What Happens When You Leave An Evangelistic Tract On Your Table Along With Your Tip?

The wait staff stand around and make fun of it and you.

Now I Have a Title For This Post!

Okay, I wasn't COMPLETELY unproductive in December. I started this post on 12/7, I just didn't finish it. Why? I don't know. I have a tendency to not finish things. It probably comes from my childhood, when I would... oh... right... the post.

So the other day, I got into a conversation with another coworker of mine, and we got to talking about what I did before Karri and I moved to PA. Doesn't seem like such a fascinating conversation. Small talk, right? Except this guy is a homosexual. We've become good friends, and I was fairly surprised that it hadn't come up before. When I told him that I was a pastor, it generated this conversation that went to places I never really imagined.

He asked me if I was Catholic, and what the difference was. I tried to explain, but thought it better to just ask him what he wondered about. We started to talk about the Bible, and he asked the one question I've been asked more than any other about faith. "So, do you actually believe/follow EVERYTHING in the Bible?" Now, I'm pretty sure that whenever someone asks me that question, they've got something primed and ready, waiting for the uninformed "Yes" to bring out their whopping "Well what about that passage in Leviticus about eating poo?!?" or something. But what I've found, and what's been the most valuable thing I can communicate in these conversations, is that Scripture, the text, is a story. And as soon as I start to tell the story, everything changes.

For instance, my friend asked me about the whole homosexuality issue. Instead of firing up some theology or dropping some Paul on him, I decided to tell the story of Lot in Sodom, and how a lot of Christians think that the problem with Sodom was that they wanted to sleep with the two men God sent to warn Lot. But then I shared Ezekiel 16:49, "But these were the sins of your sister Sodom; they were arrogant, overfed, and unconcerned, they did not care for the poor and needy." And I tell the story in such a way that all of a sudden, three people are listening. Then four. Then my friend I initially was talking with called a few other people over with an enthusiastic, "I LIKE that story! You've gotta tell it again!" And just like that I'm talking about the Bible with half the wait staff.

And this goes right in line with what I've been learning about the gospel of Christ. It just doesn't take a whole lot for the Good News to be good for most people. All they actually want is for someone to tell them about Jesus, not give them a laundry list of how they can correct their lives. They're used to hearing God talk firmly attached to what they're doing wrong, but right after John 3:16 (you know, the verse about God LOVING the world) there's that verse that says that God didn't come to the world to condemn it, but to save it. And I don't think a lot of people actually know that. God loves you. Has for a long time. And has pursued you like a lover from the moment He created you. And you know what? That's a novel thought for just about everyone I talk to these days.

So tell a good story soon. Bust out the flannel-graph. Talk about Daniel and the Lions' Den. Get your Hosea on. Tell someone just why God put a rainbow up after the flood. (Every thought about that one for a while?) I'm starting to think that when we tell the gospel like a narrative rather than the defense of an ivory tower, we're getting closer to the parable-telling Jesus who hung out with prostitutes and tax collectors. And people will listen. Really. 'Cause who doesn't love a good story?

Whoops... Sorry, December

So, I didn't blog in December. heheh. Thanks to my brother for giving me crap about it, too. But here it is, the new year, and it's time for some BLOGGIN'!

I'm actually sitting in the middle of Milk Boy Coffee, our favorite coffee haunt, waiting to go up for my first ever open mic night. Reason number fifty billion why I love my wife? She kicks me in the booty until I get out and play for other people. So here I am, doing my "I'm a singer/songwriter" thing. And i've been writing a bit more, so it's starting to actually feel like the truth, slowly but surely. It's a good feeling.

And being here, in a room full of artists, I'm starting to think about this conversation I had with Nate about where art fits into the life of Christ follower. There's this tension that we were discussing about dedicating time and energy to creation. Lots of time and energy. Perhaps the majority of your time and energy. And the there's the voice, or voices, that call you to right and true things, beautiful things, but things that would demand some of that time and energy you've dedicated to creation. So what wins? Committing to your neighbor who needs their place painted or band practice? And that seems to most Christ-followers, me included, to be a no-brainer. It's right to give yourself sacrificially, and if you're not involved in that kind of giving, then you're missing out in something fulfilling and central to following Jesus. Nate and I have a lot of friends who are involved in that kind of sacrificial life, and they call us to it, through words and actions. The tension comes when we're forced to choose between creation and serving.

Now don't get me wrong. They're not mutually exclusive, creation and serving. There should be a lot of both in everyone's lives. But I'm reminded of the Levites from Israel. When Israel was first figuring out who it was going to be, God made special provisions for the Levites. Among their many responsibilities, Levites were the artists of the community, and God made sure to set these people aside so they could be dedicated to the purposes of creation for the glory of God. And I think there's still a special place for artists in the community of Christ. When we are creative, we're tapping into the heart of the Creator God.

I don't know about you guys, but I'm glad there are people who dedicate themselves to creation. There's music and art and photography and poetry and literature and all sorts of expressions that bring me joy, make me mad, and bring me closer to Jesus. And I want those people to keep doing what they're doing. And if it means that that they choose band practice over a service project, I guess I'm ok with that. And even as I write that, I'm thinking, "But you've gotta remember to... Everyone's got a part to play... Make sure that you don't..." but you know what? I want Nate make music and art. So I'm gonna leave it at that.

Nate, if you don't keep creating, I'm gonna punch you in the teeth.

They're Doing Rent at a HIGH SCHOOL?!?

That's right. Rent at a high school here in the area for the first time ever. Let that one sink in for a minute. Yep. Not that most teenagers aren't already hyper-exposed to far, far worse on an hourly basis, but still... makes you think.

It's been a while since I've posted and that's not for lack of things to update on. It's simply a factor of non-resolution or sheer lack of capacity to express, but I'm going to transcend both of these barriers and tell my story! How's that for a grandiose introduction?

So I got a phone call a few weeks ago from a music studio I applied to long before Karri and I moved out east. They had an opening and wanted me to come in and interview for a voice teaching position. I was thrilled, eager to get back into the arts and into working with students. The interview went great, and I got to sing again. It'd been a long time. Things were clicking right along, I was offered the job, and went in to sign a contract. Before I could sign, Leslie, the head of the studio, told me they valued longevity in their teachers and needed the contract to be for 18 months. I told her that Karri and I would be overseas starting in September. Deal breaker.

I'm disappointed to say the least. There's still an outside chance that I could teach up to September, sheerly because they liked me and they have an immediate need, but it's not looking good. I really like the studio, and Howie and Leslie (who interviewed me), and wish it would work out. And it's hard waiting, and it's hard letting go, and I wish I could say more than it's hard right now, but I can't. And that's why it's been difficult to write. Because there's still this thing inside of me that believes a story can't be told unless it has an ending, and a happy one at that. But life doesn't work that way, and God never promised us that.

So in the meantime, I'm still waiting tables, and my coworkers are becomming friends, and my friends are becomming more and more transparent with me. That's what I've always wanted, really, to be on a relational level with these folks that there wouldn't be any facades. But to be frank, some of the things I've been seeing and hearing since have been more and more disturbing. And I'm trying to be discreet to protect their privacy and the like, so it's going to be tough to express myself here, but being asked my opinions on issues such as where the line is between recreational and controlling cocaine use? I haven't had a lot of time to process how to respond to those kinds of conversations. So what does love look like there? And do I really believe that Jesus' blood is enough for an addict? And do I really believe in an empty tomb? I'm coming face to face with my faith in midst of reality. It's easy to sing songs and write sermons when you don't know a coke addict.

I'd love to finish this post up with something uplifting, but I'm really close to crying right now, and I think that's ok. So I'll save the uplifting stuff for next time.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Rapid Fire

It's Sunday. I just went into work for the lunch shift, got two tables and got cut. Slow. I just made $7. Yippee. So I figured I'd post a bunch of things I've learned while here in PA. A-heeeeeeeeeere we go!

- Tip your waiter. I know they gave you bad service. It isn't because they're incompetent. I promise. They might not look busy, but trust me. They are.
- Public transportation is amazing.
- Either there aren't any Christians in Philly, or no one prays before meals anymore.
- You need to read something by Donald Miller very soon.
- Mac is better than PC. Way better. Sorry.
- I know your child is getting on your nerves, but don't take it out on the waiter. Please?
- Oh, and refills. If you are with a lot of people, just be patient. It's not easy to get refills for a table of eight. There's a full restuarant and one place to get drinks, and every single server in the place is going there. Calm down and drink more slowly.
- Walt Whitman? Might have been a bit loony, but he saw the Jesus in every single person alive.
- The newspaper is my new favorite part of the day.
- Did I mention that Mac is better the PC?
- Hip-hop radio is great in small doses, but every time you go back into the dish room? If I hear "Crank That Soulja Boy" one more time, I might jam this fork into the speaker.
- Apparently nobody sleeps where I work. Every single person I talk to is hopped up on Red Bull and talking about how they were trashed last night and didn't get to bed until 8am.
- An espresso is not a coffee. Don't yell at me.
- A mudslide is not as froofy as you think. Don't yell at me.
- I'm sorry we don't have steak sauce. This is an Italian Restaurant.
- And don't yell at me.
- 3:10 To Yuma was great, and Russell Crowe is an amazing actor. I know that's not profound or anything, but there ya go.
- Philadelphia sports fans are crazy, and many times violent. I've been challenged to three fights by complete strangers until I swore my undying allegiance to the Phils.

That'll do for now. Maybe I'll do another of these in a week or two. Very... cleansing. I feel so fresh and so clean, clean.

Racism, Hope, and Barack Obama

I believe in all three.

Yesterday, I got into a discussion with a coworker friend of mine about politics. He's got very strong views, and as many of my friends and family know, I like to have heavy conversations. The conversation was couched in a week or so of conversations about race. My friend, Lee, is a black man, originally from Jamaica, but raised in Philly. We've been discussing Michael Vick, OJ, the Jena Six, and many other current events that have racial overtones, and Lee has been giving me lots of perspective on how he responds to these issues. Mostly, I've been listening, as I have little to no voice as one raised in majority culture to pass judgement on his views. And he's a pretty smart guy.

But yesterday, I asked the question, "Would your perspective change if Barack Obama were elected president?" Lee's response caught me off guard. He wouldn't even discuss the viability of Obama winning because, as he put it, "The country will never elect a black man." That led us into a discussion about racism, and Lee to state that it was one of those things that will just always be there. You can't change it, it's just the way it is. He called it realism. And I got mad. Not at racism, but at Lee.

And I started to think about why that made me so angry. I completely agree, which surprised Lee, that racism is still rampant in America, and that Obama's chances of getting the presidency are slimmer due to that fact. But what leapt to mind were the Christians who take Scriptures like "The poor you will have with you always," and use them to jettison responsibility to serve and intercede on behalf of the needy. "Poverty is just one of those things that will always be there. You can't change it." There is, in the words of Christ there, an acknowledgement of evil, but not an acceptance of it. And further, there is a bizarre invitation, if not a mandate, to wade into that evil and start fighting, despite what may seem to be overwhelming evidence that you're battle is a lost cause.

What Lee called realism struck me as defeatism. And I understand that I haven't been in that fight my whole life like Lee has. And I understand that I can't hold it against him for feeling the way he does. But I realized yesterday that there is something I have that would seem to be foolishness to those who are wise. Hope. I believe that Christ is resurrected. And I believe he is renewing all things. I believe the apostles lay hands and the sick are healed. I believe the church is a body that sees Christ in our differences of race and culture. And I can understand why, when I expressed that sentiment, (in much fewer words) Lee didn't understand, even thought me naive. Because what evidence does he have to believe otherwise? There will still be racism tomorrow when he wakes up. But what I fear for him is that his "realism" will keep him from letting a light shine in the darkness. "The poor you will have with you always." So you can stand around and complain, or you can roll up your sleeves and start bringing some resurrection.

All that to say, I'm voting for Barack Obama.

And you should too.

Just kidding.

And a Quick Poem

"To A Certain Cantatrice"

Here, take this gift!
I was reserving it for some hero, speaker, or General,
One who should serve the good old cause, the great Idea, the progress and freedom of the race;
Some brave confronter of despots - some daring rebel;
- But I see that what I was reserving, belongs to you just as much as any.

Walt Whitman, "Leaves of Grass"