Title Track: Shall steal no more

This wasn’t something I wanted to write about. In fact, as I sit here, there’s still that urge inside of me to let it go. To just let it go. …

But I can’t.

See, everyone has those certain “taboo topics” of discussion that they avoid at all possible. For most people, it’s religion, politics or abortion. For me, it’s music piracy. People talk about it way too much; we’re beating a dead horse.

Last July, however, my very favorite band, Thrice, finished recording their most recent album, planning to release it in October. By late July the album was leaked over the Internet. This crisis caused Thrice to release an electronic version of their album on iTunes in early August with the hardcopy available in September.

This frustrates me for two reasons. One, you don’t mess with my Thrice. I don’t care who you think you are – you do not, under any circumstances, steal from Thrice. (Heh, excuse this outburst, please.)

Secondly, Thrice didn’t release their album in July for a reason – they weren’t done with it. By hacking and leaking, you are stopping the artist from perfecting his masterpiece. It’s as if you read my column before my editors had a chance. Piracy not only literally robs the artist of the money he deserves for his creation; it robs him of the respect his fans should give him.

With that being said:

How many of us have burned CDs, mixed tracks or whole albums?

How many of us have filled flash drives with mp3s to share with our friends?

And how many of us “borrow” music from the library by renting CDs and downloading them to iTunes?

My friend Jacque is so adamantly opposed to any level of music sharing that she won’t even listen to a mixed CD.

My friend Todd got locked out of Huntington University’s Internet server for having downloaded too many albums, movies, TV series and computer games.

I want so desperately to find a happy medium where not only my wallet is full, but my conscience is clear as well. So I turn to the apostle Paul.

He’s the guy who said that “everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial.” I like this verse because it lets me justify bad behavior. As long as it doesn’t “master” me, all’s well.

But Paul is also the guy who said that “he who steals shall steal no longer.” So should the question become whether or not file-sharing is considered stealing? Or, to what extent does it become stealing?

I find myself wrestling with this a lot – what are we to do about the grey areas in the Bible? If something isn’t banned in the Ten Commandments or warned against by Jesus, Peter or Paul, does that make it permissible? Is it OK to cuss? Is it OK to watch R-rated movies (after IWU graduation, of course)?

And at the same time, is such behavior acting out of rebellion or as a way to connect with our unsaved brothers and sisters?

I assume this column will end with more questions than it started with. Because part of me knows that if music burning is really stealing, than I am guilty. But as a fallen human being, I so desire to find a loophole in the system, to find a way to justify my sinful nature.

For those of you who stay away from torrents and CD burners, I commend you. Honestly, I wish I could think more of the musician’s loss of money rather than how much money I’m saving. In time, I hope, I’ll get to that place.

The post was originally printed in Indiana Wesleyan University's The Sojourn newspaper.

Title Track: Thanks, Postman

I find myself in a bit of a pickle.

See, it’s the middle of the semester: the time everyone just wants to give up and quit, letting grades slip and procrastination kick in. It’s almost spring break – one more day! – and I’m burned out.

So I watch TV. I want my brain to take a break from reading and writing to laugh at Jeff Winger on “Community” or get swept up in the drama of “Heroes.” I’d like to stare at the black box in front of me for an hour and detoxify from everything school-related.

But I can’t. I blame my major.

You know how professors warn you that “this class will kill your love for [insert your favorite major-related activity]”? I’ve heard it more than once. But as a communication major, my love for the media not only gets killed, but beaten relentlessly, kicked around and spit on. So much for detoxifying.

In my media and society class, we’re reading Neil Postman’s “Amusing Ourselves to Death,” which is about how this generation’s prominent form of communication (the media, specifically television) affects the way we think and the way we discover truth. Because television is the predominant medium of our culture, we have become conditioned to certain things. Like, we expect information to be given to us in quick sound bytes and we expect to be entertained.

This doesn’t really sound like a problem, until you really start to think about it. It’s fine to want TV to be fast-paced and entertaining, but if you expect everything to be fastpaced and entertaining, there’s a problem.

Postman argues that our attention spans have been shortened by TV (and, though he wrote the book prior to the Internet, I’m sure he’d agree it has played a part). We can’t stay focused if the content isn’t entertaining.

Take sermons for example. During the school year I go to a liturgical Presbyterian church. The service bounces from prayer to song to Scripture-reading to homily pretty fast – only 20 minutes maximum for each section – yet still I find myself getting fidgety. I’m not the only one, either. The lady in the pew in front of us always does the kids’ word search in the bulletin.

The longest I have to stay focused is only 20 minutes, and still I cannot handle it. TV, what have you done to me? Or think about class: How long do we listen to the professor before we start perusing the Internet? Not very long.

Even as I write this, I see the truth in this. Every time I get writer’s block, I check my Facebook. I can only handle homework for short periods of time before I look for entertainment.

This is why I’m in a pickle. I feel too guilty to watch TV, but know no other way to rest my brain from school work. I wish I had never read Postman and could back to ignorantly blaming my lack of attention on undiagnosed A.D.D.

I’m left to wonder what I should do. How can I rest my brain without damaging it more with television?

I could read – but even I, an avid reader, don’t want to look at tiny print after I’ve spent hours writing a paper. I could play Sudoku – but even that involves a certain amount of math.

Maybe the problem is our time frame for rest. Most of us take sporadic breaks throughout the day between homework assignments. We spend Saturday mornings doing homework then have fun Saturday night.

What if we tried it the Jewish way – what if we worked really hard six days a week and left a whole day for rest, for Sabbath? Instead of taking minor breaks, what if we took one big break.

We wouldn’t need to squeeze in a television show here and there, but could spend the day shopping in Indy or taking a road trip to see friends.

Whenever I think about Sabbath, I get really uneasy. I’d much rather take smaller breaks every day than have one whole day of rest. But when I think about what I’m taking my breaks with – mindless television shows that do more damage than good – the idea of Sabbath becomes more appealing.

Because even though I like watching shows like “Community” after several hours of homework, I don’t feel rested once the episode is over. Most of the time I want to watch another episode and forget about homework completely.

So what do you think, do we try setting aside whole days for rest? Or do we continue bouncing from activity to activity to keep ourselves amused?

The post was originally printed in Indiana Wesleyan University's The Sojourn newspaper.

Title Track: Poets

“Poets do not go mad, but chess players do.” – G.K. Chesterton

A few weeks ago my favorite author, J.D. Salinger, died at the age of 91. This was, ironically, at the pinnacle of my Salinger obsession. I had just bought two of his books I didn’t own; I read passages of them every night before bed. Up until his death, I slept with a copy of “Nine Stories” by my pillow. (I mean this literally – for some reason it was easier to keep it tucked by my side than to set it on the nightstand.)

I spend an unfortunate amount of time thinking about Salinger. Admitting this may disprove Chesterton’s quote in and of itself, whether you call me a poet or not. But it’s true. Even when I’m not reading one of Salinger’s books I think about him. I just wonder what he had been up to for so long.

Since The New Yorker printed his fifth and final novella about the Glass family back in the mid-1960s, Salinger hadn’t published anything or starred on any talk shows. I heard once, on the “Colbert Report,” that he recently sued someone for making a sequel to “Catcher in the Rye,” which was the first time he’d spoken to the press in 30 years.

30 years of silence – interesting. This is why I have been thinking so much about him. What could he have possibly been doing?

I had read once that one of Salinger’s characters, Buddy Glass, is the apparent author of all Salinger’s novels. In “Seymour – an Introduction,” in which Buddy is the narrator, he mentions that he’s written several stories about his family and that his brother Seymour, the poet of the family, wrote volumes of brilliant poetry that was not published because his widow has all rights to them.

This got me thinking. What if Salinger spent 30 years writing Seymour’s poetry? Maybe those 15 unpublished manuscripts they found in Salinger’s safe were really Seymour’s poems. I imagine Salinger staying up until 3 a.m. scrawling poems on parchment in the candlelight, his eyes heavy from sleeplessness and booze.

Maybe poets do go mad.

I went to a Derek Webb concert last weekend in Huntington. Webb is known for his powerful lyrics. As he sang song after song about his convictions, I started thinking about what I would write about if I were a lyricist.

I’d probably start by singing songs about love and God and peace and hope. But then I’d see myself getting burned out pretty easily by all the optimism, so I’d move on to angry rants about politics and war and sin and hatred. Then that’d depress me even more, so I’d take a break from music for a few years, join the Peace Corps, then revert back to my original topics: love and God and peace and hope.

I wouldn’t make a good lyricist.

I noticed, too, at the concert how desperately I try to communicate my emotions and convictions through words like Webb. I think this is an inherent need for humans.

Actually, I know it is.

My blog, the one I link you all to at the end of my column, is called Broken-Down Poetry. I stole the name from a quote by George MacDonald, a 19th century writer and lecturer.

He said, “Poetry is the highest form of the utterance of men’s thoughts. There would have been no prose if poetry had not gone first and taught people how to write. Prose is but brokendown poetry.”

That first part – “poetry is the highest form of the utterance of men’s thoughts” – resonates with me. This is that longing to express myself. Not only do I want to express myself, I want to do it well – poetically. But sometimes I can’t. Sometimes my words get jumbled and it comes out like gibberish.

Words fail me. Living has to be enough. I can’t always tell you what I think, but I can show you. I’m crying – I can’t tell you why, but I am.

Paul wrote, “We are God’s workmanship [his “poema,” poem] created in Christ Jesus to do good works.” My life is a poem.

I am, in a way, like the Salinger I dreamed up – writing in the darkness, spending years striving for the right words. Maybe I can’t express my convictions through song, but I can through the way I live my life.

I want the poetry of my life – my actions, my convictions, my attitude – to reflect who I am in Christ. Even if I can’t express it in words.

The post was originally printed in Indiana Wesleyan University's The Sojourn newspaper.

Title Track: sXe

I used to think I was hardcore. If you know me at all – and even if you don’t – you can probably find the irony in that statement. I am not even close to being hardcore. I don’t dress hardcore (note the cardigan in my mug shot), I don’t listen to hardcore music and I don’t act hardcore. I’m quiet and conservative – nothing about me is hardcore.

But in high school, I thought I was hardcore. It started freshman year. My friend Katie, who was legitimately hardcore, always went to shows to see her friend Cam play in a band called Chinese Express. As a sheltered 14 year old, this blew me away. I didn’t know teenagers formed garage bands anymore. It seemed so 1980s. I kept thinking about that episode of Doug when he starts a band with Skeeter. Who knew kids actually did that kind of stuff?

I decided that I was going to love this band too. I adored Katie and her hardcore clothing and scene hairstyle and musical knowledge, so I played copycat. Katie burned me Chinese Express’s CD and I pretended to enjoy all the screaming. (Though, I did listen to a lot of semi-hardcore music at the time – lots of Emery – I didn’t really care for all the screaming.)

I would talk about all the local bands as if I knew anything about them: “Oh, the lead singer of SaidHe is awesome, but their music is too raucous for my taste.” Or, “Japan with an E is the worst band ever. I’d rather gouge my eardrums out.”

My junior year of high school I dated a boy in a hardcore band. Luke was the guitarist for Hanacoda, a band that broke up because its members couldn’t decide if they wanted to play for God or for rock-and-roll.

The first hardcore show I attended was at this sketchy local in downtown Fort Wayne. My favorite hardcore poet, Bradley Hathaway, was reciting some of his work and I was dying to see him. My best friend Ashley and I went together. I told Ashley, who looked even less hardcore than me, that we can’t go to this show looking like we usually do. Ashley and I typically wore bright colored polo shirts and neon headbands in our hair. I told her that we needed to look cool and tuff.

So Ashley and I wore matching shirts. We looked infinitely less-cool than we would have in polos.

At the show, Bradley recited one of his most well-known poems called, “The Annoying Hardcore Dude Who Goes to Far,” about, well, an annoying hardcore dude who goes to far. In the poem, he rattles off all the things hardcore kids stand for – animal rights, manliness, not being emo – then exposes their contradictions.

The poem says, “Somebody told me hardcore was a place to share what you believe, but I didn’t like what dude said, so I flipped him off and told him to leave.

“I’m mad at society because my parents won’t buy me a new computer, even though I asked politely. My Playstation 2 is broken, but my Xbox works. When that breaks though, something will hit the fan and I’ll express myself with rage and anger, just like a man. ‘Cause that’s how it’s done, right? You get mad and start a fight, right?”

Bradley argues that these kids are quick to stand up for trendy issues, but not for things that matter – like combating materialism or hatred.

Some hardcore kids call themselves “straight edge” (sXe), which means they are hardcore kids that are socially softcore. This is the category my friends and I fell into. We didn’t drink, we didn’t do drugs and we didn’t have sex.

I think what Bradley was hinting at in his poem is that lots of sXe kids stand up for things, but not always the right things or the best things. There’s a lack of consistency.

And I don’t think this problem is unique to the so-called hardcore or sXe kids.

I think it’s interesting how quick we Christians are to rally against something like gay marriage because homosexuality is forbidden in the Bible, but get drunk on weekends, even when there are more verses forbidding drunkenness. We boycott abortion clinics but cheer on the executions of our enemies.

When I was in high school, I really wasn’t hardcore, I was just ascribing to a culture I thought was cool. I wanted to be trendy; I wanted people to admire me.

Christianity isn’t something we can put on like that. We don’t get to pick and choose who we’re going to love or what truths we want to stand behind. If we believe in a faith that transforms us, that makes us new creations, we have to become more consistent in what we stand for.

Title Track: The Unlikely Disciple

The end of last year, my sister Sam visited Indiana Wesleyan from Purdue. After she spent my last points at Wildcat and we settled down in the back corner of McConn, I began tutoring her in Photoshop. (Sam is not computer-savvy; comparatively, I am Steve Jobs in tech skills.)

We spent a few hours working, and by the time Sam left, full on Firehouse Grill chicken tenders, she told me how cute our school is – her words, not mine.

Sam, who is agnostic, told me she liked IWU and would attend there, if it weren’t for all the rules.
I laughed to myself because I knew my sister would have to adjust to more than just the rules. Sam has never been submerged into the Christian subculture.

She doesn’t understand our evangelical lingo: “I am saved!” “God spoke to me!” “Jesus lives inside of me!”

She doesn’t understand why we listen to worship music on our iPods, or why we sign a contract, promising not to drink, watch R-rated movies or dance.

She especially doesn’t understand why we go to school with kids who have the same beliefs as us, learning from professors who have the same beliefs as us, in order to have careers among people with different beliefs than us.

I try to explain it to her, but I haven’t been successful. (Especially since I don’t know the answers to all of those questions myself.) Some things must be experienced firsthand.

Over the summer I read “The Unlikely Disciple” by Kevin Roose, a memoir by a secular college student who decides to attend a semester at Liberty University, the largest Christian school in the country. Having never gone to an evangelical church – let alone had any born-again friends – Roose observed the culture of the Christian university as a complete outsider.

What I liked most about the book was Roose’s attitude toward Christianity. Though he never converted to the faith, Roose never stooped to mock the faith or put anything in a false light. Even though there were moments of frustration, Roose acted respectfully (even Christ-like) toward those with beliefs foreign to his.

And I think that as IWU students, we can learn from his experience. I know we don’t go to Liberty and that our rules aren’t as strict as theirs, but reading “The Unlikely Disciple” as if Roose had attended our school instead of LU forced me to put things into perspective:

1. Not all IWU students are Christians. It’s easy to assume that since you chose to go to a Christian university, that everyone else has and for the same reasons. Roose discovered that at LU, he wasn’t the only non-Christian. In my year-and-a-half at IWU I’ve met non-Christians who played the game well.

I’m not suggesting that we go around demanding people prove their faith in God in one way or another. (Spontaneous testimony sharing?) But I am suggesting we take interest in others’ faith with God and respect where they are: not condemning them for being less holier-than-thou or nagging them to conversion.

2. Not all IWU students are straight. What frustrated me about the Christians in Roose’s book is their homophobia. I know as Bible-believing Christians we can’t ignore that homosexuality is a sin. I get that. But can we please stop treating gay people like untouchables? Can we stop using “gay” as synonymous with “stupid”? (I know I talked a lot about this a few columns ago, but it still drives me crazy.)

3. Not all IWU students are Republicans. Granted, Liberty was founded by the late Jerry Falwell, father of the Moral Majority – IWU doesn’t boast of those beginnings. But still, I’ve engaged in several angry conversations with people who just assumed I was a fellow conservative. That is, they think that until they see the Obama Health Care bumper sticker on my desk. Then they shut up. (And start praying for my soul.)

Hint: you don’t have to be a Republican to be a Christian. Hint, hint: just because you hate everything about President Obama and his politics, don’t assume everybody agrees.

“The Unlikely Disciple” also reminded me of how lucky we are at IWU. We go to a university that holds fast to Christian doctrine, but doesn’t speak harshly of those with different beliefs. I can’t imagine President Smith inviting a famous atheist on campus to debate the origins of life. And, unlike Falwell, I know our president would never call people names on national television.

I can’t end this column without a shameless plug: please read this book. Learning about a conservative evangelical college in the point-of-view of a typical, non-religious student puts so much into perspective. At the very least, if you’re frustrated with IWU’s policies, at least recognize that our rules are hardly strict compared to schools like Liberty, Bob Jones and Cedarville.

But I hope that you’ll read this book in order to see that our attitudes need to always reflect Christ, even within the bubble. You never know who’s paying attention.

Title Track: Musical Pride

Be thankful that I was not A&E editor last year.

I say that for many reasons, I suppose. I think Jocelyn did an amazing job with the section, and I’m proud to be her successor. Not to mention that last year at this time I hardly knew what AP style was – the journalist’s version of MLA or APA – despite my year on staff at my high school newspaper.

But last year the A&E section, had I been the editor, would have been filled with a lack of variety and integrity. Because last year, folks, I was a music snob.

I would have said that with pride because the bands I’ve been listening to for years are the same ones loved by professional music enthusiasts. Bands like Franz Ferdinand, Kings of Leon and Manchester Orchestra became my most played on iTunes. I learned that rap music can be cool and ironic like Gnarls Barkley and Jaydiohead. And most importantly, I shunned all “Christian” music, except for Jars of Clay.

Back in May, my friend Adam and I would sit in this little locally-owned coffeehouse in Fort Wayne, sipping tea and talking about what real music is. We’d rattle off names of musicians no one else knows about (Great Lake Swimmers, M83, Eef Barzelay). And Adam would tell me about the time he played secular music through the church loudspeakers when he ran the soundboard, and I would say something snotty about the lack of musical variety my own church offers (Chris Tomlin or Matt Redman, take your pick).

Last summer I remember flipping through my friend Jacque’s CD collection during our road trip, seeing only Switchfoot and Sanctus Real, wondering how I was going to survive the next 300 miles.

So, I never knew that the sin of pride could infiltrate my music like this.

Because that’s really what this is: a pride issue. I think that because I listen to cool music and you don’t, I am somehow better than you or more tasteful or more cultured.

It works the other way around too. This is the same reason why I get so offended when my roommate Lindsey makes fun of my music. It’s not that you’re dissing what flows through my ear buds; you’re dissing me for choosing to press play.

My friend Abby loves Coldplay. Whenever we drive together, she switches what I am currently playing (the Decemberists, fun., Andrew Bird) to Coldplay’s song “Lost.”

I hate that song. I hate that album. I hate how much everyone loves Coldplay so much.

“Then why do you have them on your iPod?” Abby has asked me more than once. And honestly, the answer is kind of pitiful: I have songs by Coldplay to make my musical tastes seem cooler. Because, apparently, Coldplay is the epitome of “good music.” (Really?)

You know that phrase, “Keeping up with the Jones’?” Some people like getting fancy electronics to show off to their friends. Some people dress in only brand names. I fill my iPod with catchy music – whether I like the songs or not, apparently.

I shouldn’t find my identity in the type of music I listen to, but I do. I know I’m not going to be shunned for liking or hating a certain band. I’m still friends with Matt who listens to Creed, so he can still be my friend when I blast Miley Cyrus.

Even writing this column has been a struggle for me. You can’t imagine how hard it was admitting I listen to Miley Cyrus. I’ve tried to make up for it by placing other cooler musicians in parentheses throughout this column. (Like this: M. Ward, Animal Collective, Kings of Convenience.)

I want to know what you think. I know taste in music is subjective, but do you find yourself acting like me, letting your favorite music define you? Do you do it with other forms of media?

And if so, what should we do? Humble ourselves and listen to lame music, or suck it up and try to not let music define us?

Continue the conversation online at my blog: www.broken-downpoetry.blogspot.com.

Title Track: A Backstage Christian

Whenever I read a book, I always assume the writer and I would make good friends. F. Scott Fitzgerald and I would share a (nonalcoholic) cocktail, J.D. Salinger and I would probably ride a carousel together in a park – and Don Miller and I would, of course, get married.

But knowing my luck on things like this, I bet that most authors are jerks.

I’ve had the opportunity to meet a few published authors. My mom is a writer and she’s made friends with a lot of other writers in the romantic inspirational genre (yes, there is such a thing). I wouldn’t call her friends jerks, but they are definitely their own breed.

But author Jason Boyett is not a jerk or weird like my mom’s friends – at least not weird in a stop-eating-the-paste way. He’s a nice guy, and he definitely knows how to write.

Jason is the master of taking fact-loaded information, bringing it to our level, and explaining it with humor and irreverence. He even took four weighty issues like the Bible, the afterlife, the apocalypse and sainthood and made Pocket Guide books out of them. And you know what? I could tell you more about the patron saint of beekeeping than you’d ever want to know. (Thanks, Jason.) His blog, www.jasonboyett.blogspot.com, which helped inspire the theme of my blog, is hilarious and reading it is an integral part of my day.

I only say all that to build Jason’s credibility. Anyone could tell you that Jason’s a good writer, but not everyone knows that Jason’s a good guy too. And I don’t know about you, but I would really like to read a book by a guy I could drink a nonalcoholic beverage with.

But unfortunately, this isn’t always realistic.

A few months back I uncovered a bunch of dirt about a publication I loved, a company that boasted of a Christ-focus. It turns out calling yourself Christian doesn’t mean you maintain a level of integrity or view profit gain differently – it’s just a matter of appealing to a certain demographic. I am still a little bitter.

I’m not saying that you should only read books by Christian authors or listen to music by Christian bands. Because honestly, I have a healthy mix of Christian and secular entertainment. Rather, I’m trying to argue that bands who claim a faith shouldn’t act like jerks behind stage.

Maybe that’s too much to ask.

I recently had a phone conversation with a guy who used to work for a Christian magazine and a Christian record label. He told me how he met a lot of recognizable Christian figures who were doing pretty slimy things.

He met vain musicians and money-hungry businessmen. He refused to give me any names – but ooh James Dobson, I’m suspicious of you! Though he did assure me that Toby Mac is not the (insert derogatory noun here) that you’d think he’d be.

I’m not saying we should boycott all books, magazines, CDs and movies by superficial Christians – I’m not saying that at all. I just know that I don’t want to have the same fate as these guys. I want my actions to line up with my professed devotion.

We talk a lot about becoming world changers here at Indiana Wesleyan, but I wonder if there’s more to world changing than just building a Christian company or calling yourself a Christian doctor or a Christian writer or a Christian football coach.

I wonder if world changing has more to do with being a pleasant person to work with, to have patience with coworkers, to live as though you recognized God’s blessings.

Title Track: Confession

Over the summer, I bought Derek Webb’s new album, “Stockholm Syndrome,” with its controversial song, “What Matters More,” which gave the CD an explicit label for the use of two swear words. The song stirred and convicted me, but not because of his cusswords – I’ve heard worse – but because of Webb’s criticism of the Christian culture and our reaction to homosexuality.

I blogged about the song back in August; I had never received so much feedback on a post. Most of the responses were positive (though some were negative), but either way I was glad that a dialogue was forming.

This is an issue we Christians have a hard time discussing with grace, except in our own churches with our own doctrine-abiding, non-gay brothers and sisters. And grace is the key here: we may talk about how liberal our culture is getting or about gay marriage or Ellen DeGeneres’s sexual orientation with an attitude of disdain, but can we learn to speak the truth in love?

The first two lines of “What Matters More” read: “You say you always treat people like you’d like to be / I guess you love being hated for your sexuality.” Webb sings this to Christians, those who condemn homosexuals to hell. (Not just those who hold picket signs at a gay pride festival, but those of us who turn our noses up to our gay brothers and sisters.)

According to the Barna Institute, Christians are known for being anti-homosexual more than loving or being gracious givers. We are not known for our love, but for our lack of it. They will know we are Christians by our love?

In “What Matters More,” Webb says that if Christians speak only what’s in their hearts, then it’s clear that being straight is top priority. Who cares about the poverty pandemic or genocide, about martyrdom in China or war in the Middle East, as long as boys like girls and girls like boys?

The big question of the song (“what matters more to you?”) comes from a quote by Pastor Tony Campolo that says, “I have three things I’d like to say today: First, while you were sleeping last night, 30,000 kids died of starvation or diseases related to malnutrition. Second, most of you don't give a sh--. What’s worse is that you’re more upset with the fact that I said sh-- than the fact that 30,000 kids died last night.”

Not only are we forgetting to speak to our brothers and sisters with love, we are making the LGBT community our enemy. And we are making a huge deal out of it.

I worry that some of us have the same attitude as a fictitious opinion writer from “The Onion”: “I know that if it were part of God’s plan for me to stop viciously condemning others based solely on their sexual preference, He would have seen fit … to have given me the tiniest bit of human empathy necessary to do so.”
It’s farcical, and I’m sure none of us really think that way, but it sure looks like do. And I’m included in the guilty party. I admit that I laugh at the jokes, and say something’s “gay,” or feel awkward or dirty talking about homosexuality. But this doesn’t make it okay.
God says that the second greatest commandment is to love our neighbors, even our neighbors who sin and have different lifestyles than us. Not begrudgingly love them, but with sincerity.

The greatest command is to love God, and I think that implies taking him seriously and taking his commands seriously too.

Globefest chapel speaker Dan Merchant, in his book “Lord, Save Us from Your Followers,” talks about the reverse confession booth he made at Pride NW, a Gay Pride festival. His goal was not to receive confessions from the men and women at the festival, but to confess his own sins and the sins of the Church toward homosexuals.

Merchant begins his confession: first for the Church’s mistreatment of homosexuals, then for ignoring the AIDS epidemic and finally for his own disrespect.

I want to end with a passage from his book, something that has challenged me, and I hope challenges you.

“I feel like we can go on all day about the whole ‘gay issue,’ but what I’m talking about is a people issue, a ‘we’re all God’s children issue,’ and since I’m a believer, a ‘what would Jesus do’ issue,” said Merchant. “This is about obedience and humility – and I’m not talking about the gay people, I’m taking about Christians.”



The post was originally printed in Indiana Wesleyan University's The Sojourn newspaper.

Title Track: Antihero

Last summer I created one of those obnoxious “How Well Do You Know Lauren Deidra Sawyer?” Facebook quizzes – the kind that notifies you every single time someone takes it. “Samantha answered 60 percent correctly.” And my response: “Wow, my own sister should know me better that that.”

But I put a lot of thought into this quiz because I wanted to stump my test-takers. I mimicked that one college professor who makes impossibly hard quizzes that stresses out his students to the point of crying. Or dropping the class.

I threw in a few easy questions like, “What color is my hair?” (orange), and “Where do I want to live when I grow up?” (Portland). But the majority of the questions were tough like, “What’s my favorite McConn beverage?” (Cuban latte with a shot of hazelnut), and the question that led me to write this column: “Who is my favorite character on the show ‘How I Met Your Mother’?” (Barney).

Barney Stinson is legen – wait for it – dary.

Barney, played by Neil Patrick Harris (from the just-as-legendary “Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog”), is the comedic drive of the show. He has the best lines. He is the best dressed.

But he is also the very antithesis of everything I believe in as a woman.

Barney treats women like meat. He prides himself of having sex 200 times with 200 different women and celebrates “Not a Father Day” with his other proud-to-be-promiscuous buddies.

But … I love him.

Despite our opposite values – even if he is a fictitious character – I watch “How I Met Your Mother” for Barney.

But why? I want to believe that there’s a bigger answer than “he makes me laugh.” Because though Barney is a hilarious character, this doesn’t explain my gravitation toward the “bad guys” in movies and TV shows. Barney isn’t my only “bad guy” favorite; he’s one on a list of many.

So let’s think this through:

1. We love the “bad guys” because of their dramatic and mysterious nature. You’ve heard that people “fear the unknown,” but sometimes I think we like the unknown – a lot. It keeps us stirred and on our toes. Why do high school students love drama so much? It’s because nothing exciting is actually going on in their lives. When it comes to characters on TV or in the movies, we tend to like to those who aren’t like the everyday people we know.

2. We love the “bad guys” because Hollywood casts hot actors to play them – to be blunt. My favorite character on NBC’s “Heroes” is Sylar, played by the oh-so-good-looking Zachary Quinto. Minus those caterpillar eyebrows, I know that part of my fascination with this villain is because of his looks. This is shallow, I know. But honestly, I think most of us would agree.

3. We love the “bad guys” because we believe in redemption. I found this true after watching “Blood Diamond” for Globe Fest last year. Leonardo DiCaprio’s character, Danny Archer, was throughout the entire movie nothing less than a jerk. He used people; he lied to get his way. But in the end, when he’s dying on that mountain (spoiler alert!), I can’t help but bawl. Finally he learned that people have value. There’s nothing more satisfying than a bad guy turning good.

I’m not trying to over-spiritualize this, but I did promise in my first column to seek the truth in the media. In this case, I would say as humans it’s not that hard to sympathize with the “bad guys.” Sometimes, we act just like them. Maybe we mistreat the opposite sex like Barney Stinson, or stir drama like Regina George.

I also think that for most of us, we desire to see the Hollywood thieves, whores, murderers and drug dealers redeemed, for the same reason we want to see our non-Christian neighbors redeemed. I hope this doesn’t seem like too hyperbolic, because I don’t think it is. I believe it is engrained in us as Christians to want to see lives transformed. Even in fictional characters. Even in Hollywood.

The post was originally printed in Indiana Wesleyan University's The Sojourn newspaper.

Title Track: Celebrity Treatment

I hate celebrity news. I hate it with a passion. I flip the channel when Entertainment Tonight comes on. I changed my Internet homepage when CNN covered Michael Jackson’s death too long.

But I love celebrities – Christian celebrities.

I’m not referring to those B- and D-list actors like Stephen Baldwin, or American Idols who came out of the Christian closet after they won. (Four words: Jesus Take the Wheel.) No, I’m in love with Christian writers, particularly Donald Miller.

Or maybe only Donald Miller.

Don Miller is the author of the New York Times Best Seller, “Blue Like Jazz.” He’s written four other books, “Through Painted Deserts,” “Searching for God Knows What,” “To Own a Dragon” and, his most recent, “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.”

I used to joke around with my Bible study leader, Ruthanne, who is Don’s age, saying that she should marry him. She said she won’t because he’s too liberal and he lives too far away.

I stopped teasing her about this because I am the one who’s going to marry Don.

I talked to my friend Jacque about this a few weeks ago, and she made me calculate how many years older Don is than me. Nineteen. I told her that he was in my 20-year limit. She told me that was gross.

Prior to this moment – the moment I realized I wanted to marry Don Miller – I thought I had a healthy fascination with this man and his writing. I read his books (only less than five times each), I read his blog, I’m his fan on Facebook, I follow him on Twitter, I want to move to his hometown. …

But one day I tweeted about his new book I preordered, how Amazon says that it won’t release for three more weeks. And Don Miller direct messaged me.

Don Miller direct messaged me.

For those who don’t use Twitter, that’s as good as an email. Don Miller thought about me for a whole five seconds of his busy life. He might as well have proposed.

Going to bed that night, with an ungodly amount of excitement, I realized that I might have a problem.

My celebrity crush phase did not end in middle school with David Duchovny (I was a big “X-Files” fan). I am in college and I am crushing over someone that is completely unattainable.

I do not know what to make of this. I want to reprimand myself for spending so much energy concerned with someone I may never meet. What’s the point of buying his book before it comes out? Does he know I did that? And who cares how I display the book or how I smell the pages and hug it like a friend?

Who am I trying to impress?

I think about when I make new friends and how anxious I am for them to like me. I choose my words carefully, I butter them up, I do favors I might otherwise do begrudgingly. When my friend Austin and I first became friends, I always offered to meet at a coffee shop closer to his house, and I would pay for my own drink.

Now Austin knows me as the biggest moocher ever. When we eat at Buffalo Wild Wings, my favorite restaurant, two-thirds of the time he or our friend Matt pays my bill.

I pride myself, not for the generosity I once brought to our friendship, but for my ability to persuade my guy friend to serve me.

What if I always treated people like celebrities? I don’t mean that I want to fawn over them like I do Don Miller, but to honor them and put them above myself.

In Romans 12:10, Paul says that we should “be willing to associate with people of a low position.” The Message paraphrase says to “practice playing second fiddle.”

Don Miller, in an interview with RELEVANT magazine, said that as a writer, he never wants to write a book that he isn’t proud of, to write something that is second-rate in his mind. But as a Christian, he says, he hopes he has the humility to do so.

I get excited – and dare I say, obsessive – when it comes to certain celebrities, or to people I feel the need to impress. But I want to be someone who honors others just because I can, just because I love them.

I want to learn to set my own desires and interests aside to serve my brothers and sisters. I want to start treating them and treating my neighbors and my enemies like celebrities.

The post was originally printed in Indiana Wesleyan University's The Sojourn newspaper.

Title Track: Everything is Spiritual

I never cry at songs. Sure, I sometimes cry during worship music, but I don’t think it is the lyrics or the melody that makes me cry. Jesus makes me cry – as a means of humbling me (not sadistically).

But while I first listened to Thrice’s song, “Beggars,” off of their album of the same name, my tear ducts began to fill and was just a stanza away from weeping.

This song – about how we have no claims in the world (not our name, not our possessions, not our job titles or careers) but must rely on the grace of God to give us purpose – knits the rest of Thrice’s album together. Grace. The world may be mad, as another song on the record screams, but there’s grace.

This got me thinking.

The title track of a CD is, by definition, the song that shares the same name as the album itself. Though I like to believe, and maybe you’ll agree with me, there’s more to it than that.

Some of my favorite albums of this year have title tracks like, “The Hazards of Love,” “Mean Everything to Nothing” and, as mentioned earlier, “Beggars." To say that the band decided to name the album off of the song, or vise versa, just for its name’s sake seems thoughtless. It’s a little lazy.

There must be more to it than that.

There’s a connectivity involved here. The band is saying, look (or listen, rather), there’s something I want you to get out of this album. I want you to catch a theme.

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It took all summer to decide what I wanted this column to stand for. Because on the one hand, I want to entertain you, and even more, if I were to be honest with myself, I hope this column will convince you I’m cool, or at least entertainment savvy.

But on the other hand, I want to grow. I want to become a better writer and a better Christian and a better media-consumer through writing this. So after some prayer, and God’s humbling, I decided upon a theme for my column, a “title track,” if you will: everything is spiritual. I admit I stole the name from Rob Bell, but I really like the concept.

This is the belief that everything – what we do, what we say, what we watch, what we read, what we hear and what we think – has spiritual implications.

Spirituality is God’s title track. It’s his common denominator. He says that we must do everything to the glory of God and that every good and perfect gift is from him and that he is the creator of everything.

I invite you all to journey with me the rest of this school year as I grapple with the media and its messages – the good and the bad. I ask you to challenge my theories, and to give feedback. Yes, this is a learning process for me, but I want it to be the same for you.

This is a column about the media – about movies and about music and books and art – but more than that, it’s about how God is speaking to his people through the media. It’s about how even secular entertainment can teach us about our fallenness. I want you and me to learn how to look at the media with a knowledge of the Truth, discerning what media is “safe” to consume, and what to stay away from.

Maybe this is a lot to ask of a weekly column, maybe it isn’t. One thing I promise you, my dear audience, is that I will do my best to implement the 1 Corinthians 10 command to do everything to the glory of God, and to hold to the standard that everything – even the entertainment industry – has spiritual undertones.

The post was originally printed in Indiana Wesleyan University's The Sojourn newspaper.