The beginning through 1:40 is awesome.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
I wanna be a better nerd!
"Because nerds like us are allowed to be unironically enthusiastic about stuff... nerds are allowed to love stuff... when people call people nerds, mostly what they're saying is 'You like stuff,' which is just not a good insult at all, like 'You are too enthusiastic about the miracle of human consciousness.'"
The beginning through 1:40 is awesome.
The beginning through 1:40 is awesome.
Monday, May 7, 2012
On Teaching: Why It's So Hard and So Hard To Quit
I was talking to a retired teacher at Christian Women's Job Corp tonight, and one of the things she said was that, the way it used to be, teachers would often teach well past retirement because the kids were good and teaching was fun and they loved doing it. It's just not like that anymore, she said.
And, boy, is she ever right. It's not like that anymore.
When you're a young hopeful prospective teacher, you hear older or retired teachers make statements like that and pity them a little or tsk-tsk them internally and think that they wouldn't think such things if they were younger and more idealistic and hip and cool like you are. At least, that was how I was when I was a young and hopeful prospective teacher.
Now I'm a young teacher with nearly three years experience and my countdown is not only 12 days until school's out but also 192 days (pending negotiations with myself and my husband) until I start the next phase of my life.
"It seems like most teachers don't make it to five years anymore," I told the retired teacher who fulfilled her entire 30-year career, and she nodded she's noticed that, too. "Next year will be my fourth year, and I don't know if I'll make it to five. And most of my young teacher friends are right there with me."
Why It's So Hard
* Nothing is ever finished. The to-do list is never completely checked. Even in the summer, there is next year, and even after this year, there are infinite changes to make so next year can be better. If grades are caught up, there are parents to call. If classroom management is good, lessons need to be more challenging. There is always something to improve. As I write that, it strikes me that these things shouldn't be a bother; that's just life and part of learning and growing. I think what makes it hard, though, is that there is no clocking out and no real break from it. Asleep and dreaming, in the shower, at dinner with people who don't want to hear you theorize about school-- it doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing, there's always something that you're rolling around in your head and trying to fix.
* It's your identity. Another reason the never finished thing is so oppressive is because it is so personal. You feel every advancement as a teacher is a personal responsibility to other people and to society. It's not like not finishing an assignment in college and dealing with the individual consequence because the consequence now is letting down students, other human beings that you've committed to be as good as you possibly can be for, and you're constantly trying to figure out how to do that yet never being perfect at it. Plus, you're not only letting down students, you're letting down the society that these children are going to be the leaders of someday (We are in trouble as things are currently headed, btw.). Not being as good as you want to be as a teacher means not being as helpful to other people and to society as you want to be. It means failing at something you have made not only your life's vocation but your life's mission. It means failing at being you because when you're a teacher, that title is not just your job but a huge part of how you see yourself and how you make meaning of your place in the world.
* There are so many factors beyond your control. On any given day, the level of success I feel and the worth and value I believe my existence has had in the world rests wholly on how a bunch of twelve-year-olds learned and behaved on a given day. For me, whether I matter in the world is determined by whether the lives and learning of these twelve-year-olds improve... and a lot of times I don't get to see any improvement. And it's impossible to know how much of it is because I haven't done enough or the right thing and how much of it is because they're twelve, because their parents never read to them, because at home they're the closest thing to an adult in the house, because they watch too much TV, because they had lousy teachers in prior years, because they just don't care (which is caused by a multitude of factors beyond their and your control!), because because because....
* You want it to be so good. You want it to be like Stand and Deliver and Freedom Writers and Dead Poets' Society. And you know it's not realistic. And you know you can't expect every exchange with a student to be like in the movies. But you want it to. And it's just not that good. Sometimes you get a moment, and it keeps you hanging on... but a movie is less than two hours long and full of those moments. A school day is seven hours long, and most pass without a single Stand and Deliver worthy moment. Most weeks do. So do months sometimes. And the better you want it to be, the higher your standard for what qualifies as a glimmer of a moment of good. And the less frequent they seem.
Why It's So Hard To Quit
The reasons are the same.
* Nothing is ever finished. You know that, and so you just keep thinking that when you check the next box on the to-do list, you'll be closer. One more teaching book to read, one more planning session with another teacher, one more tweak to your lesson or classroom management and you'll be there. You just keep thinking you've got to stick with it because, while you know you'll never be perfect, you keep thinking you might get close enough that it'll at least help some kids.
* It's your identity. You are a teacher. You have wanted to be for years. Teaching is your gift, your degree, your job, and your life. It's how you promised to give back to the world and the teachers who carved the way for you. It's what you've always believed in, and it's who you are.
* There are so many factors beyond your control. Some of these kids haven't gotten a break their whole life. From what their mother consumed while pregnant with them to where they live and from whether anyone ever took the time to teach them to read to how much love and discipline they have in their lives outside of school, the odds are stacked for some kids and against others. I have one little window of opportunity to try to be a buffer against all the risk factors and an inspiration to go even further for the ones with a solid foundation. I want to be a positive factor.
* You want it to be so good. And the people who should teach are the ones who want it to be so good. You don't want to quit because what if that Freedom Writers moment is coming and what if what you're doing is exactly what one student needs and you just can't see it yet? Someone needs to stick around in this crazy system and fight to make it good.
All of that being said, I may be 192 days away from a new beginning, in something with all of the Why It's So Hard To Quit with a little less oppressive amount of Why It's So Hard, or I may teach well beyond retirement... or at least for a while longer.
I don't know. I just know that it's hard. And it's hard to stay positive.
But I've got to try for the dozen days I have left with this group, for them and for me.
And, boy, is she ever right. It's not like that anymore.
When you're a young hopeful prospective teacher, you hear older or retired teachers make statements like that and pity them a little or tsk-tsk them internally and think that they wouldn't think such things if they were younger and more idealistic and hip and cool like you are. At least, that was how I was when I was a young and hopeful prospective teacher.
Now I'm a young teacher with nearly three years experience and my countdown is not only 12 days until school's out but also 192 days (pending negotiations with myself and my husband) until I start the next phase of my life.
"It seems like most teachers don't make it to five years anymore," I told the retired teacher who fulfilled her entire 30-year career, and she nodded she's noticed that, too. "Next year will be my fourth year, and I don't know if I'll make it to five. And most of my young teacher friends are right there with me."
Why It's So Hard
* Nothing is ever finished. The to-do list is never completely checked. Even in the summer, there is next year, and even after this year, there are infinite changes to make so next year can be better. If grades are caught up, there are parents to call. If classroom management is good, lessons need to be more challenging. There is always something to improve. As I write that, it strikes me that these things shouldn't be a bother; that's just life and part of learning and growing. I think what makes it hard, though, is that there is no clocking out and no real break from it. Asleep and dreaming, in the shower, at dinner with people who don't want to hear you theorize about school-- it doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing, there's always something that you're rolling around in your head and trying to fix.
* It's your identity. Another reason the never finished thing is so oppressive is because it is so personal. You feel every advancement as a teacher is a personal responsibility to other people and to society. It's not like not finishing an assignment in college and dealing with the individual consequence because the consequence now is letting down students, other human beings that you've committed to be as good as you possibly can be for, and you're constantly trying to figure out how to do that yet never being perfect at it. Plus, you're not only letting down students, you're letting down the society that these children are going to be the leaders of someday (We are in trouble as things are currently headed, btw.). Not being as good as you want to be as a teacher means not being as helpful to other people and to society as you want to be. It means failing at something you have made not only your life's vocation but your life's mission. It means failing at being you because when you're a teacher, that title is not just your job but a huge part of how you see yourself and how you make meaning of your place in the world.
* There are so many factors beyond your control. On any given day, the level of success I feel and the worth and value I believe my existence has had in the world rests wholly on how a bunch of twelve-year-olds learned and behaved on a given day. For me, whether I matter in the world is determined by whether the lives and learning of these twelve-year-olds improve... and a lot of times I don't get to see any improvement. And it's impossible to know how much of it is because I haven't done enough or the right thing and how much of it is because they're twelve, because their parents never read to them, because at home they're the closest thing to an adult in the house, because they watch too much TV, because they had lousy teachers in prior years, because they just don't care (which is caused by a multitude of factors beyond their and your control!), because because because....
* You want it to be so good. You want it to be like Stand and Deliver and Freedom Writers and Dead Poets' Society. And you know it's not realistic. And you know you can't expect every exchange with a student to be like in the movies. But you want it to. And it's just not that good. Sometimes you get a moment, and it keeps you hanging on... but a movie is less than two hours long and full of those moments. A school day is seven hours long, and most pass without a single Stand and Deliver worthy moment. Most weeks do. So do months sometimes. And the better you want it to be, the higher your standard for what qualifies as a glimmer of a moment of good. And the less frequent they seem.
Why It's So Hard To Quit
The reasons are the same.
* Nothing is ever finished. You know that, and so you just keep thinking that when you check the next box on the to-do list, you'll be closer. One more teaching book to read, one more planning session with another teacher, one more tweak to your lesson or classroom management and you'll be there. You just keep thinking you've got to stick with it because, while you know you'll never be perfect, you keep thinking you might get close enough that it'll at least help some kids.
* It's your identity. You are a teacher. You have wanted to be for years. Teaching is your gift, your degree, your job, and your life. It's how you promised to give back to the world and the teachers who carved the way for you. It's what you've always believed in, and it's who you are.
* There are so many factors beyond your control. Some of these kids haven't gotten a break their whole life. From what their mother consumed while pregnant with them to where they live and from whether anyone ever took the time to teach them to read to how much love and discipline they have in their lives outside of school, the odds are stacked for some kids and against others. I have one little window of opportunity to try to be a buffer against all the risk factors and an inspiration to go even further for the ones with a solid foundation. I want to be a positive factor.
* You want it to be so good. And the people who should teach are the ones who want it to be so good. You don't want to quit because what if that Freedom Writers moment is coming and what if what you're doing is exactly what one student needs and you just can't see it yet? Someone needs to stick around in this crazy system and fight to make it good.
All of that being said, I may be 192 days away from a new beginning, in something with all of the Why It's So Hard To Quit with a little less oppressive amount of Why It's So Hard, or I may teach well beyond retirement... or at least for a while longer.
I don't know. I just know that it's hard. And it's hard to stay positive.
But I've got to try for the dozen days I have left with this group, for them and for me.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Christ or Procrustes?
Horrifying but true:
Frank Viola always manages to take everything that has been brewing and fighting inside of me for years and distill it down to a sentence or two. The above statement is exactly what I'm afraid of and have been struggling with. I do not want to spend my whole life following a cut-and-paste religion.
I do not want to follow rules just because tradition has solidified them, yet I do not want to shun the Word of God and make up my own lifestyle without regard to Scriptures. I agree with the logic that says, "How can you believe in Jesus if you don't believe in all the Bible says?" My own practicality disagrees with simply picking the parts of the Bible that I like and making up my own God, one who is palatable to my tastes and preferences. What kind of faith is that? Rather it is idolatry, taking my own mind and sensibilities and calling them god.
Still, though, something smacks of being a brood of vipers in the way most people talk about believing and following the Bible to the letter. People always manage to find a way to explain away certain passages and defend others to the point of condemnation of all in their path who disagree. That's not to say I don't believe that context needs to be considered; I do. We are not living in the first century, and our cultures and communities are different than those to whom most of the New Testament was originally addressed. Surely there are things about the authors and audiences, times and places, of Scriptures to be understood in order to understand what it means for us two millennia later. But how do I, even with what education and earnestness I have, know the difference between the letter of the law and the spirit of it? How does anyone without the Spirit? And how does one know what is the Spirit and what is self?
I don't want to whack off heads and stretch legs to make it fit the bed I want it to fill or the bed passed down to me by centuries of construction and restructuring.
I consider these words of Jesus quoted in Reimagining Church:
The modern concept of church is a Procrustean bed. Scriptures that do not fit the shape of the institutional church are either chopped off (dismissed) or they are stretched to fit its mold. --from Reimagining Church by Frank Viola
Frank Viola always manages to take everything that has been brewing and fighting inside of me for years and distill it down to a sentence or two. The above statement is exactly what I'm afraid of and have been struggling with. I do not want to spend my whole life following a cut-and-paste religion.
I do not want to follow rules just because tradition has solidified them, yet I do not want to shun the Word of God and make up my own lifestyle without regard to Scriptures. I agree with the logic that says, "How can you believe in Jesus if you don't believe in all the Bible says?" My own practicality disagrees with simply picking the parts of the Bible that I like and making up my own God, one who is palatable to my tastes and preferences. What kind of faith is that? Rather it is idolatry, taking my own mind and sensibilities and calling them god.
Still, though, something smacks of being a brood of vipers in the way most people talk about believing and following the Bible to the letter. People always manage to find a way to explain away certain passages and defend others to the point of condemnation of all in their path who disagree. That's not to say I don't believe that context needs to be considered; I do. We are not living in the first century, and our cultures and communities are different than those to whom most of the New Testament was originally addressed. Surely there are things about the authors and audiences, times and places, of Scriptures to be understood in order to understand what it means for us two millennia later. But how do I, even with what education and earnestness I have, know the difference between the letter of the law and the spirit of it? How does anyone without the Spirit? And how does one know what is the Spirit and what is self?
I don't want to whack off heads and stretch legs to make it fit the bed I want it to fill or the bed passed down to me by centuries of construction and restructuring.
I consider these words of Jesus quoted in Reimagining Church:
Thus you nullify the word of God for the sake of your tradition. (Matt. 15:6)
Neglecting the commandment of God, you hold to the tradition of men... You are experts in setting aside the commandments of God in order to keep your tradition. (Mark 7:8-9)Oh, Holy Spirit, do not let these things be true of me, for how am I to know the difference?
Sunday, March 18, 2012
His Kingdom, not this world
For this reason I say to you, do not be worried about your life, as to what you will eat or what you will drink; nor for your body, as to what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they? And who of you by being worried can add a single hour to his life? And why are you worried about clothing? Observe how the lilies of the field grow; they do not toil nor do they spin, yet I say to you that not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, will He not much more clothe you? You of little faith! Do not worry then, saying, 'What will we eat?' or 'What will we wear for clothing?' For the Gentiles eagerly seek all these things; for your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. -- Matthew 6:25-34
Some thoughts, questions, musings in no particular order of relevance or clarity...
(Warning: this is probably one of my most incoherent posts ever.)
* First of all, gorgeous. This is gorgeous, and I find myself wondering if our Lord actually spoke in such beautiful poetry while He walked as a human on this earth. It's recently become a common errant thought of mine while reading the Gospels to wonder how the story got recorded. I'm always a little disappointed for some reason when I read on the introduction page of a Gospel account that it was written in the 50s or 60s. (That's a time span of possible authorship almost as long as my life at present! And it means that possibly a period of time as long my lifetime passed between Jesus's resurrection and when the account of His life and His teaching were actually written down.) Then, I read on that same page that some scholars date it in the 80s or 90s, and I think how close that is getting to the Gospel being written an entire century after Christ's birth! How trustworthy would something be written about me in the year 2087? As I was born before Facebook timeline and have not backdated it, perhaps there will be no accurate story of my birth aside from a date on file from a birth certificate... but I'm getting off topic. My point is, the accounts of Jesus's life were written quite a while after the events described in them happened. Also, there's how as well as when. I have the vaguest memory of watching a video, probably from A&E or something like that, when I was in Confirmation class that was about how the Gospels were written and about how one of the Gospels (Mark, I think?) was a source text for the others and how scholars think there's another Gospel that Mark and the others were patterned after that we don't have... etc., etc... I don't know what I'm talking about here, so don't take any of that to heart; the point of even sharing that vague bit of memory is that I know that there exist a lot of opinions about the authorship and dates of these books. I could go read a lot about it if I really wanted to. Perhaps I will eventually, but they would just give me more accurate academic information. They wouldn't begin to answer the little musing questions I have as I wonder about Jesus and whether the poetry of this passage came from His mouth and was preserved all those years until Matthew wrote it down (or copied from a source or whatever happened...). And I wonder about Matthew writing down Jesus's genealogy and whether Joseph sat down with him and showed him his family tree for him to do so and if Mary herself shared with Luke the detail about how she "treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart" of Jesus's birth and if she didn't tell him, how Luke came to write that down. I'm really meandering now, so I'll wrap it up... I just wonder how the story (which I believe to be truth and not fiction or legend) came to be told and written down as it is so long after everything happened.
* I wonder a lot about planning and practicality. These are both virtues that I uphold, at least in the sense that I don't want to get myself in a bind. I don't plan down to the moments and minute details, but I like paths, sketches, general ideas of where we're going and how to get there. I especially like life/career plans. I'm often a mite (or more than that) judgmental of people who make "leaps of faith" when their leaps of faith involve things like quitting their job or moving or having families or whatever without being "prepared" for it. I always have this little judgmental suspicion that such things are overuse of the idea that "God will provide." Sure, He'll provide, I agree, but something in my self-reliant and stuck-up heart doesn't seem to agree that He provides houses and finances and jobs just because we change our minds or want something different. I get frustrated when I think of equating Abraham going to a place that he did not know on faith with me deciding to quit my job because I want to do something different, even if I feel "called" to do something different. Now, I will admit fully that these thoughts are self-righteous and judgmental when applied to other people, and I know I have no right to think them; in truth, I believe they reveal more about my heart than the hearts that I am wrongly judging. I'm just admitting to thinking them because they betray something about my attitude toward God and His provision versus practicality. I don't think it's up to God to take care of my physical needs; I think it's mine. I might not say that, but my thoughts show that I do. Even now, as I read this passage about God taking better care of me than the lilies of the field and the birds of the air (Did I mention this passage is gorgeous?), I don't think I'm sure about not worrying about taking care of basic needs or about doing my job well. Even now as I am questioning whether my current job is the best way to live the life I've been given, even now as I am reading the Gospel and wanting more than anything to leave my nets IMMEDIATELY and follow Jesus, I feel myself thinking "I could never do that." And I want to say it's not because I don't believe that God provides but because I don't know how to be sure that what I'm following is God and not a whim. How do I know, in some fantasy where I quit my job to follow Jesus, that doing that would actually be following Jesus and not just using Jesus as an excuse to quit and expecting Him, with selfish entitlement, to take care of me in that decision? And how do I know now that I'm sticking to my job because I haven't been told not to? I could just be ignoring the call to follow. How do I know? To me, the language of following Christ and stepping out in faith and trusting Him to provide is really mixed up in our Christian subculture. I'm unsure of when it's used Scripturally and by the Spirit and when it is just Christian vernacular for doing what you want and expecting God to do the rest. It's all just really confusing to me if you can't tell.
* Currently, I am not worrying about (literal) tomorrow. (As best as I can force myself not to!) Normally, Sunday is crunch-time to finish lesson plans and make sure everything is perfect. Sundays after breaks are usually even more so since I never get as much done during breaks as I hope to. This break, I have worked a minimal (for me) amount, and I have a sketch for tomorrow, but there are definitely some holes in it. I don't know what I'm doing second period, for instance, and I haven't fleshed out what I'm doing fifth, and, on top of that, I am well aware that my "unannounced" observation could happen any time in the next three weeks, and the lessons that I do have planned for tomorrow are up to my usual standard but are not by any means observation-proofed. And what have I done since I got home from Parkway today? Sat in my screened in porch with a book, my Bible, and my computer. Sweet Spring Break. But it's what I want to be life. I live my life in a tizzy, rushing toward want I want to achieve, being a Christian in thought and theory only. I want to be a Christ follower in every action, and I am starting to get the picture, that that means I am going to have to be full of Christ to be a Christ follower and that that doesn't come from one Sunday morning a week, casual Bible study, and just thinking I'm a Christian. Christ is an after thought in my day. Honestly. He is a favorite topic of discussion for me, but my day is mine and a slave to the day's objectives. But do I even know what the Purpose is? Teacher friends, Understanding by Design comes to mind. You know what I mean, Seriously, though, to those not matriculated through schools of education in the past few years, what I mean by that comment is, like teaching that doesn't follow the Understanding by Design model and anchor every single lesson in the overall purpose and big idea of the unit and structure learning to prepare for the culminating assessment (which matches the overall purpose), I am not effective. I have a lot of little lessons, a lot of little daily goals, but they are not anchored in the main goal, the big picture. There is no connection, there is no flow, there is no design-- just daily islands of information.
* Slow down. Jason and I are a funny study in the differences between being thorough and being in a hurry. Jason is meticulous, planned out, detail-oriented... I am in a frenzy, trying to do everything as quickly as I can, usually costing myself more time in fixing the messes made along the way than it would have taken to have done it right the first time. (See Natalie in the kitchen for more illustration of this point.) I am yearning to go and sit on the side of the hill and listen to Jesus preach even as it passes dinner time, even as the disciples are saying, "Shouldn't they go home now?" I want to sit with Him as Mary did and not worry about the housework with Martha. I need to be filled. And I really dread going back to work and a schedule and hurrying because I know I need to be filled. And I am afraid of my working self.
* "And all these things will be added to you." Does this mean my lessons will turn out okay and my grading will get done if I just seek His Kingdom and His righteousness first? It always reminds me of the high school youth group demonstration of putting rice (the little stuff) in a jar and then failing in the attempt to stuff golf balls in on top of it but then succeeding at putting the golf balls (God) in first and letting the rice fill in around them. In real life, though, it doesn't always seem to work so nicely. And, besides, if it does, is that really sacrifice or reliance? I guess one of the things that my aforementioned skepticism about the popular modern Christian talk of trusting God to provide also comes from feeling like it cheapens the Kingdom of God somehow if we seek it first only to get what we wanted in the first place without worrying about it. But, you know what? Probably that's not how it works anyway. Probably if I were actually seeking the Kingdom of God, I wouldn't necessarily get everything else fulfilled that I tend to think is important. Probably they would cease to seem important in light of His Kingdom and His righteousness and be exposed for the idols they really are. But Paul had to make his tents sometime, so maybe there is a time to grade papers while still living in the light of the Kingdom of God?
* Last, what does it actually look like to seek His Kingdom and His righteousness? More than all this rambling, that's the next step and what matters. Now what?
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
"It's Not Your Problem," God Replied.
I Am
by Ginny Owens
No Lord, he said, you've got the wrong guy
Simple conversation gets me tongue-tied
And you're telling me to speak with a maniac king
Or could it be I've lost my mind
Besides, I am weak, don't you want someone strong
To lead them out of Egypt when they've been there so long
And anyway, they won’t believe You ever spoke to me
It's not your problem, God replied
And the rest is history
’Cause there's a bigger picture you can't see
You don't have to change the world, just trust in Me
'Cause I am your creator, I am working out my plan
And through you I will show them, I Am
Now Lord, are you sure? He's just a shepherd boy
Too small for battle gear with a giant to destroy
What on earth can he do with five stones and a sling
It's not your problem, God replied
'Cause I can do anything
There's a bigger picture you can't see
You don't have to change the world, just trust in me
'Cause I am your creator, I am working out my plan
And through you, I will show them
I am the first, I am the last
I am the present and the past
I am tomorrow and today
I am the only way
Great Lord, she said, I'm just a simple girl
You say that I will bring your son into the world
How can I understand this thing You're gonna do
It's not your problem, God replied
'Cause, there's a bigger picture
And you don't have to change the world (oh no)
I'm your creator, I am working out my plan
And through you, I will show them
There's a bigger picture, you can't see
You don't have to change the world, just trust in me
’Cause I am your creator, I am working out my plan
And through you, I will show them, I Am
I Am
by Ginny Owens
No Lord, he said, you've got the wrong guy
Simple conversation gets me tongue-tied
And you're telling me to speak with a maniac king
Or could it be I've lost my mind
Besides, I am weak, don't you want someone strong
To lead them out of Egypt when they've been there so long
And anyway, they won’t believe You ever spoke to me
It's not your problem, God replied
And the rest is history
’Cause there's a bigger picture you can't see
You don't have to change the world, just trust in Me
'Cause I am your creator, I am working out my plan
And through you I will show them, I Am
Now Lord, are you sure? He's just a shepherd boy
Too small for battle gear with a giant to destroy
What on earth can he do with five stones and a sling
It's not your problem, God replied
'Cause I can do anything
There's a bigger picture you can't see
You don't have to change the world, just trust in me
'Cause I am your creator, I am working out my plan
And through you, I will show them
I am the first, I am the last
I am the present and the past
I am tomorrow and today
I am the only way
Great Lord, she said, I'm just a simple girl
You say that I will bring your son into the world
How can I understand this thing You're gonna do
It's not your problem, God replied
'Cause, there's a bigger picture
And you don't have to change the world (oh no)
I'm your creator, I am working out my plan
And through you, I will show them
There's a bigger picture, you can't see
You don't have to change the world, just trust in me
’Cause I am your creator, I am working out my plan
And through you, I will show them, I Am
I Am
Monday, January 16, 2012
What if I'm wrong? I'd rather be wrong...
I've been rediscovering a lot of music lately, and I had forgotten how many Nichole Nordeman songs I love. This one is so the conversation of my heart that I mentioned in my last post. I've done some digging, I've tried not to be "simple minded," and I've found the holes and the problems in the logic... but when weighed against the possibility that IT'S TRUE, that hope is real, that Jesus is love and life abundant, I'd rather be wrong about Him than wrong in disbelief.
What if?
Nichole Nordeman
What if you're right?
And he was just another nice guy
What if you're right?
What if it's true?
They say the cross will only make a fool of you
And what if it's true?
And he was just another nice guy
What if you're right?
What if it's true?
They say the cross will only make a fool of you
And what if it's true?
What if he takes his place in history
With all the prophets and the kings
Who taught us love and came in peace
But then the story ends
With all the prophets and the kings
Who taught us love and came in peace
But then the story ends
What then?
But what if you're wrong?
What if there's more?
What if there's hope you never dreamed of hoping for?
What if you jump?
And just close your eyes?
What if the arms that catch you, catch you by surprise?
What if He's more than enough?
What if it's love?
What if you dig
Way down deeper than your simple-minded friends
What if you dig?
What if you find
A thousand more unanswered questions down inside
That's all you find?
Way down deeper than your simple-minded friends
What if you dig?
What if you find
A thousand more unanswered questions down inside
That's all you find?
What if you pick apart the logic
And begin to poke the holes
What if the crown of thorns is no more
Than folklore that must be told and retold?
And begin to poke the holes
What if the crown of thorns is no more
Than folklore that must be told and retold?
What if there's more?
What if there's hope you never dreamed of hoping for?
What if you jump?
And just close your eyes?
What if the arms that catch you, catch you by surprise?
What if He's more than enough?
What if it's love?
What if there's hope you never dreamed of hoping for?
What if you jump?
And just close your eyes?
What if the arms that catch you, catch you by surprise?
What if He's more than enough?
What if it's love?
You've been running as fast as you can
You've been looking for a place you can land for so long
But what if you're wrong?
You've been looking for a place you can land for so long
But what if you're wrong?
Friday, January 13, 2012
Wanted: People Who Don't Think Like Me
I've been thinking for a long time now that what I need in life is a church of people who think like I do. In fact, I tend arrogantly to think that about most things. I wish my family thought about some things more the way I do-- wish I didn't feel so different from them sometimes. I wish more teachers thought about their teaching and their students the way I do. I wish voters and the masses thought more like me because then our country wouldn't be in so bad a condition. I wish I could make my students see so clearly the way I see it the gift I am trying to give them. You get the painful prideful picture.
Besides this book, which I know it looks like I've typed in its entirety above (but, believe me, I haven't-- read the rest!), the other thing that's getting me thinking about getting beyond myself is that I've been confronted with how Christianity appears to others a lot lately. I've seen Facebook posts of frustration with Christians and their short-sightedness, heard from friends with different beliefs, and read some posts from a blog that I stumbled upon today called "Friendly Atheist."
And the first thing that has stuck out most to me in these experiences in the past couple of weeks is that I get exactly how they feel. I completely see how Christianity looks like a sham. I don't blame them for shooting their darts and casting their stones. I get it. They have a point. A lot of points. The church (and by that I mean you and I) would do well to quit trying to "save them from hell" for being wrong and start listening to them for the truth they have to tell, which is maybe more relevant than half of what's coming from our pulpits anyway, and start making some changes.
The second thing that has stuck out to me makes me feel warm and like my heart is swelling just thinking about it because the second thing I've found, particularly while reading on the blog dedicated to atheism this evening, is that I know in my heart that there is more out there than us. There has to be. I have faced a crossroads in the past few years multiple times where my choices have been to accept God on faith or reject Him. And I have thought about the reject Him option. I really have. Why? Because it hasn't seemed real. Christianity and church and I and my own arrogance in my way of thinking have made it seem like a lie, a "chemical weapon for the war that's raging on inside," as John Mayer puts it. I've started to wonder if it really is just a crutch for dealing with the meaningless of life... I understand the vitriol with which an atheist may criticize the religious. We religious people use our swords and shield of faith and self-righteousness pretty carelessly and crushingly really often. We don't even know the history of our faith or our Bible as well as people who don't believe and deftly poke holes in our logic as we just stand by and instead of answering intelligently or genuinely with humility tell them that they're wrong and we're right, and we'll pray for their salvation. We look like fools when we take hard stances against things otherwise scientifically plausible and accepted because "the Bible doesn't say so," and we bemoan the "banishing" of prayer from school as if it isn't something done in our hearts anyway, as if it's something that could ever be taken away from the inside. We vote on the basis of "preserving the family" because we seem to think all hell will break loose Sodom and Gomorrah style if gay marriage is allowed, while turning a comfortable blind eye to all the ways hell really is breaking loose because of us or because of our negligence. We split our family over whether the elements of Communion literally become Christ's body and blood or are symbols, when and how Baptism should occur, whether we should use instruments in worship, and if we do allow them, whether we prefer organs or electric guitars. No wonder people hate us. And they don't hate us because of Satan. They don't hate us because they resent what we have or because we're so good and they're so not. They hate us because we show our ignorance and our blindness all the time, all the while claiming to know the truth, all the while insisting we're right. Why? Because if we find that one thing we have always thought was right is wrong or that it's not exactly as we thought, the whole thing crumbles for us. And we can't afford that, so we fight for it-- every single point from dinosaurs to eternity and from homosexuality to divine authority of every word of Scripture-- so that our foundation doesn't give way beneath us leaving us with the choice of rejecting our religion-which we could never do!- or admitting humbly that we may have been wrong, that we may not have God completely figured out.
Humbly.
I am so grateful to God right now that He did not let me reject Him completely forever. Because when I read testimonies against Christianity, when I think of all the reasons our religion is laughable and despicable and false and everything negative you can imagine, I now not only relate but know something more. I know that there is a God. And a Christ and a Holy Spirit. And all three are far much more than we've painted them. Surrounded in mysteries we cannot fathom.
And the only way we can ever know them-- Him-- more is to admit that we don't know. And surely that is the best way we can ever share Him with those who don't know Him.
We've made evangelism about sharing all the right answers with people. Giving them the path. Showing them the way. Praying the prayer. Joining the club.
And we've made it so easy to reject. Because we have presented it with such arrogance. Because we refuse to see our own non sequiturs, because we refuse to be wrong, because we limit all possibilities besides what we know.
Humbly. Humbly. Humbly.
All I want to do right now is tell people about the God I am feeling, knowing, seeking right now with new fervor, with new delight, with new eyes...
Oh, for the chance. And for the ability to share humbly, humbly, humbly, without overstepping, without being a hypocrite, without shadowing God's light with my errors and my lack of understanding...
"I need to know Him more. I don't have the corner on Him. I am a child in this business. I'm still in school. I'm still learning. I haven't arrived."
I wrap it all up nicely, though. It's not that I think that I have it all together. It's that I know I don't, that I think critically and question and search and try. If everyone could only think and try like I do! Oh so humble. Yep, that's me.
Now what I want is a room full of people who don't think like I do. I want people with different perspectives (Isn't that word perspective the point in which I ground all my teaching?), people who see things in ways I'm not capable, people with talents and gifts different from mine, people with different personalities, different upbringings. I want people with different chips on their shoulders than the ones I bear, people who've been where I am but are moving forward, and people who might be able to find something they need in me.
Part of this comes from the book Revise Us Again by Frank Viola that Jason just read and then I read in turn, starting a little bit of a Frank Viola reading frenzy in our house. My favorite chapter of the book was the last: "Your Christ Is Too Small." Indeed He is, not because He is but because we have blinders on our eyes-- blinders we put on ourselves. The chapter deals a lot with diversity and unity in the church and I think really captures why we fracture our church into denominations and fixate on issues that keep us from ever progressing or really being what the New Testament seems to be exhorting us to be. I don't know if I can recapture the effect here in a few quotations, but I'll try:
But there is a danger in receiving a greater revelation of the Lord Jesus Christ, one that moves from shallow waters into the depths. It's the peril of allowing our first seeing of Christ to shape the way we recognize Him for the rest of our lives. (Please read that sentence again.) I'm going to make this shockingly pointed: The Lord Jesus Christ will end up coming to us in a way that makes it easy for us to reject Him.
Jesus continued to break out of [the disciples'] expectations. He couldn't be pinned down, figured out, or boxed in. The Twelve were constantly confounded by Him. His teachings were offensive. His actions scandalous. His reactions baffling. But the greatest offense of all was the cross. It offended everyone- both Jew and Gentile. The only crown the promised Messiah-King would accept was a crown of thorns. Look at Him again. A suffering Messiah, a defeated King. Boy, it's easy to reject Him.
You cannot cling to the Christ you know today. He will vanish from your midst. Jesus Christ is an elusive Lover. Seeking Him is a progressive engagement that never ends. He doesn't dance to our music. He doesn't sing to our tune. Perhaps He will in the beginning when He woos us to Himself, but that season will eventually end... We all wish to cling to the Lord that we know now. We all wish to hold on to the Christ that has been revealed to us today. But mark my words: He will come to us in a way that we do not expect-- through people who we're prone to ignore and inclined to write off... And so we cling to the Lord that we recognize-- receiving only those who talk our language, use our jargon, and employ our catchphrases-- and all along we end up turning the Lord Jesus Christ away.
In fact, this is the very root of denominationalism and Christian movements. It works like this: A group of Christians sees an important aspect of Christ. That insight usually comes from a servant of the Lord whom God has raised up to restore a certain truth to His church. The group is captured by it. Even changed by it. And they stand on the earth to promote and express it. But then, subtly, they build a circle around it. And then a castle and a wall. Then they enshrine it. And when someone else comes in contact with them with another aspect of Christ to share, they blow it off with monumental disinterest.
Until our Lord returns, we will all continue to "see in a mirror, darkly" (1 Cor. 13:12 ASV). Consequently, a church ought to learn the fine art of weaving together the varied experiences and insights that each member brings to it. Those experiences and insights will be diverse. But they are what make up the body of Christ. And as long as they don't take away from the gospel or depart from the biblical revelation of Christ, they ought to be embraced.
Let me be clear. There is nothing more opposite of the Spirit of Jesus Christ than the spirit of pride and arrogance. A famous saying goes like this: It's possible to be "pure as angels and as proud as devils." I disagree. If you're proud, you're not pure. For God resists the proud (1 Peter 5:5; James 4:6). We find Christ in only one issue: poverty. "Blessed are the poor in spirit," were the Lord's words (Matt. 5:3). A spirit of poverty says, "I need to know Him more. I don't have the corner on Him. I am a child in this business. I'm still in school. I'm still learning. I haven't arrived."
I will end this chapter with a question: How well can you know the Lord? You can know Him in proportion to the poverty that's within your heart. "Blessed are the poor in spirit" (Matt 5:3). The opposite of that statement is what the Laodicean church said of herself: "I am rich, have become wealthy, and have need of nothing" (Rev. 3:17 NKJV).
A sure mark of spiritual poverty is a wide heart. If you have a narrow heart, you will recognize Christ only through some of His people. And you will be blinded to find Him through others. Jesus Christ is a lot larger than what most us have thought, and He works through a lot more people than we would expect. In C.S. Lewis's Prince Caspian, Aslan tells Lucy, "Every year you grow, you will find Me bigger." This is a wonderful description of authentic spiritual growth. We know we are growing in the Lord when Jesus Christ is becoming bigger in our eyes. Is your Christ too small? May we rescript our lives in a way that opens our hearts to the fullness of Jesus. Please, Lord, revise us again.
Besides this book, which I know it looks like I've typed in its entirety above (but, believe me, I haven't-- read the rest!), the other thing that's getting me thinking about getting beyond myself is that I've been confronted with how Christianity appears to others a lot lately. I've seen Facebook posts of frustration with Christians and their short-sightedness, heard from friends with different beliefs, and read some posts from a blog that I stumbled upon today called "Friendly Atheist."
And the first thing that has stuck out most to me in these experiences in the past couple of weeks is that I get exactly how they feel. I completely see how Christianity looks like a sham. I don't blame them for shooting their darts and casting their stones. I get it. They have a point. A lot of points. The church (and by that I mean you and I) would do well to quit trying to "save them from hell" for being wrong and start listening to them for the truth they have to tell, which is maybe more relevant than half of what's coming from our pulpits anyway, and start making some changes.
The second thing that has stuck out to me makes me feel warm and like my heart is swelling just thinking about it because the second thing I've found, particularly while reading on the blog dedicated to atheism this evening, is that I know in my heart that there is more out there than us. There has to be. I have faced a crossroads in the past few years multiple times where my choices have been to accept God on faith or reject Him. And I have thought about the reject Him option. I really have. Why? Because it hasn't seemed real. Christianity and church and I and my own arrogance in my way of thinking have made it seem like a lie, a "chemical weapon for the war that's raging on inside," as John Mayer puts it. I've started to wonder if it really is just a crutch for dealing with the meaningless of life... I understand the vitriol with which an atheist may criticize the religious. We religious people use our swords and shield of faith and self-righteousness pretty carelessly and crushingly really often. We don't even know the history of our faith or our Bible as well as people who don't believe and deftly poke holes in our logic as we just stand by and instead of answering intelligently or genuinely with humility tell them that they're wrong and we're right, and we'll pray for their salvation. We look like fools when we take hard stances against things otherwise scientifically plausible and accepted because "the Bible doesn't say so," and we bemoan the "banishing" of prayer from school as if it isn't something done in our hearts anyway, as if it's something that could ever be taken away from the inside. We vote on the basis of "preserving the family" because we seem to think all hell will break loose Sodom and Gomorrah style if gay marriage is allowed, while turning a comfortable blind eye to all the ways hell really is breaking loose because of us or because of our negligence. We split our family over whether the elements of Communion literally become Christ's body and blood or are symbols, when and how Baptism should occur, whether we should use instruments in worship, and if we do allow them, whether we prefer organs or electric guitars. No wonder people hate us. And they don't hate us because of Satan. They don't hate us because they resent what we have or because we're so good and they're so not. They hate us because we show our ignorance and our blindness all the time, all the while claiming to know the truth, all the while insisting we're right. Why? Because if we find that one thing we have always thought was right is wrong or that it's not exactly as we thought, the whole thing crumbles for us. And we can't afford that, so we fight for it-- every single point from dinosaurs to eternity and from homosexuality to divine authority of every word of Scripture-- so that our foundation doesn't give way beneath us leaving us with the choice of rejecting our religion-which we could never do!- or admitting humbly that we may have been wrong, that we may not have God completely figured out.
He has told you, O man, what is good; And what does the Lord require of you But to do justice, to love kindness, And to walk humbly with your God?Now, I'm going to admit here that I'm taking that Scripture out of context. I don't know the last time or if I ever have read all of Micah. I haven't even read the whole Bible... yet. I am not a biblical scholar, and I'll admit I know the verse mostly because it's popular. But isn't that a sound principle? Do justice. Love kindness. Walk humbly.
Humbly.
I am so grateful to God right now that He did not let me reject Him completely forever. Because when I read testimonies against Christianity, when I think of all the reasons our religion is laughable and despicable and false and everything negative you can imagine, I now not only relate but know something more. I know that there is a God. And a Christ and a Holy Spirit. And all three are far much more than we've painted them. Surrounded in mysteries we cannot fathom.
And the only way we can ever know them-- Him-- more is to admit that we don't know. And surely that is the best way we can ever share Him with those who don't know Him.
We've made evangelism about sharing all the right answers with people. Giving them the path. Showing them the way. Praying the prayer. Joining the club.
And we've made it so easy to reject. Because we have presented it with such arrogance. Because we refuse to see our own non sequiturs, because we refuse to be wrong, because we limit all possibilities besides what we know.
Humbly. Humbly. Humbly.
All I want to do right now is tell people about the God I am feeling, knowing, seeking right now with new fervor, with new delight, with new eyes...
Oh, for the chance. And for the ability to share humbly, humbly, humbly, without overstepping, without being a hypocrite, without shadowing God's light with my errors and my lack of understanding...
"I need to know Him more. I don't have the corner on Him. I am a child in this business. I'm still in school. I'm still learning. I haven't arrived."
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