Inefficient

I think a lot of the objection to short-term missions that has been raised as of late has a lot to do with the American notion of efficiency. It seems a lot of arguments are built on the idea that “we could do MORE with that money if we’d stop spending it on plane tickets / fundraising items / souvenirs / tourism and just give it to the people, THEN they could rebuild their society.”

I disagree.

Short-term missions do have issues and need to be handled carefully, to be sure. The dangers of “poverty-tourism” where one weeps over the people for a month after returning home and then resuming the life one left are legitimate and fairly well-documented; one can return on an artificial high and feel one has done one’s “duty” for “those people over there” without ever truly grasping the truth that we are just as poor, we are just as broken as they. We create for ourselves a false dichotomy where we put ourselves above those in poverty and are the “benefactors” who go over there to impart on them our wisdom and our ways, to give our money away and feel good about having done something. We forget that to be a true partnership, to truly honor them as human beings created in the image of God, the interaction goes both ways; we need to be willing to learn from them, to recognize that they too have a great deal to contribute to the Kingdom of Heaven if only we were willing to accept their sacrifice and their talents and their experiences. Poverty tourism insults a local culture by making a hierarchy where none exists, putting the tourist as better than the local. And yes, this is a danger that needs to be avoided.

But it can be avoided. Short-term missions work best when they are partnered with long-term missions, with missionaries who have lived in the area a long time and have spent the time building relationships with the locals and can continue those relationships once the team has left. It takes training for the short-term teams to understand a bit of local culture before they arrive (let’s avoid those cultural taboos if we can; don’t bring beef to India!). It takes an attitude of humility on the part of the team to understand that they aren’t the bigger picture here, that God’s been at work a long time before they arrive and will continue to work a long time after they leave. It takes the posture of disciples who are willing to sit at the feet of the long-term missionaries and the locals and learn from them, even as they participate in the mission work they came to do.

And yet many lament the inefficiency of the short-term team. So much capital and time are invested in going over to another place to do this work, so many resources that could be used to build more wells, more community centers, feed more children, clothe more orphans, buy medicine for more wounded and elderly. It’s a touching thought, and while I applaud the sentiment, there are other things in this world than efficiency.

I heard a story once about a missionary in sub-Saharan Africa describing the way we do church here in the West to one of the locals. At some point, he mentioned a heated debate that had begun over the organ in one church, whether to replace/restore it with $100k or be efficient and buy the cheaper electronic version. The local - who himself lived in poverty - looked at the missionary and said something to the effect of “if it takes $100k for an organ so people can meet Jesus, then spend the money! You can’t put a price on meeting Jesus.”

Humbling, for sure.

But it makes an important point: money is just money. We can’t make more of it than it is, because if we do that, we turn it into an idol and give it false power. If we truly believe that God is Lord over all, if everything is His and He can do with it as He pleases, then it’s a false modesty that says we should give all the money spent in short-term missions to the locals because we think that means it’ll be better spent; it’s easy to say because it’s never going to happen, which makes the one saying it feel superior without having to really change anything. And that perpetuates the false dichotomy we mentioned earlier, it still puts us above them, only we leave smelling more righteous, even if it’s only self-righteous.

And that annoys me.

More to the point, however, arguments about efficiency completely ignore the other benefits to short-term missions: relationships and inspiration.

In Haiti a year ago, the locals we worked with were so happy to have us there. [Side note: That was one of my takeaways, how they could live with joy in the midst of such pain, and it has given me better perspective as I’ve moved jobs and gone through a lot of transition in the last year.] The purpose of our trip was to work with a team of Haitians to help them rebuild their church, which was to double as a community center. The relationships forged with Joselin and others there were valuable for us and for them; we learned about each others’ cultures, laughed together, prayed together, played together, and worshipped together. Before we left, the Haitians thanked us because they were so glad to know that the church beyond their borders cared for Haiti, and they wanted us to know that they too were praying for the church in America. That relationship, between Haitian and American churches, requires that investment of people, which requires money. It’s valuable! Think of how easy it is to quit when you feel that nobody supports your efforts, when you are simply ignored.

There is motivation in relationship; Joselin in particular wanted to rebuild his country and this time do it right (Haiti crumbled, in large part, because there is an existing culture of short-changing building materials), and he drew strength from the relationship, knowing that even if his local brothers and sisters wanted to take shortcuts, others like us supported his desire to rebuild properly and were willing to work side-by-side with him to get it finished. And we in return were inspired as a team, drawing strength from his strength. I’d return in a heartbeat, given the opportunity.

To (ironically) pull a page from economics, it always takes investment to generate return. If it takes $2500 a person to send a team to Haiti and help the Haitians know that the rest of the world still cares about them, then DO IT! We can send all the money in the world to somebody but that doesn’t necessarily show them that we love them; it takes the investment of time, the labor of sacrifice to show someone that you love them. If it’s a week building alongside Haitians, do it. If it’s four days in an orphanage in India, do it. If it’s a VBS in South Africa, do it. Be aware of the dangers, check your motivations, but don’t be afraid of inefficiency; it’s worth the sacrifice of efficiency to build the relationship.

Altar: True Worship

I preached again, this time with Pastor Will Kallhoff, who did part 1 and I did part 2 on a sermon about worship. I thought it turned out really well, people responded well. When you listen, one thing to know: when people start laughing, it's because a sword was pulled out of its sheath. That is all.

Cathedral

It's amazing how buildings can be symbols. In St. Gallen, Switzerland, there is a Catholic church building dating back somewhere between six and eight hundred years ago, and it stands as a symbol for Western Christianity today.

In its time, it was an awesome sight: painted ceilings soar above intricate baroque latticework in copper and bronze. It was meant to inspire awe, for the congregant to walk in and immediately fall to his knees in awe of God and of the Church, and in so doing, inspire the heathen to convert.

They didn't do "seeker-sensitive" back then.

The confessionals - of which there are many - each depict a different scene - Christ walking on water, the martyrdom of Stephen, and others. The altar stands separated from the congregation by several ornate wooden railings; a golden cross stands at the front, and above it, three symbols depicting the Trinity; in the back, a massive pipe organ. All is the finest that can be had, crafted by the best artisans and architects, spared no expense. It would have shone with unmatched brilliance when the light hit the windows, making the inside almost glow as a choir sang the Gloria or the Agnus Dei before the pious masses.

Today it's a tourist attraction.

It was restored a few years ago, but only to a point; what was once copper and bronze is now green and oxidized, the gold and the paintings faded, the pews worn and empty. Sometimes the acoustics are used for orchestral or choral concerts, at which point a few people show up to listen. The rest of the time, tourists come in groups and admire the fine artistry, gawk at the organ, sit in the wooden pews, take pictures, make light conversation about the paintings, and take pictures of the altar. And then they leave, unchanged, uninspired, untouched.

It speaks so well to where we find ourselves. An empty building, forgotten except by a few tourists and its own meager congregation, an icon of glory days passed, of lost power and of waning influence. Europeans look elsewhere for their spirituality now, to science and Buddhism and New Age and - for a growing number - to Islam.

It's because of Church buildings like this that such a change began. The altar, for example, is separate from the congregation, peasants, who were deemed unclean and ineligible for communion. The masses were expected to come to church because - so far as they knew - their only option for a life better than their own was in the hands of those in power, and those in power took their money and their goods to pour into large buildings and to make themselves comfortable.

It is at this point that I run into conflicted feelings. There were obviously many who abused their power, but there were a few - some of the artisans, a few priests and bishops, many monks, and perhaps even a pope or two who were not in it for themselves, who genuinely believed they were living as Christ commanded. They poured their time into their congregations and into creating the artistic masterpieces that now sit in our cities, victims of entropy. They did what they could in a corrupt system (though most didn't challenge that system). But eventually, the people had enough and stopped going when other voices gave them a better option.

What do we do with this picture of a building, a masterpiece of art that is at once a historic marvel and contains many tragic stories? Do we chalk it up to the heathens, to those who chose to leave because they stopped believing (did they ever start), and call upon them to repent and return to the cathedral? Do we call it a failed experiment and abandon it to history and to the concerts and the tourists? How do we learn from this? How do we at once celebrate those that were truly faithful (if somewhat misguided by their culture) and avoid the pitfalls of a bureaucratized institution that would take the resources of the poor (and the rich, yes) to build a mere building when many were without food? Can art be created without exploiting others? Do we really need the building? If not in this massive all-but-abandoned structure,

where

is

the

Church

now?

Sermonizing

I know I've been terrible about posting since I moved to South Dakota, but let's be fair, I've been so incredibly busy that life has afforded me very little time for scholarship and writing. In addition to moving into our new house and leading worship this past weekend, I preached my first sermon as a pastor. More to the point, I've only preached twice before - once in my teen years in a youth service, and once with five minutes warning in India. So this isn't coming from a lot of experience. But I've done my share of writing.

Below is the text of the sermon text and audio.

Many of you know this already, but for those of you that don’t, my wife Liz and I were missionaries in Australia for a year, planting a church in Melbourne. Moving into a new place can be a bit scary, but it’s exciting at first. You spend a lot of time “oohing” and “ahhing” over the cool things you see, hear, and taste. But somewhere around month two, you start to realize that not everything is as shiny as you thought. What comes to mind is that when we were in Melbourne, I could never figure out why people kept running in to me when I’d go places, especially in the Central Business District of the city. We’re talking pretty much anywhere I’d go; I’d be walking along crowded city streets, and people would just walk right into me. It took me forever to figure out that it was me, not them, who was the problem.

When you walk along a sidewalk here in the states, we tend to make the assumption that it works like we drive. We drive on the right side of the road, and so we also walk on the right side of the sidewalk; it’s just common sense, right? Well, Australians drive on the left side of the road, and so I assumed that they’d walk on the left side of the sidewalk. And yet every time I would stick to my brilliant plan, I’d inevitably walk right into people. And so one day I was in the city and decided that instead of getting hit over and over again, I’d stop and watch and see what I was missing. And sure enough, as I watched, I began to notice that people didn’t actually walk in straight lines, but instead wove in and around each other as they bustled from place to place. It wasn’t until I stopped to watch and then imitate their behavior that I could walk unobstructed through the city.

Imitation, they say, is the sincerest form of flattery, but I want to suggest today that it’s probably got to be more than that if we’re to be Christians of the highest caliber. Around the year 61 AD, in a letter to a group of churches near the city of Ephesus, the Apostle Paul wrote these words:

“Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly beloved children, and walk in the way of love just as Christ loved us and gave himself up as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.” [Ephesians 5:1-2]

I think you'll find that a lot of the really profound things in scripture are built on "therefore" statements. This usually forms the hinge of many of Paul's writings in the New Testament; because God is, because of what came before, because of how good God has been, therefore we act. So in order to understand what we're reading here, we'll have to start with what came before.

1. What Came Before:

Ok, so what did God do?

Well, in the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. That's how the greatest story ever told starts, right? First there's nothing but God, and then God sets aside something that's not Him and calls it good. In fact, He created an entire universe.

But we all know how the story goes after that, right? Another part of creation, something or someone else not-God, referred to as the "serpent," decides to try and get us, the creation, off track, to pull us out of that relationship we had with God, and we fell for it. We made a choice, and a rift was created between the divine and the mortal, a barrier built between God and humanity.

But God already had a plan in motion.

You hear about it all over the place. Whispers at first, really, and then growing anticipation. God is moving, God is working, God is seeking redemption with His creation. All the way back in Genesis it says that God called out a particular family to be the vehicle for this, to be as numerous as the stars if they'll strive to be faithful to the way of life He's set aside for them.

The LORD had said to Abram, "Go from your country, your people and your father's household to the land I will show you. I will make you into a great nation, and I will bless you; I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing." [Genesis 12:1-2]

And God kept His promise – Abraham’s family grew and grew and grew, just like God said. But growth can be scary, especially to your neighbors, and eventually, Abraham’s family, who became the Hebrews, were enslaved by another nation, Egypt.

And so the desire for redemption, for reconciliation turned into a longing, a plea for freedom. One day, in the midst of this oppression and slavery, God called a man named Moses to be a voice for Him, to speak out and demand that God's people be set free. When they were, they were sent out to cross the wilderness. They were given a way of living that would honor God, who would honor their freedom if only they'd keep to this way of life. In Exodus we read that, because God freed them from Egypt, they were to obey His law.

And God spoke all these words: "I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery. Therefore, you shall have no other gods before me. Therefore, don’t make graven images … therefore …" [Exodus 20:1-17, abridged]

We know the rest of the ten commandments, right? In remembering the things God has done for us, we are to be moved to Obedience.

But we don't always obey too well, and neither did our predecessors; no sooner had the Israelites been freed then they fell back into their old ways. And so God decreed that they move back into the wilderness, until, when the last of those freed from Egypt had passed on, they were once again called to move, only this time into the land God had promised.

And so they took the promised land for their own, but once again, they disobey. In fact, God spends centuries trying to teach them to obey the law He'd given them. Over and over again, but worse each time. Prophet after prophet was sent to remind the Israelites of their calling, and prophet after prophet was cast aside by King after King. Even removing the Israelites from their home as punishment only worked for a short time, and all the while the world groaned for redemption. But God had not forgotten, and through His prophet Isaiah spoke these words:

"Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight; I will put my Spirit on him, and he will bring justice to the nations. … He who created the heavens and stretched them out, who spread out the earth with all that springs from it, who gives life to those who walk on it: I, the LORD, have called you in righteousness; I will take hold of your hand. I will keep you and will make you to be a covenant for the people and a light for the Gentiles, to open eyes that are blind, to free captives from prison and to release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness." [Isaiah 42:1-7]

And when all seemed darkest, God chose to act. On a seemingly ordinary night, some shepherds were going about their business as usual when the skies lit up with beings the likes of which they'd never seen, announcing the birth of the world’s redemption.

But notice the manner in which God chose to act: He chose to come in the most humble means possible: He was born to an unwed teenage girl in enemy-occupied territory. He only told two groups of people about it: a bunch of peasants, nobodies, and then several years later, a small group of astrologers (Bibles often translate the term "magi"), who found the child and presented gifts intended for burying a king. Nothing about this story makes sense to our understanding of things – and yet this is how God chose to enter history; in the most ordinary means available. Isaiah 53, a prophetic chapter talking about the messiah, says that Jesus would be ordinary, plain, simple.

He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him. [Isaiah 53:2]

It’s like if you took a group picture of Jesus with the disciples, you couldn’t pick out which one was Jesus! And yet, THIS is the man who history hinges on. He then spent thirty years growing up, learning how to speak and write, memorizing the Torah and Talmud, learning Hebrew customs, and working with his adopted father as a carpenter before he began any kind of public ministry. And when he did begin, who did he call to work with him? The second-rates, the guys who flunked out of Rabbi School and had to instead work as fishermen and tax collectors.

Then he had the nerve to further challenge the religious establishment and tell them that in the two thousand years since Moses, they STILL hadn't managed to understand the intent of the Law they'd been given. He taught with authority and conviction, telling stories about fields and wheat and coins, stories drawn from the very lives of the people who followed him. And for simply teaching Truth to people who were not considered clean, Jesus – God himself – was betrayed, sold out to the very enemies that occupied the promised land, then tortured and killed in one of the most painful manners that history has ever devised.

THIS is why Paul writes that our gospel is a stumbling block, a folly to Jew and Gentile alike. It doesn't make sense to us that God would act like this!

Paul tells it like this:

Jesus, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a humble servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a human being, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death — even a criminal's death on a cross! [Philippians 2:6-8]

This was the fragrant offering that Paul is speaking of in Ephesians 5. In the Ancient Hebrew Temple, incense was burned 24/7, its smoke a symbol of the prayers of the people drifting into the Holy of Holies, where God Himself lived. At the exact hour that Jesus died, the Scriptures say that the very curtain separating the rest of the Temple from God was torn, top to bottom, from God's side to ours.

Of course, we know that the story doesn't end there. In the hour that humanity reached its lowest, Jesus was resurrected. He beat death, and having become the very offense we were supposed to be – He wiped the slate clean. He began the story anew, and fulfilled the redemption for which the world had been longing since Adam and Eve first chose themselves over God.

2. Therefore:

God came in skin, into a zip code and sandals and mortality and all the trappings that went along with that. John’s gospel says that “the Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood,” that He was “generous inside and out,” that he was “true from start to finish.” Not just the stories about Jesus, they are true, but JESUS HIMSELF was TRUE! He told stories, he ate food with people, he healed those that were sick, he touched the untouchables, he taught with authority. And then when it became necessary, He gave Himself up as a sacrifice for us and died at the hands of those that opposed Him, and rose from the grave and defeated death.

And we are supposed to be different because of this story, because it is THE true story.

In each of Paul's letters, it is this story that he starts with. For Paul and the early church, the gospel story is one in which we remember what came before, because it's in remembering that we are inspired to action. Because God did this for us, THEREFORE you ought to imitate God. Matthew 28 - because all authority has been given to Jesus, because of what he's done, THEREFORE go and make disciples of all nations. Romans 12 - because of what God has done, THEREFORE offer your bodies as living sacrifices and don't conform to the pattern of this world but be transformed by the renewing of your minds as your spiritual act of worship. Philippians 2 - THEREFORE if you've been encouraged by your life in Christ, have the same attitude as Christ, value others above yourself and be a servant!

It’s sort of like God was a missionary. Historically, one of the ways that theologians would describe God was with the term “Missio Dei.” In English, it means the Missionary God. And this story is why! If we are to imitate God, then we need to imitate Him as missionaries. Because God IS a missionary, we too are to be missionaries. We all tend to think of missionaries as those people who go off and move to exotic places with lots of sand and people with bones through their ears. But not everybody can do that; it’s just not possible, and I don’t think God asks that of everyone.

So the question comes, what does that look like? For those of us that don’t get to go to those exotic places, for those of us that feel a bit too ordinary, how are we missionaries to our own culture?

Well, again, what did Jesus do?

Jesus, I think, used the ordinary to point to the extraordinary. He told stories using ordinary things like plants and coins and wedding banquets and lamps and fields. What’s more, even when He did do extraordinary things, like healing, He STILL asked people to do the ordinary things like wash in a river and put mud in their eyes. It was through the ordinary that their extraordinary faith was shown.

Jesus was like a tour guide for the way that God was already at work within the world. And that’s what we’re supposed to do! We say, “God is working in the ordinary!” God didn’t just abandon the world to its own fate, He intervened, and the stories are all around us just waiting to be told. Paul said it this way:

Though I am free and belong to no one, I have made myself a slave to everyone, to win as many as possible. To the Jews I became like a Jew, to win the Jews. … To the weak I became weak, to win the weak. I have become all things to all people so that by all possible means I might save some. [1 Corinthians 9:19-22, abridged]

A great example of this in action can be found in Acts 17. Paul has just come to Athens, Greece. Now, a little background about Athens. You’ll remember from grade school that the Greeks were polytheistic, that means they had a lot of gods that they worshipped. And by a lot I’m not just saying like, five or six, I’m talking hundreds of them. There were so many that what they’d do was make a little statue, or sometimes a really big statue of those gods to remind them who they were worshipping. They were so nervous that they had forgotten someone that they’d gone and made up a statue called “the Unknown God” just in case!

Another thing that was really common in those times was the public debate. A guy would get up in the street and start giving a monologue, and inevitably someone else would come along and start debating with him. It’d be like a guy getting up in Walmart, and starts to tell everyone why the Packers are so great, and of course that doesn’t go over so well, so then someone else gets up and starts telling him no, the Vikings are far better, and here’s why. And they go through player stats and game stats and history and maybe trade a few insults, and all the while everyone’s standing around going “huh, that’s interesting, I never thought of it that way.”

Well the same thing happens to Paul. Now Paul walks into the scene and is worried by all the statues everywhere. The scriptures say that when he saw the idols he was “greatly distressed.” He starts doing this whole debate thing in the marketplace and some philosophers come along and start debating with him. But it gets to the point that they hold a formal meeting and invite Paul, and at the meeting Paul sees the statues all standing there, including the statue to the unknown God, and of course he knows what that means, because he’s spent time with them. So what does he do? He gets up and gives them a huge compliment – “I see that you are very religious!” The Greeks all smile. Then he says, “I see you have this statue to an unknown God. And maybe you didn’t know who this is, but I know this God, I know that He’s THE God, the one who made everything and you and me and that a relationship with Him is beyond anything you can possibly imagine …” Paul used His surroundings, the things that the Greeks took for granted, and turned them into a gospel message! He gave them a tour of their own religion, of their own culture and showed them how God had been working the whole time, even when they didn’t see it!

Now, not everyone believed. But some did. “All things to all people so that some might be saved.” Paul could take the ordinary and show them how it pointed to the extraordinary.

What ordinary things in the lives of those around us can we use to point to God’s work? What parables can we tell? What questions are there being asked that we can help to answer? Who is seeking that we can seek with? What in our lives is ordinary, and how will God use it to do extraordinary things? What about garden gnomes? Or pheasants? Cows? Corn? There’s a lot of that around here. Taxis? What stories are there waiting in the ordinary to be made extraordinary?

But Jesus didn’t just USE ordinary things, He didn’t just talk about them.

What did Jesus do? Jesus actually became ordinary!

Why would he do that? I mean, if I was omnipotent and omniscient and omnipresent and all that, I wouldn’t want to give it up. I’d like being that, I think. But Jesus, Jesus was better than that. Jesus really loved the people he came to serve. What we need to remember the most is that we too must actually care about those that we are here to serve. Not just out of obligation, not just because we have to or because it makes us feel better about ourselves, but because we genuinely care for them, about them. The same way that God cares about us.

“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. Those who live by the truth come into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what they have done has been done in the sight of God.” [John 3:16-17, 21]

A friend once told me a story that illustrates this well. Some Navy SEALs were performing a covert operation, freeing hostages from a building in a dark part of the world. The team flew in by helicopter, made their way to the compound, and stormed into the room where the hostages had been imprisoned for months. The room was filthy and dark, and the hostages were curled up in a corner, terrified. When the SEALs entered the room, they heard the gasps of the hostages. They stood at the door and called to the prisoners, telling them that they were Americans. The SEALs asked the hostages to follow them, but the hostages wouldn’t; they sat there on the floor and hid their eyes in fear. They were not of healthy mind and didn’t believe that their rescuers were really Americans.

The SEALs stood there, not knowing what to do. They couldn’t possibly carry everyone out. Then one of them got an idea. He put down his weapon, took off his helmet, and curled up tightly next to the other hostages, getting so close that his body was touching some of theirs. He softened up the look on his face and put his arms around them. He was trying to show them that he was one of them. None of the prison guards would have done this. He stayed there a little while until some of the hostages started to look at him, finally meeting his eyes. The SEAL whispered that they were Americans and were there to rescue them. “Will you follow us?” he asked. Then he stood to his feet and one of the hostages did the same, then another, until all of them were willing to go. The story ends with all the hostages safe on an American aircraft carrier.

A long time ago, God came into our cell, took off His powers and His immortality and everything that made Him God and curled up next to us. And then He rescued us. What he asks is that we be willing to do the same to those around us who haven’t heard about that rescue, who don’t know what true freedom is like.

During this song, I want you to think about how you’ve been telling the story. The purpose of this time is for reflection; the words will be up on the screen for you to think through, not to sing. To that end there’s a blank space in your bulletin if that would be helpful for you, or listen to the music if that would. But think about this: do you know the story? If you know the story, how are the ordinary parts of your life given over to God? How well do you dwell in your neighborhood? Do you take offense at their habits or their language, or do you extend grace? Do you try to learn about them, about who they are and what motivates them and whether or not they like baklava and how they feel about the Huskers?

[Sing "Worlds Apart" by Jars of Clay]

Music and Mission, part I: Terra Nova I

This is a story of discontents, of how one discontent after another led me to where I am now. I know it's a long story, but if I'm going to get to the bigger picture, this is necessary material. I hope it's not TOO boring, but bear with me.

I suppose I should start by saying that this is not exactly the path I had planned. I know that everybody says that, but in my case, it's pretty easy to tell. See, when I was a kid, everybody knew I was going into science. I excelled in all of my science courses, pursued science on the side, ate, slept, and breathed science. Biology, in particular, became my biggest obsession; living systems fascinate me. I couldn't decide between biochemistry, evolutionary biology, and neurobiology - they were all fascinating. Eventually, however, neuroscience won out, and I enrolled at the University of Rochester, one of few universities in the US with an undergrad neuro program. Everyone expected great things.

Somewhere in the midst of my freshman year, though, I started to have doubts. I know everybody does, but these were on a more fundamental level. I was doing pretty well in my classes until my advisor, a geologist (who knew nothing about neuroscience) advised me to enroll in an advanced biochemistry course in my second semester of college, a course that required organic chemistry, which I had not yet taken. Needless to say, I tanked it with a D, something I'd never done before. It threw me for a loop, but it was the wakeup call I needed. I had always enjoyed working labs for science, but they were controlled labs with predictable results; I started wondering if I really wanted to do true research, the kind where I had to invent the experiments myself, the kind where I had to spend my every waking moment in a white polished room in a jacket with goggles on.

I hated the goggles.

By my sophomore year, when I realized how terrible I was at memorizing chemical formulas in organic chemistry (using them was easy, but remembering what they were to use them was another matter), I realized that R&D wasn't my thing. I briefly toyed with the idea of changing to Evolutionary Biology, but my parents convinced me I shouldn't do that (although I still don't know why it was such a big deal to them). My music minor suddenly started looking more and more promising; I've always been a musician, but never had it pegged as a career simply because everyone told me it wouldn't help me earn a living.

Apparently, artists only get paid, like, a dollar or something.

Still, the idea of excelling in something that might not earn as much money beat trying to be mediocre in something that might pay more. I changed my major a week later. But something was still missing. It was when I realized that I play too many instruments that I couldn't focus exclusively on music; I'm sort of a "jack of all trades, master of none" sort of guy; I'll play what I play decently well, but I'm not exactly Dave Matthews on my guitar, Kenny G on my saxophone, etc. I can't even name a famous horn player, but I wouldn't be him either.

But I really, really liked leading worship. I had started a worship team for Campus Crusade in my sophomore year at the urging of my friend Rob. I'd never realized how much I liked it, how much the glove fit, as it were. I signed up for an internship that summer at a local church, and after that summer, I was hooked.

Sort of.

So I'm wishy-washy. Fine, I'll admit to being occasionally dissatisfied with the status quo, but it's worked in my favor so far. I wouldn't be where I am without what I hope is a healthy discontent with mediocrity.

I loved my music theory classes, but the history courses were tailored for music education majors; I wasn't one. I finished two of them before I couldn't take it anymore - and not for want of a good professor either, Dr. Meconi was a wonderful storyteller and very encouraging of my interests. Still, something just didn't sit right, and it was then that I "happened" upon a unique program at the University of Rochester: the Department of Interdepartmental Studies.

That's right, it gets a whole department.

Basically, it's a cross-disciplinary program that allows students to build their own majors. The idea is that since the world is becoming increasingly specialized, the students shouuld be allowed to pursue specialized interests from the start and not "waste" time on parts of majors they don't need. For example, if one wanted to major in music recording, one need not waste time with a lot of music history, and can instead take extra courses in recording; my friend Steph did that.

In my case, I decided to build my own worship arts program at a secular university. I called it "Music in Christianity" and it combined courses in Christian history with music theory, and tied it all together with an eight-credit thesis project. In the course of my study I'd come across a word that I couldn't shake from my mind: postmodernism. It kept cropping up everywhere, but nobody seemed to know what to do with it, especially my Christian friends. So I decided to do my research thesis on this "postmodernism" idea, and since I had to talk about music too, I decided it was the perfect chance to talk postmodern music in the Christian sphere - where did postmodernity come from, and how has it influenced Christian music.

I graduated with a 95 page paper in one hand and an honors diploma in another. I had every intention of going to grad school somewhere with a worship arts program, when God once again stuck his nose in the mix. This time, it came in the form of an invitation from a friend of my wife. Ruth wanted to know if Liz and I wanted to take a year and help them plant a church in Melbourne, Australia.

And how do you say no to something like that?

(to be continued)

The Parable of the House

Frank stepped off the ladder with a satisfied grunt. It had been a perfect day for painting; it was a balmy 72 degrees, the sun was up, and the occasional cloud made sure it didn't get too hot. Setting the paint can down on the ground and the paint brush atop, he folded his green-stained hands into his arms and admired his work. The house was beautiful, no doubt about it; he'd chosen a sober forest-green for the siding, while the window frames he'd painted a deep burgundy. It stood out from the many other houses along that street, many of which were an ordinary white or beige color. He shook his head and smirked.

"If only they'd invest and buy some paint for their houses," he thought, if only they'd put in a little elbow grease, then their houses could be as nice as mine!"

He sighed at the obvious absurdity of such thoughts. He often broached the subject with his neighbors (in fact, at every opportunity), but the opportunities seemed to be growing fewer as of late. Apparently, nobody had his superb taste in external décor, though a guy named Chin or Ching or something from a few streets over had come to him a few weeks ago asking for some advice. Frank had assured him that Navy blue was the latest style, trimmed with white. But times change, and Frank had realized that it wasn't blue, but forest green that was of better taste now. All his painting magazines said so. He'd mentioned this to his new acquaintance, whose eyes had gone wide at the thought of redoing his newly painted house. He said he'd think on it.

Moron. He just didn't have what it took to have the best house around.

Frank sighed and set about cleaning up. It was as he was putting away the ladder that he noticed the changing weather. Odd; the weather channel hadn't predicted rain today. Ah well, at least he could continue his painting indoors. He'd noticed that one room was getting out of sorts, and was time to paint again. He wasn't sure why he was painting so often lately, but to have a good house, one had to make sure it was kept in good shape. He even had a storage room full of paint cans just in case of a problem.

He went inside to the offending room, skirting around a spot in the floor he knew to make an irritable creaking sound, just as the first raindrops started to fall outside. Brush in one hand and paint can in the other, he walked into the dining room and took note of where he'd have to paint. Several long cracks had appeared in the wall, one which even ran from floor to ceiling.

"Must be those silly folks I bought this place from," he thought, "wallpaper, what were they thinking?!" The previous evening, when there was no more light left outside, he had spent several hours priming the wall bleach white. Now, he began generously applying the new paint, his brush making long strokes up and down the wall. Obviously the puce he'd originally used over top of the floral print wallpaper wasn't doing its job, so he had chosen instead to use a more dependable beige paint. But there was a knock on the door. He sighed, put down his paint, and wiped off his hands on his shirt, noting the moan from another floorboard. When he opened the door, it was none other than his friend from a few streets up.

"What a surprise!" he said, "do come in. It's Ching, right?"

"Kim, actually," said his friend, glancing suspiciously at Frank's work clothes. "Have you been painting?"

"Why yes," said Frank, "I was just starting on a room that needed some work. And before that, I painted the outside again – like I told you, Green is the new Blue!" Kim smiled, though Frank thought it seemed a bit forced. "Would you like to see?"

"Sure," said Kim, hesitantly.

"It's seen better days," said Frank, escorting him into the dining room. "I thought maybe a stronger color might do it some good." The surprised look on Kim's face told Frank more than he wanted to know. "You don't approve?"

"Well," said Kim, scratching his head as he stared at the cracks running through the wall, "it just seems to me that there's a bigger problem here than the color. Have you looked at the framing, or at least thought of replacing this drywall?" Frank was stunned. Kim had come to him numerous times for advice, why the sudden change of heart?

"Now Chan," said Frank, in a voice that hoped to impress upon him the vast experience he had with choosing paint, "I understand why you might think that, but this place really only needs a stronger color. It's always worked in the past."

Kim looked dubious. "Frank, I know you like to paint, but –"

"Like to paint?" interrupted Frank, "But I don't! I don't like to paint, but it simply must be done if I'm to have a good house!"

"But Frank, paint isn't going to fix those cracks!" Frank hesitated before replying.

"Jim ... what cracks? There are some black lines, certainly, but it's nothing a little paint can't fix."

Kim stared at him in amazement. Had he really not noticed the cracks spreading from floor to ceiling? A sudden thought hit him: did Frank do this with every household malady? Kim suddenly began looking around him at the walls and ceiling, then at the floor, half expecting his shifting weight to bring the whole place down on him at once.

"Are you sure ..." he began, then trailed off into silence again as Frank picked up his paintbrush and began painting the walls around the cracks.

"Ching, I appreciate your concern, but honestly, it's always worked before. Here, let me show you. Follow me." He put down his paint and headed for the front door. Kim followed nervously as Frank made his way around to the side of the house.

"Why, just this last week I repaired the siding with a good nice acrylic blue, and then again today with the green!" Kim looked to where he was pointing, and noticed a large ugly scar through the foundation of the house. "... sure it took some time," continued Frank, "but it was worth it in the end."

"How many coats of paint is that?" asked Kim, in shock.

"Oh, probably about fifteen or twenty, give or take a few."

It was worse than he'd thought. As Kim looked closer, he noticed that the green paint had begun wearing off in the cracks where the surface had dried, but the inside was still liquid. It gave the house the appearance it was bleeding. He brushed his wet hair out of his face before turning back to Frank.

"Frank ... can't you see that the cracks are still there?" Frank looked mortified.

"There are not, I already painted them!"

"Look, Frank, this is insane! How do you expect to make sure the house stays standing with only paint?!"

Frank glanced back and forth between Kim and the foundation. He could almost see what Kim was getting at, but then a new thought occurred to him; his eyes narrowed, and he turned on his heel and trudged back into the house. Kim followed him, worried.

"What did I say, Frank?" Frank whipped around in his face.

"You've been talking to somebody else, haven't you."

"What?"

"You have! I can see it written all over your face - you've been talking to somebody else about house maintenance! Don't lie to me – I detest lies."

Kim stared at him, speechless. He had talked to someone else when he’d noticed that Frank's paint strategy hadn't worked on the termites in his walls. He'd seen an ad for an exterminator in the yellow pages, whom he had hired for a very reasonable price. The termites hadn't yet returned. But how could he tell this to Frank without losing his friendship? His painting skills were legendary, and he was a genius with a color scheme.

"You know, Quan," said Frank, ignoring another creaking floorboard, "self-deception isn't healthy. I know you've talked to someone else, but they don't know what they're talking about. Paint is what solves house problems, pure and simple."

"But Frank, the exterminator I hired got rid of the termites! My house is still standing because of his help!"

"Ping, Ping, Ping. I too have had termites. They are a lovely shade of purple now, and it worked brilliantly. They even match the inside of the basement! Trust me – paint is the only way to go."

Kim had noticed the creaking floorboard as well, and it worried him, given this new information. It suddenly struck him that the number of creaks had been increasing since he'd arrived. He panicked.

"Frank, I think I'm going to get back home. We have some friends coming over for dinner tonight and the wife needs my help getting ready." Frank had stopped looking at him directly. "Maybe you should come with me," continued Kim, "why don't you grab some clean clothes and come over." Frank rolled his eyes. "We're having Lisa's stir fry, which …" Kim stopped as another creak, this time louder and perhaps even deeper, resonated through the house.

"Look, Song, I appreciate it, but I have painting to do. I don't know if I could eat dinner with people who don't think about paint the way I do, it would just seem wrong somehow. Besides, I don't have any clean clothes; they all have paint on them."

"That's ok Frank," said Kim, thinking about his new sofa, "just come over as you are, we don't mind!" He began backing towards the door. Frank had picked up his paintbrush again and was reaching for the can of paint when some dust from the ceiling began flaking into the paint.

"Oh, will you look at that, it's ruined! Now I have to paint the ceiling again too! I tell you, Quan, the work never stops. I'll follow you out as far as the shed so I can get another can." Kim didn't care, as long as he got him out of the house.

"Sure, Frank."

Kim had just gotten down the steps to the driveway when a sound, unlike any he'd heard before, resonated from the house and echoed across the hillside. He grabbed Frank, who had begun to turn around with a puzzled look on his face, and ran, the mud splashing his jeans as the rain fell harder than ever. As they reached the shed, the house collapsed in a cloud of drywall dust and a splash of green paint.

"My house!" exclaimed Frank, as several neighbors appeared on their white front porches and stared at the spectacle before them. He collapsed on his knees in the soggy lawn, green paint mingled with rain and drywall filling in the cracks around his knees. Kim put his hand on Frank's shoulder.

"Frank,” said Kim, “I think you’re going to need a lot more paint.”

Blue

When I was in high school, our district managed to scrape together the funds to build themselves a whole bunch of new stuff. We got a brand new high school tacked onto the old one, and the old one became the junior high. Now, some things were of apparent importance over others: we got a ton of new sports fields, state of the art, and a new gym and weight room, but no new auditorium (apparently the old one with no wings and eight feet of fly space was deemed "acceptable" by the board, who all loved football). In this new gym, of course, were the best of everything, including wall padding, retractable bleachers and hoops, and of course, the logo for the middle of the court. The logo, though, ended up being a bit of a controversy, because after it was painted, many of the area residents were appalled.

Now, the team at Victor was the "Blue Devils," and up until now had featured this little cartoon baby-looking devil with a pointy tail, naturally colored blue. But somebody had got it in their heads to hold a contest for the new gym floor, and had picked a winner. It looked real.

It was a scary logo; the horns almost glistened, the creases on his face were curved up in a wicked smile, and the shoulders looked like they were about to leap into action (there was no more, it was a head-shot). I can only imagine what the first home game would've been like for the visiting team, seeing that thing in mid-court at the toss; talk about home-court advantage, but it was truly hideous. And naturally, half the parents in the district called the superintendent or members of the board to have it repainted with something less ... offensive. Something less ...

Real.

I remember people kept saying "but it's so real! We can't expose our kids to that!" Reality can be very scary. We like to hide it, to deny it's there, to push it away so we don't have to think about it. I know that a devil with horns is as much a cultural image as any (I don't think the devil has actual horns, but maybe he does), but we Americans (maybe all human beings) like to push away things that don't make us comfortable. Like the poor. Like the homeless. Like people who smell funny. Like nerds or bullies. If you're poor, you push away the rich because they represent to you everything that is wrong in your life. If you're rich, you ignore the poor because you're better than they are. If you're in the middle class, you try really hard to get rich, and giving to the poor doesn't help that, so you ignore them too. The poor are uncomfortable to the rich, and the rich are uncomfortable for the poor. The middle class is confused, because they don't want to be poor, but any attempt to get rich might make them poor. Bullies push around the nerds because they are easy targets, and the nerds try to ignore or get back at the bullies because they make the nerds uncomfortable. It's a vicious cycle.

A bully I knew in high school died this week. He committed suicide, and it's making everybody uncomfortable, myself included. Because I'm a Christian now, and Christians are supposed to love our enemies, even the guys who pushed us around all through grade school. I didn't know what to do with myself when I found out, but I think I do now - pray for the family. Thinking back, I wonder if I'd treated him differently, if that might have helped him, if it might have changed his life to the point that at least he wouldn't think he was better off not sticking around. What if I'd not let my discomfort dictate my actions?

Rob Bell has a new book out. It's about this, sort of. I just finished reading it, and I recommend you go buy it and read too. But you'll have a choice when you finish: you can either push it aside or talk about how "wrong" it is (because it WILL make you uncomfortable), or you can choose to respond, to let it mess with your thinking and maybe change you a little. I think I'll have to read it again soon - I read it in two days - but for now, please go find a copy. It's called Jesus Wants to Save Chrisitans. It's about reality, and how sometimes we don't notice the things right in front of us that maybe we should.

Trust me, just give it a shot.

The Valley

I can't believe I'm actually publishing this, but I wrote it for the storytelling class I'm taking this week, and I have no idea if it's any good. In any event, I know it doesn't make any sense, at least, on the first read, but I'd love some feedback anyway.

* * *

Once upon a time, Everything ended.

This was a shock to Everything, as it had quite liked being. Ending was a new experience for Everything, and it wasn't sure that it liked it. But the good thing about endings is that they're also beginnings. Everything liked the sound of that, though where the thought had come from was a mystery. It had quite liked being before, but it had started to get old. Perhaps this is why it had ended in the first place.

It couldn't quite recall.

A cloudy sky, stretching off to the horizon, falling to meet the earth in the distance. The earth, in turn, rose somewhat grudgingly to meet it, half-heartedly butting upwards with a series of low hills. On a particularly phlegmatic hill stood a grim looking figure, surveying the devastation before him. His mottled hair shifted as he slowly turned his head, a few strands languishing in the light breeze. The armor he wore was scratched and dull, the sword clutched in his trembling hand stained a dark maroon. His face, however, wore a calm expression; stern, but calm. Bodies littered the plain below him, stray wisps of smoke drifting in the breeze as the few remaining fires slowly burned themselves into ashes.

Everything grew wary of its condition. What had happened? It knew only that something was missing, but couldn't place what that might be. It shifted its attention to the new beginning. Maybe by watching what was happening, it could perhaps determine what had been lost.

Silence. The corners of his mouth twitched, then drew into a grimace. He was not comfortable with silence, but then, he could not determine if it was the world that was silent or merely his own ears. The battle, after all, had been deafening, but then, silence. He struck his sword against his boot, the grimace drawing into a frown when a buckle popped. But it clinked, and he knew it was merely the silence of contrast. If he concentrated, he could hear, faintly, the stirrings of the breeze. He moved his foot forward. Then the other. Satisfied he could still move, he sheathed his sword and began walking down the hill.

Everything focused warily on this new development. Movement. It vaguely recalled that movement may have been involved in ending as well. That would make sense, it conceded, unless lack of movement was also involved. It pushed the question aside and concentrated, becoming aware of other movement it hadn't noticed before. Vapors, mostly, but none with the sort of intensity it was now observing. It watched more closely.

A light drizzle had begun to fall from the clouds onto the lifeless plain, settling into the dusty earth. Out of the clouds, a lone cardinal, its red feathers a brilliant contrast to the desolation around him, descended in the growing mist. His eyebrows furrowed. Where had the bird come from? It couldn't have come from anywhere close; so far as he knew, everything alive had died in the battle.

Except him, of course. The lone survivor.

Everything was shocked; a second movement had appeared seemingly from nowhere. Puzzled, it began to search. Perhaps it was not Everything, as it had once thought. There, beyond the clouds! A mix of emotions washed over Everything; surprise at first, then fear and then curiosity. Boundaries; Everything had boundaries, and on one lay a small crack. Perhaps whatever had caused the desolation had also cracked the boundary, letting in the other movement. But if there were boundaries, what lay beyond?

In a fit of sheer rage, he pulled the sword from its sheath and slammed it, blade first, into the softening earth. As the drizzle intensified to rain, water began to pool in the depressions, turning softened earth into mud and absorbing the bodies and carnage, the lifelessness becoming one with the desolation. The cardinal landed again on the hilt of the sword.

Everything turned its senses ... outward? Yes, outward. It hadn't realized that there was more beyond the desolation, but it felt a growing sense of urgency about it.

The cardinal looked at him sideways, cocking its head in a jerky, almost rhythmic fashion. What is this? He leaned farther forward, kneeling so that the bird was at eye level, and held out his hand. The bird looked at him steadily and, after a moment that stretched out into the awkward, dropped the package into his hand and with a satisfied chirp leapt into the air. It was a seed. It did not appear particularly out of the ordinary; black, thin, and remarkably small. He glanced up again as the cardinal returned, this time landing on the ground. He bent down as the bird poked its beak into the dirt and looked up. It chirped.

Everything? returned its attention to the two movements inside. The first seemed to have settled down, but the other kept moving around without rest, alighting here, then moving on. As Everything? pondered this, it felt a blinding jolt of light.

He pulled his hand back out of the dirt and dropped the seed down into the small depression he'd made. Standing up, he pushed the dirt back over the hole with his foot. A chirp overhead revealed the cardinal descending again to land on his sword, but there it did not remain. It chirped, louder this time, more urgent, and flew off. When he did not pursue, it circled, chirped again, and flew again toward the hills. Leaving his sword, he followed.

The earth began to rumble. He began to run.

Everything? could not avoid panic as the two movements raced faster and faster toward the hills. Everything? began to tremble as the light grew brighter.

Only when he regained the hills did the bird change direction, slowing down and circling to land on his shoulder. It chirped, gently this time, and he slowed to a stop on the crest of a hill. He turned to face the valley, his eyes widening. From a widening crevice in the ground, a tree was expanding to fill the valley. Roots snaked out of the soil and plunged back into new depressions, sucking up the pools of water before submerging into the earth. His jaw dropped as the cardinal began chirping excitedly. He arched his back to watch the tree as it grew without bounds, filling the sky.

The clouds parted. Sunlight streamed into the land. Color exploded as life burst in to fill the desolation.

Memory flooded back, the battle won. He awoke smiling. Content. Filled. Alive.