I've been reading through the book of Joshua lately. When I told my friend Charlie that my next blog post was going to come out of a passage of Joshua, he told me that I've been going nuts on Joshua lately. And he's right, I suppose. But I really do love Joshua. It gets a little slow in the middle when the Israelites are dividing up their new land, but if you really love reading lists of town names, you'll go crazy for it.
There is a really cool story in Joshua 5, but it's one that can easily be glazed over. It's tucked right in the middle of more well-known episodes, like Rahab and the spies, the crossing of the Jordan, and the destruction of Jericho, so maybe you've never paid much attention to it. But in Joshua 5, the Israelites have just finished crossing the Jordan River. At long last, they are actually standing in the Promised Land. It's been a long time coming, too. Forty years previously, Moses had sent twelve spies into the land to check it out, and when they came back all the people freaked out and refused to go into the land, so God caused them to wander around in the desert for forty years until all the adults died. But now, it's a new generation, and they are confident and ready to kick some Canaanite butt. There's a problem, though. God knows that they aren't quite ready.
So, in Joshua 5:2, God commands Joshua, "Make flint knives and circumcise the Israelites again." So that we don't get confused and think that all these poor Israelite guys are all undergoing a second circumcision (which would be less than pleasant, I'm sure), the writer informs us that all those who were born in the desert after Israel came out of Egypt had not been circumcised. So after they cross the Jordan, the nation is made up of thousand of uncircumcised Israelites, and God commands Joshua to circumcise them (which still is really unpleasant, come to think of it.)
Writing a blog post about circumcision is difficult, but here's a little of what I see in this passage. Before Israel is really ready to conquer the Promised Land, before they can accomplish what God has for them, they need to be remade. Circumcision is something that distinguished God's nation from all the surrounding peoples. It brought unity between the Israelites and one another and between the nation and God. God has incredible things that he wants to do through Israel, but before he does, he wants to recreate the nation.
I wonder if we too need to be periodically remade by God if we're going to be able to do what he has lined up for us. God is sort of in the business of making things new. "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!" (2 Cor. 5:17). Now, when I say that we need to be continuously remade by God, I don't mean that we must receive anew his gift of grace every time we sin. I think God's mercy is bigger than that and that Christ's sacrifice is capable of covering all our sin once and for all. But I do think that we need to come before God pretty frequently and say, "God, give me a fresh start and make me new." Every morning ushers in a new day, and we can have a tendency to hold on to problems and failures from the previous day and let those inhibit our lives in the present. Israel could have sat down on that western bank of the Jordan and refused to go on because they were still being dragged down by their rebellion in the desert. But God gives them a fresh start; he separates them to himself again. If we pray something like that every morning and let go of what pulls us down, I think God can tear down Jericho's walls through us, too.
A few days ago, I arrived in Corvallis, Oregon, where I am doing a summer youth ministry internship with Suburban Christian Church, and I'll be here until August 19th. It has been good so far; all the people I've met have been great and have done a ton to help me welcome. I am a long way from home, however, and I think this summer could be very tough for me in a number of ways. So if you don't mind, please keep me in your prayers. Be praying for all the other Ozark students that are doing all sorts of different ministries this summer, too. I would list some of them here, but I don't have room to put all of them I know of, and then I would feel bad about leaving some of them out. Also, if you want to know my summer address so that you can send me cookies, cash, or love letters, just let me know, and I'll hook you up.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
My Friend
It's weird to think about how one moment which seems very ordinary at the time can end up having a dramatic effect on the rest of your life. It's an unfortunate truth that, when a kid visits a Sunday School class, it often proves inconsequential. Maybe they're just visiting their cousin that weekend and come to church with them before they go back home, or maybe they'll come for a few Sundays before they fall off the map. There was no reason for me to expect anything different when three brothers visited my Sunday School class in 4th grade. Just a typical Sunday. In an effort to make the visitors feel welcome, the teacher asked them a few questions about themselves, such as "What's your favorite TV show?" All three answered, "Rugrats," and the oldest one added that his favorite character was Chucky.
The three brothers continued coming to my church, and it happened that the oldest one was in the same grade as me. Before long it was time to "promote" up to the 5th and 6th grade class. I have a weird memory sometimes. For whatever reason, there are random spots of my life that I remember very vividly. That promotion service was one such time. As my fellow 4th graders and I waited in the pew (in the section next to the center aisle, on the right side when you're looking at the stage), I remember thinking something like, "Hm, this Charlie kid seems like a cool guy. I should try to be better friends with him."
Charlie and I probably became friends the way everyone knows us as in middle school. Looking back, it was actually a pretty odd pairing. We didn't go to the same school. Charlie would be the first to tell you that his middle school days were his greatest. He played on all his school's sports teams, and did pretty well, too. I went to math competitions. He was dating girls before I had ever had a conversation with one. People reportedly said he looked like Brad Pitt. People told me I looked like Harry Potter.
And now, 13 years after his visit to Sunday School, I've been watching that guy who was so fond of Rugrats as he packs up his University of Kansas trinkets before moving out of our dorm room for the last time. It's a weird feeling. People have been asking me, "What are you going to do next year with Charlie gone?" And I don't know, really. In a lot of ways, mine and Charlie's life experiences run very parallel with one another. I noticed this last summer when I was doing my internship, and a good number of the stories I told in conversations with people started with, "One time my roommate and I..." I guess that's what happens when you're rarely apart from someone for so long. Charlie and I have experienced a lot together, everything from fake pigtails to CIY towels to all-night Playstation marathons to sketchy areas of Louisville to Reds cheerleaders to Chick-fil-A camp-outs (followed by many Chick-fil-A dinners) to Mike Ditka.
Like I mentioned, Charlie and I were probably pretty different when we were younger, but we've probably become more and more like each other as time has gone on. He basically taught me how to play basketball. Everything I know about women, I learned from him. (Oddly enough, we're both still single. Hm.) The way I speak is largely due to how Charlie speaks. (We could probably make a dictionary of all of the words and phrases we've coined over the years.) The things I think are funny are often the same things he thinks are funny. (Which is why, from time to time, we may accidentally bust out laughing during tense moments of serious movies.)
In a couple weeks, Charlie will be driving his Pontiac (which has nearly be the scene of my death on multiple occasions) to Indiana so that he can begin a year-long youth ministry internship with a church there. I, meanwhile, will remain in school because growing up and being an adult stress me out way more than taking tests and writing exegeticals. Charlie would readily admit that he doesn't feel ready to do a lot of the work he's getting ready to do, but I would disagree. Charlie has a heart for students and shows concern for them in a way that I admire. He hates to see kids that are alone or left out. I guess that would explain why he chose to be my friend all those years ago. And sure, he may not know how to file taxes, and he may hate having to do his own laundry, but he's going to be an great, godly youth minister that will help students discover Jesus.
Before Charlie and I came to Ozark, I would hear some people say that it can be dangerous for best friends to be roommates. For us, this was never much of a problem, as evidenced by our Bert and Ernie Award from the dorm last year. In fact, Charlie and I very, very rarely get in much of an argument at all. I think I can tend to annoy him at times, but it all blows over pretty quickly. We get along well because we understand each other well. Possibly more than anyone else, Charlie just knows how to deal with me and what I need from a friend. For example, there was one time when there was a girl whose chili I dug, and one day before chapel another person, unaware of the situation, said something to Charlie and I about this girl liking some other guy. That's never good news. I remember a brief moment of silence before hearing Charlie whisper, "Well.....that sucks." Which was really all I needed. I'm not one to want to sit and talk about things when I don't like them. I'd rather brood about them in silence before I morph them into some blog post, and Charlie understood that.
I wrote a post last year about how our social spheres are a lot like a big van in which people move around between seats. They're constantly in flux. For the average person, his best friend in middle school isn't much more than a casual acquaintance by the time they're in high school. His best friend in high school only gets an occasional facebook message when they're in college. And his best friend from college is nearly forgotten by the time they're 35. I hope to be the exception to that. I understand that people come and go and relationships change. But I have little desire to have another best friend. I'm pretty happy with the one I've got.
And with all that said, I love you Chuck, and I know you're going to do great in Indiana. And as much as I don't get sentimental about things or, in your words, don't care about anything and need to get over myself, I am really going to miss you next year. Congratulations on finishing your college career by being better than me at every single game/activity/sport that we play, except for bowling, which you now refuse to play with me. If being apart for a summer required staying at IHOP until 2 a.m. to catch up when we were reunited, we'd better plan on being there for a couple days the next time we get together. Bring on the short stacks.
I think the only appropriate way to end this post is with a phrase that we all know and love, of which the depths of its meaning can only be understood by the wisest among us:
Dang Keesha.
The three brothers continued coming to my church, and it happened that the oldest one was in the same grade as me. Before long it was time to "promote" up to the 5th and 6th grade class. I have a weird memory sometimes. For whatever reason, there are random spots of my life that I remember very vividly. That promotion service was one such time. As my fellow 4th graders and I waited in the pew (in the section next to the center aisle, on the right side when you're looking at the stage), I remember thinking something like, "Hm, this Charlie kid seems like a cool guy. I should try to be better friends with him."
Charlie and I probably became friends the way everyone knows us as in middle school. Looking back, it was actually a pretty odd pairing. We didn't go to the same school. Charlie would be the first to tell you that his middle school days were his greatest. He played on all his school's sports teams, and did pretty well, too. I went to math competitions. He was dating girls before I had ever had a conversation with one. People reportedly said he looked like Brad Pitt. People told me I looked like Harry Potter.
And now, 13 years after his visit to Sunday School, I've been watching that guy who was so fond of Rugrats as he packs up his University of Kansas trinkets before moving out of our dorm room for the last time. It's a weird feeling. People have been asking me, "What are you going to do next year with Charlie gone?" And I don't know, really. In a lot of ways, mine and Charlie's life experiences run very parallel with one another. I noticed this last summer when I was doing my internship, and a good number of the stories I told in conversations with people started with, "One time my roommate and I..." I guess that's what happens when you're rarely apart from someone for so long. Charlie and I have experienced a lot together, everything from fake pigtails to CIY towels to all-night Playstation marathons to sketchy areas of Louisville to Reds cheerleaders to Chick-fil-A camp-outs (followed by many Chick-fil-A dinners) to Mike Ditka.
Like I mentioned, Charlie and I were probably pretty different when we were younger, but we've probably become more and more like each other as time has gone on. He basically taught me how to play basketball. Everything I know about women, I learned from him. (Oddly enough, we're both still single. Hm.) The way I speak is largely due to how Charlie speaks. (We could probably make a dictionary of all of the words and phrases we've coined over the years.) The things I think are funny are often the same things he thinks are funny. (Which is why, from time to time, we may accidentally bust out laughing during tense moments of serious movies.)
In a couple weeks, Charlie will be driving his Pontiac (which has nearly be the scene of my death on multiple occasions) to Indiana so that he can begin a year-long youth ministry internship with a church there. I, meanwhile, will remain in school because growing up and being an adult stress me out way more than taking tests and writing exegeticals. Charlie would readily admit that he doesn't feel ready to do a lot of the work he's getting ready to do, but I would disagree. Charlie has a heart for students and shows concern for them in a way that I admire. He hates to see kids that are alone or left out. I guess that would explain why he chose to be my friend all those years ago. And sure, he may not know how to file taxes, and he may hate having to do his own laundry, but he's going to be an great, godly youth minister that will help students discover Jesus.
Before Charlie and I came to Ozark, I would hear some people say that it can be dangerous for best friends to be roommates. For us, this was never much of a problem, as evidenced by our Bert and Ernie Award from the dorm last year. In fact, Charlie and I very, very rarely get in much of an argument at all. I think I can tend to annoy him at times, but it all blows over pretty quickly. We get along well because we understand each other well. Possibly more than anyone else, Charlie just knows how to deal with me and what I need from a friend. For example, there was one time when there was a girl whose chili I dug, and one day before chapel another person, unaware of the situation, said something to Charlie and I about this girl liking some other guy. That's never good news. I remember a brief moment of silence before hearing Charlie whisper, "Well.....that sucks." Which was really all I needed. I'm not one to want to sit and talk about things when I don't like them. I'd rather brood about them in silence before I morph them into some blog post, and Charlie understood that.
I wrote a post last year about how our social spheres are a lot like a big van in which people move around between seats. They're constantly in flux. For the average person, his best friend in middle school isn't much more than a casual acquaintance by the time they're in high school. His best friend in high school only gets an occasional facebook message when they're in college. And his best friend from college is nearly forgotten by the time they're 35. I hope to be the exception to that. I understand that people come and go and relationships change. But I have little desire to have another best friend. I'm pretty happy with the one I've got.
And with all that said, I love you Chuck, and I know you're going to do great in Indiana. And as much as I don't get sentimental about things or, in your words, don't care about anything and need to get over myself, I am really going to miss you next year. Congratulations on finishing your college career by being better than me at every single game/activity/sport that we play, except for bowling, which you now refuse to play with me. If being apart for a summer required staying at IHOP until 2 a.m. to catch up when we were reunited, we'd better plan on being there for a couple days the next time we get together. Bring on the short stacks.
I think the only appropriate way to end this post is with a phrase that we all know and love, of which the depths of its meaning can only be understood by the wisest among us:
Dang Keesha.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
More Than Self-Help
A couple posts ago, I wrote about how I have a difficult time formulating good titles for my blog posts. This is an important facet of such writing because in the vast ocean of information on the internet, I only have a few words of a title to grab your attention, get you to continue reading, and persuade you to contribute to A Chicken in a Cage with a Ferret financially. A eye-catching title can therefore either make or break a piece of writing. Recently a read a book by Michael Horton entitled Christless Christianity. Apparent paradoxes make for good titles. If I were to read this book around campus and someone asked what I was reading, they would say something like "Hm....that's sounds interesting" when I showed them the cover. The title did not disappoint, either. The book was very good and made me think about a few things, the fruit of which I now share with you, my faithful minions. I mean faithful readers.
The subtitle of this book is "The Alternative Gospel of the American Church." Horton's main point is that, in contemporary American churches, we often remove Christ from his position as the focal point of the faith and replace him with what Horton calls "moralistic therapeutic deism." What this basically means is that most religious Americans think that God created the world and wants us all to be nice and polite so that he can make us happy until we die and go to heaven (41). When such a belief system is put in place, only a shell of true Christianity remains. Horton writes, "My argument in this book is not that evangelicalism is becoming theologically liberal but that it is becoming theologically vacuous" (23). The result? Christianity is relegated to a place among the numerous other self-help options of culture instead of standing above all paradigms as the external gospel that Jesus died and rose from the dead to save mankind from sin. The mission of the church is no longer to proclaim this good news and to make known the offer of salvation but rather to help people feel better about themselves, boost self-esteem, and take care of all the day-to-day problems people bring upon themselves when they fail to live up to their full potential.
Horton's thesis certainly has a great deal of truth in it. Granted, he may generalize at times, but a glance at the religious landscape of our country reveals that, in many instances, Christianity has been watered down, fluffed up, and packaged in books with pictures of sharply-dressed authors with beaming smiles on the cover. Horton spends many pages critiquing some of the things that such figures as Joel Osteen and Brian McLaren have said, and I'm all for such evaluation. Horton claims that these voices promote a works-righteousness, but one that is not all that hard to attain. Sin is not portrayed as a despicable violation against God, but as a simple failure in self-actualization. When the gravity of sin is so downplayed, salvation comes by trying harder and living better. After all, who needs a messy sacrifice on a cross when all we have to do is apply five easy steps and emerge as spiritually complete individuals? In this system, Christianity is not about what Jesus has done for us, but it's about us being good people in order to win God's favor, which he is so quick to give us in spite of our sin-stained hearts. "This is what we might call the false of gospel of 'God Loves You Anyway'" (71).
When I started reading Christless Christianity, it was easy for me to point my finger at the problems Horton identifies and think, "Yeah, that's right! These people do need to fix this. If only they knew how Christianity should be preached, like I do!" But the more I read, the more I wondered if I am necessarily all that different in the way I teach God's Word. I certainly hope that we do not discount the magnitude of the gospel for the sake of "good advice," but what if the tone of our preaching/teaching betrays the correct stance?
One of the problems with moralistic therapeutic deism is that is overemphasizes what we do and does not place enough focus on what God has done. The message is that if we just keep hacking away at a holy life, God will be happy with us and everything will be okay. But Scripture teaches that even when we try our hardest and do our best, we still fall far short of God's standard (Isa. 64:6). This is why God gave his Son to die in our place. That's the central message of Scripture; that's the gospel. Jesus came to earth as a man and died to save us from the penalty of our sin. My fear , however, is that our preaching too often shines the spotlight on our own conduct and fails to point to Christ's completed work. Our sermons and lessons contain a lot of imperatives (do this, do that) and not so many indicatives (God did this).
In a way, this is what we have been taught to do. In my preaching and teaching classes, I have learned that every message must have three different categories of objectives. First, there must be a cognitive objective--what you want your hearers to learn and understand. Second, there is an affective objective--what you want them to feel. And third, there is a behavioral objective--what you want them to do. This behavioral objective is key. Congregants supposedly need to always have a few application points that they can take home and put into practice that very week. Such practical nuggets must be specific, too. Especially in my teaching class, we were taught to formulate very specific behavioral objectives, something like: to invite two different people to church next week and to pray for five unbelieving friends every day.
What if every sermon or lesson doesn't need a behavioral objective? What if we don't always provide hearers with something they need to do that week? What if, every once in a while, we simply retold what Jesus did for us and left it at that? Maybe Christians would think that Christianity is a lot less about what they do to make God happy and a lot more about what he has done out of his love for us. The message would cease to be "do, do, do" and would become "receive, receive, receive." That's what preaching (kerusso) is, after all. Proclaiming the good message as a herald. Not being a life-coach that teaching people how to have their best lives now.
Please don't misunderstand me, however. I am not advocating that we no longer teach people about how their behavior is affected by the truth of Christ's sacrifice. The truth is that the Bible does include a lot of imperatives. It tells us something about how we are to live. But we do need to realize that this is not the center of the message. We do not live out the gospel, because the gospel is about what Jesus did. But we do live in light of it, all the while remembering that it is all about Jesus. When this is done, maybe we and others will be able to say along with Horton: "I am a Christian not because I think that I can walk in Jesus's footsteps but because he is the only one who can carry me" (117).
And now for something that has nothing to do with any of that. As you are hopefully aware, spring is in full force. And with spring comes blossoming love. This phenomenon has even affected me, as I have fallen for my bank teller. Here's a sampling of one of our recent interactions:
Me: "Hi, I need to deposit this into my checking account."
Her: "Ok." [Looking at the back of my paycheck] "Oh, look at you. You already endorsed it."
Me: "Yep. I finally learned how to use the bank."
Her: "Haha, that's good. I don't really know how to use the bank."
Me: "Well, that makes me pretty nervous about whatever is going to happen with my money."
Her: [Offering a polite laugh while hoping that I ask for her number] "Ok, here's your receipt."
Me: [Failing to ask for said number] "Thanks, have a good day."
Yes, ladies and gentlemen. I am just that smooth.
One final note: I also recently read two books by E.M. Bounds--The Essentials of Prayer and Power Through Prayer. If you are a Christian at all, I would highly recommend The Essentials of Prayer, and if you are going into or are in ministry, you should also read Power Through Prayer. I don't plan on writing any blog posts about these books, but I thought I would at least share a few quotations:
"The world judges religion not by what the Bible says, but by how Christians live. Christians are the Bible which sinners read." (Essentials, 61. Wish I knew that quote when I wrote this.)
"The character of our praying will determine the character of our preaching. Light praying will make light preaching." (Power, 27)
"Air is not more necessary to the lungs than prayer is to the preacher." (Power, 75)
Thanks for reading; I know this is a long one. Check out the other blogs on the sidebar. I'm going to put a link up in my facebook status, which I always feel like is very narcissistic, but I also feel like people forget this is here if I don't do so. So forgive me for that. But read, and then go tell your friends, coworkers, and grandmothers to also read. And have a fantastic May 10th, May 25th, or November 3rd--whenever you happen to read this.
The subtitle of this book is "The Alternative Gospel of the American Church." Horton's main point is that, in contemporary American churches, we often remove Christ from his position as the focal point of the faith and replace him with what Horton calls "moralistic therapeutic deism." What this basically means is that most religious Americans think that God created the world and wants us all to be nice and polite so that he can make us happy until we die and go to heaven (41). When such a belief system is put in place, only a shell of true Christianity remains. Horton writes, "My argument in this book is not that evangelicalism is becoming theologically liberal but that it is becoming theologically vacuous" (23). The result? Christianity is relegated to a place among the numerous other self-help options of culture instead of standing above all paradigms as the external gospel that Jesus died and rose from the dead to save mankind from sin. The mission of the church is no longer to proclaim this good news and to make known the offer of salvation but rather to help people feel better about themselves, boost self-esteem, and take care of all the day-to-day problems people bring upon themselves when they fail to live up to their full potential.
Horton's thesis certainly has a great deal of truth in it. Granted, he may generalize at times, but a glance at the religious landscape of our country reveals that, in many instances, Christianity has been watered down, fluffed up, and packaged in books with pictures of sharply-dressed authors with beaming smiles on the cover. Horton spends many pages critiquing some of the things that such figures as Joel Osteen and Brian McLaren have said, and I'm all for such evaluation. Horton claims that these voices promote a works-righteousness, but one that is not all that hard to attain. Sin is not portrayed as a despicable violation against God, but as a simple failure in self-actualization. When the gravity of sin is so downplayed, salvation comes by trying harder and living better. After all, who needs a messy sacrifice on a cross when all we have to do is apply five easy steps and emerge as spiritually complete individuals? In this system, Christianity is not about what Jesus has done for us, but it's about us being good people in order to win God's favor, which he is so quick to give us in spite of our sin-stained hearts. "This is what we might call the false of gospel of 'God Loves You Anyway'" (71).
When I started reading Christless Christianity, it was easy for me to point my finger at the problems Horton identifies and think, "Yeah, that's right! These people do need to fix this. If only they knew how Christianity should be preached, like I do!" But the more I read, the more I wondered if I am necessarily all that different in the way I teach God's Word. I certainly hope that we do not discount the magnitude of the gospel for the sake of "good advice," but what if the tone of our preaching/teaching betrays the correct stance?
One of the problems with moralistic therapeutic deism is that is overemphasizes what we do and does not place enough focus on what God has done. The message is that if we just keep hacking away at a holy life, God will be happy with us and everything will be okay. But Scripture teaches that even when we try our hardest and do our best, we still fall far short of God's standard (Isa. 64:6). This is why God gave his Son to die in our place. That's the central message of Scripture; that's the gospel. Jesus came to earth as a man and died to save us from the penalty of our sin. My fear , however, is that our preaching too often shines the spotlight on our own conduct and fails to point to Christ's completed work. Our sermons and lessons contain a lot of imperatives (do this, do that) and not so many indicatives (God did this).
In a way, this is what we have been taught to do. In my preaching and teaching classes, I have learned that every message must have three different categories of objectives. First, there must be a cognitive objective--what you want your hearers to learn and understand. Second, there is an affective objective--what you want them to feel. And third, there is a behavioral objective--what you want them to do. This behavioral objective is key. Congregants supposedly need to always have a few application points that they can take home and put into practice that very week. Such practical nuggets must be specific, too. Especially in my teaching class, we were taught to formulate very specific behavioral objectives, something like: to invite two different people to church next week and to pray for five unbelieving friends every day.
What if every sermon or lesson doesn't need a behavioral objective? What if we don't always provide hearers with something they need to do that week? What if, every once in a while, we simply retold what Jesus did for us and left it at that? Maybe Christians would think that Christianity is a lot less about what they do to make God happy and a lot more about what he has done out of his love for us. The message would cease to be "do, do, do" and would become "receive, receive, receive." That's what preaching (kerusso) is, after all. Proclaiming the good message as a herald. Not being a life-coach that teaching people how to have their best lives now.
Please don't misunderstand me, however. I am not advocating that we no longer teach people about how their behavior is affected by the truth of Christ's sacrifice. The truth is that the Bible does include a lot of imperatives. It tells us something about how we are to live. But we do need to realize that this is not the center of the message. We do not live out the gospel, because the gospel is about what Jesus did. But we do live in light of it, all the while remembering that it is all about Jesus. When this is done, maybe we and others will be able to say along with Horton: "I am a Christian not because I think that I can walk in Jesus's footsteps but because he is the only one who can carry me" (117).
And now for something that has nothing to do with any of that. As you are hopefully aware, spring is in full force. And with spring comes blossoming love. This phenomenon has even affected me, as I have fallen for my bank teller. Here's a sampling of one of our recent interactions:
Me: "Hi, I need to deposit this into my checking account."
Her: "Ok." [Looking at the back of my paycheck] "Oh, look at you. You already endorsed it."
Me: "Yep. I finally learned how to use the bank."
Her: "Haha, that's good. I don't really know how to use the bank."
Me: "Well, that makes me pretty nervous about whatever is going to happen with my money."
Her: [Offering a polite laugh while hoping that I ask for her number] "Ok, here's your receipt."
Me: [Failing to ask for said number] "Thanks, have a good day."
Yes, ladies and gentlemen. I am just that smooth.
One final note: I also recently read two books by E.M. Bounds--The Essentials of Prayer and Power Through Prayer. If you are a Christian at all, I would highly recommend The Essentials of Prayer, and if you are going into or are in ministry, you should also read Power Through Prayer. I don't plan on writing any blog posts about these books, but I thought I would at least share a few quotations:
"The world judges religion not by what the Bible says, but by how Christians live. Christians are the Bible which sinners read." (Essentials, 61. Wish I knew that quote when I wrote this.)
"The character of our praying will determine the character of our preaching. Light praying will make light preaching." (Power, 27)
"Air is not more necessary to the lungs than prayer is to the preacher." (Power, 75)
Thanks for reading; I know this is a long one. Check out the other blogs on the sidebar. I'm going to put a link up in my facebook status, which I always feel like is very narcissistic, but I also feel like people forget this is here if I don't do so. So forgive me for that. But read, and then go tell your friends, coworkers, and grandmothers to also read. And have a fantastic May 10th, May 25th, or November 3rd--whenever you happen to read this.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
650,000 Hours
When I was in high school, I wrote for the school newspaper. The part parts of the paper were always the editorials and columns. The difference between an editorial and a column was that all the underling staff-writers could write an editorial (which had to be about a legitimate issue and was written in the third person), while the oligarchy of senior editors could write a column (written in the first person about whatever the heck you want). The male-female ratio of our staff was a little out of control. I was always one of about four or five guys, while there would be 20-25 girls (I loved that class). It was always easy to tell when one of the girls had written a column during their senior year. They were always about how they're excited for the future but were still nervous, and how they were really going to miss all their friends but promised to stay in touch. I, on the other hand, wrote about how they needed to have a live polar bear at Winter Formal.
Lately, however, I feel a little like those high school senior she-journalists. Which is probably very unnecessary, because I'm not really even a senior. But this is my fourth year at Ozark, which means that most of the people I came in with as a freshman are getting ready to graduate. And that means that after May 22nd, my life will be quite a bit different.
I'm a boring person in that I don't often make many changes to my life. Some people can't handle life if there is not regular change. Consistency means monotony, and monotony means dreariness. If these people experience too much routine, they begin to feel like they're trapped in a wooden crate and need a Purple Drank just to calm themselves down. I'm not like that. If you've ever eaten out with me before, you know what I mean. I always get the same thing when I go to specific restaurants. Wendy's: #10, medium-sized with a Coke, and barbecue sauce. Spangle's: #3, just ketchup on the burger, medium-sized with a Pepsi. Cheddar's: chicken tender basket, with barbecue sauce and honey mustard, with a Coke.
One may wonder why I don't mix things up. It's not because I'm scared of change or I freak out if everything isn't exactly the way I'm used to. I just figure that if I like the way things are, there is no need to change it. My dorm room has been decorated pretty much the same since my first semester. Why? Because I like my King Kong and Chronicles of Narnia posters, and I have no reason to get anything different.
But soon, things will change whether I like it or not. It's sad, because the truth is that I wouldn't mind keeping life how it is now. I could keep on going bowling every Monday and playing cards in the student center on the weekends and going on late night runs to Taco Bell forever. But that isn't how it all works out. We get old and get jobs and move away. Our lives are not undisturbed dollhouses that remain quiet on the shelf. They are waves of the ocean that roll and fluctuate. For some, this means freshness and vitality, but for people like me, it means letting go of a lot of good things, and I don't always want to do that.
The Classic Crime has a song called "Four Chords," and the chorus goes like this:
Oh oh, here we go
Been down this road
About a thousand times before
But we ain't bored
Oh oh, here we go
Singing songs we wrote
About a thousand times before
But we ain't bored
The same four chords
The same four chords
For the most part, I like the chords my life has been playing for the last few years. Sure, at times I wish my situation wasn't so stressful or busy, and I wish some relationships were better or that my intramural basketball team hadn't lost in the semifinals, but I have good friends and I do a lot of fun things. If I weren't a pessimist and were really thinking through what I'm writing, I would say how we never get to experience new, better possibilities unless we let go of some of our old routines, so these moments of change are both necessary and exciting. When we learn more chords, we can play more songs. The guitarists who only play four chords don't get inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. They play back-up for Miley Cyrus.
And yet, there is something comforting about those four chords. Sometimes the best songs are the simple ones, and you replay them over and over again in your head. That doesn't make it a song for simpletons who are scared of more complex chords. It makes it meaningful, and maybe it's worth listening to again and again.
Speaking of songs, today on Youtube I watched the music video for Skillet's "Hero." Like many music video, after a while the band in outside in a torrential downpour as they play. Somehow, playing rock music in the rain is so much cooler than playing it elsewhere. The water bounces off of the drumheads and is splashed by the guitarist's rapid strumming. I wonder if my blog posts would be better if I started writing them outside in the rain. It might not be very healthy for my laptop, though.
Lately, however, I feel a little like those high school senior she-journalists. Which is probably very unnecessary, because I'm not really even a senior. But this is my fourth year at Ozark, which means that most of the people I came in with as a freshman are getting ready to graduate. And that means that after May 22nd, my life will be quite a bit different.
I'm a boring person in that I don't often make many changes to my life. Some people can't handle life if there is not regular change. Consistency means monotony, and monotony means dreariness. If these people experience too much routine, they begin to feel like they're trapped in a wooden crate and need a Purple Drank just to calm themselves down. I'm not like that. If you've ever eaten out with me before, you know what I mean. I always get the same thing when I go to specific restaurants. Wendy's: #10, medium-sized with a Coke, and barbecue sauce. Spangle's: #3, just ketchup on the burger, medium-sized with a Pepsi. Cheddar's: chicken tender basket, with barbecue sauce and honey mustard, with a Coke.
One may wonder why I don't mix things up. It's not because I'm scared of change or I freak out if everything isn't exactly the way I'm used to. I just figure that if I like the way things are, there is no need to change it. My dorm room has been decorated pretty much the same since my first semester. Why? Because I like my King Kong and Chronicles of Narnia posters, and I have no reason to get anything different.
But soon, things will change whether I like it or not. It's sad, because the truth is that I wouldn't mind keeping life how it is now. I could keep on going bowling every Monday and playing cards in the student center on the weekends and going on late night runs to Taco Bell forever. But that isn't how it all works out. We get old and get jobs and move away. Our lives are not undisturbed dollhouses that remain quiet on the shelf. They are waves of the ocean that roll and fluctuate. For some, this means freshness and vitality, but for people like me, it means letting go of a lot of good things, and I don't always want to do that.
The Classic Crime has a song called "Four Chords," and the chorus goes like this:
Oh oh, here we go
Been down this road
About a thousand times before
But we ain't bored
Oh oh, here we go
Singing songs we wrote
About a thousand times before
But we ain't bored
The same four chords
The same four chords
For the most part, I like the chords my life has been playing for the last few years. Sure, at times I wish my situation wasn't so stressful or busy, and I wish some relationships were better or that my intramural basketball team hadn't lost in the semifinals, but I have good friends and I do a lot of fun things. If I weren't a pessimist and were really thinking through what I'm writing, I would say how we never get to experience new, better possibilities unless we let go of some of our old routines, so these moments of change are both necessary and exciting. When we learn more chords, we can play more songs. The guitarists who only play four chords don't get inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. They play back-up for Miley Cyrus.
And yet, there is something comforting about those four chords. Sometimes the best songs are the simple ones, and you replay them over and over again in your head. That doesn't make it a song for simpletons who are scared of more complex chords. It makes it meaningful, and maybe it's worth listening to again and again.
Speaking of songs, today on Youtube I watched the music video for Skillet's "Hero." Like many music video, after a while the band in outside in a torrential downpour as they play. Somehow, playing rock music in the rain is so much cooler than playing it elsewhere. The water bounces off of the drumheads and is splashed by the guitarist's rapid strumming. I wonder if my blog posts would be better if I started writing them outside in the rain. It might not be very healthy for my laptop, though.
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