Thoughts and Musings

Standing In The Surf: A New Kind of Confession Booth

To many people unaffiliated with a church, and even to some who are, "church" means being among other people who are just like you: look like you, talk like you, think like you, work and play like you, and believe like you.  It is part of foundational human behavior built into our DNA - we are inclined to form ourselves into groups ("tribes," as author Seth Rogen likes to call them).  And we are inclined to do so based on some common shared characteristic.  The problem for the church comes when we let this, and not the gospel, be what defines us.

I'm convinced, along with lots of other folks, that if the American church of the 21st century is going to flourish and live into its calling in the future, it must first clear this hurdle.  And it's got to be more than simply opening our doors and saying a hearty, "Y'all come!"  Instead, we're going to need to seek out those who are not like us and engage them on their own turf.  It also means not allowing doctrine and dogma to supercede the relational nature of the body of Christ - as Paul said, and certainly got raked over the coals, we are all one in Christ Jesus. No single truth is as simple and as scandalous.

I don't know if it's reassuring or depressing that the same problems we face today in the church were faced by that Galatian church a mere 25 years after the end of Jesus' earthly life.  I guess it depends on how you look at it.  The thing is, if we're going to clear this hurdle, we have to intentionally put ourselves in those uncomfortable positions where we, ironically, are not the authority - for that is how we demonstrate to those on the outside of the church that it is not about us, it was never about us, but it was and is always about God.  And we have to be creative in how we do it - not for creativity's sake, but to demonstrate in bold and convincing fashion that we are truly willing to move on from what has not worked and plunge head-first into the unknown and into what may actually work this time.

And that is why I will forever love the story told by author Don Miller in his book Blue Like Jazz, of the Confession Booth.  If you aren't familiar with this story, I dare you to read it below and tell me on the other side that you're not changed. If you've heard it before, don't pass up an opportunity to read it again.

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Each year at Reed College 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.  Some of the Christian students in our little group decided this was a pretty good place to let everybody know there were a few Christians on campus.  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 I actually believed he wanted to do it.
            “We are not going to do this,” I told him.
            “Oh, we are, Don.  We are going to build a confession booth!”
            Nadine smiled.  “They may very well burn it down,” she said.
            “Okay you guys.”  Tony gathered everybody's attention.  “Here's the catch. 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.  We all thought it was a great idea.  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. I wanted so desperately to apologize for the many ways I had misrepresented the Lord. 
            So we set to work on the confession booth throughout the beginning of Ren Fayre.  And 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, 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.  “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.

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I'm not saying this single thing is the answer to all the church's woes (although part of me loves the idea of trying this out sometime).  I'm simply suggesting that the thinking that led to this is what the church needs today - in order to remain faithful, relevant, true to its mission to transform lives and even the world.

So - what do you think?  What new ideas does the church today need to put into action?

"All are welcome. Seriously. We really mean it."

I have this weird fascination with church marquees - those interchangeable signs strategically placed in front of church buildings.  In one sense I'm attracted to them, the same way that I can't look away from the car wreck on the other side of the interstate as I drive by.  Like a moth to the flame, I'm helpless to their lure.

On the other hand, I find myself doing a lot of face-palming, either figuratively or literally.  And not only because some of them - and you know the ones I'm talking about - express a theology and biblical understanding that has little or nothing to do with the God I know.  It's also, in my opinion, the worst kind of advertising. 

Because that's what these marquees are, functionally if not intentionally - advertising.  A form of outreach and evangelism.  I mean, they're right there outside the church's main entrance, in some cases larger than the sign with the church's name on it.  Every so often the message changes, thus catching our attention.  Everything about them practically screams, "Look at me! This is who we are!"  And like it or not, they tell a story about what kind of church lies on the other side.

And I don't get it, honestly, what possesses some churches to tell the stories they do.  Maybe they're not intended for public consumption and are meant more for the people inside - in which case perhaps that's where the signs should be.  That's they only way I can make sense of it.  I mean, who is going to drive past a church with a marquee that essentially tells them they're going to hell and think, Hey, sounds like the place for me! 

Like the saying goes: "First impressions are lasting impressions.  And frankly, I'm rarely impressed.

My church doesn't have a marquee - a blessing, as I see it.  Every now and then, though, I daydream about what it might say if we did.  What kind of "advertising," what kind of story would it share?  To that end, I've created a few of my own, void of cheesy wordplays and ghastly theology.  You can do the same, by the way, HERE if you want.  Knock yourselves out.  Feel free to add your own marquee slogan in the comments below!

(Note: the following are my own messages and don't necessarily reflect the church I gratefully serve. Don't want anyone to think one person is trying to speak for everyone - the issue with church marquees to begin with).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thirty seconds of gratitude

When I was in middle school, my aunt spent the night at our house in Raleigh in the middle of some travels. She had a friend with her; another woman about her age whose name I can't remember. I do remember that she was nice and had a warm smile, and that she had a really cool Bible.  I know, just what a minister would say, right?  Bear with me.  The Bible was actually in comic book form, thus having immediate appeal to a 12-year old boy.  I "read" nearly half of it that night before going to bed.

When I woke up the next morning, my aunt and her friend had already left to get an early start on the rest of their trip.  But there was one thing of hers that didn't accompany them.  I found the comic book Bible at my place at the kitchen table when I came down for breakfast.  Inside was a long inscription from its former owner.  She talked about how she enjoyed meeting me and how she was pleased with my interest in her comic book Bible.  Which is why she was giving it to me, since her joy at knowing I'd get a lot out of it exceeded any joy she'd have in keeping it.  She wished me the best and said she'd look forward to our paths crossing again someday.

I haven't crossed paths with that woman since - at least not yet.  But the Bible is still with me.  It sits on the shelf in my office, as it did in the office of my previous church, as it will in every office I ever have.  And the thing is, it's not really there because it's a Bible.  It's there to remind me that God's word can be a heartfelt inscription on the inside flap, and that sometimes the greatest gifts come from those who make a conscious choice to express gratitude in the simplest of ways.

I was reminded of that comic book Bible last night when a link to this article showed up in my Twitter feed, about a note left at a ramen restaurant in Austin, TX.  Scrawled on a napkin to not only the waitress but to the entire restaurant, thanking them for the good food and service and the way both provided a much-needed lift in the person's day.  The result of some pretty awesome ramen?  It's possible.  Slightly over-the-top?  You could argue that.   But I think you'd be selling the author short in either case.  Much like my aunt's traveling companion, this person chose to do something they certainly weren't obligated to do: take thirty seconds to express gratitude.

Of course, those thirty seconds could've been used for something entirely different.  Case in point: the infamous "I give God 10% why do you get 18" receipt left at an Applebees restaurant earlier this year.  You can choose not to leave a tip if you so desire (although that's pretty crappy of you if you do).  But why leave a note about it - and why oh why bring God into the mix?  I digress.

There is yet a third option we have with those thirty seconds, and it's one you and I consistently choose nearly all the time: doing nothing.  We're not overly vindictive or thoughtless along the lines of the non-tipping pastor person.  Nor are we exceedingly gracious or reflective like ramen-napkin guy.  We just....are.  So there are no notes, no inscriptions; we simply move along with the course of things. All things being equal, we're not going to do anything extra with that receipt or napkin because it's not that big of a deal to us.  Because we're in a hurry and don't have time to bother with it.  Because it doesn't even register on our radar.  Because doing nothing is safe.

You and I, our inclination in life is to play it safe.  Self-preservation is built into our DNA, and it charts the course of our daily walk and our lifelong journey.  And this isn't a bad thing - it's a big reason why our species has survived as long as it has.

But there's another reason humanity has thrived, and ironically it's because we don't always play it safe.  We have those wonderful moments where we choose to take risks, step outside our comfort zone, chart new courses, veer off-script and write our own ending. And just between you and me, I wish I were better at recognizing those moments when they came around. I wish I were like my aunt's friend, who rather than instinctively pack that comic book Bible in her travel bag like the nights before, chose instead to veer off-script and write something in it and leave it on someone else's kitchen table.  And to think - thirty seconds is all it took. 

I mean, what would happen - what would seriously happen - if we made a point of going out of our way to be gracious to someone else?  Leave a note on a napkin, shoot a quick text to someone, shake a hand and offer a smile.  Something simple; something unexpected and unprovoked.  This is not some kind of "pay it forward" thing.  This isn't about karma or balancing the universe.  This is simply about taking time to express gratitude for no other reason than the expression itself. 

With our actions - or our inaction - we have the potential to enrich the life of another person, or shame that person, or do nothing at all for that person.  All things being equal, which would you prefer to choose?

Chew on that while I take thirty seconds to write a quick note to the coffee house I'm hanging out in right now.

Reflecting on NEXT in the Pre-Op room

Okay, so granted, it wasn't the best planning on my part.  Nevertheless, less than 24 hours after the closing of the 2013 NEXT Church Conference in Charlotte, there I was: lying on a hospital bed in the pre-op, all gowned up and ready to go. It was a torn meniscus that had brought me there; and in standard surgery fashion there was a whole lot of "hurry up and wait."  Three hours of it, in fact. So I had plenty of time to think amidst the beeping and humming of machinery and the impending dose of drugs that would send me off to la-la land.

(and as a quick aside, I think every pastor should have surgery at some point in ministry, preferably for an actual ailment that requires it. I'll never look at hospital visits and pre-surgery prayers with parishioners the same again, having been in the bed rather than standing beside it.)

Anyway, so I had a lot of time to think in that pre-op room.  And I won't lie to you: I thought about NEXT.

I thought about this relatively new movement in the Presbyterian Church (USA), described on its Facebook page as "sparking imaginations, connecting congregations, and offering a distinctively Presbyterian witness to Jesus Christ." I thought about the way co-organizer Shannon Kershner further explained that it is not an affinity group pushing any doctrine or issue currently being contended with ad nauseum in our denomination. The one thing that binds those in NEXT together is relationship.  Relationship with each other and relationship with Jesus. The fact that NEXT makes this their focus and stubbornly refuses to be parlayed by any special interest group or agenda is precisely why I and many others are on board with it.

I thought about all the people there, around 650 of them.  Honestly, it was like a high school class reunion for not one year but twenty or thirty.  Pastors and laypeople, friends and new faces. Retired preachers and folks not yet ordained.  Southerners and Northerners, Midwesterners and West Coasters.  And a new category made possible in our social media age: people I've known for a year or more, conversed and engaged with, but have never actually met in person until now. A shout-out to Facebook and Twitter for creating this new way of knowing people, where the first face-to-face is not the beginning of a great friendship but the continuation of it.

I thought about something Steve Eason said in his sermon on Monday evening worship - something that struck me as tweet-worthy:

I think this speaks to a major reason why NEXT Church has taken off the way it has.  We all recognize the cultural shift the church has endured over the past 50 years. Gone are the days where no one dared hold a soccer game on Sunday mornings; where pastors were bestowed with de facto mayor-like authority in their communities.  Study after study has shown the sharp decline in mainline denominations that's reflected in greater pew vacancies and shrinking budgets. For some, the only appropriate response is an alarmist mindset rooted strongly in fear. NEXT, however, chooses to view these changes in a positive light as God's intentional process of creating something wonderful and new.

Around this time, some lady stuck me with an IV, so I had to think about needles for a minute. When she was done, though, I went back to thinking about NEXT.

And I thought about all the wonderful speakers. And you know the really cool thing?  They weren't the "big names" you typically see at these type of events.  That's not how NEXT rolls.  What they're more into are the unsung heroes who are quietly doing some amazing "next-ish" things in their contexts. So we heard from the Caucasian man and African-American woman who have teamed up to revitalize a defunct and crumbling church facility in Philadelphia; the seminary president who used thirty seconds of a Janet Jackson video (FYI, it wasn't "Nasty Boys") to share the story of a growing student body that at one point numbered seven; the Washington DC-based pastor who unpacked worship liturgy as improv; the pastor in Columbia, SC who equated God's spirit to live music as opposed to 16-bit MIDI. Every voice mattered, official speaking role or not; and it had nothing to do with the size of one's congregation or how many degrees are hanging on the wall.

I thought about what is NEXT for the church - something that is tempting to immediately jump to, like the kid who stares at the wrapped present under the Christmas tree wondering what's inside.  I thought about the fact that this journey we're on in the NEXT Church is not a formula or five-step plan that can be implemented in actions steps to acheieve "maximum results."

NEXT is more like jazz, really.  The Spirit moving in and through us, gently reminding us that we're not directing the band but are the called and equipped players offering our unique voice and gifts to the ensemble.  And the sound that is produced is the sound of a church that is not looking to be "successful" as much as it's striving to be faithful. 

That's all that I was thinking.  And then they wheeled me into the OR and hit me with the good stuff.  I don't remember much after that, but I do remember the last thought on my mind was how there is no better and more exciting time than now for the church to be thinking about what's next.

30 years ago today, the "War" began

February 28th, 1983: it was a Monday, so I was in class. 9th grade, to be exact.  It may have been the Monday we dissected frogs in Biology - and froze while doing so, since our new-age teacher believed in free-flowing spirits and always left the class windows cracked open.  It may have been the Monday I got to read the part of Romeo in our English unit on Shakespeare, secretly hoping that Donna H. would read Juliet.  It may have been the Monday that fellow freshman Leroy A. tapped me on the shoulder and asked (quite nicely) if I'd let him cheat off my History test (I didn't); or the Monday all the boys fawned over our fresh-out-of-college Chemistry teacher. Well, truth be told, we did that every day.

But for four early twenty-somethings who played in an Irish rock band, February 28, 1983 was the day they would release an album that would change their lives forever, and soon enough would change mine.

I remember when I first heard U2's War. It was later that same year in either April or May.  Polly Guthrie handed me a recorded cassette tape after school: Check this out, Steve, I think you might like it.  I actually didn't at first. Yep, you heard right.  This U2 fanatic was a hardened skeptic at first. In an era where popular music was refined for mass consumption, War was too rough around the edges for my early 80's ears.  Too in-your-face for my face.

It was only after a second and third listen that I began to "get it."  The discombobulation experienced when listening to War for the first time was precisely what I needed it to do.  The pounding drums, the thumping bass, the screaming guitars, the intense and impassioned vocals.  And the message: was he singing about God, or a girl?  Or both?  And if he was singing about God, why was he being so angry about it?  Michael W. Smith and Amy Grant were the only ones in my music collection singing about God, and they didn't sound anything like this. Could you really sing about God and be indignant and up-in-arms while doing so?  Oh, that moment when a young lad hears the sound of righteous indignation for the first time. No more! No more! Wipe your tears away! Wipe your tears away!

I played that cassette until the tape wrapped around the little wheels inside the player and spilled out onto my bedroom floor.  So I bought the album, and bought every one after that. Well, the earlier ones first, Boy and October. I had some catching up to do. And then: Under A Blood Red Sky. The Unforgettable Fire.  Wide Awake In America. The Joshua Tree.  Rattle And Hum.  Achtung Baby.  Zooropa. Pop (not at first, though. This one took some time). All That You Can't Leave Behind. How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb. No Line On The Horizon.  Nearly three-quarters of my time on this planet.

To say U2 have been a constant in my life since February 28, 1983 would be doing injustice to the concept of constants.  And it goes beyond their albums.  I've seen them in concert multiple times.  I've read dozens of books about them and by them.  I've covered their songs in my own gigs.  Before my oldest son could say his ABC's he was reciting the band members' names and their corresponding instrument; and with great fatherly pride I recall how, at the tender age of six, he learned to play the opening drum riff for "Sunday Bloody Sunday."  I've quoted their inspiring activist lead singer in numerous sermons and even sung their song acapella in one.   I've been told I'm the only preacher around with a signed picture of Bono hanging in his office.

If the holy scriptures are the script for my life, then U2 is the soundtrack. I hope to God there are more acts written, and if the rumors are to be believed about a new album sometime this year, I'll be the first in line to get it.

For today, though, I'll be listening to their seminal album non-stop. Bono, Edge, Larry, Adam - thanks a bunch for starting the War thirty years ago today.  Keep fighting the fight.

Five reasons why American Christians are not persecuted Christians

It's something that rears its ugly head most every election cycle, or when some hot-button issue surfaces in our culture, like the recent battle over Amendment One vote in my beloved home state or the long-standing removal of prayer in public schools: the notion, raised by some, that Christians in America are persecuted for their beliefs.  

It's a strong word: persecuted.  And maybe that's what has me scratching my head this morning.  Because while some may feel American culture is inheritently hostile to religion, the fact is that all people of faith enjoy certain rights and protections in our country - and none moreso than Christians. Secularization has certainly taken hold in our larger culture compared to a generation ago, but by and large we find that Christianity is spoken openly in our communities, in our politics, in the marketplace.  We make open reference to God in our country's pledge; we see God's name adorned on our currency.  We may disagree and wrestle with the specifics of it, but faith is woven into the very fabric of our civilization.

More than that, though, the notion that American Christians are a persecuted lot represents a pretty significant misunderstanding of the actual history of persecution in the church.  The short answer is this: we've got it pretty good, folks.  The longer answer: here are at least five reasons why American Christians are not persecuted Christians: 

1.  No one is putting us to death on crosses. And thank God for that.  Because back in the day, it wasn't just Jesus who suffered the excruciating agony of asphyxiation from the weight of your own body.  This method of torture by the Roman empire was used on "enemies of the state," and its very public nature (crucifixions typically took place along heavily-traveled roads and other populous areas) was designed as a way to quell the masses. Emperor Nero in particular, paranoid by the growth of Christianity in first century Palestine, ordered the crucifixion of thousands of Christians during his reign.

2.  No one is kicking us out of the marketplace.  Which is exactly what happened in the first century, per some of the New Testament letters.  It appears that in various instances, Christians were denied the privilege of buying and selling goods in the secular culture of the day.  Either that, or Christians refused to participate because the Roman coins they had to use contained images of gods and idols (thus violating the Torah). In either case, it was pretty hard for Jesus-followers. Imagine today not being able to buy that mocha frap at Starbucks.

3. We don't live in North Korea. Not to pick on a single country, but according to Open Doors, a non-denominational group that tracks Christian persecution around the world, North Korea ranks at the top of their list of fifty countries who have a history of Christian persecution.  You can see the top twelve here if you want, but a heads-up: one country you will not see on the list is the good ol' US of A.

4. We're not sitting in prison right now.  Christians all around the world - but not in America - are routinely locked behind bars for things they have said for things ranging from "conducting propoganda" to "apostacy."  Check out some examples of imprisoned Christians here.

5. Our name is not Bartholomew.  Apologies if it actually is. But this original disciple of Jesus had it pretty bad when it came to being persecuted for his beliefs.  Depending on the account you side with, he was either filleted alive or beaten to a pulp with rods. Maybe both. And then he was crucified. Upside down. Ouch.

Now - does this mean that bad things don't happen to Christians in this country?  Of course not. Churches are occasionally burned, folks are mocked and made fun of from time to time, and Sunday mornings are no longer the sacrosant space it was a generation ago.  Religion is personal and powerful, and sometimes people let their beliefs - and misunderstanding or ignorance of the beliefs of others - lead them to do some pretty awful things.  This, by the way, goes both ways; and a whole lot of nasty stuff has been carried out in Jesus' name as well. 

That being said, we'd be wise to remember that just because the larger culture may not always align perfectly with our worldview does not mean we are persecuted.  The truth of the matter is that Christians have it pretty good in America.  And not because we necessarily should, but because we live in a country that embraces the practice of all kinds of faiths, or even no faith at all. I'm thinking we should be grateful for that and return the favor.  Along with that, praying for our brothers and sisters around the world who truly are persecuted for their religious beliefs would be a good thing.  And a nice way of putting our own faith into practice, to boot.

Kickin' back at the Wild Goose

Here's the first thing you need to know about the Wild Goose Festival: it's hot. As in temperature-hot. This is to be expected when you host an event in the heart of North Carolina at the end of June. It's going to be steamy.

Here's the second thing you need to know about the Wild Goose festival: it's a Christian festival, but not that kind of Christian festival. Taking its name from a Celtic symbol for unpredictability, beauty and grace, the Wild Goose Festival describes itself on its website as "a community creating a festival at the intersection of justice, spirituality and art."   Think Woodstock for Christian hippies without the drug use and with clothing.

And here's the third thing you need to know about the Wild Goose Festival, as stated by one of the organizer in their welcome Thursday (and I'm paraphrasing here): "If you are here because you know the truth and you want to make sure everyone else knows the same truth you do, then we want to encourage you to use this festival as your own personal retreat of solitude and silence." This was met, incidentally, with wild applause.  At the Wild Goose Festval, you learn quickly that personal agendas and soapboxes are left at the Shakori Hills entrance, and open dialogue and mutual respect and love take their place.

I had heard about the Wild Goose Festival from some family friends who went last year and absolutely loved it.  A few months ago I was asked to play music for one of the noon "Sacred Space" worship services at the festival, and the family decided to tag along.  We camped out one night and enjoyed a solid 24+ hours of the Wild Goose experience - more than enough to whet our appetite for next year.

So, what goes on at the Wild Goose?  A number of things.  Great music, everywhere, all the time.  On stage (David Lamotte and Derek Webb were two that I saw) and all around Shakori Hills under the shade of trees, people jamming away.  Wonderful speakers; folks whose books I'd been reading for years.  Brian McLaren, Phyllis Tickle, Shane Claiborne, Jim Wallis - just to name a very few. Booths all over the grounds for everything from seminaries and colleges and book publishers to the group against torture, the organization promoting clean water (very appropriate given our state's current flirtation with fracking), racial equality, world missions - you pretty much name it, it was there.  All while camping with the family under the shade of a cluster of trees, and with some former Mount Airy friends we hadn't hung out with in years.

The cool thing about the Wild Goose Festival is that everyone just kind of hangs out with each other, including the speakers and musicians.  There are no walls separating the "names" from the masses, and that's exactly the point.  So it was nothing to see Brian McLaren "emerge" from his tent just a few campspots away from yours, or Phyllis Tickle chatting it up over a cup of cool lemonade with a young couple holding their two-year old daughter, or Derek Webb discussing favorite bands with the guy at the seminary booth.  It's what community should be about.

You never know what might happen when you throw a bunch of free-thinking spiritual types together in a confined space for five scorching days (did I mention it was hot?), but everyone behaved and was kind and courteous.  Just in the small taste my family and I got of it, there was an air of excitement and engagement over what God was doing there - a sense that Christianity does not have to be so narrowly defined by a certain segment of society that wants to describe it in negative terms and make it about a single set of issues.  I think that's what attracted me to it the most - a freedom to embrace a more comprehensive and complete view of the faith.  It's the kind of Christianity I wish others could see more often.

Here's a few pictures I took of the event, just to give you a taste of what my family's experience was like.  The video that follows will cast the net a little wider.  You should make plans to go next year.  I'm pretty sure we'll be there again.

Wildgoose West August 31-September 2, 2012 from Wild Goose on Vimeo.

I'm bummed.....but I'm encouraged.

I'm bummed that Amendment One passed…..but I'm encouraged that close to 40% of voting North Carolinians tried to keep it from passing.
 
I'm bummed that discrimination has been enshrined into our state constitution…..but I'm encouraged that our calling to love all people as Jesus loves us isn't something that has to be voted on and approved by a majority.
 
I'm bummed that some well-meaning Christians supported this amendment…..but I'm encouraged that other well-meaning Christians, and people of other faiths, voted against it - and did so not in spite of their faith but because of it.
 
I'm bummed that the lives of lots of people who have nothing to do with gay marriage will be affected by this change to our state constitution…..but I'm encouraged that far more people than just a month ago are now aware of this and are prepared to stand in their defense.

I'm bummed that some people think I am in error for the way I voted…..but I'm encouraged that many like me are absolutely willing to err on the side of love.
 
I'm bummed that a particular segment of society has once again been vilified…..but I'm encouraged that more and more people are becoming aware - and vocal - about how wrong this really is.
 
I'm bummed that some Christians felt they had no choice but to vote for the amendment…..but I'm encouraged that some Christians realized they did have a choice, and used that choice to vote against.

I'm bummed that some people were confused about what a "FOR" and "AGAINST" vote actually meant…..but I'm encouraged that lots of folks took time to find out all the facts.
 
I'm bummed that some felt it important to enshrine their own interpretation of certain Biblical passages into a government constitution…..but I'm encouraged (and hopeful) that those same people will rally behind forthcoming Amendments Two, Three and Four, which will ban collecting interest for profit (Leviticus 25:36; Deuteronomy 23:19), eating shrimp (Leviticus 11:12), and football (Leviticus 11:7-8).
 
(okay, so that last one was totally a joke, albeit one to prove a point. Besides, we need a good laugh, right?)
 
I'm bummed that Amendment One passed.  There are many of us who are bummed. But even so, I'm encouraged.  Very encouraged.  Because no constitutional amendment will ever keep us from doing our best to follow Jesus' example - to love all people, stand beside all of God's children, equally and completely.

We're bummed, but we're encouraged. So this isn't over. We're just getting started.

Why I am against Amendment One

I imagine it's been obvious, for anyone who's followed me on Facebook or Twitter the past few weeks, that I am opposed to Amendment One - the proposed change to the North Carolina state constitution that would read as follows:

Marriage between one man and one woman is the only domestic legal union that shall be validated or recognized in this State. 

This amendment, a staple in pretty much every other Southern state, was put on the ballot by our state legislature and has garnered tremendous attention over the past few months leading up to the May 8 vote.

Yet I realized the other day that, while I've done a pretty good job of expressing my opinion on the matter, I haven't really explained why.  And while there are many reasons why I oppose it and voted against it in early voting last week (see picture above), there really is only one true reason why I oppose Amendment One.

Amendment One is poorly worded and, in its attempt to prohibit gay marriage, would create all kinds of legal messiness for those who don't fit the narrowly-defined  "only domestic legal union" equation - namely, unmarried couples, domestic partners, children of those partnerships and even domestic violence victims.  It's bad that these folks have been unwittingly dragged into the fray, but it is not THE reason I oppose Amendment One.
 
Amendment One is 100% unnecessary, as there is already a law in North Carolina prohibiting gay marriage.  Proponents of the amendment say it will prevent "activist judges" from overturning the law at some point in the future.  This kind of flawed logic suggests that we need to create constitutional amendments to back up all "important" state laws, much the same way my Time Capsule backs up my Macbook every hour.  The latter is completely necessary (as evidenced by the demise of my computer harddrive last week); Amendment One is not.  But that is not THE reason I oppose Amendment One.
 
Amendment One is discriminatory.  Again, defenders balk at the use of this word because, in their mind, they are simply defending "traditional marriage."  And yet, the word "discriminate" means: "to make an unjust or prejudicial distinction in the treatment of different categories of people or things, esp. on the grounds of race, sex, or age."  This is precisely what Amendment One does for gay and lesbian persons - it deprives them of something everyone else has.  Besides, constitutions are about guaranteeing people's rights, not restricting them.  And yet this is still not THE reason I oppose Amendment One.
 
I have a cousin who is gay and currently in a loving and committed relationship (that in no way, I might add, adversely affects my marriage or endangers my two children, as some insist).  They've surrounded themselves with friends and family who love and support them, including mine.  Still, I know they are subjected to ridicule and scorn by those who can't see the person beyond the orientation.  Amendment One has the feel of kicking someone when they're down, heaping more burden on a population that has suffered enough already; almost to the point of cruelty.  But that is not THE reason I oppose Amendment One. 
 
No, the primary reason I oppose Amendment One is because of my Christian faith. 

I know, that sounds strange, doesn't it?  We're used to Christianity being used as a reason (if not the only reason) for supporting the amendment.  We are told, for instance, that the Bible says gay people shouldn't get married and marriage is between one man and one woman.  Which is some selective reading, I might add, since it never actually says that (as I've pointed out to the Genesis 2 crowd, Adam and Eve weren't married); and since the predominant model of marriage in the Bible is one man and multiple women (try King Solomon's 700 wives and 300 concubines on for size).

So while I can't change the fact that pro-Amendment folks try to claim exclusive rights to the Christian mantle, what I can do is claim some of that mantle back and draw attention to the increasing Christian voice against Amendment One, including myself squarely among its ranks.  And make no mistake - it is a strong and legitimate voice, and it is growing.

In a Letter to the Editor I submitted last week to the Winston-Salem Journal, I pointed out that, while there are at best six to eight verses in the entire Bible that are commonly used to denounce homosexuality (with, I might add, questionable interpretation), there are literally thousands of verses calling the faithful to love their neighbor, care for the “least of these,” tend to orphans and widows and most vulnerable, seek justice for all, use governmental power wisely and compassionately, and not mistreat the foreigner in their midst.  It's like an NBA All-Star team stacking up against the woeful Charlotte Bobcats' second string - it's not even close.  When it comes to the sheer weight of scripture, the message of love triumps in a landslide.

And when we look specifically at Jesus as he's presented in the gospels, what we see is a man who didn't just tolerate the oppressed and outcasts, but actually sought them out.  He made a point of hanging out with them, dining with them, immersing himself into their lives no matter who they were or what others thought of them.  It drove the religious authorities nuts.  And for all his talk about loving neighbor and self, Jesus never said a word about homosexuality or gay marriage.  Not one.

So when I look at the scriptures and Jesus' life, I see an overwhelming portrait of Christian tolerance, acceptance, non-judgmentalism, and unconditional love - none of which square with Amendment One.  Because make no mistake: there is nothing loving about Amendment One.   There is nothing loving about legislation that would have all the negative consequences mentioned above.  You could possibly argue that it's "principled" or consistent (in relation to the state law already on the books), but you can't say that it's loving and compassionate in the spirit of Jesus.

I realize there are folks who disagree with me, and I'm okay with that.  I will respect their right to believe something different and hope they will return the courtesy.  It's the wonderful and sometimes frustrating thing about being adherents of the same faith - we can see things differently and still be brothers and sisters in Christ.  I will say this: if I am in error, if I've totally got my signals crossed, then I am fully content with erring on the side of love, rather than on the side of legislation that I feel pretty certain Jesus himself wouldn't be in favor of. 

And that is ultimately why I voted against Amendment One - because I believe, with all my heart, that Jesus would have voted against it too.

We'll see what Tuesday brings.  If it's defeated, I'll give thanks to God and be proud of the state I've lived in all my life.  And if it passes?  I'll be disappointed, but I'll move on with even deeper convictions and a better sense of my voice in the matter.  I'll be enthused by the wide spectrum of folks - people from different generations, different backgrounds, and even different political parties - who have come together on this issue in the spirit of Christ's love and in defense of all of God's children.

And most of all, I'll keep on loving like Jesus, the best that I can.  Thank God that is something that needs no legislation.

"Thou shall give thanks"

A few years ago, a good friend recommended a book called The Year of Living Biblically.  It was summer and the family beach trip was approaching, so the timing was perfect.  Turned out to be a great read - one of those rare books that's both entertaining and thought-provoking.  If you haven't heard the concept, author A.J. Jacobs decided to take an entire year to live biblically - in other words, following every one of the 600-700 laws of the Old and New Testaments to a "T," no matter how silly they seemed in today's world or what awkward situation they might put him in.  It's a fabulous read and certainly worth your time.  If you're looking for a teaser, check out this short TED video (click HERE if it doesn't appear):

It should be noted that Jacobs was raised Jewish but considers himself an agnostic.  Even so, this self-imposed journey was not about making fun of religion, but in fact exploring its depths in a way, quite frankly, many religious folk have not. Of course, he knew he'd be writing a book and had to sell copies.  Still, there's a level of sincerity to what he does that appeals to both the faithful and skeptic.

There are lots of hilarious moments, like the time he had to find an adulterer to stone, or the time he spent shepherding (with an actual sheep). In the end, Jacobs' beliefs weren't necessarily changed - he bills himself now as a "reverent agnostic" - but he says he came to a better understand of faith and appreciation for the Bible, captured in his "Thou Shalls" below. Ironically, I feel these are words of wisdom not only for the reverent agnostics among us, but the faithful as well:

Thou shall not take the Bible literally - I remember an exercise my Old Testament seminary professor led us in on our first day of class.  She had us split into groups of three or four, gave us a large sheet of newsprint and markers, and asked us to draw Song of Solomon 4:1-5, exactly as we read it. Look it up and you'll understand the point of the exercise.  Taking the Bible seriously and taking it literally are two very, very different things.

Thou shall give thanks - One of the great thing Jacobs took away from his experience of living Biblically was how his behavior changed his thoughts - kind of the opposite of how we usually think things work.  Simply following God's command to give thanks, in the long run, actually made him a more thankful person. I love the way Jacobs describes how he started realizing the little things that went right every day instead of the few things that went wrong.

Thou shall have reverence - Might sound odd coming from an agnostic, but remember - he's a reverent agnostic.  Yeah, I'm not quite sure what that means either, but Jacobs does recognize that there's something important about the idea of sacredness and seeking out the sacred in our world.  I'd agree with that.

Thou shall not stereotype - Jacobs spent a lot of time with different religious groups as part of this exercise - everything from evangelical Christians to Hasidic Jews to Red-Letter Christians.  He went into those interactions with a lot of preconceived notions, and he came out learning that many of them were not true.  If only we could do the same.  Our society today - especially religious circles - is often built on the premise that we don't necessarily need to interact with "the other," especially if we think we've got it right already.  Here's to Jacobs for demonstrating the folly of that thinking.

Thou shall not disregard the irrational - A common criticism on organized religion is that some religious practices make no rational sense.  Can't argue with them there - who really understands communion, anyway?  Or the one Jacobs initially wrestled with - the commandment against wearing clothes made out of mixed fabric (yep, it's in there).  What Jacobs came to realize, though, is that the mystery of the irrational in faith actually comprises the very heart of belief.  As long as they're not harming another person, he says, they serve a good purpose.

Thou shall pick and choose - This one's a little tough to swallow.  I can't totally buy Jacob's image of "cafeteria religion;" a buffet line where you grab a little bit of this and that; whatever your taste buds desire at the moment.  I don't think that's the way it works.  But he hits the nail on the head when he says you can't follow everything in the Bible.  Inevitably, we wind up picking and choosing, whether we admit it or not.  The key, Jacobs says, is choosing the right things to follow.  I'd clarify that a bit more to say that the task of the faithful is to look for the "common threads" that run throughout the scriptures - not only in the books of the law, but in stories of the Old Testament, the prophets, the writings, the life of Jesus, and the words of the early church.  And when we focus on those common threads that tie them all together - rather than extracting an obscure verse or two here and there - I'd say we do the best job we can of "living biblically."

Like I said, I can't agree with everything A.J. Jacobs says. But he does get the wheels turning and us thinking about what we believe and why.  And that certainly can't be a bad thing.