What’s the idea of “American”? We grow up with these notions of certain things being firmly American: apple pie, baseball, rock ‘n roll, the protestant work ethic, cars, the American Dream. Sometimes I wonder where it all comes from and why these pressures continue to mount on us today. When the first colonies were settled and people were trying to carve out their existence in the face of harsh weather, few supplies, and a native people who wanted to remain native, did those colonists ever look forward and wonder what life would be like on this continent in several hundred years? Did they realize how much of the land would be swallowed up and consumed with concrete? Did they realize that the people inhabiting the land would continue to carry on many of the ethics they started with?
The Weight of the Bible
The Bible is an intimidating book. It carries with it the weight of history and the authority of God himself. It comes in several dozen translations, from the overbearing King James to the simplistic New International Reader’s Version. The book sits on my shelf between my journal and a clip art book. The binding is giving out and the corners of the cover are bent and torn. Sometimes I try not to look at it. It sits there on my desk, the face of the binding staring back at me with its gold embossed letters. I know what it’s going to tell me, and I don’t want to hear it. So I look away. Other times I sigh, and with a sense of duty pick the book up and drop it in my lap, turning to the bookmarked page and reading my required chapter. The words ring empty and hollow in my ear. I’ve heard them so many times before. Sometimes the words sound cryptic and mysterious, and I can’t fathom their meaning. What was Jesus getting at? I shake my head and wonder if I’m supposed to understand. It’s a scary book to read. It drips with the truth, and even when I pause to think about what the point is, I know have an inkling in the back of my mind that it’s speaking directly to me. Yesterday I read it with a chuckle. For the first time in my life I saw the humor in a passage. Is the Bible allowed to be funny? What an oddly mysterious and wonderful book. Sometimes intimidating, other times enlightening, but always a heavy weight in my backpack. I’m not sure if I really know what I’m carrying around with me.
Fundamentally Opposed Worldviews
College age minstrels, playing the songs of their hearts. He closes his eyes and strums his guitar, his body swaying to the music. I close my eyes to listen, leaning forward. The others around me are oblivious. A girl tells jokes to her friend, another catches up on lost time. Sometimes I don’t understand, and I try to filter out the noise. Later that night a song ends and the silence pervades. It lingered for a moment, the crowd afraid to disrupt the moment with applause. That’s when you know it’s right.
Today I came face to face with a certain dilemma. Whether you know it or not you have an organized priority list for all of your beliefs. Some of them are worth dying for, others are not. Your belief in the superiority of Macintosh computers, for example, is not an extremely important belief. You learn to live with those who don’t care too much for Macs. However, you also believe that forgiveness through Jesus Christ is the only way to eternal life. That is an important belief, and one you might even give your life for. In between is an expansive list of beliefs that range in importance. Some are central to Christian belief. Others are mere opinion. Some have set the boundaries between denominations. Beliefs over the sacraments–communion and baptism would be two fine examples. But other beliefs aren’t nearly as important. I believe eating breakfast every day is good for you and important. But among my roommates I’m the minority, and we all seem to live with that. At my church back home, rock ‘n roll wasn’t looked on too favorably. But despite our differences in belief, I managed to serve in that church without too much trouble.
The dilemma I faced today was how important are some of those minor beliefs? Someone told me that my view point was fundamentally opposed to their view point, and therefore we couldn’t work together–all based on a minor point of belief, similar to me liking breakfast. I wasn’t quite sure what to do. I dropped my defenses and decided to stop arguing over the minor belief. Neither of us was going to give any ground, and I didn’t see the point in debating. But I explained this simple idea in some situations you need to agree to disagree. I’m not too sure how they’ll take that. I’m still waiting for an answer. It seems sadly quiet that few people understand this concept today. Everyone has their own opinion, and I’m always right, darn it. I don’t really care what your opinion is, and frankly I don’t have to listen to it, or put up with it. It’s not a very friendly philosophy, is it? Seems to slam doors in people’s faces and create a vast hall of narrow mindedness. But then again, maybe that’s just my opinion.
Evangelists for Joes
What are you an evangelist for? Sometimes it seems like we’re better at evangelizing everything else. Have you eaten at Joe’s? They have the best chicken sandwiches. You should listen to Joe’s Rock Band, they’re the best. Why do you eat meat? You should become a vegetarian. Why are we so enthusiastic about everything else in our lives, but when it comes to God we usually keep quiet? It really makes you wonder where your priorities are. Sure, you can say your priorities are in one place, but it’s your actions that really prove it.
Concert at a Now-Defunct Club
What’s it like to be a no name band traveling across the country playing hole in the wall clubs with reject Salvation Army furniture? It’s a plywood floor and the brick walls and exposed pipes make it look like the walled in the alley. The punk kids pour in, spikes, chains, colored hair. I can’t help but wonder if this is the cutting edge of the music scene, or just a hole in the wall. Cigarette smoke lingers, adding an interesting contradiction to the words from the stage about this Jesus. The lead singer has the look of a rock star. You think he does it on purpose. His skateboard shoes, tattered jeans, and old Cincinnati Reds T-shirt. His hair hangs down past his chin in tangles. But it’s not on purpose so much as it’s the life on the road. It’s not fashion so much as necessity.
2:20 a.m.
2:20 in the morning and my eyes blink at the clock repeatedly. Random thoughts of tomorrow’s responsibilities come and go, and I can’t seem to latch on to any of them. Perhaps it’s time to call it quits. It’s been a long, successful day, and the moment I woke up and smacked my alarm seems like last week. Not only did I score a winning broom ball goal, but I made an essay sing. There’s nothing like crawling into bed and knowing you’ve accomplished something during the day.
Finding Worship
I close my eyes and the world falls away. The stuffy gym and the sweaty guy next to me and the fact that I really should have gone to the bathroom all disappear. The music echoes in my mind and the words form vivid images of soaring angels and a God bigger than the world yet He still holds me close. A guitar string broke, one of the singers lead with ‘Father’ instead of ‘Spirit’ and the sound of ripping Velcro to my right all tried to pull my heart from the moment. But as I sang the words in my scratchy, off-key voice I imagined a shield of grace coming down around me as I sang praises to my God. Worship isn’t about being comfortable and having the perfect atmosphere. It’s not about all the right songs at all the right tempos with just the right orchestration. It’s about where my heart is. It’s about glorifying God. Nothing else matters. My aching feet and the desire to sit down don’t matter. If it’s that big of a deal I can fall down on my knees. God deserves my attention now, not the subtle, nit-picky mistakes.
Holy, holy, holy
Lord God Almighty.
Long Day’s Work
I’ve been toying with words all day, and now I’m supposed to sit down and say something profound? How ’bout goodnight?
Never Wonder Why
A thousand questions and realities, ways of seeing the world, yet you are guided by just one. Not only are you narrow sighted, you push your one dimensional God on every generation. Why do you smother imagination, extinguish creativity, and exhaust my patience? All I can do is throw up my hands and leave it to a higher power. A higher power that you’ve categorized, idealized, and squeezed every last drop of life. What can you possibly have left to offer? Isn’t the world a bigger place? Don’t the horizons go into infinity, the stars innumerable. But you won’t have it. You cling to every letter, every word, no room for reason, no room for creativity, no room for dissent. You clip our wings before we can fall and learn to fly, you stunt our growth, stunt our faith, and make it impossible for us to ever soar with wings as eagles. Instead we will peck along the ground and you’ll see to it that we never wonder why.
Reflecting on Leon
I brought Leon peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I gave him an apple once. I’d get free samples from the corner venders, just to hand them over to Leon. One time I took him to McDonalds. I even thought about bringing him home with me for the weekend. Give him a hot shower, a bed to sleep in, a roof over his head. But I never had the chance.
Leon slept in an alley on a plastic bag. The bag doubled as his rain jacket. He took naps in Grant park and loved to lie in the grass and listen to the music from the summer festivals. A paralyzed leg kept him from going far. It would drag behind him when he walked, limp and lifeless like a sack of potatoes. He spent his days sitting on a ledge in the shade, outside the Panda Bear restaurant, within sight of the Art Institute of Chicago. Leon told me that when he was rich, he was going to buy that Art Institute and let homeless people sleep there.