“Americans themselves know all too well that their genius is not in religion…Americans are great people; there is no doubt about that. They are great in building towers and canals. Americans have a wonderful genius for improving the breeds of horses, cattle, sheep and swine; they raise them in multitudes, butcher them, eat them, and send their meat-products to all parts of the world. Americans too are great inventors. They invented or perfected telegraphs, telephone, talking and hearing machines, automobiles…poison gases. Americans are great adepts in the art of enjoying life to teh utmost…Then, they are great in Democracy. The people is their king and emperor; yea, even their god; the American people make laws, as they make money…They first make money before they undertake any serious work…To start and carry on any work without money is in the eyes of the Americans madness…Americans are great in all these things and much else; but not in religion, as they themselves very well know…Americans must count religion in order to see or show its value…To them big churches are successful churches…to win teh greatest number of converts with the least expense is their constant endeavor. Statistics is their way of showing success or failure in their religion as in their commerce and politics. Numbers, numbers, oh, how they value numbers!”
– Kanzo Uchimura 1926
Category Archives: church
Why Atheism Makes Sense
Nobody likes to hear those words. When they’re true words they sting terribly. When they’re inaccurate words they can infuriate or confuse. I don’t know what is more difficult, saying “It’s my fault” or hearing someone else say “it’s your fault”.
For those who are following Jesus we have chosen to freely say “it’s my fault” haven’t we? Should we take great freedom in owning our mistakes, our screw ups, and our baggage? Doesn’t integrity, purity, and humility require it?
It’s way past time for Christians to take full ownership of the baggage that we’ve created, of the crap that trails behind us because of our choices. We cannot hold onto the beautiful Christlike figures such as Mother Teresa from our past while at the same time completely disowning the negative stories of our past. Our past is our past. It’s ours whether we like it or not. We might (and should) vehemently disagree with stuff done in our past, but that doesn’t change the fact that its a part of my story. When I look at my family history I can identify some pretty hefty baggage that I would love to disown. But to disown it is to allow it to continue to control my present and future reality. By taking a permanent marker to whole sentences, paragraphs, or scenes of my families history I am allowing those moments to hide under the cloak of darkness–I am allowing them to fester, infect, and secretly inform my reality. The same is true of our churches.
I am tired of Christians not owning up to the crap that has happened in our past (sadly it’s often a much more present reality than it is a past event). When Christians were in power during medieval times we were not the salt of the earth, we were not bearers of light, hope, peace, and love. We did not do well when we had power. If I were less politically ignorant I am certain there could be similar statements made to the power that the church has possessed in America as well. The way that Christians have treated single mothers, gay and lesbians, and our enemies (think: liberals or Arabs) is something to be ashamed of. Even if you completely abhor the way Christians have been abusive toward our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters, you must also be humble enough to in some way say “it’s my fault” or at the very least “i’m sorry” for what my people have done. We’ve got to take ownership of our baggage! Anything less is to stay in darkness, anything less is to push humility, graciousness, kindness, and purity to the margins of our beliefs and practices in preference of holding onto what seems to me as some form of pride.
Regardless of your philosophy, theology, etc. I believe we can recognize that atheism has some solid footing doesn’t it? If Christianity worked it would be much harder to question it–let me clarify that statement. When a snapshot of Christian movement reveals a bevy of “one man, one woman” stickers, giant churches with giant budgets that are spent on giant screens and giant espresso machines, pastors whose major pursuit is to become some form of preaching rockstar, Christians who primarily talk about “whether they’re getting something out of it (church)”…I’m digging myself a ditch aren’t I? Oh well, when a snapshot of how Christianity “works” produces that…I can understand atheism (or any other form of rejection of a loving God) completely. Why would I want to believe in that? If, however, a snapshot of Christianity produced something that was more in tune with the life and ministry of Jesus…I wonder how things would be different.
So lets take ownership of the screwy things we’ve done in the past, the present, and the things we’ll do in the future. If we’re willing to own it then we’re able to truly pursue genuine forgiveness, reconciliation, and partnership. Lets better cultivate a culture of humility, brokenness, honesty, peace, and love!
I know that often times we can use grace language to avoid this type of discussion. We talk about how we’re all screwed up, how even Christians make terrible mistakes and all that jazz and that we can celebrate that we’re saved by God’s grace alone. But it’s exactly for those reasons that we should immediately be ready to live out of a place of humility–willing to ask for forgiveness and take ownership of our (epic) failures.
Christians are responsible for many wonderful and beautiful things throughout history. I hope that you don’t think that this blog represents my whole opinion of the church or of Christian history. Rather I see a problem with our willingness to respond to our baggage and it is out of this observation that I write this post. As I always attempt to do, I speak first to myself. I admit that I am being judgmental toward certain parties but am willing to err on judging one side of people a little too much than to err on the side of defending those who victimize the oppressed. And I see the act of celebrating and protecting the status quo as an act of supporting the victimization of the oppressed.
So to all of you single mothers who have not found church to be a safe place to find support both for you as a woman and for your child who might be missing out on a healthy father figure…I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’ve found it easier to ignore you than to come beside you. I’m sorry that you’ve had to be alone in that deeply difficult journey of paying bills, working a job, and raising kids all by yourself.
To all of you of the GLBT community I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you have not been welcome to the conversation of faith. I’m sorry that for much of my life I spoke about you rather than with you. I’m sorry that I have been more concerned with being right than being nice. I’m sorry I chose not to listen to you and therefore not value you as a beautiful creation of God.
To all of you who have been affected by war I am sorry. I’m sorry that I am so addicted to my lifestyle that I am a part of the system that demands oil. I’m sorry that we’ve sent you who are soldiers across the world and ask you to do things that damage your heart and your future. I’m sorry to those of you who have lived in a place ravaged by war, who have seen your homes and neighborhoods destroyed by it. I’m sorry that at one point in my life easily justified war as if the victims did not have families, the soldiers did not experience hell, and it was a good thing.
To all of you who think differently than me about faith, Christianity, the Bible, how to do church…I’m sorry. I’m sorry that this blog might come across as offensive to you. I’m sorry if I wrote this poorly or did not communicate my thoughts and my heart graciously. I love people and I wouldn’t intentionally be offensive if you were sitting here in my living room.
I’ve said enough already. peace.
The FQ Buzz
I grew up going to a Labor Day camp called Faith Quest. It’s a camp for high school kids that is pretty intense, intended to grow and challenge you, and is generally done very well. Until last week I had only been to FQ once since ’99 and I came away fascinated by some of the cultural changes that had happened since I was a camper. While some of the things I’ve listed may not be particularly new to FQ…because, honestly I have no idea what’s new and what’s not (some might suggest that nothing’s new under the sun). But here are some of the spectacular things about the teenagers, the culture, and the event called Faith Quest.
- There was a sense of anticipation from day one. The teens came ready for something to happen, ready to engage in something deep. They came ready. This is a big deal because at many camps you spend the first half trying to get everyone on board with the idea that God might just do something. You then spend the last half of the camp paying attention to what God has/is doing.
- Creative expression has always been core to what Faith Quest is. But these days creative expression is not just valued as it is, but it is valued as an expression of worship. This year in particular artists explored more abstract artwork that attempted to capture music and worship all in one. It was beautiful.
- Generosity was an overwhelming part of the event. At the annual auction (which is a new thing since I was a kid) they kids gave upwards of $3000. Umm…I didn’t even have enough money when I was a teenager to buy a bag of chips. At this “auction” where they sell old shoes, decoration off the walls, and pieces of the aforementioned art there is a sense of excitement and giving actually becomes a fun experience. Even on the last day when someone(s) raided one of the cabins and stole a grip of stuff, the overwhelming feeling was that if those individuals needed something (money, clothes, or peach gummy rings) they would have been given to them!
- Social justice was an ever present reality. During the week, in addition to the $3000 that was raised, nearly 20 children were ‘adopted’ through World Vision by kids and adults alike. Residue of social justice work was everywhere. It was evident in the conversations, the clothing, the scheduling, and the giving. I know this was not a part of FQ life when I was a kid.
- Worship (through music) has always been core to the FQ experience. But in the last five years or so the teens have gone nuts (in a good way). It has become a raucous party full to the top of energy, bad dancing, creative expression, and smiles. I think if Jesus were physically present he would have been crowd surfing…no, seriously.
- Dude, when I was a kid we didn’t down nearly as much coffee as todays teens do! Holy crap they downed the coffee. Next year I say they pursue some Stumptown coffee and get some quality brew up in the house.
- Hospitality is a very present reality at FQ these days. From the openness everyone has toward strangers to the special senior breakfast that has become a tradition, from the openness toward “dissenting” voices and those who believe differently to the warmth that was shown by the leadership.
I’m sure I could say more. I’m sure many of you could say more. The single greatest part that is consistent in nearly all of the bullet points listed above is that they emerged from the teens themselves. The culture that is emerging at FQ is a culture that is emerging from our next generation of voices. May this never stop.
How I find God and why it's not in a church
I’m cheating. I shouldn’t be posting this today, I should wait and make you read it in my newsletter that will be coming out in about 8 days. But I just can’t stand to sit on this any longer. Below is an article that a good friend of mine wrote. Jennie is a skilled writer, so please don’t compare her quality writing with what I put out there! Her article will make some angry and with others it will resonate deeply. As a lifelong churchgoer, as a preachers kid, as a church planter, as the penultimate “insider” her words stung a bit. Jennies voice is incredibly important, her words are challenging, and above all what we’re able to read below is her journey. I hope you read it and enjoy think.
I pray all the time. I don’t get down on my knees; I don’t make the sign of the cross; I don’t light candles to demonstrate my faith to the world. I pray, and sometimes my prayers must seem like attacks, tirades even- the kind of rant that happens at drunken family reunions. Sometimes my prayers must seem like the anxious queries of a child afraid of nightmares, desperately trying not to fall asleep in her father’s arms. Whatever the length or tenor of my prayers, I must do it. I need God. I crave him. I am stubborn in my love and dependence on him. But I will not attend church.
Growing up, religion seemed to be a kind of spiritual extortion. People did not go to church simply to practice the giving and receiving of love from something mysterious but powerfully real, it was a way of hedging their bets, of making sure their cosmic pool of luck did not run out. It felt, eerily, as if God was a bully on a playground and all the people who attended church were the schoolyard sycophants tiptoeing around him, making sure they weren’t the ones who pissed him off. At the same time, it seemed as if the people in these churches were in collective denial about how you can’t really love something that you fear because love, if one thinks of it as an action and not a state, requires that you have enough self-agency to choose. In turn, if God punished or rejected you because you thought or acted in a way that displeased him, that would itself clearly demonstrate his own inability to truly love you because the desire to dominate someone’s life and will is not reflective of a loving heart but of a covetous one. In other words, if God withholds love because you’ve challenged him, God doesn’t love you; he just wants you to love him.
However, the fact remains that today I am in conflict. I believe and trust in a loving God, but I do not believe or trust the institutions that insist they are the only conduit to him. Today, I can take a walk in the woods or by the river, pray, reflect, and feel deeply loved, my doubts profoundly answered. But if I go to a sermon in a church, I feel mentally and spiritually immobilized. I trust God but distrust churches, and I believe I can pinpoint the exact moment where that disconnect happened.
When I was eight years old, my mother moved our family to a small Kentucky town. We had only been in this town for a few days when my sister Sheri and I took a walk with my mother along a relatively quiet highway at night. Suddenly, a speeding car swerved onto the shoulder of the road and hit my mother. She flew into the air, struck the car again as she came down, and landed at an odd angle which caused a bone to break through the skin of her leg. The driver of the car did not slow down or stop but left her bleeding and semiconscious on the side of the road. I am still not sure if the driver was even aware that he had almost killed someone.
There are two things that I remember most vividly about that night. The first thing is the complete terror I felt as I ran with my sister in the dark searching for someone who would help us. The second is the overwhelming relief and gratitude I felt as I lay sobbing in a roadside waitress’s arms as paramedics worked on my mother. My ambivalence about God could probably be summed up by these two opposing experiences. On the one hand, God seemed to be the intentional arbiter of cruel and vicious punishment, or at least a passive and indifferent observer to the outrageous brutality of random luck. On the other hand, God could also be perceived as a merciful and loving protector. After all, my mother not only survived a blunt trauma that could have instantly killed her, but my sister and I were also lucky enough to get timely help from the staff of a closing restaurant. If the accident had happened just half an hour later, my mother might have bled to death.
I believe that many of us come across this paradoxical experience of God at some point in our lives and it is at this moment that we get to choose whether God exists for us or not. I believe that it was at this moment that I chose God. I say this knowing that this statement may not sit well with either fundamentalist Christians or atheists. Fundamentalist Christians might take offense that I would presume to have the power to choose God. To them, I am merely a speck in the universe. I do not get to choose God, he chooses me. Atheists might disparage my naiveté. To them, I am merely demonstrating my fear based dependence on traditionally created hocus pocus. But when I listen to their rhetoric, I am left equally cold and dissatisfied. Ultimately, I believe our faith is a personal expression of our choice to love and believe in something higher than ourselves. If it is arrogant to love God in the way that I do, then the God I love will forgive me. If it is naïve to believe in God at all, then I hurt no one but myself by doing so.
But the fact remains that my personal understanding and relationship to God does not explain my aversion to churches. The bottom line is that when I am in a church, I feel completely disconnected to God, and this feeling can be at least indirectly attributed to my mother’s accident. The day after the accident, Sheri and I ran into a woman in the trailer park we were living in. She was looking for children to attend bible study at her church’s youth group. When she found out about what had happened to my mother, she volunteered to take me and Sheri in while my mother was in the hospital. The woman and her husband were incredibly loving and kind. Looking back, I realize what a gift this woman’s generosity was for me and my sister not only because she gave us a safe place to live while my mother recuperated, but because the normalcy of her household offset the trauma of my mother’s accident.
However, the church that she took us to was a Kentucky Southern Baptist church that taught that everyone in the world who did not receive Jesus Christ as their one and only savior was a vicious sinner who was doomed to burn in the fires of hell. According to this church, everything was a sin. If you smoked, you were going to hell. If you cussed, you were going to hell. If you listened to rock and roll, you were going to hell. If you roller skated and listened to rock and roll, you were going to go to hell twice. I still remember the self-congratulatory nature of certain church members. They were delighted that they had been “saved” because it meant that they were going to heaven and their enemies were not. They would mill around after the services, their eyes lit up with fanatical delight, as they gossiped about their neighbor who was having an affair and wasn’t saved. Oh, he was definitely going to hell! Once again, religion felt like a kind of horrible power play. People were simply happy to be on the winning team. There was no compassion. There was no love.
What I also remember about this particular church, was how the people in this congregation always seemed restless and on edge and how their anxiety would often manifest itself through hypocrisy and rebellion. My favorite memory is of the bible study teachers secretly lighting up cigarettes behind the church school bus. My friends and I would hide, giggling hysterically, behind a row of parked cars to spy on grown women furtively but doggedly smoking a succession of cigarettes down to a tiny nub, their faces guilty but glowing with ecstasy. Today, I am still struck by the ridiculousness of grown women fearfully hiding behind a bus to smoke cigarettes, but I am also saddened by it. One of these women was the woman who had taken us in. Here was a woman who was truly loving and good but who could not trust that the love that she had within her, and that she gave so freely, was enough to “save” her from eternal damnation. Instead, she lived in a perpetual state of anxiety so stultifying and horrible, that even committing a comically insignificant act such as smoking a cigarette frightened her so much she literally crouched in fear.
I do not mean to suggest that all churches, or all congregants, promote or practice neurotic obedience or self-defeating hypocrisy. However, I will say that in my personal experience both neuroses and hypocrisy has been a staple of most of the churches I have attended. Throughout my life, I have gravitated towards religions that endorse qualities such as loving kindness, mercy, forgiveness, and tolerance. Intellectually, I understand that these same values can be found within the doctrine of Jesus Christ. Yet too often I have been in churches that overlook teaching love and kindness in favor of teaching fear and intolerance. I have encountered too many people from fundamentalist Christian faiths who insist that those who do not think or believe, feel or live, exactly the way they do will go to hell. These “good” Christian people will lie, cheat, steal, and commit all manner of immoral acts, but they have somehow convinced themselves that not only are they superior to everyone else, they are exempt from living the very values they push so stridently. The idea that certain religions insist that sincerely good people who commit themselves body and soul to the service of others can go to hell simply because they happen to love someone of the same gender or read the Koran instead of the bible is completely repugnant to me. Perhaps, I am naïve, but I feel that a unifying thread in our human lives is that we are vulnerable beings who need love. God is supposed to be the most unadulterated and powerful source of this love, and I believe that it is possible to find him everywhere. I have often found God in the loving words of a friend, in the reflection of light on the surface of a lake, and in the passages of a beautifully written book… But I have rarely found him inside the walls of a church.
Compassion Vancouver in Hindsight
The weeks leading up to Compassion Vancouver were chaos. Posting fliers, hanging posters, and printing those fliers and posters minutes prior to their needed delivery. In one afternoon we lost all of our one eye clinic partner in the morning only to gain a new one by afternoon and then another by the evening of that same day. In that last week volunteers flooded the online signup, social service agencies came out of the woodwork to join in, and last minute doctors volunteered. That last week was chaotic. Who’s buying the hotdog buns?! Who’s picking up the coffee? Do we have enough shuttle drivers? What about garbage cans!? Recycling for water bottles? Do we have enough water bottles? Even amidst the chaos, however, were reminders of what we’re all about. There was a unique request that I do not have permission to detail here regarding a family in need of emergency orthodontic work. While there were no orthodontists at Compassion Vancouver, when I heard the special request I was confident that our team of people would be able to find the resources necessary to bless this family. In 24 hours two emails were sent off requesting help, and one private clinic offered to do whatever work was necessary for this family for free. It was beautiful that amidst the chaos of planning and preparing, our dental team was able and willing to do extra work to provide a special service for a family. This story is a perfect way to capture what I loved so much about being a part of this event. Compassion, dignity, and love are central to the identity of the Compassion events. What a blessing!
Back to the chaos…so many questions, so much to do, and all that chaos culminated on Friday-the day before the event. As some of us showed up five hours prior to the volunteer training that would happen that evening we discovered that the tables and chairs were not delivered. Try hosting a health care event without 60 tables and 150 chairs. As the school district tried to figure out what to do and what happened, and as I started counting in my head how many tables I could gather from local churches, up drove the truck–only a few hours after we discovered its absence. As we began setting up the event, constant adjustments were made as each group (dental, medical, social service agencies, etc.) began to see the reality of their needs for space and materials. We setup bounce houses for the kids, carried in mobile dental chairs, wheelchairs, boxes of medical equipment, etc. Essentially what we were creating was a mix between a M.A.S.H. unit, a mess hall, and a preschool all in one! And whether we were ready or not, come 7pm in flooded hundreds of volunteers. I nearly teared up as I looked out from the stage at a gymnasium filled with individuals who gave up their whole summer weekend to serve at Compassion Vancouver. It was breathtaking. (skipping forward a bit…I remember in an one hour stretch of time on Saturday around 11am I had to start turning away additional volunteers because we were already overstaffed. What a problem to have!)
On Saturday my day started at 5am as I got up, showered, printed some last minute documents that we’d need, and headed out to the school at five ’till six. At 6:45 we had our first guests in line waiting to get dental treatment. By 7:00 a line had begun. By 7:30 the first wave of guests had been triaged and shuttled to an off site clinic for dental work. While the event did not technically open until 9am, by 8:00 the social service fair was filled with people (though all the social service were not there yet) and both haircuts and chair massages started. Our six stylists and our massage therapist worked with only a handful of short breaks from 8:00 until 3:00. I truly consider their manual labor one of the greatest gifts that was offered at Compassion Vancouver. And even though I tried to elicit it, I heard zero complaints about cramping hands, arms, or sore feet from any of these dedicated technicians!
The social service fair, which functioned as the central hub of the whole event, was filled with thirty different social service agencies from our neighborhoods. It was a beautiful blend of addiction recovery groups, Christian ministries, services for women and for children, gardening opportunities, mentoring programs, marriage enrichment opportunities, legal aid, and more. Not only do the social service that were present already do so much and offer so much to our neighborhoods but at Compassion Vancouver they were gracious, kind, and thorough in their presentation and conversation.
I will do my best to post and forward on the stories that begin to emerge from the event. I have been out of commission over the last week and have therefore not worked to solicit stories from participants. Because my work was with the social service fair I cannot speak to what happened with those who were working in the onsite dental clinics, the onsite medical clinics, the shuttling to off site dental clinics and optometrists, those working with the children, the team of wonderful hospitality people who brought trays and trays of food to volunteers, people waiting in lines, and doctors working. Let me close by giving some of the numbers. Some of these are estimates at this point while others are more solid. But they all help to give a picture of what happened on August 7th at our first Compassion Vancouver event:
- 250 volunteers
- 128 guests received dental work
- 125 guests received medical treatment
- 300 Danner boots were given away (via custom personal fittings)
- 30 social service agencies present in the social service fair
- 700 meals served
- 100+ haircuts given away
- 130 kids went through the children’s program
- 50 custom fit prescription glasses were given away
- Estimated 400 guests were a part of Compassion Vancouver
This is what it means to be a follower of Jesus. Good stuff. Thank you to everyone who dedicated time and energy at the event itself, before the event, and those who are currently serving in follow up services. You are an amazing bunch of people.
If you still need treatment there are additional Compassion events happening. Visit www.compassionconnect.com and get in line at 6:30 and get your work done!
peace.