I debated writing this piece, one because thoughts about Robin Williams have been horribly overdone since his premature passing, and two because I believe that the perceived familiarity with celebrities in our culture is actually a mild form of mental illness; but through several debates with people with a sorely misguided notion of what mental illness is and is not, I felt a final word on my part was appropriate.
I wasn't a huge "Mork and Mindy" fan; it was just kind of there. My acquaintance with Robin Williams really began with a movie called "The Survivors", a completely underrated movie and the first rated "R" movie I saw, which was enough to give my LDS mother conniptions, even though the rating was for language. But I remember HBO shows of his standup and my father (who, like many of us in the family, has struggled with the reality of mental illness) commenting that he felt Robin Williams had symptoms of being bipolar. Being too young to be familiar with the monsters that were my birthright, and will probably follow me to my grave, I didn't understand how he could understand that, but I do now.
The word "hyperkinetic" is overused in describing Williams, but it is one of the few words that can even begin to describe Williams' rapid fire, ad libbed delivery style. His routines were a verbal tickle; alone the jokes would be at best enough to give you a decent chuckle, but he gave you no recovery time, and within five minutes you would find yourself out of oxygen, literally rolling on the floor because you were totally taken in by the magic that was Robin Williams.
But in the midst of it, you could see the dark side, always looming under the surface. The dark side showed in some of his more dramatic works, such as Good Will Hunting, and especially the Fisher King. As the Red Knight chases Parry after he begins to find happiness with Lydia, there is a glimmer of reality in Williams' heart breaking performance.
What Williams did was not "selfish" in the traditional sense. Sure, to those of us outside, suicide seems a selfish act. But it is a final, desperate act of someone who sees no other release from their pain, and the ultimate tragic reality is that you never know who is contemplating suicide at this very moment. Most will not be celebrities; most will simply disappear with only a handful of people remarking on their passing. And most could be prevented.
We need to understand and treat mental illness with greater empathy, and I hope that Williams' death sparks that discussion. But more than that, we need to look in the eyes of those around us and reach out to those who are hurting with a real and tender love. There's no guarantee it will help every one, but I can tell you with absolute certainty it will help some..
In my minds eye, I have this image. I am Jack, Williams is Parry, from the Fisher King. And I have brought him the grail, and in his final, weakened moment, he hands it back to me. It is in that vision that I realize something:
Robin Williams didn't create comedy to make us laugh, or to make him feel better. Robin Williams gave everything he had as a sincere, loving gift to help those who suffered from the Hell that haunted him his entire life a glimmer of hope and happiness. In the end, though, he poured out the entire cup and had nothing left for himself.
And that is the least selfish act I have ever seen.
RIP, Robin Williams. I never knew you, but you did know me. And you gave me much.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Mental Illness Has Taken, Given Much
I've debated writing this. It's far too personal a piece, and not something I'd normally choose to write. But I have always liked the well known Ecclesiastes passage, "To everything, there is a season".
And I believe the season is now, as we mourn the passage of a great comedian we thought we knew.
Mental illness has been a reality in my family for longer than I know. I didn't really know my grandparents, but I've seen the scars firsthand, in the pain and bitterness that creeps just below the surface at family reunions and events. And I've wrestled with it myself.
I've seen it in my mother, a woman who, in her gentler moments, took us out to dig selenite crystals at the Salt Plains in northwestern Oklahoma, and through Dinosaur National Monument, and places like Clifty Falls in my (nominally) native state of Indiana. Yet I've seen her demons, too, the fits of uncontrollable rage, the utter depression that rendered her unable to function for many days at a time.
And I've seen it in my father, who likewise took us on wonderful family trips, yet gradually let the paranoia creep until it controlled him. I'd like to remember both parents as beautiful people, yet the dark moments always hung like a shadow over the lighter moments. An outing could turn from a peaceful, fun family event into a sinister argument in just a few moments' time. Nobody knew what the trigger would be, and we always carefully measured our words and our tone for fear of awakening the beast.
I always knew in some ways my family was different, and it created a sort of awkwardness that led to my own isolation. We didn't talk about the dysfunction, we didn't dare invoke its name for fear that it would somehow creep to the surface, like an old forgotten ghost.
My teenage years were filled with runaway attempts as I tried to escape my mother to go to my father's house. I didn't say it at the time, but it was the beginning of a wanderlust that I believe is common in people who deal with the demons of mental illness. You know something is not right, but you don't know what. And you flee to the furthest corners of the globe to find it.
The wanderlust isn't bad, it's the running that's harmful. Because you can never escape.
At 18, I left home, with nothing but an imagination and a half full tank of gas in an extremely fuel inefficient vehicle to guide me. Predictably, the gas ran out halfway to Colorado Springs, and I hitchhiked the rest of the way, not knowing what to find, just knowing I wanted to find it.
Through the years I became increasingly self aware, and realized that relationships with people who were struggling through mental illness was harming my own mental health. I separated from them, which I've gradually come to realize is just another form of "dry drunk": it helps, for a little bit, but the problem is ever lingering.
I miss my family. I miss the kinds of close relationships that I see others around me enjoying. And I've lived most of my life in a psychological bubble, meant to isolate me from those around me. It's painful, and yet, in the lack of other options, it's necessary.
I've so long feared to tell my story for fear of judgment. For fear that the people that are dearest to me will be taken away by a society that doesn't understand, doesn't WANT to stand that what I wrestle with is not my creation. It's not my FAULT, or anyone's fault, for that matter. It just is, and it is the consequence of the world we live in.
But the truth is, not to be overly dramatic or anything, but it IS killing me. My health has long suffered because the one thing I can't quit doing is eating improperly, and the one thing I can't start doing is exercise properly. I know what would help immensely, and that's simply a truly close friend, one I could sit down with and play guitar, and create, and who could get up with me and help give me the drive to exercise. To remove me as far as possible from the demons that haunt me, because they will always be there.
And yet, I can't hate this beast, because it's given me much. It's given me an endless compassion, a drive to help others, and a flow of creativity in the lighter moments that is amazing. We all saw it in Robin Williams; he created such an uplifting, creative flow of characters, and yet through them, you could see the darkness, lingering. But what it has given me has come at an incredible, heart rending sacrifice, as it has made it very difficult to effectively communicate with those I love. And it has made me a pretty harsh cynic.
I stated in an abbreviated form that I pray that William's death sparks the debate. In our culture, we punish mental illness, we don't treat it. Those who DO seek treatment are stigmatized, and often suffer the loss of jobs, of family, of property as a consequence. We owe ourselves better.
If you are reading this, and have any measure of sympathy, I beg you to work to destigmatize mental illness. You wouldn't incarcerate someone with a brain tumor; you shouldn't incarcerate someone with a lingering, lasting depression. In addition, we need to fund treatment options, and realize that treatment for mental illness is not a one size fits all solution.
I've wrestled with my demons, and won. But I've done so at an incredible cost. Isolation and introversion only help you cope, they don't treat the underlying problem.
Lastly, understand that someone who has dealt with, and survived, substantial depression and suicidal thoughts is not weak; they are amazingly, incomprehensibly strong. Because it takes a powerful person to stare down that beast and win.
And I believe the season is now, as we mourn the passage of a great comedian we thought we knew.
Mental illness has been a reality in my family for longer than I know. I didn't really know my grandparents, but I've seen the scars firsthand, in the pain and bitterness that creeps just below the surface at family reunions and events. And I've wrestled with it myself.
I've seen it in my mother, a woman who, in her gentler moments, took us out to dig selenite crystals at the Salt Plains in northwestern Oklahoma, and through Dinosaur National Monument, and places like Clifty Falls in my (nominally) native state of Indiana. Yet I've seen her demons, too, the fits of uncontrollable rage, the utter depression that rendered her unable to function for many days at a time.
And I've seen it in my father, who likewise took us on wonderful family trips, yet gradually let the paranoia creep until it controlled him. I'd like to remember both parents as beautiful people, yet the dark moments always hung like a shadow over the lighter moments. An outing could turn from a peaceful, fun family event into a sinister argument in just a few moments' time. Nobody knew what the trigger would be, and we always carefully measured our words and our tone for fear of awakening the beast.
I always knew in some ways my family was different, and it created a sort of awkwardness that led to my own isolation. We didn't talk about the dysfunction, we didn't dare invoke its name for fear that it would somehow creep to the surface, like an old forgotten ghost.
My teenage years were filled with runaway attempts as I tried to escape my mother to go to my father's house. I didn't say it at the time, but it was the beginning of a wanderlust that I believe is common in people who deal with the demons of mental illness. You know something is not right, but you don't know what. And you flee to the furthest corners of the globe to find it.
The wanderlust isn't bad, it's the running that's harmful. Because you can never escape.
At 18, I left home, with nothing but an imagination and a half full tank of gas in an extremely fuel inefficient vehicle to guide me. Predictably, the gas ran out halfway to Colorado Springs, and I hitchhiked the rest of the way, not knowing what to find, just knowing I wanted to find it.
Through the years I became increasingly self aware, and realized that relationships with people who were struggling through mental illness was harming my own mental health. I separated from them, which I've gradually come to realize is just another form of "dry drunk": it helps, for a little bit, but the problem is ever lingering.
I miss my family. I miss the kinds of close relationships that I see others around me enjoying. And I've lived most of my life in a psychological bubble, meant to isolate me from those around me. It's painful, and yet, in the lack of other options, it's necessary.
I've so long feared to tell my story for fear of judgment. For fear that the people that are dearest to me will be taken away by a society that doesn't understand, doesn't WANT to stand that what I wrestle with is not my creation. It's not my FAULT, or anyone's fault, for that matter. It just is, and it is the consequence of the world we live in.
But the truth is, not to be overly dramatic or anything, but it IS killing me. My health has long suffered because the one thing I can't quit doing is eating improperly, and the one thing I can't start doing is exercise properly. I know what would help immensely, and that's simply a truly close friend, one I could sit down with and play guitar, and create, and who could get up with me and help give me the drive to exercise. To remove me as far as possible from the demons that haunt me, because they will always be there.
And yet, I can't hate this beast, because it's given me much. It's given me an endless compassion, a drive to help others, and a flow of creativity in the lighter moments that is amazing. We all saw it in Robin Williams; he created such an uplifting, creative flow of characters, and yet through them, you could see the darkness, lingering. But what it has given me has come at an incredible, heart rending sacrifice, as it has made it very difficult to effectively communicate with those I love. And it has made me a pretty harsh cynic.
I stated in an abbreviated form that I pray that William's death sparks the debate. In our culture, we punish mental illness, we don't treat it. Those who DO seek treatment are stigmatized, and often suffer the loss of jobs, of family, of property as a consequence. We owe ourselves better.
If you are reading this, and have any measure of sympathy, I beg you to work to destigmatize mental illness. You wouldn't incarcerate someone with a brain tumor; you shouldn't incarcerate someone with a lingering, lasting depression. In addition, we need to fund treatment options, and realize that treatment for mental illness is not a one size fits all solution.
I've wrestled with my demons, and won. But I've done so at an incredible cost. Isolation and introversion only help you cope, they don't treat the underlying problem.
Lastly, understand that someone who has dealt with, and survived, substantial depression and suicidal thoughts is not weak; they are amazingly, incomprehensibly strong. Because it takes a powerful person to stare down that beast and win.
Monday, August 11, 2014
What You Don't Know About Suicidal Thoughts
DISCLAIMER: Please don't take the following words the wrong way. While I have wrestled with suicidal thoughts, that is long in the past, and I know myself well enough to know when the problem is too big for me. I am writing this in the hopes that it can help someone else who sees themself in this. Also understand a large part of this is metaphor.
If you've never thought demons were real, you've never dealt with depression or extreme despair. I've dealt with both at various times in my life.
Every time I hear or read about someone committing suicide, a fear comes up that only some of us know. To use a metaphor, it's like a beast that's stalking, haunting me. And when I see someone else give in to the beast, I see the beast standing there, taunting. I see his fangs, He looks at me, hungrily, as if to say, you're next.
And there was a time, not so long ago it seems, but over a decade ago in real time, when I thought the beast would win. I remember standing at the edge of the railroad tracks for over an hour, waiting to hear the whistle of an approaching train, with the intent of throwing myself on the tracks before the conductor could respond. That beast would be there, smiling, beckoning.
I had a fear of heights, not from the heights themselves, but from what the beast might do to me.
I begged everyone I was close to. I spoke with my pastor; he dismissed my claims of depression with the simple response, "well, I think all men have depression". He didn't know how urgently, how desperately I needed to understand.
I feared alcohol for the same reason I feared heights. I feared drugs for the same reason as well. Thankfully, in that sense, the beast probably saved me from an addictive nightmare.
The beast is also why I believe in God. See, I've never had a "bright light" experience, and while God apparently talks audibly to other Christians, He never has to me. But He HAS kept me from surrendering to the beast when literally not a single person on the planet would.
If you know someone, anyone, who struggles with depression or suicidal thoughts, please, don't judge them. They've judged themselves more than you ever could, and don't need you to validate. Love them with everything you have. Love them, and listen.
But don't ignore them. All it takes sometimes is a little bit of light.
I cannot tell you how passionately I feel about this. All I can tell you is that I am here solely and completely because of the grace of God. But the beast still frightens me. But it also gives me confidence.
Because I have wrestled with it, and won. And knowing that, I fear nothing else.
If you've never thought demons were real, you've never dealt with depression or extreme despair. I've dealt with both at various times in my life.
Every time I hear or read about someone committing suicide, a fear comes up that only some of us know. To use a metaphor, it's like a beast that's stalking, haunting me. And when I see someone else give in to the beast, I see the beast standing there, taunting. I see his fangs, He looks at me, hungrily, as if to say, you're next.
And there was a time, not so long ago it seems, but over a decade ago in real time, when I thought the beast would win. I remember standing at the edge of the railroad tracks for over an hour, waiting to hear the whistle of an approaching train, with the intent of throwing myself on the tracks before the conductor could respond. That beast would be there, smiling, beckoning.
I had a fear of heights, not from the heights themselves, but from what the beast might do to me.
I begged everyone I was close to. I spoke with my pastor; he dismissed my claims of depression with the simple response, "well, I think all men have depression". He didn't know how urgently, how desperately I needed to understand.
I feared alcohol for the same reason I feared heights. I feared drugs for the same reason as well. Thankfully, in that sense, the beast probably saved me from an addictive nightmare.
The beast is also why I believe in God. See, I've never had a "bright light" experience, and while God apparently talks audibly to other Christians, He never has to me. But He HAS kept me from surrendering to the beast when literally not a single person on the planet would.
If you know someone, anyone, who struggles with depression or suicidal thoughts, please, don't judge them. They've judged themselves more than you ever could, and don't need you to validate. Love them with everything you have. Love them, and listen.
But don't ignore them. All it takes sometimes is a little bit of light.
I cannot tell you how passionately I feel about this. All I can tell you is that I am here solely and completely because of the grace of God. But the beast still frightens me. But it also gives me confidence.
Because I have wrestled with it, and won. And knowing that, I fear nothing else.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
I live in a very small community that is economically dying. A conversation online reminded me of an exchange I had a couple of months ago.
I made a decision in business to stop focusing my efforts in town. Instead, I was going to travel to work, because there was money on the road, and the local community didn't provide a reliable enough income stream. In fact, during a stretch of nearly a month, AFTER all of our savings had been depleted, I made the princely sum of $50 for the stretch. And selling off our belongings wasn't netting us enough to ride the storm out.
And so I stated that I was shutting down the local side of the business almost in its entirely. The time and money I was spending to advertise, promote, and pay insurance premiums was not justified by the almost nonexistent business it was netting me.
The result of my statement was blowback from some of the community. One person went so far as to tell me that I did not belong in this town, and that I should move out for the betterment of the town.
It took a bit, but I slowly began to realize that is the exact same problem I've had in the church through the years. As people beat their brains out to figure out why folks are leaving their congregations, I have actually taken the time to talk with some of the families who have left. And I've found that their concerns are very similar to mine. Yet instead of listening to the people who have left, pastors tend to only hear the voices of the church growth professionals, who tend to write off the exiting congregants as collateral damage.
In the meantime, they've allowed people to come in who look the way they want, talk the way they want, say "amen" in the right places, and most of all, never EVER criticize the leaders. Because divine inspiration, it seems, can only come from those who are ordained by men.
The net result is that, not only are there wolves in the flock, they are in many cases LEADING the flock. The allure of building more building than you need and judging your success by how many people you can pack into that building is far too strong. Bring programs, they say. Entice the kids and the parents follow. All of these are gimmicks that never ever focus on the heart of the community.
But they are also indicators of poor leadership. Ask most of the pastors (or, getting back to the community issues, community leaders) to produce a strategic plan and you will seldom find one. Ask them to perform a SWOT analysis, and you're likely to find blank stares meeting you in the boardroom. Because a SWOT analysis requires talking to those people who left. And listening.
Instead, like the fine person who offered to run me out of town, the church is doing the same thing. The people who leave are written off, discarded, and no real change is ever made because the only people left in the seats are yes men and women, who grossly misinterpret what it means for a pastor to be "above reproach".
I've given up hope that any of my articles will ever be read in their entirety. Yet I keep them, and I keep writing them, in the hopes that one day someone will actually read them and GET them. Until that time, expect nothing to change.
I made a decision in business to stop focusing my efforts in town. Instead, I was going to travel to work, because there was money on the road, and the local community didn't provide a reliable enough income stream. In fact, during a stretch of nearly a month, AFTER all of our savings had been depleted, I made the princely sum of $50 for the stretch. And selling off our belongings wasn't netting us enough to ride the storm out.
And so I stated that I was shutting down the local side of the business almost in its entirely. The time and money I was spending to advertise, promote, and pay insurance premiums was not justified by the almost nonexistent business it was netting me.
The result of my statement was blowback from some of the community. One person went so far as to tell me that I did not belong in this town, and that I should move out for the betterment of the town.
It took a bit, but I slowly began to realize that is the exact same problem I've had in the church through the years. As people beat their brains out to figure out why folks are leaving their congregations, I have actually taken the time to talk with some of the families who have left. And I've found that their concerns are very similar to mine. Yet instead of listening to the people who have left, pastors tend to only hear the voices of the church growth professionals, who tend to write off the exiting congregants as collateral damage.
In the meantime, they've allowed people to come in who look the way they want, talk the way they want, say "amen" in the right places, and most of all, never EVER criticize the leaders. Because divine inspiration, it seems, can only come from those who are ordained by men.
The net result is that, not only are there wolves in the flock, they are in many cases LEADING the flock. The allure of building more building than you need and judging your success by how many people you can pack into that building is far too strong. Bring programs, they say. Entice the kids and the parents follow. All of these are gimmicks that never ever focus on the heart of the community.
But they are also indicators of poor leadership. Ask most of the pastors (or, getting back to the community issues, community leaders) to produce a strategic plan and you will seldom find one. Ask them to perform a SWOT analysis, and you're likely to find blank stares meeting you in the boardroom. Because a SWOT analysis requires talking to those people who left. And listening.
Instead, like the fine person who offered to run me out of town, the church is doing the same thing. The people who leave are written off, discarded, and no real change is ever made because the only people left in the seats are yes men and women, who grossly misinterpret what it means for a pastor to be "above reproach".
I've given up hope that any of my articles will ever be read in their entirety. Yet I keep them, and I keep writing them, in the hopes that one day someone will actually read them and GET them. Until that time, expect nothing to change.
Friday, August 8, 2014
John Hagee: A Liar for God
John Hagee is an icon of the evangelist. He is a hero. He is also a liar and an apologist for the wealthy. And I believe it is time for Christians to stand up against religious "leaders" like Hagee.
He continues to compare the poor to parasites, failing to call out the employers who continue to underpay their employees. He calls for "justice" by starving the poor, in direct contradiction to the Biblical mandate to CARE for the poor!
Where will you stand, Hagee, when God separates out the sheep and the goats? Where will you stand?
If the rich insist on perpetuating class warfare, I'm more than up for the fight!
He continues to compare the poor to parasites, failing to call out the employers who continue to underpay their employees. He calls for "justice" by starving the poor, in direct contradiction to the Biblical mandate to CARE for the poor!
Where will you stand, Hagee, when God separates out the sheep and the goats? Where will you stand?
If the rich insist on perpetuating class warfare, I'm more than up for the fight!
Why Simplicity?
I admit to being an extremist in one respect: I don't like waste. I don't like when I see it in the church; I don't like when I see it in my own life.
And I believe that a consistent part of being a Christian is to live simply. While it's true that God makes both rich and poor, it is a mistake to believe that money is your own. You are at best a steward, and you WILL be held accountable for how you handle God's investments.
The evangelical church is moving closer and closer to being like the pre-Reformation Catholic church in reality, if not in name. People of power and position are given preference in the church, and, rather than raise up ministers to meet the needs of the flock, we exalt ministers with a charismatic bent to a lofty position and build up their churches. And we turn away from ministry anyone who has the ability but doesn't have the salesmanship. Church has become a business, and it costs a good deal of money to support those ministries.
The truth is, this is NOT what was intended. Yes, we can look at Jewish tradition as far as buildings are concerned, but if you are comparing ANY modern church building to the temple, you are not well versed in theology. The truth is, the very simple yet profound act of the curtain being torn in two upon the death of Christ illustrates why that analogy is inaccurate: because the Temple simply is NOT part of the New Covenant. This is because the Temple was a type of Christ.
When Jesus sent out His disciples, He sent them out with nothing (Luke 9:3). There was no fancy dress, and if we're acting in accordance with Jesus' teachings, there wouldn't be an emphasis on sound, lights, and essentially trying to replicate a rock concert on a Sunday morning service. Now, I've had the debate on projectors, and I can reluctantly agree that IF the purchase of a computer and a projector does not impede the ministry, it's not an outrageous choice, because, as a pastor friend of mine has pointed out, it does urge the congregation to look up, and actually SING. It would be better if they knew all the words in the hymnal, as used to be the norm, but we can't lament the cultural relics of the past.
Today's church often consists of simulcasts and video teaching. Contrast this with Jesus' teaching methods, which encouraged questions, encouraged interaction. Any teacher will tell you that you can only accomplish so much. Simplicity allows the ministers to interact with their congregation, and through the questions that the congregants ask, it can be much easier to identify the needs.
But the main reason simplicity is important is because many churches have made the gospel secondary. Positions in the church are often given to the wealthiest, using the rationale that they are better stewards of their money (that's often not the case, but it is the perception in our culture). The truth is, if a major contributor to the church's finances was caught in a major scandal, it would be difficult for the church to confront them, because a good number of pastors would be unwilling to risk the financial stability of their church by offending the contributor.
To be fair, most pastors that I know personally would not hesitate to speak out, but I have also known a few personally who HAVE failed to speak out -- and watched as the actions of those individuals ultimately affected and destroyed their congregations. It's not pretty.
The truth is, for a Christian, the GOSPEL is what is important. Not programs, not multimedia, not a worship team. If those are an impedance to proper worship, they should be removed. And if the cost to maintain them causes the church to neglect serious needs in the community, they should be done away with. Our call is primarily to those outside the church, after all, NOT those inside of it.
I know there are those who will argue my point, and they will do so with elegance. But as Christians, we must face the fact that our slavish devotion to the things of this world is a compromise that is seriously destroying the church. The majority of Christians I know (and I've been guilty of this myself from time to time) can quote more lines from their favorite movie than they can from Scripture. That is a tragedy.
Let's try to stop serving mammon so much, and focus on what's important. That's where true religion begins!
And I believe that a consistent part of being a Christian is to live simply. While it's true that God makes both rich and poor, it is a mistake to believe that money is your own. You are at best a steward, and you WILL be held accountable for how you handle God's investments.
The evangelical church is moving closer and closer to being like the pre-Reformation Catholic church in reality, if not in name. People of power and position are given preference in the church, and, rather than raise up ministers to meet the needs of the flock, we exalt ministers with a charismatic bent to a lofty position and build up their churches. And we turn away from ministry anyone who has the ability but doesn't have the salesmanship. Church has become a business, and it costs a good deal of money to support those ministries.
The truth is, this is NOT what was intended. Yes, we can look at Jewish tradition as far as buildings are concerned, but if you are comparing ANY modern church building to the temple, you are not well versed in theology. The truth is, the very simple yet profound act of the curtain being torn in two upon the death of Christ illustrates why that analogy is inaccurate: because the Temple simply is NOT part of the New Covenant. This is because the Temple was a type of Christ.
When Jesus sent out His disciples, He sent them out with nothing (Luke 9:3). There was no fancy dress, and if we're acting in accordance with Jesus' teachings, there wouldn't be an emphasis on sound, lights, and essentially trying to replicate a rock concert on a Sunday morning service. Now, I've had the debate on projectors, and I can reluctantly agree that IF the purchase of a computer and a projector does not impede the ministry, it's not an outrageous choice, because, as a pastor friend of mine has pointed out, it does urge the congregation to look up, and actually SING. It would be better if they knew all the words in the hymnal, as used to be the norm, but we can't lament the cultural relics of the past.
Today's church often consists of simulcasts and video teaching. Contrast this with Jesus' teaching methods, which encouraged questions, encouraged interaction. Any teacher will tell you that you can only accomplish so much. Simplicity allows the ministers to interact with their congregation, and through the questions that the congregants ask, it can be much easier to identify the needs.
But the main reason simplicity is important is because many churches have made the gospel secondary. Positions in the church are often given to the wealthiest, using the rationale that they are better stewards of their money (that's often not the case, but it is the perception in our culture). The truth is, if a major contributor to the church's finances was caught in a major scandal, it would be difficult for the church to confront them, because a good number of pastors would be unwilling to risk the financial stability of their church by offending the contributor.
To be fair, most pastors that I know personally would not hesitate to speak out, but I have also known a few personally who HAVE failed to speak out -- and watched as the actions of those individuals ultimately affected and destroyed their congregations. It's not pretty.
The truth is, for a Christian, the GOSPEL is what is important. Not programs, not multimedia, not a worship team. If those are an impedance to proper worship, they should be removed. And if the cost to maintain them causes the church to neglect serious needs in the community, they should be done away with. Our call is primarily to those outside the church, after all, NOT those inside of it.
I know there are those who will argue my point, and they will do so with elegance. But as Christians, we must face the fact that our slavish devotion to the things of this world is a compromise that is seriously destroying the church. The majority of Christians I know (and I've been guilty of this myself from time to time) can quote more lines from their favorite movie than they can from Scripture. That is a tragedy.
Let's try to stop serving mammon so much, and focus on what's important. That's where true religion begins!
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
It's Not About Guilt; It's About Humanity
4,743 faces. 4,743 names.
Between 1888 and 1968, 4,743 people faced the hangman's noose in a massive bloodbath orchestrated by people who claimed to be Christian. Although not all were black, 73% were, and most were in the South. Two were hanged in the very town where I was born.
150 were women, and at least three of those (Mary Turner, Josefa Segovia and Laura Nelson) were either pregnant or had given birth. And the faces of those who hanged them would sit proudly in the churches not long after.
As I am doing the research for a specific project, I am discovering a lot of ugly truths about the history of lynching in America. It is a history on which the church has been remarkably silent, preferring to leave in our past, believing that we've become more civilized (the blood of Trayvon Martin would, I am sure, argue against our being more civilized, but that's another matter).
I cannot reconcile with THIS church, cannot consider myself a part of THIS body. I know it doesn't recognize the face of the church today, but I cannot help but think that even though we did not perform these vile actions, we can be among those to help heal in the descendants of these victims who sit among us.
It's time for us to own the actions of our forbearers. And atone.
Between 1888 and 1968, 4,743 people faced the hangman's noose in a massive bloodbath orchestrated by people who claimed to be Christian. Although not all were black, 73% were, and most were in the South. Two were hanged in the very town where I was born.
150 were women, and at least three of those (Mary Turner, Josefa Segovia and Laura Nelson) were either pregnant or had given birth. And the faces of those who hanged them would sit proudly in the churches not long after.
As I am doing the research for a specific project, I am discovering a lot of ugly truths about the history of lynching in America. It is a history on which the church has been remarkably silent, preferring to leave in our past, believing that we've become more civilized (the blood of Trayvon Martin would, I am sure, argue against our being more civilized, but that's another matter).
I cannot reconcile with THIS church, cannot consider myself a part of THIS body. I know it doesn't recognize the face of the church today, but I cannot help but think that even though we did not perform these vile actions, we can be among those to help heal in the descendants of these victims who sit among us.
It's time for us to own the actions of our forbearers. And atone.
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