TV Fast—Part 3: “Mom! Sit Down! You’re Blocking the TV!”

I have great Evangelical Christian parents.  So, growing up that meant I experienced a certain amount of media censorship.  My mother often wore dresses and whenever there was a sex scene on TV, or in a movie, she would jump up and cover the screen with her dress so my brother and I couldn’t see.

To be honest, this never really bothered me.  Probably in part because our Christian peers had it much worse—some would not even be allowed to watch R-rated movies until they were seventeen.  Also, my parents let us watch as much violence as we wanted (I would have been pissed if my mom jumped up to block images of someone’s head getting blown away).

When I was twelve, to keep my eyes and soul holy (albeit not for God but for a girl at church) I started self-censoring my TV and movie watching by looking away during sex scenes.  This habit would last all through high school.

In middle school I was not allowed to watch South Park and wasn’t allowed to see American Pie.  I wasn’t really interested in seeing either of them except for the fact that many of my peers at school thought they were the coolest things ever.  In fact, not seeing the “Pie Scene” made me some sort of cultural outcast even into high school.

In high school youth group I would hear a talk every now and then about the dangers of watching TV and movies.  They would always piss me off for four reasons. 

First, in long standing family tradition, I abhor being told what to do by anyone. 

Second, I mainly watched the Lakers, and from a content perspective I was convinced that was not a problem—what’s less sexual than seven-foot tall sweaty dudes? 

Third, by the time I was sixteen almost all of my friends were involved in having real sex, or drinking real alcohol or doing real drugs and the consequence of me not doing that stuff was isolation, depression and my first suicide attempt.  That my youth group was mired down in not swearing and TV and movie censorship was the worst form of pettiness (and yes, that’s part of why I use swear words in this blog). 

Fourth, the one normal teenage weekend activity that was not partying was watching movies together.  So, I watched a lot of movies because I didn’t party (at least not until the end of high school).  To have adults telling me to loose the one token of normality I had infuriated me—I felt like I was already doing enough.

Upon writing this post I think it will be helpful to point out two realizations.  First, rehearsing this history makes me want to break my current TV fast—luckily there isn’t a TV in the house anymore.  Second, I find it shocking that I haven’t been involved with TV or movies since June—this never would have been possible in high school.  Life certainly takes some strange twists.

TV Fast Part 2: Sesame Street, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, The Simpsons, NBA, History Channel, 24, and I’m Sure a Whole Lot More

My professor, Dr. Mark Lau Branson, specializes in navigating intercultural church conflict.  One key method he encourages is to have congregants write autobiographies about contentious issues.  For instance, if a church is fighting over budget or money issues, he has different congregants write autobiographies about their personal history with money and then has them all share.  He describes this process as bringing various implicit background assumptions to the forefront.

I have never tried this technique specifically—usually my autobiographical writing has an epic, philosophical, existential flavor.  However, I think his suggestion is interesting and I am going to try it out in this post as it relates to my own TV watching and then tomorrow use the same technique as it relates to having people tell me I should not watch TV.

So, here is a brief history of my relationship with TV (for this post I have limited myself to the TV I watched up through high school both for reasons of space and for reasons that will become clear in later posts).

Some of my very first memories of anything are watching Sesame Street.  I don’t really remember what I liked about it or what I felt watching but my parents often remind me of how much I loved watching it when I was two and three years old.

As a pre-school and kindergarten aged child I remember watching Dino-riders and The Legend of Zelda.  These cartoons would not even have been legal before the 1980’s because they would have been deemed half an hour-long infomercials.  Dino-riders was based on a collection of toys and The Legend of Zelda was based on a video game series.  And yes, I owned an army of Dino-riders and The Legend of Zelda video game series.  I remember that I loved coming home from school to watch both of these shows.  Interestingly, the story of young warrior Link and his chivalrous relationship with princess Zelda, would profoundly influence my romantic life (it’s too complicated to get into here—but it’s a very important theme in War For My Soul).

When I hit grade school my parents let my brother and I watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles before school (my favorite turtle was Leonardo, the blue one).  My brother and I would eat breakfast in front of the TV and also always be late for school.  Upon getting home from school I would be exhausted (I had a reading disability and am an INFJ—can you really blame me?).  Usually, for the next two hours I would watch cartoons.  I didn’t really even like them and even upon sitting here and trying to remember their names I can’t, but I do remember that I loved watching TV.  About the time the cartoons ended I would usually punch my little brother Justin (I lucked out that somehow later in life he was able to forgive me).  He would burst into tears and my mother would threaten to never let us watch TV again.  She was a psychologist and was sure that violent cartoons were teaching me violence.

When I was 11 I was fully initiated into the Los Angeles Lakers.  That year I watched most of an 82 game seasons with my Dad and sometimes his friends from church.  That year I was cheering for Nick van Axel, Eddie Jones, Cedrick Cebalos, Elden Campbell, and Vlade Divac.  I remember seeing the Lakers before that but not really caring.  However, I do remember my father and grown men from the church caring—I still remember my mother trying to explain to me in 91, when the Lakers lost to the Bulls in the finals, why everyone was so upset.

Here, a side note will be helpful.  By the time I was 11 I weighed 184 lbs.  To give comparison, I am a foot taller now and weigh 155 lbs.  I was obese as a child and the TV certainly was not helping anything.

When I hit middle school I started watching The Simpsons, the History Channel (I'm a closet nerd), and I wanted to watch South Park but my mom wouldn’t let me.

In high school my TV watching coincided directly with a knee injury.  When I could play basketball I would never watch TV, when I couldn’t I would.  So, when I hurt it for the first time during the spring of my sophomore year (my life would fall apart following that), I started watching the Lakers very seriously.  That was during the 2000 Championship run and when the Lakers won I really thought God had facilitated them winning to console me. (Upon more thoroughly remembering the circumstances of the 2000 Western Conference Finals against the Portland Trail Blazers, that game 7 might actually still be my all time favorite TV moment.)

My senior year I couldn’t play basketball at all, and not only would I watch the Lakers, but also the first season of 24 on Tuesday nights.  That show was really addictive.

Ryan on Prayer, Football and Patience

Periodically I will have guest writers.  So without further adieu let me introduce my friend Ryan McAnnally-Linz.  He is currently a first year Ph.D student at Yale Divinity School.  Our parents went to the same church and I’ve known him since I was three and he was two and a half—we pretty much did everything together growing up.  Over the last seven years Ryan has slugged through three drafts of War For My Soul and his editorial comments have both helped to make that work what it is and also shaped me greatly as a writer.  So here is Ryan on, “Prayer, Football, and Patience”:

I have always had rather high hopes for myself. A less flattering way of putting that would be to say that I’m ambitious—very ambitious. I like to be good at things. I love to excel at them. But more than that, I love to excel at them naturally, and I hate it when I don’t. I quit snowboarding after one day in high school because I couldn’t stand to be stuck on the bunny slopes while my friends where off landing 360s. Now, this whole desire to be naturally great at things isn’t too big a deal when the thing in question is snowboarding, it’s a bit of a problem when the thing is prayer. 

The other night, I was at a homegroup that I lead. The idea of the group is to share our life stories with one another, to reflect on them, and to pray about the questions or tensions or problems that they include. Each week, one person shares his or her story, we ask questions, and we pray.

So the other night, after a friend of mine who is a new mother, beautifully and honestly shared her story, the rest of us gathered around to pray for her. I was silent as other people prayed powerful words. My mind was blank as other people offered words and images they thought God might have given them. (One of the ways we pray in this group is in faith that God doesn’t just listen, but still speaks to people.) After a while, I got frustrated. Why didn’t I have any words?

I did a bit of internal grumbling about my lack of inspiration, and then I got distracted and just sat in silence thinking about something irrelevant (probably football – I have a tendency to think about football in October). Then, surprisingly, my mind got peaceful, and I got the sense that I did have a word from God to pray. But it wasn’t the sort of word I had expected. What I sensed was the words: “Be patient.”

I like to think I should be naturally great at things. And I often think I should be able to ‘fix’ those things I’m not good at in no time at all. But the other night I was reminded of the importance of patience. Psalm 27, which Jonathan has been reflecting on, reminds me that it’s ok to “wait for the Lord.” And there’s a verse in Philippians that compliments it well. It says, in part, “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion” (Philippians 1:6).

I found it comforting to be assured that in the end, it’s God who’s working in me in all those places that aren’t naturally great. God is shaping me to be the kind of person God intended. And often times, from my end of things, what’s needed is to be patient—to “wait for the Lord.”

Reflections from Week 4

Doug Paggit, the founding pastor of Solomon’s Porch, told me to be innovative at the beginning of class.  For my non-Christian readers, that’s kind of like if Mystery came in and told you to be a pick up artist.  I’ve read dozens of books where the exploits of Paggit are celebrated—so that was exciting.

Doug told us some things about his church that I was unaware of—but are key ideas.  First, they write all their own worship music.  I like this idea because my own brother once told me that church would be way better if rather than singing the songs of dead strangers we sang our own songs to God.  Second, they consider their church to extend out into all activities during the week.  For instance, one of their members owns a restaurant.  They consider everything that goes on at that restaurant part of their church.  This is a phenomenal approach.

TV Fast—Part 1: What Am I Going Out On?

The Los Angeles Lakers start the regular season tonight playing the Houston Rockets.  This season will be different than any in the last sixteen years.  I will not be watching all 82 games—in fact I won’t be watching even one game on TV (and no, I do not have season tickets.  And yes, I still love the Lakers and basketball and have the scars to prove it).

In June, a week after I finished Hebrew, I was in Carpenteria with my family to celebrate my brother’s college graduation.

The trip and my summer were about to be ruined.  It was the third quarter of game seven of the NBA Finals and the Lakers were down 14 points to the Boston Celtics.  My brother had 500 dollars bet on the Lakers winning and was on the floor in disbelief.  My father was slouched in a chair trying unsuccessfully to detach himself from the game and remind himself that it doesn’t really matter.

I was trying to reassure myself the Lakers were still going to win.  But, I knew if they somehow didn’t pull through by double zero I was going to be devastated (this is not an exaggeration—I’m a little choked up right now remembering being down 14).

Deep in my heart I truly believed the Lakers were still going to win.  I was so confident that during one commercial break I started to realize that this was going to be the single greatest moment of TV I would ever see.  It had been a decade since the Western Conference Finals Game seven where the Lakers came from behind in the fourth quarter to beat Portland (that was the previous greatest moment).

The story line of this game was perfect.  Game seven against Boston who had beaten us in the finals two years before (I spent a week after that series feeling completely numb inside).  Kobe, my childhood hero, was going to have one more ring than Shaq.  And, the icing on the cake was going to be coming back from so far down. 

I had been thinking about going on a TV and movie fast in the weeks leading up to this game.  Now that I realized this was going to be the single greatest game ever played—as long as the Lakers won—I decided I wanted to retire from TV until the 2011 Finals and possibly forever.

This was the TV experience I wanted to go out on.

At 14 down I was praying, “Lord, if the Lakers win I’m not going to watch TV again until the finals next year” (Kobe you owe me).

It wasn’t really a bargaining prayer—it was a prayer for freedom.  If the Lakers lost, the only way to cope would be to watch all the off-season acquisitions, anxiously watch 82 regular season games and then hope for vindication in the playoffs.  If the Lakers won I could have a year away from TV with an easy conscious knowing I wasn’t missing anything because nothing could compare to this game.

The rest is history—the Lakers gave me a quarter and a half of electric basketball, I would stop watching TV, and now I no longer even have access to a working TV in my house.

Reflections from December—Part 3: One of THOSE Days

Today was one of those days where nothing goes right.  I spent all weekend reading a book so I could write reviews for one of my professor’s blogs.  Not so subtly I was hoping to advertise for this blog with my posts (not even three weeks of blogging and I’m already trying to steal from other people’s blogs—pitiful I know).

I spent all night working on writing posts that I thought would attract new readers.  At 5:30 AM I was ready to post my little masterpieces.

I click on the “post” button and I get an error message.  “No problem” I think to myself, “I’ll just repost” (on my first day of blogging I learned the importance of typing posts in a word document and then cutting and pasting—I guarantee otherwise that frustration will ensue).

I click the “post” button again.  This time I get a message that I’ve already posted the exact same post.  So, I put my trust in a computer and collapse into bed dreaming of all the new visitors I would have today.

About an hour into class I get this sinking feeling that maybe my computer lied to me.  At a break in the class I go and explain my mornings adventures with my professor.  He looks at me like, “Sure you were working on it this morning and not right now in class.”

He checks the site and sure enough my posts are not there.

My stomach sinks, “weekend wasted”  (who am I kidding, I wouldn’t have gone out anyways). 

So, it was one of those days.

That is what I like about Psalm 27.  Though it talks about patiently believing the Lord will act and about following his light; it also talks about the bullshit of life.

The second and third verses read, “When evil doers assail me to devour my flesh—my adversaries and foes—they shall stumble and fall.  Though an army encamp against me; my heart shall not fear.  Though war rise up against me; yet I am confident.”

Although I think my computer hates me I’m pretty sure it won’t try to devour my flesh.  In comparison, the guy that wrote this was having the world’s worst “one of those days.”  People are trying to eat him (I know this is poetic language by the way), and there are armies and war all around him.  That’s messed up.

And yet, he confidently is willing to follow where the Lord leads, believes that somehow at the end of all this there will be goodness, and is willing to patiently wait for the Lord to act.  

Reflections from December—Part 2: God Doesn’t Run on Digital Time

After the Hebrew final, and now seven months of daily writing out the last two verses of Psalm 27, I decided to look up the rest of the verse.

The first verse is, “The Lord is my light and my salvation; who shall I fear?  The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”

To an English reader these verses sound hopelessly redundant.  But fortunately I had been studying Hebrew syntax and instantly could see synonymous parallelism.  Hebrew has a less highly developed system of adjectives than English so for emphasis it often relies on repetition.  So, here the verse says the exact same thing twice with slightly different wording.  The point is emphasis.

The phrase “the Lord is my light,” reminded me of a story my mentor told me in the first months following my conversion.  To appreciate this story it will be helpful to know that I’m a planner.  As I write this I’m staring at what I call, “the war wall” in my bedroom.  I’ve got sheets of paper taped to my wall with plans—classes laid out for the next two years, a publishing to do list for War For My Soul, the titles of other Christian books I might want to write (5 more in the War For My Soul series and 4 small group companion books), and blog post ideas for months if not years.

My mentor rightfully saw this as a problematic tendency.  So, he would continuously tell me this: “Imagine walking up a mountain in a starless, moonless night.  All you have is a little candle that illuminates enough so you can see your next step or two.  And of course you know you are going towards the top.  You’ll get there—but you have to have enough faith to take one step at a time.  Being a Christian is often the same way.  God gives us enough light to see the next step or two and we have to trust that he’s taking us towards the top.”

I realized everything for the last year had been working against trusting God one step at a time.  My Christian friends were either all married or getting married, my younger brother was living on his own and about to start making real money, and some of the people I had started seminary with were graduating and getting jobs.

I wanted to toss the candle away and start sprinting up the hill on my own.  I wanted to catch up.

Then, I started remembering more of the story.  Although round about, and often totally insane (these stories fill the War For My Soul series), God had led me a long ways up the mountain in six short years.  Further, I was taking the steps I knew he wanted me to.

I had a strong sense God was telling me, “Patiently follow my path for another year and I’ll show you things you can’t imagine.”

I was working nights at the time and was keenly aware of how important light was for getting anywhere or doing anything.  So, I excitedly agreed.

Reflections From December—Part 1: The Creepiest Thing I’ve Ever Done

Facebook came out when I was a junior in college.  I was always proud of my college Facebook use.  First, of my 200 friends I had only sent out three friend requests.  Second, I never looked at the profiles of girls I liked.

I learned the second lesson watching one of my hall mates.  He did not have Facebook so he’d always want to look at his crush on my computer.  I was with him in the dinning commons one day when his crush came over to talk to me (she was MY Facebook friend after all). 

Within thirty seconds my friend asked her about a movie she had just seen.  She looked at him like he was a rapist (they had never talked before).  I almost died laughing.  All to say, lesson learned.

In December I hadn’t yet realized I like Family Guy, so to get through the relational doldrums of nights off I would log onto Facebook and look through pictures of past crushes (I know I’m violating my own rules).

I could never bring myself to look into their photo albums—that was too creepy.  But, I’d look at their profile picture and then read all their quotes.  They were all good evangelical girls so of course all of their quotes were Bible verses.

One girl had Psalm 27:13-14 written on her wall: “I believe I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.  Wait for the Lord; be strong and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!”

That verse hit me like a rock.

For most of that quarter I had been hoping Chap Clark (my professor who writes all about mid-adolescents and wrote one of my favorite books of all time Hurt) could help me get War For My Soul on the fast track for a contract.  After six weeks of emails slowly going back and forth he told me he had no ideas.

It was devastating.

So, I wrote down this verse at the top of my journal page.

Below it I wrote, “Lord, I feel super creepy.”  Not only was I looking through their profile but I was writing down one of their favorite Bible verses--I had surpassed my hall mate from college in Facebook stocking.

I wanted to scribble the verse out but I couldn’t.  The words were perfect.  I was definitely stuck waiting in life—waiting for Hebrew to end, waiting to get a War For My Soul contract, waiting to graduate and move out, and waiting to find a wife.  Yet it was okay because I was waiting for God to act.  And, as the first verse bears witness too, God is a God of goodness.  So, I was waiting for God’s goodness.  Yet, it wasn’t going to be easy—it was going to take belief, strength and courage.

It became the theme verse for that journal that very night and I realized within a couple of weeks that was going to be the theme verse indefinitely.

Even though I’m now done with Hebrew, I still find myself mainly waiting.  But it’s okay because I’m waiting for the God of goodness.

By the way, shortly after this happened something changed in Facebook and I haven’t been able to access my account since January—so I think that might have been why I started watching Family Guy.

Reflections from May—Part 3: The Best Day of 2010 (So Far)

For this post I am going to do something a little different.  I am going to post my two journal entries from June 8^th and 9^th.  They nicely capture my closing thoughts from May and give insight into how I am creating all of these posts.  I do warn that these are not funny or creative but brutally honest.  To give the context I took my Hebrew final at 8AM on the 8^th and both of these entries were written on the last page of that particular journal.

7:09 AM Parking Lot Fuller Seminary

Lord I come before you on the verge of tears.  Lord, I’m not ready for the test in an hour, I’m super tired, and my neck, back and wrist are all in a lot of pain (in May I started having serious neck pain related to “forward head,” I hurt my back racking weights at 24Hourfitness two and a half years ago and whenever I type too much my right wrist flares up).  My neck and back are especially problematic.

Lord, the cost of the last ten months has been miserably high.  The result has been pitifully fruitless.

Lord, I’m in a panic about my whole life.  I’m a mess—I’m almost so crippled (hyperbolae) and poor (again hyperbolae) and such a romantic and other human person failure that I don’t know what to say.

Lord, my life feels like an utter disaster.

All I can do is pray out of Exodus.  (Here I wrote out Exodus 2:23-25)

Lord, please save me from this disastrous final and year.

Lord, help me to listen to Psalm 27: I believe I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.  Wait for the Lord; be strong and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!

Please deliver me.

Amen

2:11 AM Home

Lord, I come before you starting to do really well.  Lord, I think I did pretty well on the Hebrew test.  Or, really, I know I passed which is good enough.  Also, the Lakers won a key game 3 coming down to the wire.  Also, my neck is feeling somewhat better—although it is still pretty messed up.

Also, Lord when I look back at what this journal has seen in three months I see a giant shit storm.

So Lord, I start with Psalm 34 (when writing out this text I only write out the first part or sometimes only write out verse 18—the verse this blog gets its name from)

I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continuously be in my mouth.  My soul makes its boast in the Lord; let the humble hear and be glad.  O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together.  I sought the Lord and he answered me and delivered me from all my fears.  Look to him and be radiant so your faces shall never be ashamed.  This poor soul cried and was heard by the Lord and was saved from every trouble.  The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him and delivers them.  O taste and see that the Lord is good, happy are those who take refuge in him.  O fear the Lord, you his holy ones, for those who fear him have no want.  The young lions suffer want and hunger, but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing.

Lord, in the three months of this journal and in the three months before this journal I groaned and groaned and groaned.  Lord, I wandered out into the wilderness in January by taking Hebrew II.  Yet, Lord, you have delivered me.  You have brought me back to goodness.  Lord, now as the summer starts which is full of potential goodness and hope I praise you for getting me here.  You got me through Lord.  Thank you!

Reflections From May—Part 2: Adult Swim Thinks I’m a Loser

Unlike most people who work night shift, I couldn’t sleep at night on days off.  For the most part this was convenient because I had a lot of Hebrew to work on—in fact my Lamentations 4 paper was already a couple of weeks late by this point—so I had tons of quite time to study.

However, there was a downside.  At 2AM I would start to get really lonely and even a little creeped out by sounds outside.  Fortunately, I was only an hour away at that point from being able to watch Family Guy on Adult Swim (every graveyard worker I ever met watched Family Guy at this time). 

With great expectation 3AM would finally come. 

About thirty seconds later I would have my first disappointment.  Despite hoping to see a new episode (to be honest I would have been perfectly content to see an episode I hadn’t already seen five times) it would always be one I had seen dozens of times.  I’m pretty sure Adult Swim only plays the same ten episodes over and over again (quite possibly to mock me).  I’d ponder turning it off but then realize that if I wanted human interaction my only choice was the Griffins (the featured animated family).  So, I always watched.

Then, ten minutes in, my second disappointment would come.  Just like Adult Swim only plays ten episodes they only play three commercials.  The first commercial is always a woman in a dark room in lingerie seducing you to call Lava Life.  “Lonely? Looking to meet sexy local singles without the trouble of leaving your house?” she would tease.  Then, in jarring fashion this upbeat Education Connection song starts.  This beat waitress sings about how she didn’t do good in high school, hates her job (and in my opinion her life) and how she now goes to college in her pajamas (she makes online college sound so fun—I’m not convinced).  Finally, this buff dude comes on and tells me that my lives’ dream has been to work on repairing boats and motorcycles and therefore I need to go to University Technical Institute.

By the end of these commercials I’d find myself arguing with the TV.  “I’m not a looser I swear!  I’m not like the people you are advertising too!  I graduated from college with honors.  I dated a model for six months.  I’m in a masters program now.”

The third major disappointment would happen after an hour.  I’d realize after the second re-run of Family Guy and now six or more cycles of commercials that I had just watched TV for an hour because I was lonely.  I’d get this horrible feeling that the commercials were right—maybe I was a looser.

I was twenty-six, living at home with my parents, no girl friend, had been working a job for years I was way overqualified for, and was procrastinating on a Hebrew paper I might not be able to finish.  Then, I’d stand up and see my dark neighbor’s house.  I was totally alone. 

At this point I’d have an existential crisis (I was a philosophy major—so you can’t blame me for this).  I’d feel like had woken up in some sort of strange post apocalyptic hell.  There were no other people around, just a TV, which mocked my existence, and seemingly everything was meaningless.

I would turn all the lights off and head back to my desk.  I’d feel somewhat queasy—I think at least in part from all the caffeine—and maybe in part from the artificial light.  Before I could start looking up Hebrew words again I’d write out Luke 15:1-7

Now all of the tax collectors and sinners were coming to listen to [Jesus].  And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

So he told them this parable.  “Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and loosing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?  When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices.  And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.’  Just so I tell you there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.”

I would plead with God that he would come and find me on a dark street, in a dark house sitting all by myself while the rest of the world was asleep. 

Thoughts on The Bridges of God

For my less seminary inclined readers, feel free to skip this book review, however I am going to start with two stories.

A helpful way to evaluate this book will be to compare it to contemporary evangelical Christian practice.  So, I start with two stories.

First, about a month ago I was down in Old Town Pasadena with my INFJ friend (Curtis, this friend has become a stock character in many of my posts so to get the allusion you’d have to read some of my non-class related posts).  This random guy walked up to us and handed us each a tract and a flyer.  He asked us if we were saved and implored us to come to a Christian concert several blocks away.  My friend was immediately turned off.  I talked to the guy for a while because I was hoping he could tell me where he got his shiny tracts printed up (I was thinking my tracts would look really cute on such shiny paper).  As we walked away by name he reminded me to go to the concert while having already forgotten my friend.

Second, when I was thirteen my Sunday school teachers would always warn us about the danger of backsliding if we had non-Christian friends.  They were convinced that non-Christians would convert us out of the faith.  Not only were they worried about non-Christian friends at school but also about post-Christian friends that had once been part of our church.  I hate to admit it, but for fear of backsliding at numerous times in my life I have cut off friends.

So, as I turn to Donald McGavran’s The Bridges of God, it will be helpful to keep those stories in mind.

Chapter 1:

From 1800-1914, which is considered the great missionary century, the focus of missions was on spreading Christ to one individual at a time.  Regardless of class, culture, caste or race missionaries tried to convert individuals one at a time.

Chapter 2:

At this time all the missionaries were either from the west or had been educated by westerners.  This meant, that anything other than a personal, individual conversion was seen as dubious. 

So, as missionaries went around converting individuals, what happened was that community life for the individual was destroyed.  The missionaries were trying to convert people out of families, clans, tribes and castes.  Once individuals were effectively snatched out of their own cultures they would join the culture of the missionaries at mission stations.  These stations would have schools, churches, orphanages, hospitals and homes for the missionaries and quarters for the large staff of indigenous workers.  Many people who converted had no other option but to live and work at the mission station since they had been pulled out of their own culture.

McGavran here argues that this was devastating both for mission and for indigenous people.  McGavran wanted to see people’s entire communal social life come under the sphere of Christ while staying in their original culture.  So rather than convert individuals he was hoping to see families, chains of families and tribes collectively come to Christ as a community.

Chapter 3:

McGavran looks at how missions happened in the New Testament. Jesus, Peter and Paul did not focus on converting individuals but groups of people.  Often times the Bible records large groups of people accepting Christ. 

This has important implications.  For instance, when the Samaritans were converted, they came in large numbers.  If this had not happened, they would have had a very difficult time integrating into Jewish Christian society.  For example, it would have been very difficult for Samaritans to find spouses among Jewish Christians.  So a large group conversion made the process much easier.

Further, not only did large groups come into together, but missions would spread along relational lines out from these groups.  For instance, when Paul wrote the letter of Romans before he was going to actually go do missions in Rome, he already had a large social network that he knew in Rome.  Although it is easy to miss, there is a high likelihood Paul was doing mission amongst people’s familial networks.

Chapter 4:

This type of conversion is not just limited to the New Testament.  When the tribes of northern Europe were evangelized it was not done through individual conversions.  Rather, whole groups would come to faith when their leaders moved in that direction.

Further, during the Reformation, individuals, families, clans, and provinces did not make individual decisions to either be Catholic or Protestant but group based decisions.

Chapter 5:

During the great missionary century this all changed.  The issue was that Anglo-Europeans were trying to take the gospel into eastern countries.  There were no natural relational bridges and because the westerners were industrialized and the easterns were not there was a huge cultural gap.  This meant that even well intentioned missionaries could not live with the people they were working with.

So the missionaries built mission stations that were suitable to western living expectations.  This meant that when indigenous people did convert they felt that they were not only converting to a different religion but a different culture. 

What ended up happening was that there were very few converts.  So the mission stations started to work on other things like orphanages, schools, and hospitals.  These services would revolutionize the countries as generations of indigenous leaders were exposed to these ideas.  However, very rarely did these leaders become Christian—rather they worked to create more schools and hospitals—but now nationally funded.

Chapter 6:

However, outside of the mission stations Christian movements were starting.  McGavran calls these “God given people movements.”  These movements had indigenous leaders, were often times resisted by mission stations, established local and sustainable churches that were indigenous, allowed for spontaneous expansion and could easily grow along relational lines.  Further, the converts did not have a mixed motive of getting the cultural benefits of mission station life.  Rather, these converts were still living in their own cultural context but now with a Christ focused life.  During the great century of missions 90% of converts came from people movements even though they got almost none of the financial resources.

Chapter 7:

A lot of the reason for the discrepancy in funding was that mission boards were attached to the mission stations.  Further, because very few missionaries left the mission station very few people realized that these people movements were going on.

Chapter 8:

McGavran calls for missionaries to hold onto mission stations lightly.  Even though they were very expensive to build and took sacrifices of five decades or more to build they were hindering people movements.  If the resources that were being used to maintain mission stations were in part transferred to people movements those movements could grow even faster.

Chapter 9:

The apostle Paul did not trouble himself with building schools, hospitals, orphanages, teaching complex doctrine, and preparing to convert people at some later date.  Rather, Paul came to cities, converted people, organized leadership and then trust that God would do the rest and he would move on.

Chapter 10:

The mission stations are tremendously expensive to run and reach very few people.  However, People Movements, with no buildings are cheap to run and reach many people.

Chapter 11:

McGavran calls for wide scale empirical study so people movements can be understood better.  Here, I would critique him of being a modernist.  Setting up controlled mission experiments reeks of an over emphasis on calculation.

Chapter 12:

Just like God delivered the Israelites out of bondage God wants to deliver contemporary people out of the darkness.

Although McGavran is speaking of missions going on in Asia and Africa in the 50’s by analogy I think it more than safe to say that he would critique the street corner evangelist who was trying to peel me away from my friend and Sunday school teachers that discourage interaction with non-Christians.

Reflections from Week 3

This class focused on the nuances of the “global information culture” that we have rapidly all found ourselves in.  One trademark of this culture is deteritorilization—which means that people are leaving their homelands—from a cultural studies standpoint makes it very difficult to learn about people by studying a zip code or nation.  For instance, if my professor wanted to study the culture of his teenage daughter it would do him little good to meet the neighbors.  Rather, what he would need to do is study the media she consumes, look at the people she texts and calls on her cell phone, and look at her Facebook page.  What this all means is that our relationships are playing out more and more across great space rather than being focused in a physical place.

A second key trademark of “global information culture” is that it is participatory rather than consumption based.  American Idol, CNN using Twitter, and the explosion of UTube all show that a lot of people want to participate, at least at some level in what they consume.  Facebook, Amazon reviews, and good blogs also show this participation when they have a plethora of comments.  So, for my faithful readers who have trudged through this academic post, I welcome and greatly appreciate any comments that will allow for this blog to be more participatory.  

Reflections from May—Part 1: Mountain Dew Induced Jittery Groans

I had a blast writing about August, or more accurately I had a constant smile remembering great stories with great people.

Now, I wish to balance those whimsical reflections with more serious reflections from May.

In May I had been studying Biblical Hebrew for ten months.  That whole endeavor had gone wrong from the very beginning.  I couldn’t get into the class I wanted, it took me several weeks to track down the textbook, and that was all before I had seen a single letter.

Upon opening my book about a month before class started (yes I’m a giant nerd) I saw twenty-two characters that looked more like Chinese than English along with a bunch of points (vowels are marked by lines and dots below consonants).  Just to memorize the alphabet, learn to write the letters, and learn how to pronounce their accompanying sounds took the rest of summer.

Fifteen hundred flash cards later I had still never caught up.  I had been several steps behind throughout the whole experience.

In May, I had to translate Lamentations 4 from Hebrew to English and write a paper defending and explaining my translation to pass my final Hebrew class.

At the same time I was having a lot of trouble sleeping during the day (I was working the 10pm-6am shift at 24hourftiness).  As I got into my car to drive to work a sense of panic would hit me as my eyes started to feel heavy.  It was so bad that I was drinking two two-liter bottles of either Diet Mountain Dew or Pepsi One every night (I’m still trying to break that addiction but now in the context of trying to be awake during the day). 

Around 2AM would come and there would be almost nobody at the gym (in three years I would only see it completely empty in the middle of the night on July fourth).  I would start to feel utterly oppressed by life.  I couldn’t go to sleep, was painstakingly looking up every word in an analytic lexicon and dictionary (tools for those who have to translate Hebrew but aren’t good at it), couldn’t see why learning Hebrew mattered beyond graduating, and with great loneliness wondered why I was willing to work nights while normal people slept.

I was powerless to make changes, which was probably the worst part.  So, what I would end up doing was write out Exodus 2:23-25:

After a long time the king of Egypt died.  The Israelites groaned under their slavery, and cried out.  Out of the slavery their cry for help rose up to God.  God heard their groaning, and God remembered his covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and God took notice of them.

I begged God to hear my jittery caffeine induced groans.

Is “Bible” a Bad Word?

For a lot of the readers of this blog I know that “Bible,” “church,” and “Christian” are bad words.  So far, I think I have done a pretty good job of staying away from “church,” and “Christian,” but I cannot get away from “Bible.”

So before I continue on, and probably something I should have done at the very beginning of this blog, I want to write about why I’m using Bible verses on most of my posts.

Most days, before I take on the stressful tasks of the day, I spend about an hour praying.  However, I don’t pray like anyone else (at least that I know of). 

I write out all my prayers and do so in strait conversation with God.  For example, yesterday I started, “Lord, I come before you with my mind wandering.  Lord, there is so much going on right now (I had a paper due today).  Lord, today has been a rollercoaster.” 

A lot of the conversation goes on like this.  But sometimes, I feel like God is pointing me to remember or do something.  Often times I feel like God is urging me to remember a certain Bible verse.  It is fairly common that I will feel God reminding me to listen to his words to Joshua: “I hereby command you; be strong and courageous, do not be frightened or dismayed for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9). 

Not only does God remind me of verses but sometimes I will call a verse to mind and ask God to help me live it out.  For instance, I did this with almost all of the verses mentioned in the “Reflections from August” series.

Also, sometimes I will have a theme verse for a month, season or even year or two.  When this is the case I write that verse out every night—since last November the theme verse has been most of Psalm 27 (I’m going to post on this verse in the future so I didn’t write it out here).

What this all leads to is having about a dozen Bible passages memorized verbatim.  In the words of my father, “wow, you can really rattle those verses off fast.”  And yes, I am aware of how old school this is in a digital world.

However, I actually don’t have a very good memory—so what I’ve done with about twenty other verses is write them out on loose-leaf paper and fold them in a stack.  I carry this stack in my journal for convenience.

If God needs me to use any other verse or something comes to mind that I don’t have written down then I look it up.

Although in a digital age this might seem very anachronistic this whole process helps me to remember important stories and life lessons.  If I hadn’t written out the verses that came to mind in August not only would I have not been able to share them but I would already have forgotten all of them.  In fact, unless I went back and read my prayers, I’m sure I would have forgotten I wanted to move in the direction of peace.

Like the main character in movie Memento, who tattoos himself with important information in order not to forget, I memorize and write out Bible verses to help guide me through the world.

Reflections from August—Part 7: Christian Game

In August I had a lot of conversations with friends about how genuine to be with the opposite gender.  My INFJ friend told me that when he was himself around girls he ended up asking them a lot of questions—admittedly he was a great interrogator and not very good at first dates.

I related a lot to his dilemma.  In my early 20’s I took all my dating advice from the book of Philippians.  The author, Paul, speaks of his friend Timothy like this:

I hope in the Lord Jesus to send Timothy to you soon, so that I may be cheered by news of you.  I have no one like him that will be genuinely concerned for your welfare.  Philippians 2:19-20

I figured be like Timothy around girls—be genuinely concerned and ask a lot of questions and all will work out.  The result—a few female friends, no dates and no girl friend.  I guess that’s what I should have expected taking all my dating advice from the Bible.

My whole paradigm would be changed when I was a speaker/chaperone at an elementary church camp.  Like at every church camp, on the first night, all the 10-12 year old little boys did was talk about the girls they liked.  Really, I should say the two girls they all liked.

The next day it snowed (which was awesome and really surprising because it was a Southern California camp).  With great joy, a snowball fight ensued (next to Hannah crushing chips I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much joy on children’s faces).

Two of the twelve year olds got a great idea.  Like assassins, they packed snowballs as hard as they could, preceded to stock the girls I knew they liked, and finally jump out and bean them in the back of the head.  Instantly, both girls were in tears.  I didn’t punish the boys because I assumed that ruining their chances was punishment enough.

To my shock, horror and amazement, within several hours the girls who had been in tears were now flirting with the snowball assassins.

Six years later, when a coworker (the same one from “Twinkly Eyes” and “Shit Tester or Encourager”) said something about being herself around guys I instantly told her, “Why on earth would you do that?  That’s the worst idea you’ve ever had” (both honest sentiment and a perfect shit test).

However, I started to wonder if maybe I had given up too quickly on being genuine.  I do much prefer being genuine than beaning girls with snowballs (literal or verbal). 

In fact, as I was thinking about this post today, a perfect story happened.  I was at the gym and saw a different coworker (the one who made me the “cutie catcher”).  Not only is she a fan of the blog—but we traded notes on all sorts of stuff.  In fact, I even convinced her to bring in a picture of her in belly button high jeans and I’m going to show her my driver’s license photo with the part and glasses.  Genuine conversations can certainly be fun!

Reflections from August—Part 6: “Shit Tester” or Encourager?

In August, a large reason why I was talking to girls was because I was able to conjure up the voice of my younger brother Justin.  He is a master of humor and also “shit testing” girls.  Further, when we are together he is always cheering me on, “go talk to her.”  Sometimes, even when he is not around I still feel his prodding.

One night I clocked in at work and the very first thing I noticed was the girl who was about to leave was drinking out of a big gulp.  In a moment of inspiration I could hear Justin’s voice, “pick the cup up and tell her she is going to get fat drinking all of that soda.”  To my shock I followed my brother’s advice.

Now, before trying this at home, it is key to know that this girl has a retinue of male followers.  If she was actually fat this would obviously be cruel—but she’s gorgeous.

I nailed the act—slowly grabbed the cup, looked at it, and with enough sarcasm and playfulness delivered my line perfectly.  And for those of you who understand contemporary social dynamics you will already know what happened next—weeks and weeks of her trying to validate (prove she is not fat) to me.  It was a performance that would have even made my brother proud.

Over the next several weeks we would actually get to know each other.  She told me, and I observed, that most guys at the gym would say hostile things to her (this is known as a “shit test”).  In fact, collectively we were so predictable, that she would often launch a “shit test” first strike on herself when she saw me coming in.  She did admit that she often did the same to guys.

Interestingly, the effect of all this was that I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know how pretty she is. 

This is terribly ironic.  When she first started at the gym guys would literally tell me hour-long ballads recounting thirty-second conversations with her.  I’ve actually never met a girl who gets more attention.  And yet, she doesn’t know she is pretty.

I started to feel bad about the big gulp line.  I started to wonder if a whole generation was bound to express admiration through hostility—that seemed pretty messed up.

There is a character in the Bible named Barnabas.  His name means “Son of Encouragement,” and in the Book of Acts he encourages a lot of people that otherwise would be on the outside.

I wish I could be like him—a person of encouragement—not discouragement.

Reflections from August—Part 5: Church Slave

In August, one thing I realized, was being Christian was not helping me to have peace.  Or, maybe what I should say is that hanging around most Christians has never helped me find peace.

Whenever I hang out with a new group of Christians I brace to be told that there is something I need to be doing that I am not.  For instance, in my first year of seminary I was working full time (and often picking up an overtime shift) and taking eight hours of classes.  At the time I wasn’t volunteering at a church.  Everyone knew my work schedule at school, yet I was constantly told the same thing.  “You really should be more involved in church.”

At the time I thought they were right—I should be doing more.  In fact, I so closely linked busyness and Christianity, that I felt best about myself everyday when I drove home from work at 6:30 AM.  As soon as I got on the freeway I would start to doze off.  “Bump, bump, bump” would wake me up as I drifted out of my lane.  Then there were all those red lights I ran and blown stop signs.  This was not because I was in a hurry (although I did desperately want to get home so I could get four hours of sleep before class) but because I’d either be dozing off or by the time I realized there was a stop sign already have gone through it.

That I couldn’t make it home without dozing off was proof that I was busy enough.  I would feel good knowing that not only was I busy but I was even willing to risk my life for God.

In August, I realized this whole thing was insane.  I was glorifying putting the lives of others and myself in jeopardy to meet the expectations of dozens of future pastors.

I wrote down Deuteronomy 5:12-15 to try to change my ways:

Observe the Sabbath day and keep it holy, as the Lord your God commanded you.  Six days you shall labor and do all your work.  But the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God; you shall not do any work—you or your son or your daughter, or your male or female slave, or your ox or your donkey, or any of your livestock, or the resident alien in your towns, so that your male and female slave may rest as well as you.  Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and outstretched arm; therefore the Lord your God commanded you to keep the Sabbath day.

I chose this version of the Ten Commandments (the Leviticus version has a different rational for keeping the Sabbath) because it links Sabbath with remembering that God does not want his people to be slaves. 

Like everything I’ve been writing about in this series, this is more of a goal than reality.  Fortunately, after my first year of seminary I started working at a gym less than a mile from my house—which means I haven’t doze and drove for a long time now.  I’d be blatantly lying if I told you I am a Sabbatarian—but at least I am aware that some changes would be helpful.

Reflections from August—Part 4: Twinkly Eyes

For the last three posts in this series I find myself in uncharted territory.  I’m going to be writing about things I don’t understand and don’t live out.  But they are directions I want to move in.

Tonight I am going to tackle the idea of peace.  I wish I could write something that was beautiful and inspiring on this subject but that’s going to be very difficult for I have known very little peace.

In fact, I got interested in the idea before August in the midst of exhaustion.  I was so tired for several weeks that I begged God to bring about something like Psalm 23 in my life:

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures;

he leads me besides still waters;

he restores my soul.

He leads me in right paths

for his name’s sake.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley,

I fear no evil;

for you are with me;

your rod and your staff—

they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies;

you anoint my head with oil;

my cup overflows.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me

all the days of my life,

and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord

my whole life long.

Especially in July and August there were a lot of challenges to living this out.  Maybe first of all, lying down was difficult in this period.  I would get home from work around 6:30 AM, get in bed around seven and wake up at nine.  Sometimes I would get out of bed and sometimes I would just toss and turn.  Further, I love to work and have huge dreams—this works against peace.

Today, anticipating writing about peace, I was trying to think of a good peace story.  In a telling sort of way, for most of the day the only story I could think to tell was an anti-peace story.  In my first year of seminary there was a six-month stretch where I either had work or school all but two days (not two days a week, two days in six months).  This is both a boring story and a stinging indictment that I don’t understand peace.

After worrying most of the day that I didn’t even understand peace (irony noted) a story from late August came to me.  One night at work I was talking to one of my coworkers.  Although not really my type she was probably the cutest girl I’ve seen since I was at Westmont.  All month I had been trying to be as clever and funny around her as possible.  It might sound sort of cute but it was an addiction.  I would ponder what I was going to say to her when I walked in while driving to the gym and then while lifting weights (I always did this before work—it honestly had nothing to do with impressing her) I would plan out what I was going to say when I clocked in.

On that night I had run out of clever things to say so we were just chatting.  All of a sudden I saw a little twinkle in her eyes.  To use lingo from The Game this is an IOI (Indicator of Interest).  This immediately severed the connection between my brain and mouth and I went totally silent.  However, she salvaged the conversation, “I always really like talking with you.”

Now, both continuing a conversation in the doldrums and explicitly stating she liked talking to me counts as two more IOI’s getting me to a total of three.  For most people, normal people, this wouldn’t be a big deal.  However, I instantly flashed upon something a friend of mine said.  He is an INFJ (psychologies nice way of speaking of shy, smart, caring, and monotonous people) like myself.  He had told me that whenever you get three IOI’s you should go in for a kiss—believe it or not this had actually worked for him.

And of course I…

Did nothing. 

As much as I hate to admit it, I felt a lot of peace when her eyes got all twinkly.  In fact, that whole night at work I felt a lot of peace.  That little taste of the world being alright was pretty good.

Six months ago if you had asked me if I even wanted peace I would have said no.  If you asked me if I thought I deserved peace I would also have said no.  I wanted to get stuff done and I still do.  Now, at least I want peace in my life.

Reflections from August—Part 3: Sunburned or Something Else?

For the last six years August has been a time of personal reflection for me.  In large part this is because I keep an alternative calendar.  This is really weird I know.  I celebrate my birthday and the beginning of the New Year on the Friday immediately following Labor Day.  (I promise this is not because that way every year my birthday falls on a Friday.)  The reason I do this is because on that Friday seven years ago my friend Elizabeth talked me out of killing myself and instead convinced me to accept Jesus as my Lord.  So, every year the first or second weekend of September represents another year of bonus time lived.

This leads to me getting my New Year’s resolutions finished in September.  It also means I have to think about the New Year in August.

The five-year mark was especially significant.  I was just about to finish the sixth draft of War For My Soul and had just finished my first year of Greek at seminary.  God had done a lot for me in five years.

That year in particular I felt I was searching for a purpose for the upcoming year—and really for the upcoming five years.  The first five years of bonus time had been about survival (not killing myself) and writing War For My Soul.  Those goals were largely completed—so now what?

On the Friday that year I was down visiting my brother in his brand new Newport Beach apartment.  We were walking along the beach and he started talking to this Asian girl.  As always he was talking and I was trying to figure out how not to be awkward.

Then, something unprecedented happened.  This girl told my brother she was a Christian.  Instantly, my brother’s eyes glazed over and mine lit up.  I started talking to her and within several minutes my brother left.  For the next six hours we sat on the beach talking.  To my brother’s great chagrin I failed to ask her for her number at the end of all that.

That night while I was at work @ 24hourfitness several things happened.  First, I was super sleepy.  Second, my skin turned bright red (I was working nights so my skin was not so happy about six hours of beach sun).  And third, I watched a movie the girl recommended called, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. 

In that movie, based on a true story, the main character has a stroke that causes him to have locked in syndrome.  Although still fully cognizant he only has function of his eyelids so he learns to communicate using blinking.  At first he is devastated but through the course of the movie rediscovers goodness.

As the movie ended I realized I had a choice that very night.  I could either focus on the extreme pain of the sunburn and be grouchy because I hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours or I could be grateful that for the first time in my life a girl found me more interesting than my brother and that I hadn’t killed myself five years before and that I was about to finish my manuscript and that I didn’t have locked in syndrome (for the next several months every time I prayed I told God how grateful I was not to have locked in syndrome).  The choice was easy.

Further, I realized that I knew what the next five years should be about—focusing on seeing the good in life.  To remember this I wrote out and tried to memorize Luke 12:22-31

He said to his disciples, "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear.  For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing.  Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds!  And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?  If then you are not able to do so small a thing as that, why do you worry about the rest?  Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these.  But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you--you of little faith!  And do not keep striving for what you are to eat and what you are to drink, and do not keep worrying.  For it is the nations of the world that strive after all these things, and your Father knows that you need them.  Instead, strive for his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.

Regrettably, this August I realized I had utterly failed to live this out.  On the plus side I have three more years to work on it before the second five years of bonus time is up!