Spontaneous Combustion and the 2005 Taylor grads

We all need to do something unplanned every once in a while and today, I was feeling I needed to do that very much. Amidst a load of papers due and books for class to read, I felt the urge to do something that would normally take planning and run with it to make it happen. Sadly, I was the only one up for such a thing, and so, my spontaneous thoughts were flushed down the toilet.

In light of the soon-to-be-graduates of Taylor University, I just wanted to congratulate all of you---especially the ones I really like---on accomplishing four years of education in so little time. And I also wanted to remind you that from here on out, it will be an ongoing battle of learning to live strictly by the book and by the planner, OR choosing to live with purpose and meaning and spontaneous fervor and a willingness at any moment to drop every-thing in life you own and possess, and immediatly run, run, run into the horizon of endless dreams and sunsets; into the place of irrational baby giggles; and into a world where you live for love, and people, and not for schedules or money.

I hope none of you choose the latter of those two. Good day and congrats.

Go Bo Go!

Oh, and I hope the final A.I. round comes down to "The Vonz" and Bo. But after tonight's show, I can't say I'd like to have anyone but Bo win. I'm sorry but he's the only one out of the three that I never felt nervous for while they were singing. That tells me to put my money where Bo goes, and so, I'm pretty much there. Go Bo Go!

Challenging the Fundamental Bunny

For someone who's as careful about what they say as I am, it's no small feat to come out and question the general political stance of my beloved Christian brothers and sisters. Asking "But Why?" may sound simple, but for me, it's not. It's much easier for me to rage and complain and object and scoff on the inside---because I always win the argument when I do that---than it is for me to tell a person what I'm really thinking or wondering at the moment.

And so, lately, I've tried to do just that, and can't tell you what a thrilling and freeing feeling it is. I hope I can keep this up because I'm really starting to like doing this.

(And sorry for beating around the bush---as this post doesn't really delve into "what" exactly I did do---but I'm taking my cue from "Mean Girls" right now and trying not to talk about people behind their backs. But wow, it's much harder than I thought it would be.)

Come to Me

Every now and then, I come to the Bible and see it as alive again. I know it always is alive theologically speaking but most of the time, I don't think I really believe that. If I did, I would be reading it much more often than I actually do. That's not to say I should beat myself up for not reading it enough---because that would turn into being legalistic---but it is something when you realize again the very power and love that once drew you to God in the first place, is still well and active and living and moving.

When I read Jesus' words, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest," I can't think of a better way to sum up the entire empty space of ultimate need that all of us feel eventually in life. The kind of need that cries out "I'm tired...I'm fed up....I'm sick of trying to do things my way...I'm sick of trying to always be right...I'm tired of always trying to look presentable...I'm at the end of my rope, and I need help, please!" Everyone has these feelings and although I don't think I was necessarily feeling any of those things last night when I read this verse for the first time in a very long time, it did still give me comfort and hope and was the very words I needed to hear at that moment.

Madeleine L'Engle once wrote, "Our faith is a faith of vulnerability and hope, not a faith of suspicion and hate." I think my big goal in life right now is trying to make that a reality. Choosing the words that will build up, instead of the ones that would tear down. Looking for ways to find joy and peace and ways to bring people together, instead of living and breathing in the self-righteous and self-centered pompous air of judgmentalism. God is God over all creation, and His love stretches from and to "all corners of the cosmos." I just think I tend to forget that every morning I wake up. I keep forgetting and God---don't ask me why---keeps reminding me and loving me, despite this. I wonder if there will ever come a day when I remember all day this simple truth: that God loves me, this I know, for the Bible, tells me so.

How likely? Very likely.

In response to the comment on my previous post:

"Yes, I would like to think that should such a horrible thing happen, I would move heaven and hell and re-arrange whatever pieces in what I usually call my life to take care of this kid---despite how irrational and illogical it sounds---because I guess in the long run, making sure this kid grows up to know he had two parents that loved him very much is (I think) more important to me than dallying along with my so-called life-plans."

It seems silly to try to speak definitively on the matter (because really, it is in the end one of those decisions that must be made again when and if it comes to your world, face-to-face, in the heat of the moment). I'd like to think that reflects what my friend Dave means to me---doesn't laying down one's whole life for a friend also constitute laying down a very much alive life too?---but maybe I'm just being wishful. Either way you look at it, what I said I meant and so, that's all I really can say at the present moment in time. Sometimes the best decisions in one's life are the ones he never makes because they sound so absurd, so hard, so illogical and so totally selfless. To me, this sounds like one of those decisions; so how could I say "No!"???

All is full of Love

Bjork was so right, even though so many times love doesn't seem to be anywhere around us.

My freshman year Fall semester roommate Dave Hoe called me up yesterday and as soon as I saw his name light up my cell phone display, I thought I was about to hear the good news: the baby had been born!!!

But the baby had not been born, although the due date is tomorrow. Two previous trips to the hospital were false alarms, and so, little Elliot Fox (yes, they already named him) still sits, hangs, grips, and kicks inside of Lindsay and waits for his time to come. Waiting to enter the world is a pretty big deal; I wonder if he knows what he's getting himself into? Not that he really had a choice I guess.

After talking to Dave about how excited he was to become a father, I got sad and wished (or at least part of me did) that I was becoming a father soon too. And that's when he asked the question that stumped me:

"Neville, Lindsay and I would like you to be the baby's Godfather?"

I was stunned, and couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

"Are you serious or is this a joke?" I asked.

"No, I'm serious."

"Well, what would that entail?" (dumb question, I know---but hey, I'm not Catholic even though I wish I was, and so give me a break)

"Well, should anything happen to Lindsay and me, we'd want you to raise Elliot."

"Oh, absolutely!" I said. And that's how it happened. I became a Godfather for the very first time, and I was thrilled. I didn't think about it; I didn't project and prophesize into the future and think hard on what that would look like for me or what I so-call-my life; I just said 'yes!' It was the first un-selfconscious decision I've made in quite a long time, and it's one that reminded me again of God's love for us all and how he gets us all to love each other and care for each other and help one another, despite ourselves.

And so, I sit here on a Sunday night, quiet for the first time in days, and think of the joy-peace that only Love can bring. It is sobering and depressing and uplifting and more beautiful than the sixteen mountain tops I see driving into work every other day. It confirms the fact, or more importantly...truth, that all is full of Love and there is no ounce or inch of creation that God does not hold to be his own.

Wipe Your Feet At The Door

It's been an ongoing discussion for centuries: how do you open up the church doors---both literally and figuratively---to the world it so often blasts and condemns?

When a prostitute comes into church, in need of guidance and community and love and friendship, what do we do?

"Oh yes, we can help! God can help!"

And for the next few months, the prostitute obstains from prostitution. But then, she slips back--she goes back to her old ways on Saturday and returns to church on Sunday. Intervention, please!!!

"I'm sorry Mary, but if you're going to prostitute you can't be apart of the church." And so, Mary is shamed and looked down upon and thus, leaves thinking she is an outcast for good.

My question is this: how is Mary's problem different from the entire Church's wrestling with sin? Do I get asked not to come when I've slipped back into habitual sin, or addictive behaviour?

This situation happened recently at a friend of mine's church and I was so distraught over what I heard. "They did what???" Yes, they told her she wasn't able to participate in the "benefits and blessings" of the Church if she kept on sinning. This is not helping people think that our doors are open to everyone. I wonder what would happen if God would've asked this church member who asked the prostitute this, "Have YOU given up your life of sin? Totally, and completely?"

The same thing goes with the whole homosexuality controversy, and the belief that people must change first before they are welcome (or at least, admit they are struggling and detest what it is they seem to be caught in). I'm not really sure what The Church is trying to protect? I understand the importance and value of character, integrity, and reputation, but there's a difference between the Church's reputation and what the Church often projects as its reputation. Quite possibly the biggest reason why people are turned off from Christianity is hypocrisy; yet, haven't we---as the Church---created this problem? Instead of saying we are weak, and poor in spirit, and tired, and confused and in need of redemption, we say to the world: "We have answers! We have THE solution! We can make you into a better person! We can make you acquire blessings! We are almost perfect! We are for what's "right," not what's "wrong!" We are against abortion! We are FOR life! We are FOR war! We are way better than you, but if you come inside you might be able to be as good as us!"

Sure, I'm taking some things to an extreme but this seems to be it. We offer ourselves as models instead of God, and in the process, the world looks at us and laughs.

I know we're in a paradigm shift. I know this is radical and hard to articulate and hard to really work and live out in the way church is done, but we've got to do it: we need to stop asking people to wipe their feet at the doors of our sanctuaries, and start letting the carpet and pews and each other get a little messy.

Back to Life

It's funny and unsettling the way certain things in life become tainted. For instance, with all the recent L.A. freeway shootings I find myself (especially at night) not driving side-by-side by any car for too long. I'll either slam on the brakes or change lanes immediately just out of fear that I might get shot.

And then there's that little thing where I look at the time--as I did this morning--and see that it's 9:11. In an instant, I remember again and think for a second about it--and then I go back to life. Or at least, the thing that I so-call life. Maybe seeing 9:11 on my cell phone clock and fearing for my life on the L.A. freeways is more Life than I'd like to think.

Whatever it is, it's definitely more than a feeling.

World On Fire

I know back in high school I never cared for Sarah McLachlan but now, I think I might be having a change of heart.

When I saw her music video this past week in class for her luminous song "World On Fire", I was taken aback: this is not the Sarah McLachlan I remember.

And so, Sarah has been playing a lot in my car lately and that, so far, has been a pretty wonderful thing. But really, you should check out the video and see for yourself. After my professor showed it to our film class, every pastor in the room wanted to know "who is this singer" and "what's the name of this song again" because they wanted to show it in a church service I think. Yes, it really is that good...even though at first, I thought it was going to be "just another world outry for help." It's not. By the end, the music and images from around the world get to you---another reason for it being a pretty wonderful thing.

Bye, Bye Constantine

I just watched American Idol from tonight and my jaw literally dropped and hung open for a good 15 seconds. Although, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't happy Constantine is gone (I'm sorry ladies and girls and guys who thought he was cool but I couldn't stand the guy).

But the real question is this: why does America have such an obsession with a blonde guy from the Ukraine named Anthony who sings Celine Dion songs as-flat-as-can-be AND an ex-woman abuser named Scott who seems to sing even worse than the previous week, every time, every new week, guaranteed!??? Is it because, like my co-worker pointed out, we want the normal, average one to win out?

Wake up America! Let's stop voting for the ones that suck just to be funny. This is serious! This is a not a joke. This is not some insignificant childhood talent contest. This is American Idol!

Madeleine L'Engle has a new book!!!

I know I can't buy it right now because I'm trying to save some money, but you can bet your pretty socks and old school shirt I'll be buying "The Ordering of Love" by Madeleine L'Engle (published this past March) as soon as I can.

Maybe I'll have to wait 'till summer, but I'll get it.

The Warrior vs. The Gardener

The other day in class I heard a wonderful suggestion from one of my classmates (who was quoting some famous other I think): instead of Christians thinking of themselves as warriors, a better example would be to think of themselves as gardeners. Now, at first I thought "that probably isn't very attractive to too many people," but the young man went on.

Gardeners know when to be patient and went to prune. Gardeners know when you've had enough food and water, and know when you're all dried up and in need of some life. A good gardener removes the weeds that could potentially choke the plant. And most importantly, they don't treat a 10 year old plant the way they treat a 10 month old one.

I like thinking of Christians as being gardeners rather than warriors. Having worked at a greenhouse all throughout high school, it seems like it takes much more dedication to be a gardener Christian than it does being a warrior Christian. Now don't misunderstand me, I'm not undermining the whole warrior mentality---I'm just trying to point out that perhaps being warrior-ready may not be the kind of person were supposed to be. After all, what happens when you've been a warrior-Christian your whole life, only to realize your biggest roadblock in living and sharing the gospel out was the way you were to others and the way you were to yourself? Each person, each Christian is different. And we'd be silly to think that one "method" or "approach" would work for everyone.

A Wrinkle in the Rye

Imagination is a pretty wonderful thing.

This afternoon, as I was enjoying a beautifully breezy walk down 18th street, I started thinking about some really good books and specifically, the really good characters from these really good books. Still, undoubtedly one of the greatest adolescent characters in all of literature is probably Holden Caulfield from J.D. Salinger's "The Catcher in the Rye." But what about a female counterpart? Although my reading in literature is relatively narrow, I think Meg Murry from the "A Wrinkle In Time" book series is a lovely choice to counter Holden's cynical, sarcastic and dry-tempered dispositioin. So good in fact, I got to thinking how they might even get along (should they ever find their way out of their own pages and into the other person's world). Holden and Meg, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G...etc, etc. Holden would hate that I'm saying this about him and so would Meg for that matter. Which is why maybe, things would work out between the two of them. I imagine a first date at the most expensive hotel bar/restaurant in NYC, with Meg being their right on time and Holden coming 10-15 minutes, casually late. The conversation goes something like this.

HOLDEN: Sorry, I'm late. I like your glasses (he's lying of course).
MEG: That's OK. Thank you!
HOLDEN: You want something to drink? I'm having a Coke. With a little rum of course. What'll you have?
MEG: That sounds good. I've never tasted Rum before. Mrs. Whatsit likes it though.
HOLDEN: You like to dance (he pulls out a cigarette)?
MEG: Um, yeah. But I've only danced before with Charles Wallace.
HOLDEN: Who?
MEG: Charles Wallace. He's my younger brother.
HOLDEN: Well, will it kill you to dance with someone other than your brother?
MEG: Hey! Don't make fun of me!
HOLDEN: I wasn't.
MEG: Yes you were. You're just like the kids at school, aren't you? Just another one of THEM!
HOLDEN: You know something? You make a guy wanna be way the hell away from you.
MEG: You're pathetic. I thought you were one of the smarter boys at school.
HOLDEN: I'm way the hell smarter than you are.
MEG: I don't have time for this.
HOLDEN: No kidding. This kills me.
MEG: What does?
HOLDEN: Nothing.

Okay, so maybe things wouldn't work out after all. It sounded good at first.

Dogma Saved Dogville!

Essentially, these three movies on grace (and faith) came to mind yesterday, as I thought about the infamous 4/20, and the Columbine shootings from 1999. Also in 1999, "Dogma" came to us, with its Catholic Kevin Smith spinning the Buddy Jesus and a foul-mouthed cast onto the screen. Oh, and Alanis Morisette as God...yes, grace exists indeed. Then there's "Saved!", the 2004 faith-comedy that gets better and better on repeated viewings. However, there may be no need for a repeated viewing of "Dogville" necessary, seeing how it's three hours of how a woman named Grace is constantly abused, used, manipulated, and taken for granted throughout. All three of these movies are about grace, and much more; and like grace, it isn't always pleasant to see the way humans respond to this undeserved gift.

I know many people probably hated one or more of these movies, but I'm getting to the point where it's okay to recommend something if you feel something is worthy to be seen there, even if others don't necessarily agree.

Happy Thursday. Remember grace.

What Are You Looking For?

Okay, I've been compiling and mentally noting "great, stand-alone" chapters from books I've read over the past few years and one keeps coming up again and again. So, instead of waiting for me to publish my illegal book which would include all these random chapters, why don't you just go to Barnes & Noble or Amazon.com or go to someone who already has it, and read this chapter for yourself.

The book is called, "A Stone for a Pillow", by Madeleine L'Engle and it is the second book in her "Genesis Trilogy". The chapter I'm referring to is called "What Are You Looking For" I believe.

Here's ways to get the book: for Taylor folks, Nate Shorb has it; for Fuller folks, I have it; for Michigan folks and everyone else, well...you might just have to buy it.

L.A. Beauty on a Saturday Night

Most people see L.A. as some big, disturbed, and God-awful place. Some people see this also, but choose to see the diamonds in the rough amidst all the smog and 7th-grade-work ethics and the force that is the film industry. Last Saturday, I saw more of the first and tried my best to see the latter---but it wasn't easy.

The whole concept of bars and dance clubs and bars within dance clubs seems to mirror most of what's wrong with human existence. Occasionally, you'll go to a place like "A Clockwork Orange" on Hollywood Blvd., and believe there is still hope for the world of dance clubs after all. But most of the time, should you be such a person to visit these places even on occasion, you will see hundreds and hundreds of people trying their best to connect with someone. At the club I visited with some friends Saturday night, I had never seen such an overtly "I want you, do you want me?" atmosphere. It was in 99% of people's eyes and half the time I was freaked out by it, while the other half I couldn't help but giggle at the entire ridiculousness of it. But it should be noted that generally, Christians and the Church don't pay close enough attention to what's going on at these places and that, in some sense, is unfortunate. As I looked across the room last Saturday night, with nearly everyone holding at least one drink (some people had two--one in each hand) and with nearly everyone making wicked glances and lame passes throughout the crowd, I couldn't help but think of how relevant Jesus' whole emphasis on sharing wine and sharing bread in community really was. Here, we have a community of people made up of individual people trying to connect to other individual people for one night, and perhaps two at best. So, if and when they "hook up" with some perfect stranger, they experience a small taste of this promise of Christ; they experience how it feels to temporarily fill this human need that craves intimacy with others. For one night, they are no longer alone, no longer lost in the sea of L.A. faces. They believe they matter and believe they are now valued, and in some sense, they believe someone is loving and approving of the real them.

Now, I'm not trying to sound humble or anything, but at that moment on Saturday night---when all of this came flooding into my head---I actually felt grateful NOT to be one of the more attractve people in the room (possibly for the first time in my life). I actually was content with being OK looking physically because frankly, it seemed like all the really attractive people just had too many people wanting their attention and no one who really wanted them for anything more than how they looked under the dim, trancy lights. And I thought of how most of the time, we think the most beautiful people have the luckiest role in the world, and of how we all gawk over magazine covers and sexiest-person-of-the-year stories as if that's all that mattered. But really, I don't know if I'd want to be them---not even for a Saturday night. I have a hard enough time letting people love the whole me. I can't imagine what it must be like to have this distractingly beautiful physical self that would prevent people from ever wanting to even get to know the real me. This is why I think it must be hard to be so pretty.

So to all those people I saw on Saturday night---now safely at home in their own world of thoughts and inhibitions and fears and frustrations---I think maybe, it's not so bad just being me. I have enough problems to sort out in me without wishing I was somebody I'm not.

Over the Hill Hour

For those of you who read this blog in hopes of seeing how I'm really doing...I am sorry. As I look back over the last few weeks especially, I feel my blog is turning into sad happenings and depressing thoughts even though this doesn't really communicate how I am completely. Does that make sense? I guess I'm just picturing a friend's mother reading it and going, "oh dear! what's wrong with neville now?!?" I assure you that for the past few weeks life here has been fairly wonderful. Do you ever get into those moods where you know you're enjoying life and you know you're experiencing it and you know you're not in one of those funk moods of dismal depression? Well, that's how I feel right now and although I can empathize with those who don't feel like this right now, I'm rejoicing in the small fact that I am--genuinely and almost quite literally--happy.

Having said that, I pulled my first official all-nighter last night since I came to Fuller last Fall but let me tell you..it wasn't one of those happy college all-nighters where you pull an all-nighter by talking to friends about life, life, and life until the wee hours of the morning. No, this was me and a computer and Mr. John Wesley. I was trying to write out his doctrine of salvation and once 5:44 a.m. rolled around, I could quietly exhale and rest in the thought that I was done. The sun was just about to rise and I thought, "I can pretend I am just waking up! That's it!" So I did. And I brushed my teeth. And I took a shower. And I yawned and squinted into the bathroom mirror as if I wish I could go back to sleeping (even though I didn't even get to sleep) and for the first hour or so, I think I had more energy this morning than I have in the past 5 mornings combined.

And now, my 40th hour of being awake has just come as I feel like I've lived very very very much this past day and a half. I feel like I've done so much and yet, time is still inching along. Maybe that's why we need sleep. Because if we didn't have it, we'd all go crazy because none of us would ever say again, "time flies when you're having fun," because time, to us, would never be flying---it'd be dragging.

Bon soir mes aimees.

It's just a game.

I turned on the TV for 5 minutes today while I was grabbing a quick bite to eat in the middle of writing this very tiring paper on John Wesley's doctrine of salvation, and of course the headline news story at noon was very disturbing.

Apparently, a 13-year-old kid from Palmdale, California was killed last night by another 13-year-old because he was being teased about losing a baseball game. The angry boy couldn't take the post-game teasing anymore, and so, picked up a bat, swung it to the boys side, then to his neck and then to his head. One of the coaches saw and said, "When I heard and saw the blow to the head, I knew the boy was going to die."

And so, this shocking news brings me out of justification talk and sanctification talk and most other post-reformation theological terms that seem to be flooding around in the brain at the moment and I wonder how this boy's parents must feel today. Last night, there son was playing baseball. And yet, before he has time to walk out of the park, he is dead.

Is this what it looks like when we abuse the will and are blind to grace?

Picking up the Pieces

I go back and forth on my own free will. Some days I believe life is what I do with it; other days I believe life is what happens to me. But either way life seems to take me or I seem to take it, I try to remember we all are not yet whole; not quite fully human.

Virginia Woolf once wrote, "Arrange whatever pieces come your way." I wonder how many pieces come my way that I don't see. Or I wonder how many pieces come that I don't recognize as pieces, and how I see them only as obstacles that lie in my way. I know I'm the type of person to play it safe, and I know I tend to think of my movie friends and my real-life friends as sort of guideposts to better living (did I just say that?)...but really, as I listened in church today I was struck by the amazing amount of ways a person can screw up their life. I wonder if God really thought this through good and hard or if it was one of those spur of the moment decisions like going to Taco Bell to eat or running to Wal-Mart for deodorant. I know God is God and God is grace and love and so much more than I can even put into words, but you have to wonder.

I used to see God as angry judge, righteous fire-thrower, and eye-squinting-crazed dictator, but I don't think a God who gave us so many ways to screw up our lives could be THAT angry of a God. A God like that could not have the patience and mercy necessary for such repeated tolerance. Constantly hearing prayers of lament and sorrow and pleas for forgiveness and then, only to hear the very same thing again 2 hours later from the same people. Multiply that a couple billion times and there you have it: God everywhere, taking in every complaint and every step toward self-centeredness that we humans take and holding them all on the tip of his thumb, staring at them tiredly no doubt saying to himself, "yeah...I guess I can forgive them again--they're worth it in the long run."

And Love, yet again, keeps going.

Time

Time seems to be a theme popping up in so much of my life right now.

Finally, after years of putting it off, I'm reading Madeleine L'Engle's "A Wrinkle in Time," which is giving me even more reason to consider L'Engle my now official favorite author. Other dimensions such as space and time are dealt with in incredibly adventurous ways and remind me how time is so constraining and limiting for humans.

Last night, a group of Fuller students and I talked briefly about universal salvation and tossed around ideas of God bringing all creation back to himself eventually--in His time perhaps.

Today at work, a co-worker and I discussed the Catholic and Protestant traditions, and wondered together how much we owe to our faith tradition' ancestors, and how time--while people change through it--really seems to repeat the same thing and produce the same kind of problems again and again (which makes me think of Ecclesiastes, as I'm reminded there is a time for everything and that there is nothing new under the sun).

Tonight, my sister Blakeley called me to tell me she had talked to an old friend we grew up with back in South Carolina and then sent me some recent pictures of the guy...and I couldn't believe it. I've never experienced time really standing still, although I can imagine what it must feel like because after I saw that picture something clicked: it was the icing on the cake of coincidences, and I suddenly realized how fast time was moving and how all of us are affected by it.

The movie "Irreversible," which is arguably one of the most disturbing films I've ever seen, begins with a quote from some famous philosopher that reads, "time destroys all things." When I first read that after seeing the movie with my friend Tara, we debated later if we agreed with the statement. Essentially, I had trouble with the quote while Tara (the older and wiser of the two of us) saw much truth in it. I didn't like how it seemed to give "time" such power but Tara rightfully recognized the quote for what it was really saying to us all: that even though we try as hard as we can to go against it, and to un-destroy the effects of time, all our efforst are really pure folly and useless and ridiculous.

One of the reasons I admire the writer Madeleine L'Engle so much is that she seems to have one of the best perspectives on time I've yet to come across. She doesn't try to fight time, she just accepts it and let's time do its work while she does her's. It seems so simple of a thing but yet, laying in my bed tonight, thinking of all the events of the past day or so, I couldn't help but realize how bad I am at accepting time's work in my life. How rigid and resisting I am toward time and how more incomplete this makes me at the end of the day. And so I lay there tonight, with my hands folded over my chest and my eyes staring up at the light and fan whooshing around the dust in my room, and I was still---very still---for what felt like eternity. I did nothing but it felt like something terrifying because I was constantly thinking of that friend from South Carolina. I hardly blinked and just kept lying there---in one of those moments where you're totally aware and honestly physically petrafied, and so, your body seems like it's almost afraid to movie. I kept thinking about aging old and being 80 someday and sitting in the same position with the same feelings. And I thought, "it's never going to slow down, is it?---it's only going to go by faster and faster." And this made me (for the first real time perhaps) really fear the thought of growing old.

Now I think I may know what so many other people in the world are always complaining about.

Ruth

I had a wonderful conversation thursday night after class with Ruth, a Hindu woman, who's in the class with me. The class is a study on Lesslie Newbigin and so, considering his widespread Christian influence in India, I was interested in hearing Ruth's comments. Throughout the whole lecture, Ruth kept on getting a troubled, confused and disappointed look on her face until finally, she spoke up.

She questionined the professor about Newbigin (the great Bishop evangelist, who died in 1998) and his personal faith, and explained how through most of her readings of him and in his autobiography, he doesn't talk much about his own personal faith. The professor responded (because he knew Newbigin personally) and defended him claiming, "He was so humble...I think he would've felt odd to share in public writings about his personal faith." This answer did not satisfy Ruth and so after the class, I approached her, introduced myself and began asking what it was she was really trying to get at. I told her how because of Newbigin's stearn British upbringing, it would've been highly unlikely for him to share about his struggles in his own faith and how this is probably moreso why he didn't, but that answer did not satisfy Ruth and so, she brought up a profound, rather disturbing point.

"Yes," she said, "but you don't understand. He has had huge influence on India and the Church there, and the biggest problem with my Hindu people since he came and spread the gospel is that they think doing what looks good and what looks right is what matters because that is all they saw in Newbigin! Social justice and helping the poor are all very good, but if that's all you know, as many of my people do, then how is God's grace truly affecting your life? Because Newbigin never shared his own struggles and was rarely ever vulnerable in public, most of the Hindu Christians in India today have adopted that same mentality and will never speak personally or vulnerably about their own relationship with Jesus."

I listened intently, and suddenly realized I had never thought of it in this light. Ruth was seeing Newbigin's influence as good but also very harmful because in her mind, he didn't present the whole gospel. Where as I was seeing Newbigin as this amazing cultural evangelist, fully-well knowing that even though he doesn't talk about his own personal faith much, I still admire him for what he did, who he stood up to, and all he accomplished in his life. It was a perfect example of how being from a culture and simply commenting on a culture's way of life, is the difference between night and day at times.

Near the end of our talk outside Fuller, with the night sky covering both our heads, I heard Ruth say something else that caused me to think even more: "I am not a Christian, but my Hindu people need to understand the importance of a relationships with Jesus and importance of being vulnerable to one another, to God, and to the Church at large." I had rarely, if ever, heard someone put it quite like that: "I am not a Christian" yet "A relationship with Jesus is what it's all about." I wonder if more believers of the Christian faith will begin dropping the identity title "Christian" and start thinking of themselves in other ways?

When I left Ruth for that evening, as her husband was coming to pick her up, I was encouraged to realize once again that the community of faith---the cloud of believers, followers and children---included Ruth and me, even though our pasts and cultures and ethnicities are so very different. Grace is given to us both and we have both gladly, through struggle and resistence at times, accepted it. And for some reason, the children's sunday school song "Jesus loves me this I know," came to mind just then. And then I realized just how important and essential the phrase "yes, Jesus loves me," is to all those who claim to believe. For we are weak, and He is strong.

Now I'm really a Southern Californian

When I was out here for a semester back in 2003, I never really felt like an official L.A. resident. I mean, I may have lived here, breathed the smoggy air, and driven on the same crowded freeways now and then, but I never thought of myself as "really" experiencing L.A. After all, most everyone who is from here or who has lived here complains about one thing: traffic. And unfortunately (but fortunately in my mind) I never really experienced the harsh, repeated, mundaneness of the "parking lot" L.A. daily traffic jam.

Now though, is a new day. This quarter for school, my schedule forces me to be in rush hour traffic at least three mornings a week, which is big considering that makes my one-way commute roughly 1 and half to 2 hours. Now, I'm not trying to brag because in reality, it's not something I should even be bragging about. But I'd be lying if I didn't admit a small part of me actually likes being stuck in the traffic; a part that secretly loves being able to finally say, "Were you driving on the 10 freeway this morning at 7:00?" or "Wasn't traffic on the 101 / 210 / 605 / 710 / 105 freeway simply unbearable last night!!??" These complaints are not just about complaining but are about one's identity. Essentially, they say, "This is me and I live in L.A....and I have a right to complain about traffic because I've experienced it!----Have you?" Which is why so many people feel L.A. traffic somehow connects shared experiences with every other person living in the 150 mile radius. And this is why my friend Liz Boltz was right when she commented once that being one of two billion people in L.A. wasn't so bad after all, and on the contrary actually felt oddly really really good (Sorry Liz for not quoting you precisely...but I remember you were the one to say it so I wanted to give you credit).

So call me crazy, but it feels good to belong to a place as cold and big and smoggy and disliked and trafficy as L.A. is. Maybe because it makes me feel special and makes me feel like I live somewhere that has enough problems to pass around the table--wherever that may be--and with whomever I may share a meal. And that, for some reason, feels pretty good.

Easter

The last full day for me in Michigan before heading back to California was also the day of Christ's resurrection--Easter Sunday--where all of Lent's sacrificial love is let go, and released into the sky and up into the heavens. I'm not sure why exactly, but this Easter was especially rewarding. Perhaps it had to do with the wonderful Easter program at church, which reminded me that the ground is level at the foot of the Cross, and that there's room for everyone---even me---at the table for sinners.

There was a drama done today that emphasized the fact that everyone is welcome, specifically pointing out that while all of us may not be worthy of a seat or a place next to Christ, all of us are definitely wanted and welcomed and pursued by His everlasting extension of grace.

And yet, even after this incredible and hope-filled message of the gospel of Christ that is more "Universalist" sounding than many people would like to think, a friend of mine from high school youth group came up to me and began filling me in on his life and his happenings, adding further details that disturbed and nearly ruined my joy and meditation on the wonder and power and mystery of Christ's resurrection. My friend began to tell me of how recently a gay nightclub in Kalamazoo, Michigan had burned down and informed me that if he was working fireman duty that night, he would've quote "taken his time and let the queers burn."

(Something is still not right in the world, despite the reality of a resurrected Christ!)

Extremely bothered, I began to subtly add how frustrating an attitude like this was (especially coming from a "Christian") and added how I hoped none of the people there that night were hurt or injured. Even though my friend did not catch how mad I really really was, I still pursued this idea a little bit...adding how ironic it was for a place to be burned down by people seemingly anti-gay, anti-reconciliation, anti-Easter, yet probably all regular church-goers. I lamented how sad it is, and how ashamed we should be and then---for a very long moment---I wished Michigan wasn't my home. Not that this friend was speaking for everyone, because I know he doesn't. But it is probably an idea entertained by more people than not, and so because of that, I wished I could've been somewhere else at that moment.

Maybe I'm just ultra-sensitive on this subject because I feel like most of the time---as a Christian---I find myself relating to the gay people of the world more often than with my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. Maybe it has somewhat to do with my disgust for stereotypes, and my frustration with my own inability to really speak my mind and call people out when they say such hate-filled things. I don't know what the real thing is, honestly. I only know that today was Easter---the holiday we Christians claim to be crazy for. And yet, even still, I saw someone trying to tear down grace and stomp out the hope of the gospel in just a few little words. I found one of God's children running from grace and running to hate, as opposed to running to grace and running from hate. This is what saddens me most.

One writer I can't remember (sorry!) recently wrote, "We're Easter-Christians living in a Good Friday world!" I like how that sounds, but today, I was bothered by how much this one conversation managed to turn my Good Friday world into an even more grim one. One that was still focusing on shadow, rather than light; hate rather than love; death rather than life.

And correct me if I'm wrong, but that's not the kind of Easter Christ was meaning to bring to His creation at all.

The Real Days

As much as it pains me to admit this, there are just some people in the world who lack almost any artistic vision. And when I say vision, I mean vision as related to seeing things with an artistic/creative bent.

I'm not sure this creative way of seeing can be learned--in a lecture educational setting, that is--because really, it's something you grow up with and learn by way of looking and hearing and feeling and experiencing and loving and being loved. Obviously, my generation is audaciously image-driven but contrary to much Boomer thinking, I don't think that's a bad thing. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm actually very excited to see how my generation turns out. Because we tend to elevate the relational side of ourselves, we're often not content with unreal or inauthentic friendships. We crave intimacy, desire meaning and few of us could be accused of really wanting the American Dream. In a sense, we're very different from our parents.

Sure we have our setbacks, and we have trouble dealing with finances and aren't as stingy with our money as maybe we shoud be (or shouldn't we?) but all in all, I'm so glad I'm growing up now--despite the craziness of the world in which we live in--as opposed to growing up 50 years ago. I know those were the "good ole' days," but in all honesty, there are so many people that came out of the good ole' days that are not only NOT good but are also unhappy, unfulfilled and worst of all, consumed IN themselves. This is where I feel my generation is trying to come in and change things around and mix things up. We want something real but we also want to keep playing. We want to grow old but we don't want to grow up. We want to be like little children but we don't want to be treated like them. We want community and don't want to be alone. And the list goes on and on and on.

This post isn't really going anywhere in particular I guess. The point, as thought of in modern days, is not so clear. I guess I just wanted to point out how thankful and grateful I am to be a part of this generation...which is something I think few people in the past could really say honestly. I'm thankful I'm where I am--even though it's not perfect and not yet whole and not yet fully blossomed into the life-potential I think it will someday be--and this suits me just fine for now.

So to all my fellow ones---Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Mormon, Atheist, Agnostic, God's Beloved little children...whatever you call yourself---I just wanted to say I'm so glad you're living in this world with me now.

Anne Lamott writes it better

I just finished reading "Plan B" last night (Anne Lamott's new book) and while I pretty much loved almost every page of it, I came across two lines that leaped out at me and seemed to encompass part of what I was trying to convey through my most recent blog post concerning "certainty" and "grace" and "fear" and "being human."

In it, she writes: "...the opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty. Certainty is missing the point entirely."

I wish I could put things so profoundly and so concisely.