on our television for a list of all the shows we had recorded.  One of them was Touched by an Angel.  That show was recorded by mistake and shouldn’t have been there.   I was pleased, however, as I love the show and hadn’t seen it in years.  The episode (which I’d seen before) was about an archaeologist searching for the Ark of the Covenant.  It had a scene where the gentleman finds the Ark and walks into the Holy Presence of God.  Two of the angels sing a beautiful, holy song (“No Higher Calling”.  I couldn’t find their version, but posted another at the bottom of this post) and as a Blinding Light shines over this emotionally and spiritually-broken character, I was moved and awed by the reminder that the God that we love to shout and dance to (which is ABSOLUTELY okay, as this passage shows us David did around the Ark) is also a very holy God who we must not forget to bow to and to humble ourselves in front of, as Daniel did in this passage.)

I don’t normally rate myself as “contemporary” or “traditional”.  I see myself as an individual constantly learning, growing and changing.  But I’ve explained the stereotypes I fall into and, thanks to the reminder I was given today, I am going to start working on being more and more holy.   

omg

You shall not misuse the name of the LORD your God, for the LORD will not hold anyone guiltless who misuses His name.  Exodus 20:7

I’m gonna jump on my anti-Christian Culture soapbox, as I seem to be so fond of doing on this blog.  The above verse you see is one of the Ten Commandments.  According to the Bible, these words were stated by God Himself and given to Moses to write down and preserve for the Israelites to follow (along with the other nine commandments.)  It is an oft-quoted verse today.  Any of you who have familiarized yourself with crosses and steeples know this.  To those who are not familiar with this verse, I would quote Indiana Jones from Raiders of the Lost Ark:

Yes, the actual 10 Commandments. The original stone tablets that Moses came down out of Mount Horeb and smashed, if you believe in that sort of thing. Didn’t you guys ever go to Sunday School?

It is taught in most Evangelical churches today that to say “Oh my God!” while cursing is a violation of this don’t-take-God’s-name-in-vain rule.  (Quick tip for picking out the Evangelical Christian in your group of friends: Give them shocking news.  The one that says “Oh my goooooooosh!” is your Christian.  They draw out the “o” part of the word, so it sounds like what everyone else is saying, but refuse to end it with a “d”, so they switch to slang.  Just a bit of random, useless info for ya. 🙂 )

Anyway, to get back on track…Here’s where I disagree.  Saying “Oh my God” does not break this commandment because “God” is not God’s name.  The command is to not take the NAME of the Lord your God in vain.  The word “God” in the English language functions much like a pronoun.  What’s that?  For those of you who slept through English class, there are three pronouns in the English language: He, She, it.  They are generalized terms which describe a certain group.  “He” describes all men, not a specific one.  In the same way, “God” describes all deities from all religions, not a specific one.  “God” describes beings from mythology to Islam to Christianity.  Even beyond that, a god is anything you worship.  You can be your own god, your job could be your god, video games, spouse, politics…whatever it is you elevate to supremacy and worship.  So yelling “Oh my God!” when you are horrified is not actually belittling or disrespecting the Christian God. (I’m not insinuating there is more than one God.  I don’t believe there is.  I am just trying to make clear which religion I am speaking of.)

But the Christian God does have a name.  If someone yelled “Allah!” when cursing (which I have never heard in such a context) we’d know just who this person was disrespecting.  In that same context, to yell “I AM” (the name God gave Himself in the Old Testament) or “YAHWEH” or “Jehovah” (not sure where Christianity came up with those names for God) would be to break the commandment I am speaking of.  That would show disrespect specifically to the God of the Bible.  (But in our culture, no one uses those terms to curse anyway.)

Just to make things clear: I don’t, as a general rule, say “Oh my God.”  I was raised not to, so its not really a habit.  Beyond that, in the Christian culture that exists today, it is considered offensive.  It is for my family, friends and neighbors that I refrain.  And even further, as an English major I don’t feel I need to use terms that mean nothing when I have a slew of vocabulary that does have a specific description.  It may sound like I’m extremely bothered by this and am looking for chances to exclaim, “OH MY GOD!” at the top of my lungs; I’m not.  It doesn’t bother me in the least.  So why did I write this?  Because it is one of my purposes of this blog to question rules that have gone unchallenged (be they religious or otherwise).  It is also my way of documenting what I am studying at this point in my life.  I’m not trying to be a nit-picky literalist. I’m just in search of the truth. 

Anyway, let me know what you think.  Agree? Disagree? Don’t really care?

sawdust, planks and doctors

I would like to share a story that was one of the most influential in shaping my faith.  This is a true story that talks of someone else’s failure, but also of my own.  It was my personal wake-up call from God, but I didn’t realize it until much later.  It happened a few years ago, at the end of my sophomore year in High School. 

I was on a school trip to Washington D.C. at an International Convention for Christian youth.  It was a very prestigious event, packed with thousands upon thousands of students and adults from all over the world.  I won’t name the organization because this isn’t about picking on them, but suffice it to say they are a very strict sect of people and follow their religious doctrine to the hilt.  One of their many rules was a highly conservative dress-code.  There were “inspectors” to check the student’s clothes and a couple of “check-points” you had to go through constantly to be approved.   One of my chaperones, in an attempt to lighten the mood while he was being “checked out” (Okay, maybe that phrase wasn’t necessary…but there really is something uncomfortable and perverted about strangers examining and, at times touching, the clothing on your chest and waste.  I’m just sayin’….) Anyway, my chaperone jokingly kidded about hearing that it was “harder to get through here than it is the Pearly Gates!”  to the gentleman inspecting him.  LOL.  He was brave! He got a very polite and professional reply about how it may seem that way to some people. 

Well, one of these checkpoints was the cafeteria.  If you were not in full appropriate attire (including ties for the guys!) you were not allowed to eat.  This is a very important rule to understand in relation to my story.

Some of the things that took place at this rally were outdoor athletic competitions.  Now, proper attire for women at this place meant long skirts.  Obviously, that is a hazard when playing sports, so the rules were bent a little.  There was a specific kind of athletic attire for women, horrendous outfits such as you’d never see anywhere else, but at least they were safe.  One catch to this blessed leniency was that the kids (both girls and boys, as boys had to wear athletic clothes as well) must change before being accepted back inside through any of those dress-code “checkpoints.”

It was the beginning of summer, hotter than a pistol, and a group of girls were doing track relays.  The organizers of the event tried to pump as much water into the girls as they could, but there were A LOT of people and its a difficult feat to keep them all hydrated.  Understandably, people got sick.  I don’t know how many, but this one girl’s story broke my heart.  I don’t know her name, as I never met her, but for the sake of confusion I’ll just call her Kate.

When Kate grew sick, a nearby nurse rushed to her side.  They took her out of the hot sun, and she sat on a bench inside the entryway of the school.  Water was brought to her, but it was quickly diagnosed that Kate hadn’t eaten anything lately and she needed food to get her energy up.  However, Kate was refused entry to the cafeteria, despite her emergency circumstances, due to the fact that she was still in her athletic clothes.

Kate was not able to change clothes.  I don’t remember exactly why.  Her “appropriate” clothing could have been on their bus that had been taken away to fill up on gas or repairs, she could have forgotten her garment bag back at her hotel room, or any number of circumstances that I can only speculate about.  What I do know is that Kate remained sick and was forced to stay in the perimeter of the building, not able to make it through the checkpoints.  Not only was she not allowed to go inside to eat, but no one brought food out to her, either.

That evening there was a rally, which happens every night.  All the people attending gather into a huge gymnasium to worship God and hear sermons from several different preachers.  My group had found seats and was waiting to start.  One of my teachers came in a few minutes behind us with a few students whom she had escorted to the bathroom.  As my teacher sat near me, she told my friends and I that she had seen the same sick girl from earlier in the day–Kate. (Coincidence?  Did I mention this place was flooded with thousands of people from all over the world?)  What my teacher said broke my heart: Kate was still sick, and she was in the bathrooms sitting next to a toilet throwing up.  I’m not sure just how or what she was upheaving, as she hadn’t eaten…probably breakfast.

So here’s the ugly picture:  world-reknown pianist leads leagues of young people in worshipping God, animated preacher yells and jumps and warns these future generations of the world how they “ought” to act and, as one, the crowd bows heads–some kneel– as they confess their sins and invite the Holy Spirit’s presence into their big room of Faith and Righteousness while just down the hall, a child of God is shunned and left weakened and alone in her time of need.  When it comes to the Spirit of God, I don’t believe he was in that big auditorium…I think He was the only One willing to go into that bathroom.

My failure comes in to play in a big way here.  Why did I listen to this story and get angry with the organization running this event but not help Kate out myself?  Why did I not search out this “sick girl” I was hearing about, use my own meal ticket to buy food, and bring it out to her?  Why did I not immediately leave the rally, rush to the bathroom and ask if I could help her?  Get her a cool cloth for her forehead, search the halls until I located a vending machine with something in it (the cafeteria had long-since closed) or even visit with her to keep her company?  I have thought of this often throughout the years and mourned the fact that in high school I was apparently living a type of puffed-up, self-righteous religion.  I was beyond angry with the organization for allowing something like this, but was ignoring the fact that I was responsible, too.

Religion has always struggled when it has been given limits and become “organized.”  Organized Religion is now a term that frightens me.  The people running this conference may have had pure hearts that were in the right place, but once they tried to practice their dream of a religious event, people became hurt.  That was inevitable, really.  You can’t have that many people together without rules to keep order and you can’t have enough employees to make sure sad stories such as the one I’ve just told are prevented.  That would be superhuman. 

But as a Christian, I believe my faith to be something personal.  No matter where I am, the one-on-one connection that I have with my Savior changes how I act.  So where I can rationalize excuses for the organization, I cannot for myself.  I was just so busy hating the people running this event and angrily pointing out their errors in this story, that at the time, I failed to recognize mine.

Matthew 7:3: “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?

I temporarily forgot that my job in this world is to be the hands and feet of Jesus, who specifically stated that He came to heal the sick. 

I now understand why people hate religion or fear it.  I realize that many people experience stories like these.  They’ve been ostracized, shunned, hurt.  They’ve seen Christianity be cruel.   I wish to God that I could stop stuff like this from happening!  But then I remember the very lesson this taught me: personal responsibility.  I counter the negative images of faith by living out positive ones for my friends to see, instead. 

To those of you who are not Christians and have nodded your head, relating to this story very well: I’m sorry.
To those of you who are followers of Christ:  I challenge you to stop worrying about others and simply LIVE like Christ.  Let’s go heal the sick together…

My God is…

Over the course of my life, I have created several images of just who God is and what my relationship with Him should look like. Over time, those images changed, both positively and negatively, as I changed.  They have gone from the simplistic to the holy and back again.

When I was a child, my view of God was “God the Grandpa.”  He was a loving Guy who spoiled me.  When my parents selfishly refused me something, I simply went over their heads with my request!  I was able to ask whatever favor I desired of God.  I understood that God gave me my parents, but whenever they messed up—because not giving me that bicycle or doll house was definitely a sign of “messing up”—He was there to cover for them.

As I grew a little older, my positive image of God decreased.  Instead He was the “God for Grownups.”  I sighed and squirmed through church services that I swore were literally attempting to last till eternity.  I prayed, but only because I was asking Christ to show up and relieve us from singing the never-ending hymns!  Although I had learned to read, sounding out words like “acclamation” while trying to stay in-tempo to the song did not happen without divine intervention!  I really wanted to find out what loon decided to put an age limit on attending the church nursery!  All the other kids got to go play, while I was stuck on a hard pew.  It just wasn’t fair!

 Eventually, I grew older and began to build my own personal relationship with Christ.  I heard sermons from various outlets and actually started to listen to them.  I read my Bible—an actual Bible, not a paraphrase with colorful pictures painted in it.  I also tried reading other spiritual books and commentaries that you can find in Christian libraries. I became inundated with this view of God that people seemed to have across denominational boundaries.  While theologically believing in grace and faith without works, most messages I heard were ones talking about “works” and the “do’s and don’ts” of religion.  This led me to form my next image: “God the Unapproachable.”  This God was a rule-maker who desired adoration and piety.  He still was open to communicating with me (through prayer), but whenever I approached Him, it was at a timid crawl on my knees as I continually tugged my shirt up higher and higher, trying to appear more modest.

Over time I learned a valuable lesson, however: when we come to Christ uncovered, He doesn’t condemn us for it.  Instead, He clothes us.  Misconceptions that I had about judgment and condemnation fell away and gave room for my next phase: “God as Best Friend.”  He and I talked about everything.  No longer was He a “Grand King” to beg for favors from, but Someone to discuss my life with and bounce my everyday decisions off of.  And I literally mean everyday decisions.  “God, should I wear blue jeans or khakis today?”  And it even went beyond that.  If I dropped my fork it could be a sign from God to stop eating.  I didn’t know why I should stop, but I had to trust Him.  Maybe my eggs had salmonella and God was trying to prevent my early death! (I have a slightly over-active imagination, if you haven’t been able to grasp that yet!)  I had faith—ridiculous amounts of it, really—but the problem was that my spirituality had the depth of a goldfish tank when it could have been as vast as the ocean!

My perception of God has been one of constant change, but it is not God who is changing—its me. ­­­­Hebrews 13:8 says that Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever.  So why all my different versions of Him?  Which one is correct?  Today my image of God is a combination of every one of them and more!  I still talk to God about my life, but if I drop my fork on the floor. . . well, I figure we all have to die sometime!  I tremble for my generation at times, because they all seem to believe in a prosperity gospel or “feel-good faith.”  Meaning, if you’re a Christian your life will be all good and no bad.  But John 16:33 warns us that, “In this world you will have trouble, but be of good cheer, for I have overcome the world.”

I also tap into my childhood views of God on a regular basis.  I believe Christianity to be a great adventure, but if I’m honest, I’ll admit that much of the time I’m bored.  I’ll be standing in church and swear that if the worship leader makes us sing the chorus to “Awesome God” once more, I am walking out.  Some of us have sung that song a few too many times!  As for “God the Grandpa,” well, He’s one of my favorites.  There are instances when the authority in my life has said “no” and, instead of giving up, I’ve turned to a Higher Power.  I’ve asked God if He’s willing to give me the desires of my heart and occasionally He says “yes.”  Those times that God grants us what was supposed to be unavailable are what I call modern-day miracles.  That’s how God reveals His glory!

There certainly are more images of God than the few I’ve touched on, because that’s just how big and how mysterious my God is.  He is unlimited, indescribable, non-conflicting, and incomprehensible!

Learning to trust

Today has been quite emotional for me.  I’ve been concerned for my little church for several years, but this last year especially.  I have watched our young leave, our old die and those that remained grow tired, straining under their burdens. I’m at a loss to understand the “why” for it all.  Today I watched one man grow emotional to the point of tears over our plight, and it was too much for me.  Normally I pride myself in being a pretty strong, independent girl.  Not today, though.

When I finally checked my e-mail this afternoon, I was given a dear gift, however.  In a newsletter I get from Ransomed Heart Ministries, this appeared:

When we face trials, our most common reaction is to ask God, “Why won’t you relieve us?” And when He doesn’t, we resignedly ask, “What do you want me to do?”  Now we have a new question: “Where is the Romance headed?”

I’m still not sure where my balance is.  I spent the early afternoon thinking of things I can say, people with authority that I could visit with, actions that I could take.  I can’t in good conscience just watch my beloved little chapel crumble away.  Yet what if that’s God’s will?  What if He needs each of our congregation somewhere else in the future?  I don’t want to be stubborn and get in His way, either.  After all, sometimes God answers our prayers with a “no.”

Well, God? What’s happening?  Where are you taking this Romance now?

what I’m for

College was a huge stretcher for me.  I loved it–really, I did.  However, as much as I enjoyed the challenge, by the end of the year I have to admit there were things that I was tired of.  I was tired of always being on the defense. It seemed like every professor believed differently than I did when it came to . . . well, everything.  I don’t make a habit of starting arguments just to state my beliefs.  If I’m going to debate you, its because there is a vital, important reason the argument needs to be exposed.  That almost never happens in college.  So when I claim to be on the defense, its more or less watching what I say so I don’t appear to agree.  Example: I’m not a feminist, but I had to try to join the discussion in my Women’s Studies class without sounding all excited about the movement (that would be deceitful and lying) or being a mean jerk and cutting apart the beliefs that are very close to the other womens’ hearts.  I’m grateful that I was able to make friends with people whose views differ from mine.  But the mental game got wearing.  I was tired of trying to figure out other people’s beliefs and have them try to figure out mine.  I wasn’t the only student who didn’t feel it necessary to wear my heart on my sleeve over issues of gay marriage, abortion, capital punishment, feminism, media power, religion, etc. etc.  When you first meet people, no one cares, but over time, these issues start to come up.  I’m not ashamed of what I stand for; these issues would eventually come up with my friends and I found ways to say where I stand.  But I got sick of it.  I heard a song I’m going to share on the radio recently, and I was honestly amazed.  The message isn’t that rare.  Its just a guy stating all the little things in life that he stands for.  We’ve all done that.  But there’s this catch-phrase, of sorts, that amazes me:

You don’t have to guess what I’m against if you know what I’m for.

Wow.  Its simple, but yet so profound.  And it hit me with a huge force.  So maybe you and I disagree on some major, touchy issues. But if you examine the little things, those issues that actually make life what it is, I’ll bet we agree on a whole lot more.

I was only able to find a live, accoustic version of this song.  Normally I don’t like to play those, because the musicians always hit some wrong notes, but Pat Green did a decent job.  Please ignore the mistakes and listen to the powerful message!

Blessings,
Emily Grace