Following Fairness

In 2006, writer A.J. Jacobs endeavored to spend a year following every rule he could find in the Bible. Yes, even the Old Testament rules about sacrificing pigeons and stoning adulterers. He wrote a book about his experience called The Year of Living Biblically. My friend Julie gave it to me and said, "You have to read this." So I am.

I'm only a third of the way through but I can already recommend this book. It's clever, funny, thoughtful, and honest. Jacobs is an unbeliever from a Jewish family and he approaches his project with no little skepticism and misunderstanding of religious traditions. I find myself reading about his experiences in month three of his experiment and hoping desperately that he'll see the truth of the gospel by month twelve. I have even considered praying for such an outcome, but then I get bogged down in mental back-and-forth about praying for something in the past and God being outside of time and yadda yadda. It's hard to keep from skipping ahead. But the thing I like most about Jacobs and his book isn't his appreciation or affirmation of my beliefs. It's his fairness.

When he's not writing books about self-imposed herculean projects (his first book was about his experience of reading the entire Encyclopedia Britannica) Jacobs writes for Esquire magazine. He's a journalist, even if his current employer is as much a purveyor of entertainment as reporting. His treatment of the biblical texts shows that he's capable of appreciating and presenting disparate beliefs without espousing them. He can think critically without criticizing. He can suspend judgement long enough to research an opposing viewpoint; in this case, an entire year.

It's refreshing and rare to find that quality in today's media. And it's ironic, I think, to find qualities in a writer for a lifestyle magazine that are often lacking in reporters attending "hard news" beats.

But this isn't an article about journalism. A.J. Jacobs isn't just an anomaly in his field, but in his culture. We seem to be losing our ability to weigh arguments objectively.

Donald Miller wrote about this recently.

A few little buttons on the internet have created an entire new way of seeing the world...These days, you can opt in or opt out, agree or disagree, be a follower or an unfollower, a friend or foe. But what gets lost is something dramatic: nuanced thought. We are no longer able to separate the baby from the bathwater. If I write a blog that has one point people disagree with, they unfollow, they are against. It seems in our rush to create tribes, we’ve created exactly that, tribes. But sadly, we’ve created tribes at war with each other.

I think this dynamic was at play in the recent testimony of a Planned Parenthood spokesperson against a proposed Florida statute that would require health care for any infant delivered as the result of a botched abortion. I do not believe that Planned Parenthood is an evil army of Satan bent on killing newborns. But I suspect that Planned Parenthood is an organization so defined by opposition (we will oppose anything proposed by pro-life organizations) that they are willing to literally throw babies out with bathwater. Ask any Planned Parenthood staffer whether it should be legal to kill Americans without a trial and they'll likely say no. Ask them whether they oppose a bill supported by pro-lifers to that effect and they're much more likely to say yes.

The difference is about tribes, and what's missing is fairness.

But before we start to feel too "holier-than-thou" about Planned Parenthood, maybe we Christians should take a look at our own fairness. Do we engage in knee-jerk opposition to anyone not affiliated with our tribe? Do we believe they're not trustworthy if they're not Christian? evangelical? conservative? pro-life? pro-gun? Are we willing to grant that those with whom we disagree can make valid, even strong, arguments? Are we willing to suspend our judgement long enough to explore issues from their worldview? And to do so long enough and with an open mind rather than just as an exercise in rooting out the weakest links in their position? Are Christians known for walking a mile in others' shoes the way A.J. Jacobs did in 2006?

Too often we reflect the culture of the "unfollow generation" when we value tribe over truth.

Sears, Roebuck and King David

My dad hates Sears. I don't remember why. He once got a bad product or bad service there and now he refuses to shop there. I do remember the first time he told me that, though. I'm pretty sure his exact words were, "We don't shop at Sears," as if this was a family dictum passed down from father to son since the days of Roebuck. If I asked him about it now, he probably wouldn't remember his vendetta against Sears, but it made an impression on me years ago.

I remembered the Sanders / Sears Feud this morning when I read King David's dying words to his son Solomon in 1 Kings 2. In just of 12 verses, as David feels the pull of eternity and struggles to deliver one last admonition to his beloved son and heir, the Great King of Israel, the man after God's own heart leaves Solomon with two important tasks:

• Kill Joab.
• Kill Shimei.

Seriously, that's it. Verse 1 says, "When the time drew near for David to die, he gave a charge to Solomon his son." Then he tells him who to bump off. I had to double-check to see if I was reading out of the Martin Scorsese-edited version (The Freakin' Message). Suddenly, I pictured David with an Italian accent and Solomon in a double breasted suit and fedora.

"Hey, Sol. Come over here. I got a job for ya. I got two wise guys I need yous to whack."

There are probably lessons here about Machiavellian power struggles or just getting bitter in our old age, but the question I landed on had to do with Sears. While I was patting myself on the back, ("At least my family isn't that bad") I wondered, "What vendettas am I leaving to my son?" What subtle messages am I sending? We don't associate with those people. We don't behave like those people. We make fun of these other people.

Mind you, I don't think that's all bad. I don't think it's immoral for me to inherit my dad's disdain for Sears. I'm sure my son will inherit some of my biases as well as some of my good qualities. I just want to be careful. I just want to be aware of which family feuds I'm fueling.

"See how these people oppress others and violate human rights? We don't approve of that, son."
"See how these people celebrate sin? That's a shame, son."
"See how these people wear saggy pants? They are evil and stupid, son."

It may be harder than we think to edit our parenting messages and deliver them clearly. Somewhere between my dad and king David, there's a balance to strike. I hope I'm finding the right center point.

What about you? What biases did your parents pass on to you—good or bad? What vendettas are you passing on to your kids?

Painkillers

My life has been focused on pain recently. Pain pills. Pain management. Pain reporting. I had surgery a week ago that left me with a healthy amount of pain. A significant portion of my waking hours is dedicated to preventing, avoiding, chronicling and treating that pain. And although the pain medication keeps my thoughts in a bit of a knot, here are some things I've been able to tease out of the experience.

Pain Consumes. It eats up everything around it. When you're in pain, the pain becomes the most important thing in your world. Pain is always urgent. It demands your attention. And in doing so, it consumes hopes, comforting thoughts, relational connections, and faith. I know many great heroes of our faith have encountered God most intimately in their suffering, but I seem to find only one thing in pain — a desire to escape pain. Pain makes it hard to plan ahead, to enjoy beauty, or to listen or empathize with others. Pain is the ultimate trigger for selfishness.

Pain Gets Lonely. It wants to spread. It longs to be shared with others. When we hurt, something in us longs for someone else to recognize our hurting. I don't know if this is primarily about our selfishness or about our deep need for connection, but I think we all instinctively understand that enduring pain alone is pitiful. That's why pastors make hospital visits. It's an act of compassion and sacrifice to expose yourself to someone else's pain.

If Treated, Pain Is Temporary. My pain is an effect of my treatment. Actually, my ailment (papillary thyroid carcinoma) didn't cause any pain at all; it's the treatment that brought me pain. But my pain is temporary. Eventually, the wound will heal and I'll be better off for having endured the pain. In other cases, the ailment causes pain and the treatment relieves it. It occurs to me that the only pain that endures is pain that is ignored. Pain that's being treated (assuming a treatment exists) or pain caused by treatment are temporary. They are hopeful. Pain that is ignored continues to hurt precisely because of its hopelessness.

You may not know anyone recovering from surgery, but these pain points are worth noting anyway. The pain I'm dealing with is physical, but these axioms apply to all pain — emotional, relational, psychological, physical. If there are people in your life, your family, or your workplace who seem to always be focused on themselves, who complain a lot, or who have a nagging negativity that won't go away, it's likely because of pain in their lives. People in pain are hard to deal with (just ask my wife!) The question is: how can we help relieve, share and treat their pain? How can you, as an ambassador of Jesus, help people experience pain in heathy, hopeful ways?

The Church of Cultural Interpreters

I recently heard journalist Cathleen Falsani speak. Penning under the nickname "The God Girl", Falsani is possibly the most successful religion reporter of our time. Now on staff at the Orange County Register, she was the lead (read: "only") religion reporter at the Chicago Sun-Times from 2000 to 2010. In 2004, she conducted an interview with then-senator Barack Obama that remains the most in-depth audience the president has ever granted regarding matters of faith and belief. She has written four books, the most recent one — Belieber! — about the faith of Justin Beiber, and one I'm dying to read called The Dude Abides: The Gospel According to the Cohen Brothers.

So I was eager to hear her speak. Unfortunately, to be honest, I wasn't impressed. She seemed self-conscious, distracted, and maybe even a little pandering to the audience. But this article isn't about Cathleen Falsani's speaking abilities, nor even her writing. It's about her title. As a Christian in a staunchly secular business, Falsani has carved a niche for herself as a "cultural interpreter" — a translator in the halting conversation between Christians and American pop culture. When I first heard her say that, I thought, "How cool is that? What a great gig!" And Falsani certainly seems to be doing a good job with it. But the more I considered her self-proclaimed office, the less I liked it. It represents, I think, a failure on the part of the church.

Have we really become so insulated from our culture as to need a translator? I imagine a sort-of tour guide for Christians in years to come...

"Howdy Christians! Welcome to the Secular America Tour! I'm Simon and I'll be your guide. Glad to see so many of you coming out of the church building to see more of the sights today! Now, a few ground rules before we get started: here in secular America, we drive on the right side of the road and we all watch cable TV. Also, please refrain from any laying-on-of-hands while we're together. That's cause for a lawsuit out here."

I guess we're not that bad yet, but the need for a "cultural interpreter" seems to have us pointing in that direction.

Decades ago, Christians started to retreat from politics because of the corruption and excess there. Then there was a swing back toward involvement in an effort to bring a "Christian voice" to the political square. Something similar has been happening with pop culture, specifically the arts.

I read a quote somewhere that I can't seem to find again so I'm going to give you the meaning but butcher the prose. It was about how to conquer a culture, sort-of an apolitical Machiavellian scheme, and the author, the would-be conquerer, said "If you want me to change a nation, you can keep its politicians. Give me its songwriters." If the soul of our nation is going to change, it will happen because it has been captured by the beauty of the gospel. It will happen as we reach the songwriters and storytellers of our age. And I doubt that will happen if we can't speak their language.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get to work finding a way to keep my nine-year-old daughter from knowing that Belieber! exists.

Fighting For A Good Story

I remember a Saturday Night Live sketch from years ago. It was an Irish talk show co-hosted by two guys named Patrick Fitzwilliam and William Fitzpatrick who did nothing but drink, then fight, then hug and make up in an endless loop. I searched for it online and couldn't find a trace which means either a) it has been scrubbed from the web because it was offensive to Irish, or b) I never saw it but only dreamed I did, in which case I should stop writing this blog and call Lorne Michaels right away. In any case, it was a funny premise — the prototypical Irishmen drinking, fighting and remaining best friends. I wonder if there's a lesson in that as well as a laugh.

I spent most of last week at the Storyline Conference in San Diego. Storyline is hosted by author Donald Miller and it's about the story God is writing with each of our lives. Miller walked us through a process of identifying their own character and ambitions in an effort to help us live a better story. It's really a terrific exercise. I recommend the conference. I also recommend hanging out in San Diego, but that's a different story.

A big part of the conference was about conflict because, frankly, that's a big part of any interesting story. Miller asked us to think of our lives as a movie. If the highest ambition of our lives is to make a comfortable living, send our kids to college, and buy a Volvo, that doesn't make for a very good movie. When the hero drives off the Volvo lot in his new ride, having achieved his ambition, and the credits roll, no one is reaching for the Kleenex. Too often, our lives get hijacked by small stories. And the reason that's true is that we tend to avoid conflict. We want a story where everyone gets along, but that's not a very interesting story, so it's not a very ambitious life.

Imagine your friends at your funeral one day. What eulogy would you like them to give?

"Ryan was a swell guy. We hung out a lot and had lots of laughs. We never disagreed and never failed at anything. I never saw him tested or stirred. Just calm and comfortable, just the way we wanted it."

or

"Ryan and I laughed, cried, prayed, confessed, fought, and served together. We sweat and bled together. Sometimes we disagreed but the disagreement made us better. I always knew he wanted the best for me. I always knew he had my back. And that was good because we tried some pretty impossible things together — some might say foolish things."

I'd take the latter any day. We have to learn to love one another, but not for the sake of loving one another. Our purpose is that the world will know us by our love, that we will unveil the kingdom reign of God by our community. Sometimes that means persevering through conflict. Sometimes that means fighting fair with your brother and then making up, instead of choosing to be martyred for your convictions and giving up on the relationship.

What story is your life writing? What story is your church writing? Is it a story about making schedules work and figuring out what to do with the kids? Is it a story about Bible knowledge? Or is it a story about transforming lives, bringing shalom, iron sharpening iron? The best way to write a good story is to imagine the climactic scene — the consummation of the story just before the credits roll — and then address every decision along the way through that filter. Is this a scene that fits with the end of the story I want to tell?

Cancer & Community

I have cancer. I'm still trying to figure out the best way to tell people that. There probably isn't a good way. But there it is. As cancers go, I got a good one: Papillary Thyroid Carcinoma. It's very treatable. I should be fine in a few months without ever sniffing a chemo needle. Last week, I visited MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston where I met Dr. Perrier who talked about my upcoming surgery like it was the oncological equivalent of removing a splinter.

"We'll remove the thyroid and several lymph nodes," she said. "You'll be released the next day. You'll be right as rain in no time."

"Right as rain" is officially termed "cancer survivorship" by MD Anderson and it's at least six months away at this point. But it certainly sounds like a wonderful place. I'm hoping to get there as quickly as possible.

If you want to gauge the sincerity of your friendships, get a dread disease. There's something about hardship that brings out the better angels of our nature. Like a big kid plopped in the middle of a trampoline that brings other kids rolling in toward him, the heavy stuff of life draws friends closer. Christine and I have never felt more loved and supported by our church family than we do now.

Recently, Jen Hatmaker blogged about taking a meal to one of her hurting friends. In her own pithy way, she expressed a profound truth about caring relationships: "When you can't fix a thing, you can show up. And bring good food."

It really is just that simple. My friends know they can't fix this, so they've decided to show up. They are calling and texting. They are praying their knees off. We've gotten offers for meals from church friends, college friends, old bosses and PTO moms. We're getting offers to watch the kids, mow the lawn, and nab free Rapid Rewards flights. I'm pretty sure we almost crashed Facebook when I first posted a photo of my hospital wrist band. None of this is about me or Christine; it's about the good people we've been blessed to know. They haven't jumped off the trampoline; they're rolling in close.

I've always felt that a big part of the reason God called me to this job was my community. We were part of a small group before small groups were an "official" IBC ministry, and our small group has banded together through some pretty tough stuff. Now I wonder if God is allowing me to experience illness so I can better identify with other hurting members of our congregation. After all, I know IBCers who are enduring hardships much worse than mine: terminal illness, death, divorce, grief, betrayal, addiction, abuse. For those members of our body, nothing — no sermon, no song, no class, no program — will ease the burden like a friend.

Christine and I have started a list of "blessings of cancer" — things we would not have gotten to experience if not for this trial. The most important entry on that list is the care of our friends and family. Not only do I have an easy cancer burden, I have great friends to help me carry the load. I'm grateful for both.

More Newtown Musings

It's amazing how quickly we forget. In my last post about the Newtown, Connecticut massacre, I promised a few more articles. I had a lot to write back then — a lot of angles and ideas about evil and society and gun control and culture. There seemed to be too much to write; too many thoughts too deeply disturbing to sort them all out in one or two blog posts. We probably all felt that way. I would stand in the shower (read: writer's refuge) and bullet point the issues.

Now I've forgotten them.

But here are the last two things that stand out about those musings.

First, I wonder if America has just proven that we're no longer mature enough for guns, like a child given a new responsibility for which he isn't ready, except that rather than growing up, we seem to be pooling down, regressing to the lowest, basest, most animalistic forms. It seems pretty clear that our nation is regressing in terms of good behavior. Remember, the trigger for these ideas was a mass murder of children. We certainly aren't advancing virtue. And as important as the Second Amendment has been in the founding and flourishing of our democracy, I wonder now if we're regressing to the point where we can no longer handle either privilege. Charles Colson, who understood both government and human nature, used to say that people must be controlled, either by self or by force. If we're losing our capacity for self-control, then we are necessarily abdicating that control to government. As our second president famously said, “Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other.”

Again, I'm not opening the gun control debate here. I'm not proposing any new restrictions on guns. I am pointing out that gun ownership is as much as privilege as a right and that the best argument for removing that privilege is the one no one is making: namely that we can't handle our guns. We seem to believe that responsible and well-trained individuals can be trusted with firearms (police, military, hunters) but that those are exceptions, and gun ownership is an entirely individual status. That brings me to my second point.

Whether or not we're responsible enough to own guns, we are inexorably responsible for one another. The massacre in Newton wasn't just a failure on the part of Adam Lanza's parents, Adam Lanza's teachers, gun dealers in Adam Lanza's community, or the system of mental health screeners available to Adam Lanza. Violent death of children in our society represents a failure of our entire society. Certainly only Adam Lanza is ultimately responsible. Only Adam Lanza pulled the trigger. Only Adam Lanza could have stopped it before it started. No one else will face criminal charges in this case, and no one else should. But Adam Lanza is not an island unto himself, and while some in his family and community certainly had more access and opportunity to positively influence his troubled mind, all of us have some level of access and opportunity to do the same. We are each responsible for the influence we have on our society. And just as we all feel some level of emotional wound from the Newtown injustice, we should also feel some level of responsibility. Together, we have built a society in which children are gunned down in cold blood. The lesson of the first homicide rings out unheeded through thousands of years of human history: we are indeed our brother's keepers.

To the extent that Adam Lanza didn't feel that he was hurting himself when he hurt those children, to the extent that we don't feel we are hurting ourselves when we allow violence to shade the minds of our youth, we have lost touch with what it means to be human.

These problems — radical individualism, lack of empathy, violence, moral ambiguity, contempt for life, relative truth — these are deep, personal and profound issues. These aren't issues we can understand quickly or overcome easily. These are prehistoric and primary concerns that we must approach with humility, concern, and resolve. We're in a deep hole. Let's not forget that because we're distracted by a new episode of Breaking Bad.