It's Thursday morning and I'm in my second office - a local coffee house with wireless internet. Getting ready to hit the road, actually, for a big Acoustic Blend show in Lexington at the Civic Center there (pictures and YouTube clips hopefully forthcoming).
But I've been thinking a lot over the past few days about my last blog and both the challenges and opportunities of a post-Christian America. The opportunity, in my opinion, is for the church to reclaim it's original mission of serving people rather than striving to be a cultural tour de force. The challenge, though, is that doing this requires a huge shift in thinking and behavior that, sadly, is not all that natural for us anymore.
That's why I feel the following story is pure genius. It's an excerpt from Don Miller's book Blue Like Jazz, which was all the rage a few years ago and still offers a unique perspective on Christianity that is refreshing and a tad disconcerting. Don was involved in a small campus ministry at Reed College, a liberal arts college in Portland Oregon with a reputation of not being terribly welcoming of organized religion. Please give it a read - you won't be disappointed.
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Each year at Reed they have a festival called Ren Fayre. They shut
down the campus so students can party. Security keeps the authorities
away, and everybody gets pretty drunk and high, and some people get
naked. The school brings in White Bird, a medical unit that
specializes in treating bad drug trips. The students create special
lounges with black lights and television screens to enhance kids'
mushroom trips.
Some of the Christian students in our little
group decided this was a pretty good place to come out of the closet,
letting everybody know there were a few Christians on campus. Tony the
Beat Poet and I were sitting around in my room one afternoon talking
about what to do, how to explain who we were to a group of students
who, in the past, had expressed hostility toward Christians. Like our
friends, we felt like Ren Fayre was the time to do this. I said we
should build a confession booth in the middle of campus and paint a
sign on it that said, CONFESS YOUR SINS. I said this because I knew a
lot of people would be sinning, and Christian spiritually begins by
confessing our sins and repenting. I also said it as a joke.
But Tony thought it was brilliant. He sat there on my couch with his
mind in the clouds, and he was scaring me because, for a second, then
for a minute, I actually believed he wanted to do it.
“We are not going to do this,” I told him.
“Oh, we are, Don. We certainly are. We are going to build a confession booth!”
We met in Commons – Penny, Nadine, Mitch, Iven, Tony and myself. Tony
said I had an idea. They looked at me. I told them I had a stupid
idea that we couldn't do without getting attacked. They leaned in. I
told them that we should build a confession booth in the middle of
campus and paint a sign on it that said, CONFESS YOUR SINS. Penny put
her hands over her mouth. Iven laughed. Nadine smiled. “They may
very well burn it down,” she said.
“Okay you guys.” Tony
gathered everybody's attention. “Here's the catch.” He leaned in a
little and collected his thoughts. “We are not actually going to
accept confessions.” We all looked at him in confusion. He
continued. “We are going to confess to them. We are going to confess
that, as followers of Jesus, we have not been very loving; we have been
bitter, and for that we are sorry. We will apologize for the Crusades,
we will apologize for those televangelists who steal people's money, we
will apologize for neglecting the poor and the lonely, we will ask them
to forgive us, and we will tell them that in our selfishness we have
misrepresented Jesus on this campus. We will tell people who come into
the booth that Jesus loves them.”
All of us sat there in silence
because it was obvious that something beautiful and true had hit the
table with a thud. We all thought it was a great idea, and we could
see it in each other's eyes. It would feel so good to apologize, to
apologize for the Crusades, for Columbus and the genocide he committed
in the Bahamas in the name of God, apologize for the missionaries who
landed in Mexico and came up through the West slaughtering Indians in
the name of Christ. I wanted so desperately to say that none of this
was Jesus, and I wanted to desperately to apologize for the many ways I
had misrepresented the Lord. I could feel that I had betrayed the Lord
by judging, by not being willing to love the people He had loved and
only giving lip service to issues of human rights.
So we set to
work on the confession booth throughout the beginning of Ren Fayre, and
people looked at us over the first couple of days with both curiosity
and amusement. The further along we got on the booth, though, the more
I began to wonder if our idea was such a hot one. As we began to put
the finishing touches on it, I was in the process of telling Tony that
I didn't want to do this. And then someone opened up the curtain and
walked in, saying they were our first customer.
“What's up,
man?” Duder sat himself on the chair with a smile on his face. He
said his name was Jake. I shook his hand because I didn't know what to
do, really.
“So, what is this? I'm supposed to tell you all of the juicy gossip I've done at Ren Fayre, right?”
“No.”
“Okay, then what? What's the game?” he asked.
“Not really a game. More of a confession thing.”
“You want me to confess my sins, right?”
“No, that's not what we're doing, really.”
“What's the deal, man?”
“Well, we are a group of Christians here on campus, you know.”
“I see. Strange place for Christians, but I am listening.”
“Thanks,” I told him. He was being very patient and gracious.
“Anyway, there is this group of us, just a few of us who were thinking
about the way Christians have sort of wronged people over time. You
know, the Crusades, all that stuff....”
“Well, I doubt you personally were involved in any of that.”
“No, I wasn't,” I told him. “But the thing is, we are followers of
Jesus. And we believe he represented certain ideas that we have not
done a good job at representing. He has asked us to represent Him
well, and we've failed him in that.”
“I see,” Jake said.
“So there is this group of us on campus who wanted to confess to you.”
“You are confessing to me!” Jake said with a laugh.
“Yeah. We are confessing to you. I mean, I am confessing to you.”
“You're serious.” His laugh turned to something of a straight face.
I told him I was. He looked at me and told me I didn't have to. I
told him I did, and I felt very strongly in that moment that I was
supposed to tell Jake that I was sorry for everything.
“What are you confessing?” he asked.
“Well, there's a lot. I will keep it short. Jesus said to feed the
poor and to heal the sick. I have never done very much about that.
Jesus said to love those who persecute me. I tend to lash out,
especially if I feel threatened. Jesus did not mix His spirituality
with politics. I grew up doing that. I know all of this was wrong,
and I know that a lot of people will not listen to the words of Christ
because people like me, who know Him, carry our own agendas into the
conversation rather than just relaying the message Christ wanted to get
across. So I've not been a good follower of Jesus. There's a lot
more, you know.”
“It's all right, man,” Jake said, very tenderly. His eyes were starting to water.
“Well,” I said, clearing my throat, “I am sorry for all of that.”
“I forgive you,” Jake said. And he meant it.
“Thanks,” I told him.
He sat there and looked at the floor, then into the fire of a candle.
“It's really cool what you guys are doing,” he said. “A lot of people
need to hear this.”
“I don't know whether to thank you for that or not,” I laughed. “I have to sit here and confess all my crap.”
He looked at me very seriously. “It's worth it,” he said. He shook my
hand, and when he left the booth there was somebody else ready to get
in. It went like that for a couple of hours. I talked to about thirty
people, and Tony took confessions on a picnic table outside the booth.
Many people wanted to hug me when we were done.
All of the people who visited the booth were grateful and gracious. I was being changed through the process. And I think those who came into the booth were being changed too.
*******************
See, I told you it was cool.
This story speaks to me in many ways, but three in particular. First, I'm struck by how this campus ministry was the minority at Reed - I love that he describes their actions at Ren Fayre as "coming out of the closet!" Truth is, this isn't all that different from what those first Christians experienced back in ancient Palestine as they were dwarfed by the Roman empire - same thing. Throughout history the church has thrived when it's been countercultural. My hunch is that, in a post-Christian America, we will know more and more what it feels like to be that campus ministry group at Reed. And I think this is a good thing.
Miller's story also shows me that Christians do their best work when they assume the role of the servant, when they take on a stance of humility and grace that feels entitled to nothing, when they meet people where they are rather than demanding others come to them on their own terms. In a post-Christian America the church simply can't afford to try and do things they way they used to. That's like sticking a confession booth in the middle of a wild college party and asking everyone to come inside and confess their sins. That's been done plenty of times, and it's not working anymore. I truly believe that when we approach people where they are out of humility, seeking genuine fellowship and striving only to serve them, the church can regain its mojo and start making a difference in this world again.
And finally, there's absolutely nothing wrong with Christians saying they're sorry. Because a lot of horrible stuff has been done in the name of Jesus, and they carry that legacy. Repentance cuts both ways. The good news is that, thanks to "duder," so does forgiveness.
I'm telling you, it's that easy. The hard part, of course, is actually doing it. Time to get to work.
I have been reading your blog for about three weeks. I do not go to your church; several of my students do though, and they spoke so highly of you and your church, and also directed me to your blog, since they knew I am an avid blog reader.
I grew up here in Surry County, and my experience with organized religion has been spotty, at best. I have attended many churches from quite a few denominations, but I have yet to find a church that matches my beliefs, and, in fact, I have been somewhat traumatized by what I experienced growing up in several churches in this area. I have always felt God in my heart, but it wasn't the same God that many people seemed to know. The God I know is full of love, and accepts EVERYONE, regardless of gender, race, sexual orientation, or political beliefs.
I want to say thank you because reading your blog has shown me that there is a loving and accepting church out there, and it is a comforting thought to me. I have felt tears in my eyes several times. My boyfriend and I have discussed some of your blog entries at length, including the last one, and I can honestly say it has been years since I have discussed Christianity in such a positive, beautiful light.
My great grandfather and great grandmother were from here, and they began a small church in Virginia after my great grandfather decided to stop making moonshine (really great story, by the way....). I always felt like their love of God still lived in me, but I have struggled with that and what seemed to be contradictory feelings in me, due to what I have encountered all my life. Reading your blog entries and exploring the website of the Presbyterian church has given me a warm feeling that I have not felt in a long time. I look forward to attending your church in the future.
Posted by: Jessica | April 23, 2009 at 05:33 PM
Jessica - in a word (well, two), thank you!
Posted by: Steve | April 23, 2009 at 08:40 PM
You are in the vanguard of the confessors. You are the most virtuous confessor. I confess I am not. I confess I'm relieved it's you, not me.
Posted by: Kralizec | May 25, 2009 at 10:41 AM