Confession time Monday, February 5, 2007 |
Not proud of this...and a twinge confused by my reaction. Last night we were at a Super Bowl party at a friend's house with an assortment of people. I knew everyone there, but to varying degrees. Early in the night the talk of the party was the CR Super Bowl service. People were sharing how much Brad's story had meant to them, parents who had come into town and were blown away by the service, where to find Girlymannomore, etc. I was generally quiet, enjoying the overall vibe and listening to other's stories. Eventually I was sitting on a couch listening to my friend B talking with a friend of his about the service. I don't know the other guy well, but what I do know is he's a nice guy, upstanding citizen, always treated me fine, etc. Ok, the stage is set now. Anyway, I know he goes to another church here in town and is not a fan of CR (totally fine I thought). Suddenly I hear him (he went to the service) saying "How much money did they spend on that? What a waste." B replies "Ask Andrew, he'd probably know." I immediately reply (without being asked) with the wittiest, most bitingly sarcastic comment I could (something along the lines of "If you're going to talk shit about how the church chooses to spend it's money I'm not interested in answering your questions..." Now, for those that know me, I was able to say this in a somewhat coy, smiling, mischievous way that conveyed something less than the instant anger I felt towards this guy. Are you kidding me! Why the hell did I have that reaction? Not exactly very loving. In fact, B started laughing and said to his buddy "Be careful dude, you're treading on thin ice." Why? Am I really that ignorant? This guy loves Jesus, is a part of the buddy, and for whatever reason disagrees with how CR does a Super Bowl service. Big deal. So why did I rile up like a cornered dog and respond with venom? I'm embarrassed. Do I get this guys number? Do I apologize? I ended up talking with him for a while about it, and it was a fine conversation. Still, it really bothers me I reacted so defensively. I've got a long way to go...
Labels: confession, Love
Mad Jesus Skilz or Applied Pacifism Isn't Passive Monday, January 29, 2007 |
The title is totally stolen from a Shane Claiborne blog...let's get that out of the way right now. I am not a pacifist. At least, I don't think I am. At least, my limited understanding of the definition of pacifism, coupled with 26 years of hard core right wing christian conservatism (which is currently under assault by the Bible) once led me to believe I wasn't a pacifist. But in reading the story below (in it's entirety here), I was struck by one thought...should I be? Am I already? Please read...
...Cassim and I were walking to the post office, a walk I take several times a week. It's on the "other side of the tracks" in a neighborhood called Port Richmond, where lots of folks say they want to move to get out of Kensington, where we live. In fact, most locals call Kensington "the Badlands." But I always warn folks to be careful with that, lest they think "nothing good can come out of Kensington." After all, that's exactly what folks said about Nazareth, Jesus' neighborhood. God seems to have a special knack for showing up in the Badlands. After all, there are really good kids here, like Cassim. Cassim is one of the gentle kids, one I hope to never see lose his innocence and trust, or his heart grow hard. He likes cooking with us, gardening, getting beat at Othello - even cleaning the house or doing homework. I've always thought it funny and out-of-character that he is in a boxing club run by some Christians around the corner from us. Christian boxing ... hmm.
Cassim is 11 and his mom doesn't let him out a lot, so you can imagine that when we got jumped I was caught a little off-guard. We were walking down the narrow side street, and some teenaged guys started following behind. You could just feel the mischief brewing, and it grew from two young men to four and then eight, until there was a little mob of sorts. They started calling out some names, throwing rocks and sticks, trying to stir up trouble.
It's always hard on the spot like that to know exactly what Jesus would do. I told Cassim, "Let's go say hi." He looked at me skeptically. We turned back and walked towards them (knowing full well that if we had run we may have made it to the post office). "Hey, I'm Shane. And this is my friend Cassim. We live around the corner," I said with my hand out. They weren't really sure what to do with that. A couple of them shook my hand and introduced themselves. Others snickered. One or two refused the handshake. We said, "Nice to meet you guys," and headed on our walk.
With the wind taken out of their sail a bit, they regrouped, and then continued to build momentum towards a violent brawl. They ran after us, throwing some rocks and bottles, and I noticed two of them now carried a couple of broomsticks from the trash. We picked up the pace a bit, and then I looked at Cassim and said, "No, don't run." We turned back, and before we knew it, one of them clocked Cassim on the side of the head with a stick. I said firmly, "Why would you do that? We haven't done anything to hurt you." They laughed. Then they started hitting me with the broomstick until it broke over my back. At this point I decided to bust out a can of holy anger. I looked them in the eyes and said as forcefully as I could, "You are created in the image of God ... every single one of you. And you were made for something better than this. Cassim and I are followers of Jesus and we do not fight, but we will love you no matter what you do to us." That wasn't exactly what they expected or hoped for. They looked at each other, startled a bit ... for the first time, they were completely quiet. And then they scurried off in every direction.
I'll never forget what Cassim said afterwords. "Shane, why am I taking boxing lessons?" We laughed at the irony of it, having just experienced a prime chance to implement his mad skilz. I asked Cassim frankly what he thought would have happened if he had chosen to fight. "It would have been ugly," he said. "They might have been bloody and we probably would have been real bloody." No one would have left any nicer, that was for sure.
I asked Cassim if he thought Jesus was happy with how we acted. He thought about it, and then nodded with a smile. I told him that, honestly, I wasn't sure exactly what Jesus would have done if he were in our place … but there are two things I know Jesus would not have done. He would not have fought. And he would not have run. I told him Jesus may have thought of something else, or he may have done something weird to throw them off, as he often seems to do – like drawing in the dirt with his finger (or writing on the road with sidewalk chalk, "you are better than this"), or maybe pulling a coin out of a fish's mouth (or pulling a piece of candy out of a pigeon's mouth). But I think Jesus was happy with how we acted, and that we were good representatives – good witnesses – of Christ to them. Cassim agreed, and then we prayed for them together. And finally, as he was leaving, Cassim reminded me that each of those boys has to go to bed thinking about what they did that day, and so did we.
I'm not sure about those other boys, but Cassim and I both slept well that night … and woke up a little sore but happy the next morning. Hopefully Cassim's mom will let him come out of the house.
...Cassim and I were walking to the post office, a walk I take several times a week. It's on the "other side of the tracks" in a neighborhood called Port Richmond, where lots of folks say they want to move to get out of Kensington, where we live. In fact, most locals call Kensington "the Badlands." But I always warn folks to be careful with that, lest they think "nothing good can come out of Kensington." After all, that's exactly what folks said about Nazareth, Jesus' neighborhood. God seems to have a special knack for showing up in the Badlands. After all, there are really good kids here, like Cassim. Cassim is one of the gentle kids, one I hope to never see lose his innocence and trust, or his heart grow hard. He likes cooking with us, gardening, getting beat at Othello - even cleaning the house or doing homework. I've always thought it funny and out-of-character that he is in a boxing club run by some Christians around the corner from us. Christian boxing ... hmm.
Cassim is 11 and his mom doesn't let him out a lot, so you can imagine that when we got jumped I was caught a little off-guard. We were walking down the narrow side street, and some teenaged guys started following behind. You could just feel the mischief brewing, and it grew from two young men to four and then eight, until there was a little mob of sorts. They started calling out some names, throwing rocks and sticks, trying to stir up trouble.
It's always hard on the spot like that to know exactly what Jesus would do. I told Cassim, "Let's go say hi." He looked at me skeptically. We turned back and walked towards them (knowing full well that if we had run we may have made it to the post office). "Hey, I'm Shane. And this is my friend Cassim. We live around the corner," I said with my hand out. They weren't really sure what to do with that. A couple of them shook my hand and introduced themselves. Others snickered. One or two refused the handshake. We said, "Nice to meet you guys," and headed on our walk.
With the wind taken out of their sail a bit, they regrouped, and then continued to build momentum towards a violent brawl. They ran after us, throwing some rocks and bottles, and I noticed two of them now carried a couple of broomsticks from the trash. We picked up the pace a bit, and then I looked at Cassim and said, "No, don't run." We turned back, and before we knew it, one of them clocked Cassim on the side of the head with a stick. I said firmly, "Why would you do that? We haven't done anything to hurt you." They laughed. Then they started hitting me with the broomstick until it broke over my back. At this point I decided to bust out a can of holy anger. I looked them in the eyes and said as forcefully as I could, "You are created in the image of God ... every single one of you. And you were made for something better than this. Cassim and I are followers of Jesus and we do not fight, but we will love you no matter what you do to us." That wasn't exactly what they expected or hoped for. They looked at each other, startled a bit ... for the first time, they were completely quiet. And then they scurried off in every direction.
I'll never forget what Cassim said afterwords. "Shane, why am I taking boxing lessons?" We laughed at the irony of it, having just experienced a prime chance to implement his mad skilz. I asked Cassim frankly what he thought would have happened if he had chosen to fight. "It would have been ugly," he said. "They might have been bloody and we probably would have been real bloody." No one would have left any nicer, that was for sure.
I asked Cassim if he thought Jesus was happy with how we acted. He thought about it, and then nodded with a smile. I told him that, honestly, I wasn't sure exactly what Jesus would have done if he were in our place … but there are two things I know Jesus would not have done. He would not have fought. And he would not have run. I told him Jesus may have thought of something else, or he may have done something weird to throw them off, as he often seems to do – like drawing in the dirt with his finger (or writing on the road with sidewalk chalk, "you are better than this"), or maybe pulling a coin out of a fish's mouth (or pulling a piece of candy out of a pigeon's mouth). But I think Jesus was happy with how we acted, and that we were good representatives – good witnesses – of Christ to them. Cassim agreed, and then we prayed for them together. And finally, as he was leaving, Cassim reminded me that each of those boys has to go to bed thinking about what they did that day, and so did we.
I'm not sure about those other boys, but Cassim and I both slept well that night … and woke up a little sore but happy the next morning. Hopefully Cassim's mom will let him come out of the house.
I have told them that Molotov cocktails and rifles would not solve their problems. But they asked, and rightly so, what about Vietnam? They asked if our own nation wasn't using massive doses of violence to solve its problems. Their questions hit home, and I knew that I could never again raise my voice against the violence of the oppressed in the ghettos without having first spoken clearly to the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today – my own government.
- Martin Luther King Jr., in " A Time to Break the Silence," delivered April 4, 1967 at Riverside Church, New York City.
Movie Night Part 1 |
Sorry friends for the lack of posts...I've had the pleasure of being down in Tennessee the past few days taking in the beauty of Norris Lake (no, I didn't wakeboard) and checking out a house a friend was considering buying. The house checked out, the offer was made, and he is now the proud owner of a place on Norris Lake. That's pretty cool. In other news, I watched three movies with my wife this weekend. Very "stay at home, love on her, chill out" kind of Saturday/Sunday. The first two were of the documentary variety (we find ourselves enjoying the stories of real people quite a bit these days). "Born Into Brothels" was number one, and what a film it was. The general summary is a woman (photographer) moves to Calcutta to take pictures of life there, ends up living in the Red Light District with the prostitutes and starts documenting their lives (who hasn't done that at some point?) While stepping into their culture she meets the children of these prostitues who live in the brothels. They are mostly the sad by-product of the sex trade, born into a situation we cannot fathom. She decides hope is in fairly short supply, and the one thing she knows how to do with some proficiency is take photographs, so she decides to teach these kids how to take pictures. The result is amazing (watch the movie).While watching these kids transform into accomplished photographers, documenting the unbelieveable realities taking place all around them, I kept coming back to one question...who was this woman who was sacrificing her life for these kids? She was barely on screen, almost always seemed to be dodging the camera, and was working herself to the bone day in and day out to secure ration cards, passports, schooling opportunities, etc. for these children. She was being Jesus, but I had no idea if she even cared about him. I'm still not sure if she does, though I did find that she earned a Master's degree in Theology and Religious Studies from Cambridge University (I guess they'd talk about Jesus). Regardless, it always amazes me how narrow my world view is, that I'd assume someone has to know Jesus to love on people that way. At the same time, I'm also amazed how often these types of people do know Jesus, and are drawn to living life out in the most practical examples of Christ's love I could ever imagine. I think a move to Mamelodi is imminent. Part 2 will come soon. Enjoy some of these kid's photographs...
Labels: Born into Brothels, Jesus, Love
Thanks Shane Wednesday, January 10, 2007 |
I am a fine communicator. I typically can speak clearly, with passion and purpose, and I enjoy all manners of writing. I actually studied (little known fact coming up) creative copywriting in college. Oh well. The execution of Saddam Hussein has really bothered me over the last week or so, and I haven't been able to quite articulate why. The following post (from a writer I am particularly fond of) encapsulated exactly how I was feeling. I had that Aha! moment, when my insides say "Yes yes,that's it!" Your thoughtful consideration of what he has to say is deeply appreciated...and your thoughts are also welcome.
Shane Claiborne: Communicating Through a Noose
"What do you think of that man?" the old guy asked in a raspy voice as I settled in next to him on the plane. He pointed to the face of Saddam Hussein on the front of his newspaper with a headline story of the looming execution. I gathered myself, and prepared for what could turn out to be a rather chatty plane ride. I replied gently, "I think that man needs some love." And the rather boisterous gentleman sat still, perhaps not exactly the response he predicted. Then he said pensively, "Hmmmm. I think you're right..." And finally, he whispered in a forlorn tone, "And it is hard to communicate love through a noose." (bold added for effect)
This is Shane. Read his book, Irresistible Revolution. If you don't dig it, I'll buy it back from you. I think I've bought 7 copies so far...what's one more going to do.
Shane Claiborne: Communicating Through a Noose
"What do you think of that man?" the old guy asked in a raspy voice as I settled in next to him on the plane. He pointed to the face of Saddam Hussein on the front of his newspaper with a headline story of the looming execution. I gathered myself, and prepared for what could turn out to be a rather chatty plane ride. I replied gently, "I think that man needs some love." And the rather boisterous gentleman sat still, perhaps not exactly the response he predicted. Then he said pensively, "Hmmmm. I think you're right..." And finally, he whispered in a forlorn tone, "And it is hard to communicate love through a noose." (bold added for effect)
Sometimes we just need permission to say, "It's not okay to kill someone to show everyone how much we hate killing." As Christian artist Derek Webb sings, " Peace by way of war is like purity by way of fornication. It's like saying murder is wrong and showing them by way of execution." I am encouraged by how many Christians I hear voicing an alternative to the myth of redemptive violence in light of the recent killing of Saddam, folks who love Jesus and have the unsettling feeling that Jesus loves evildoers so much he died for them, for us. I have heard many evangelicals who see Saddam's execution as the ultimate act of hopelessness and faithlessness – after all it is humanity stepping in to make the final judgment, that this human created in God's image is beyond redemption. And for those who believe in hell, executing someone who may not yet know of the love and grace of Christ is doubly offensive.
It is rather scandalous to think that we have a God who loves murderers and terrorists like Saul of Tarsus, Osama bin Laden, or Sadaam Hussein – but that is the "good news" isn't it? It's the old eye for an eye thing that gets us. But the more I've studied the Hebrew Scriptures the more I am convinced that this was just a boundary for people who lashed back. As the young exodus people are trying to discover a new way of living outside the empire, God made sure there were some boundaries, like if someone breaks your are, you cannot go back and break their arm and their leg. If someone kills hundreds of your people, you cannot kill 160,000 of theirs.We've learned the eye for an eye thing all too well. A shock and awe bombing leads to a shock and awe beheading. A Pearl Harbor leads to a Hiroshima. A murder leads to an execution. A rude look leads to a cold shoulder. An eye for an eye we have indeed heard before and learned its logic all too well. But Jesus comes declaring in his State of the Union Sermon on the Mount address (Matthew 5): "You have heard that it was said, 'Eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,'" but there is a another way. No wonder Jesus wept over Jerusalem because the people "did not know the things that make for peace."
Gandhi and King used to say, "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth leaves the whole world blind" (and with dentures). The gospels tell the story of a group of people who have dragged forward an adulteress and are ready to stone her (this was the legal consequence). Jesus is asked for his support of this death penalty case. His response is this... "You are all adulterers. If you have looked at someone lustfully, you have committed adultery in your heart." And the people drop their stones and walk away with their heads bowed. We want to kill the murderers, and Jesus says to us: "You are all murderers. If you have called your neighbor 'Raca, Fool' you are guilty of murder in your heart." Again the stones drop. We are all murderers and adulterers and terrorists. And we are all precious.
When we have new eyes we can look into the faces of those we don't even like, and see the One we love. We can see God's image in everyone we encounter. As Henri Nouwen puts it: "In the face of the oppressed I recognize my own face and in the hands of the oppressor I recognize my own hands. Their flesh is my flesh, their blood is my blood, their pain is my pain, their smile is my smile." We are made of the same dust. We cry the same tears. No one is beyond redemption and no one is beyond repute. And that is when we are free to imagine a revolution that sets both the oppressed and the oppressors free. The world is starving for grace. And grace is hard to communicate with a noose.
This is Shane. Read his book, Irresistible Revolution. If you don't dig it, I'll buy it back from you. I think I've bought 7 copies so far...what's one more going to do.
Labels: Grace, Love, Saddam Hussein