Good morning

But friends, your dead will live,
your corpses will get to their feet.
All you dead and buried,
wake up! Sing!
Your dew is morning dew
catching the first rays of sun,
The earth bursting with life,
giving birth to the dead.

Come, my people, go home
and shut yourselves in.
Go into seclusion for a while
until the punishing wrath is past,
Because God is sure to come from his place
to punish the wrong of the people on earth.
Earth itself will point out the bloodstains;
it will show where the murdered have been hidden away.
-Isaiah 26.19-21

--

Oh yes.

--

Good morning. My favorite texts in the world are "good morning" texts from Nathan. They're texts that remind me that whatever happened yesterday--whatever stress, whatever fight or struggle--is gone. Good morning. It's a new day. It's fresh. Let's wake up and sing.

I've called grace many things before. I've called it a hug. I've called it plants that grow in the wintertime. But today, today I'm going to call grace morning.

--

In Iraq, the sun rose at 4:30 a.m. The Iraqi sun is bright; it's hot; it's disturbing; it wakes you up.

I think that's grace. Okay, so I say grace is the morning and that evokes some brand of fuzzies. Aw, it's like that 1990s worship song: "Though the sorrow may last through the night, his joy comes in the morning. I'm tradin' my sorrows...." But really, it's more than that. It's hard. It's bright and blinding.

I say grace makes you do something, take action. In the very least, it makes you get out of bed. Morning is here; you can't stay in bed all day.

For me, morning is planning time. If I am not running late (as I usually am), I think about where I need to go that day, what I need to accomplish, how I am going to do it all. Morning requires something of me.

Grace, of course, is the same way. Grace says that whatever happened the night before, is over. It's done, taken care of. Any wrong I've committed against God is forgiven, and I am washed clean. But, I'm still responsible. I'm responsible for the upcoming day.

--

Isaiah is all about the coming of the Messiah. The prophet warns Israel and its neighbors of God's wrath, but he tells also of a redeemer called Immanuel, God with us.

Remembering that, I'm trying to make sense of the second stanza above, the one after the exclamation about morning! and singing! and sunshine! The one that says to lock yourselves in your house to escape God's punishment.

In context, the joyful stanza comes after Isaiah's description of his people's current condition: "Oh God, they begged you for help when they were in trouble, when your discipline was so heavy they could barely whisper a prayer."

I wonder if that final stanza is a "sobering up." Yes, God is good. God will give you a new morning, a new life, some fresh dew on the ground. But remember what you're doing right now. Remember your current situation, the sins you're immersed in, your addictions.


I think of this stanza as a mourning (yes, a nice play on words for us to enjoy). It's like: go inside your houses and shut your doors and take a while to think about what you did. Give yourself a time out. Keep yourselves from sinning. Watch out. Be careful.

--

I write this post at night, anticipating the morning, anticipating grace.

All you dead and buried, wake up! Sing!







-Ezekiel

Grace grows in winter

Grace doesn't grow in the springtime. Grace grows in the winter, when everything's dead, when life is the brown sludge beneath your rubber boots.

It comes as a surprise.

We talk about life as having seasons. In the spring, life is born. In summer, it's sustained. In fall, it starts dying and by winter, it's dead.

But what if that's not how it works at all? Maybe life is always about dying. Maybe it's about repeatedly dying to our worldviews, our theories, our ways of doing things, our attitudes, our agendas, our impatience, our sins.

I think the seasons of life take place between October and December. In October, we start dying, but not to the right stuff. We die to the good we've always known. In October, we sin.

Then by November, we've killed God. We have sinned enough to shut him out, to no longer care. We've let sin creep in, settle on our sofas and stay awhile.

In November we think we're screwed.

So we started messing around in October, now we're deep into this new way of living. It's easy to be short-tempered; it's easy to walk past you. We've become different people. We used to be, by the grace of God, patient people. Now look who we are.

Hope: it's gone. The trees stay green forever.

But in December, Grace grows unexpectedly. Up from the ground, under your feet, through the snow, through the dirt, through the frozen ground, Grace grows.

Thank God.

You don't need Grace in the summer when all is well. You need Grace when things couldn't possibly get any worse.

--

I wrote Late October first, while reflecting on sin -- my own sin -- and how it seemed unconquerable. A week or so after, I wrote Late November and Late December while plotting a way out of sin. I want a way out. I'm close.

It's been fall for a long time; now it's winter, and I've seen sprouts of Grace.

In the past week or so I've posted two of the three poems in this series. Here's the complete collection including Late December, my poem on Grace.

--

Late October

Late October

and the Norway maple hasn’t turned

red or orange or whatever color

Norway maples turn.

Today

and tomorrow:

an endless cycle of green

and green and green

and green and green.

Through the window

the masochists

slit their wrists,

crying but with bliss.

Late November

Late November

and God is dead

like the maple trees and the leaves

falling out of them.

I did it

with a handful of the

foliage of God, yanking leaves

one by one by one by one

—just so I know he’s gone:

he’s dead.

God haunts still,

like apparitions, and

he howls through crooked

branches, waving:

Hi, I miss you.

Do you miss me?

Late December

Late December

and grace grows

like heaths. It is the

dead of winter,

yet grace grows in the dead

leaves crushed to the ground

and stomped upon,

with booted feet,

crushed into snow

and slush: grey, black,

brown.

Hi, I'm a narcissist

I am a narcissist.

After my Media and Society paper about narcissism on Facebook, I realized that I have all the tell-tale signs of a narcissist. I talk about myself. I am frustrated when people don't honor me the way I think they should. And in the midst of my self-loving is self-loathing - I want to be more than I already am.

It's a big mess.
It's also something I've been praying against since the spring.

My goal for this internship was to rid myself of narcissism. I wanted, and still want, a character arc. I want my character - me, Lauren Deidra Sawyer - to change during this internship, and for the better.

I wanted to magically become more others-focused and compassionate.
I wanted to overcome my insecurities and view myself soberly.

It's about four weeks into my internship, and I think it's finally happening, just not in the way I had imagined. I thought that I'd start stripping myself of narcissism when I met a bunch of sick kids or toughed the 115 degree heat. But honestly, I'm being challenged the same way I am in the States.

Note that I'm glad I'm going through this. I don't want my dear PLC family to think that they're doing anything wrong. Everything that's going on is for the best - I believe it. I won't be able to shake this narcissism without fire.

Observations:
- I am most comfortable in a leadership position ... so I find myself in a country where women aren't meant to lead. I'm forced to be okay with that.
- I'm not the best. Esther's the journalist. Lydia's the artsy one. Claire's the funny one. Sophie's Wonder Woman. I'm just me. A me that isn't "winning" at the moment.
- The task I chose for the summer does not bring me instant gratification. I am one of the few interns that took a long-term project. I am making headway on my assignment - PLC's year-end review, kind of like a magazine - but it's not as though what I'm writing is posted on the blog. It's hard. That's the one thing I love about working at a newspaper - I can see results by the end of the week.
- To somehow make this vague and mysterious: it's hard talking (I mean "talking") to a boy when you're a narcissist. It's easy for me to talk about myself all the time, but that's not how you attract the opposite sex.


Oh God, break me down.



I read this prayer in Elise and Sarah's copy of "The Pursuit of God" by A.W. Tozer:

Oh God, I have tasted Thy goodness and it has both satisfied me and made me thirsty for more. I am painfully conscious of my need of further Grace. I am ashamed of my lack of desire. O God, the Triune God, I want to want Thee; I long to be filled with longing; I thirst to be made more thirsty still.


Show me Thy glory, I pray Thee that so I may know Thee indeed. Begin in mercy a new work of love within me. Say to my soul, "Rise up, my Love, my fair one, and come away." Then give me Grace to rise and follow Thee up from this misty lowland where I have wandered so long.








Ezekiel

Eugene Peterson's Message, Isaiah 30:18f

"But God's not finished.
He's waiting around to be gracious to you.
He's gathering strength to show mercy to you.
God takes the time to do everything right—everything.
Those who wait around for him are the lucky ones.

"Oh yes, people of Zion, citizens of Jerusalem, your time of tears is over.
Cry for help and you'll find it's grace and more grace.
The moment he hears, he'll answer."

Repentance, forgiveness, etc.

Last Sunday at my church, Westminster Presbyterian, Pastor Justin preached about the Prodigal Son, one of my favorite parables of Jesus. (Cliché.) But Justin taught it in a new way, a way that made me really, really angry at first. (Foreshadowing.)

What if the prodigal son was not repentant?
--

This blog is dedicated to Nick, who buys me Starbucks before church every Sunday.

--

Last Tuesday Haley and I upset Prof. Perry (our favorite IWU professor, no matter how long it takes him to grade our exams). We were on Facebook during class, which he hates more than anything, and our conversations popped up on his news feed. 

Yes, that was a huge FAIL on our behalf. If we're going to break rules, we need to be better at breaking them. 

Anyway, I felt horrible about it - the good kind of horrible. The kind that brings me to repentance (II Cor. 7:10). Because though I've been on Facebook during this class before and Prof. Perry has known, I have never repented. I haven't really been sorry.

Side note: I've noticed that these last two posts seem very guilt-driven, and they're not really. I felt guilty about how I treated my former crush only because I hadn't done anything about it (that is, repent). I will feel guilty about disrespecting my favorite professor as long as I continue to peruse Facebook during his lectures.

So I won't anymore. Hear me, Prof. Perry, I will not be on Facebook during your class anymore. It's done. My laptop will stay in my dorm room, no matter how inconvenient it is. 

--

I hate disappointing people. If anything is going to bring me to repentance, it's that watery look in your eyes.

--

So what if the prodigal son was not sorry? What if he only came back to his father because he knew he had no other option? It's as if I'm not going on Facebook in Perry's class because he banned laptops. But I can still bring my laptop to his class. I can still be on Facebook and post rude comments about his class on his wall. (Argg.)

But I'm not. (This is beginning to sound self-righteous; I'm aware of that.)

Pastor Justin used Luke 15:17-19 to back up this theory:

"When he came to his senses, he said, 'How many of my father's hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men.'"

Jesus says that the prodigal son "came to his senses," but that's not the same as saying the son knew he was in the wrong. Yeah, duh eating from a feeding trough wasn't "sensible." You don't have to think you're in the wrong to know that. The text doesn't come out and say that the son was sorry, just that he knew he didn't want to be poor and hungry and dirty anymore.

Pastor Justin said that the phrase "I have sinned against heaven and against you" was meant to remind the Pharisees of the last time that phrase was used, with Pharaoh during the exodus (Ex. 10:16). I agree that this is probably true because Jesus has done this before ("My God, my God, why have you forsaken me," Ps. 22). And honestly, Jesus likes shocking the Pharisees. He does it a lot.

But what's interesting is that Pharaoh told Aaron and Moses that he had sinned against God and them, but he still wasn't repentant. He was just trying to get out of trouble. He didn't want another plague, but he wasn't about to let the Israelites free.

And finally, if the son was really repentant, do you think he'd really care to be a hired hand? He still wanted paid, probably to go out and go crazy all over again. Get more gambling money. Replenish the supply, so to speak. If he was sorry - truly sorry - wouldn't he be okay with being an unpaid slave?

Of course we don't know any of this for sure. And it's a little frustrating to believe that this could possibly be true if you've heard it one way your whole life. But if it is true, what does that say about Grace?

It says that God forgives us - he runs to us, embraces us, pardons us - before we ask for forgiveness. Before we even feel the need to be forgiven.

--

What's scary about asking for forgiveness is that no one has to forgive you. Not everyone is as gracious as the prodigal's father. No one is God.

I hate disappointing people because they aren't obligated to forgive freely. Prof. Perry could hold a grudge against me. I could've affected our relationship by my disobedience.

So ... I guess that's where we come in. That's where Christians come in. Freely we have received, freely we give.

It's up to us to forgive freely,
to hold no grudges,
to love unconditionally.



It's hard. I know.


ezek.

There will be snacks

College makes me cynical.

I used to be so optimistic and hopeful and daydreamy, but ever since I started mingling with so many like-minded people with their stupid morals and stupid agendas* ... ugh ... I've grown exhausted. Optimism used to come so naturally. Now I have to work at it.

* When I'm cynical, I stereotype.

But I think this might be changing - slowly.

A few posts ago I described Grace as a hug. I can't get over that. It's not a perfect analogy by any means, but I can't stop thinking about it.

Grace hugged me a lot last week.

The weather is beautiful. The sky might still be grey and dull, but it's warm. *Hugs*

Two of my favorite Salinger books came in the mail. *Hugs*

I bought the Avett Brothers' album "I and Love and You," which is beautiful. *Hugs*

Believing that we don't live according to a merit system is wonderful. When I do something wrong, God doesn't punish me. God doesn't just bless me when I do something right. Everything in life is a gift.

I don't have to earn anything.
How freeing.

--
These Grace hugs are making me more generous. I find myself wanting to give my money away. I tell people I'm praying for them - and I actually do pray. (I don't usually tell people I'll pray for them because I know I'll forget.)

I know this isn't coming from me. It has to be God. I'm just not a very nice person.

You know how in elementary school we had to list three adjectives to describe ourselves, and "nice" is always the default description? Lauren is QUIET, CREATIVE and NICE. False. I'm not nice. (Side note: what if we were honest about those three adjectives? Lauren is SELFISH, INSECURE and AWKWARD. Thank God for Grace.)
--

I think of the Kingdom of Heaven, of Zion, of the New Jerusalem. The Bible talks about a redeemed world established by Jesus, but not complete until he returns again.

The Kingdom of Heaven is like a tiny mustard seed.
The Kingdom of Heaven is like the yeast a woman kneads into dough.

I think of Christianity as a grassroots movement. I think of the early church meeting in attics and sharing money and food. I think of everyone having enough.

In the midst of my cynicism, I'm realizing how desperately I yearn for Zion. I want to be part of that underground movement, not like the Christians on their megaphones who turn our faith into a Political Party, a Crusade or a Religion.

I want to be part of the Kingdom. I don't want to pretend that going to church or talking Christianese means more than it does. I want to serve like Jesus served. I want to be the last in order to be first. I want to live open-handedly and give to the poor. I want to lose my life to save it.

Andrew Bird sings about a post-Apocalyptic world. His description is so elementary, but I think it's what I want the Kingdom of heaven to be about:

I know we're going to meet some day

In the crumbled financial institutions of this land

There will be tables and chairs

There'll be pony rides and dancing bears

There'll even be a band

'Cause listen, after the fall there will be no more countries

No currencies at all, we're gonna live on our wits

We're gonna throw away survival kits,

Trade butterfly-knives for adderall

And that's not all

Ooh-ooh, there will be snacks there will

There will be snacks, there will be snacks.

--
As Christians we talk so much about the Kingdom to be established, but what about the one on earth? What about the one we have a hand in creating?

Maybe this is why I have been so cynical. I don't think we're establishing the Kingdom, just adding to the noise of the culture.

I want to be Kingdom-minded.
I want to focus on things that matter.
I want to delight in the Hugs God gives me. (Oh, I'm aware how cheesy that sounds.)

Living for God looks less like a formula, and more like a story.
But like all stories, there's conflict.

Establishing the Kingdom of God means overcoming fears. It means getting over our human desire for comfort, and believing that there are thing worth living and dying for. It means taking risks. It means acting irrationally by the world's standards, for God and for Love.

And not everything will go as planned.

But it's okay.
Because there will be snacks.

Everything in life is a gift, a snack table at the funeral of our life-as-we-know-it.

Cling to Grace.

"To him who is able to keep you from falling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy - to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen." Jude 24f


with love and squalor,
Ezek.

A cynic's take on Summit Week

Life has been going well. My work load has lessened; my classes still interest me. Ironically enough, I feel it's as good of time as any to write about cynicism. Maybe I won't have to label this blog with "rant" or "disillusioned," but maybe that's wishful thinking.

This week was Spiritual Emphasis Week, or "Summit," where IWU invites outside pastors to speak and worship is (usually) obnoxiously loud and fun. Of the three Summits I've been to, not including this semester's, two have turned my beliefs upside down.

And I expected God to do it again. I figured, hey, since I'm trying to figure out what to do about this PLC internship, I bet I'll find out during Summit. God speaks so clearly then; of course I'll magically know what to do.

Maybe just because I thought that God would make this easy for me he decided not to. I didn't really learn anything during Summit this semester.

Okay, that was an exaggeration. I learned some stuff. I learned how our society is rotting and it's our divorced parents' fault. (Ha, that's another exaggeration.)

Let me back up.

I finished re-reading "The Unlikely Disciple" by Kevin Roose, a memoir about his semester at Liberty University. But here's the kicker: he's not a right-wing evangelical Christian. I know there are a few non-Christians at IWU and even more democrats, but that's not a line you tread at Liberty U. This is Jerry Falwell's school. The guy is the Pat Robertson of the 80s and 90s (really up until his death in 2007). I'm just trying to make connections here. Most of you know who Falwell is anyway. Hint: he blamed gay people and the ACLU for 9/11.

The first time I read this book, over July 4th, I became almost disgusted by how similar IWU is to LU. I mean, I don't think our biology professors teach strictly young-age creationism and I know bringing Sean Hannity onto IWU's campus would not bring as much mirth to the Wildcats. But IWU is pretty conservative. And a tad fundamental. And we can get so caught up in trivial things.

(In one chapter, Kevin has to go to an accountability group to help with his masturbation. The guys in the group talk about the week's "falls" and give each other advice about how to stop touching themselves. Kevin realizes how backwards this is: Liberty is so focused on combating a "victimless crime" like masturbation and homosexuality instead of caring for the poor and marginalized. Are we the same way?)

But even more than our concern on seemingly trivial issues - because there is a time and place for that - we're good at provoking graceless guilt.

Back to Summit Week. This semester's theme was "You Asked for It." Students got to post questions on a blog about sex and dating, and our chapel speakers answered them on stage.

In theory, this is a cool idea. How often do you hear a pastor say, "masturbation!" or "orgasm!" in chapel? But really, it got pretty ridiculous. Not that these pastors said much I disagreed with - though a few things were a bit too conservative to my liking - but sometimes it gets really old being told and retold not to have sex before marriage and to not look at porn.

But what was so frustrating is how guilty it made me feel. I am a pure as any star IWU student, but I still felt guilty. Maybe I should feel guilty about going to a boy's apartment alone. Maybe I should feel guilty about thinking Tom-Cruise-Hair (this kid on campus who has really, really, REALLY nice hair) is cute. Maybe I'm lusting.

Or the one that really started getting to me: maybe I should be mad at my parents for divorcing.

Uh, no. This is where I put my foot down.

I don't think this was the Summit speakers' intent, but on the Wednesday morning message about how divorce became socially acceptable in the 70s screwed us over, a part of me started getting upset. My parents have been divorced since I was six and I'm getting mad now?

I shouldn't be mad: I love my step-family. And my mom and stepdad model a healthy marriage for me. I don't think growing up with my mom and dad fighting all the time would teach me what a marriage is supposed to look like. Even if I saw their commitment as refreshing, the fighting would get old.

Not to mention there's also a pretty good chance I wouldn't be at IWU without going to Northeast Christian, which we started going to when my dad was dating Kelli.

So chapel speakers: I'm okay that my parents got a divorce. I'm sorry that you didn't get over your parents' divorce, but don't spark anger in me for no reason.

Can you see? It's guilt.

I skipped the last session of Summit on Wednesday night. This morning I asked Lindsey if they mentioned Grace at all. Nope. Six do-this, don't-do-this sermons and no mention of Grace.

So I guess it's up to me. ...

Guys, it's okay. Really, it's okay. We're humans. We make mistakes. God loves us now - even if we haven't overcome sexual sins (or otherwise). I know we hear how much this or that will screw our future marriages over, but know that nothing can screw up your relationship with God.

You're forgiven before you repent.

Can we please stop talking about how much wrong people are doing and (to use Miles's illustration from last spring semester) "turn on the lights of nobility"? You know: encourage. Show Grace.

Maybe there is a place to address sexual issues in a corporate setting, but why at Summit? Perhaps this goes back to my original frustration of God not catering to my big internship dilemma. Maybe Summit was really good for you. I guess I need to step out of the way and let you appreciate it - even if it drove me mad.

I just want us to focus on things that matter. I don't want to be known as the girl who cares more about keeping her purity than helping the poor.



With love and squalor,
Ezek.

Though it linger, wait for it.

A conversation:

At dinner.
LAUREN: (Stares down at her food, not talking.)
MOLLY: So how are things?
LAUREN: Uhm. Stressful.
MOLLY: Don't you have anything to be excited about?
LAUREN: Uhm. Not really.

That conversation depresses me. In fact, you might think that I might be depressed because of that conversation. That may be an overstatement. I'm not depressed, not sad even. Somber is a better word.

In A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, which I finished reading for the second time this week, Don Miller writes about how after a tragedy God gives us a season of numbness, Grace for a broken heart.

No tragedy has overcome me or anything. Life is, in most cases, pretty decent. I like my classes; I love my job. But whatever happened last fall - a series of semi-tragic events - has come to haunt me. My numbness period is over. Pain awakens from hibernation.

But when pain delays like this, it's difficult to deal with. I feel like it should be behind me, and it's not. Is it worth crying over now?

I wrote a blog post a few months ago about all the fall drama. Everything I was faced with then I'm feeling the pain of now. I don't want to deal with this anymore. Bleh.

But maybe this means the band aid's off.
The wound is exposed.
It's time for healing.

I hope.

with love and squalor,
Lauren

on Grace

The final installment of my four-part blog series. Enjoy. ;-)

--

"Whether you believe that God created you for a purpose, or that the world is governed by blind chance, everything in life is a gift at its core; we are beggars all."

--

I'm not sure, would you say a foot of snow? Six inches at least. My boots only go up mid-calf, but I managed to stay dry as I stopped through those six-to-twelve inches of snow covering my neighborhood, its sidewalks, its lawns. I cut through the golf course. I imagine it's not very safe. Ponds disguise themselves in masks of white; I have to follow a path of twiggy trees to ensure right footing. (Cliche-and-a-half. Keep reading.)

God and I have at it again. This time we're spewing Bible verses like profanities. I'm not sure who's winning - I think it's me.

"What about this one: 'Get behind me, Satan!'"

"Oh, that's good. But what about, 'So my works be made manifest.'"

"Huh. Or, a little historical allusion: Martin Luther disobeyed his father by becoming a monk."

"Uh, so?"

"Well, wasn't it your will that he became a monk and started the Reformation?"

"[pause.] I'm not really sure. ..."

"Come on, Jesus, really."

(Some of that may have been fabricated.)

--

Grace.

From my first understanding of Grace (which took place, sadly, not too long ago) until now, I think I see Grace as something more tangible. It's what God did then. And it's what he keeps doing now when I keep living selfishly, sure.

But Grace is also something else.

I think this is Grace:

-When I have the urge to call a certain gentleman I'm upset with, I get a text or an email from a friend who's asking me how I'm doing. (Something like an intervention.)

-When I start worrying about affording gas the rest of the week, I get snowed in and get to preserve my gas.

-When I am groggy (and a little ditzy) with my InAsMuch clients this morning, they smile politely and ask me how I am doing.

-When I meet Jes at Old Crown and there aren't any seats, right as a get my coffee a table opens up.

--

A few posts ago I called Grace a hug. I think it is.

Grace is like when you spend the evening with a friend you might never see again, and after saying goodbye, he hugs you, a physical reminder of your time together.

Grace says, "You've had it tough. And frankly, girl, it might not get better right away, but it'll be okay." [hugs.]

--

"We're all bastards, but God loves us anyway."

--

I'm on the final few chapters of "What's So Amazing About Grace?" by Philip Yancey, who just may be my hero. It's helping me see the different facets of Grace.

The picture of Grace I've always clung to has been that of the beggar.

Thrice put out an album in late summer called "Beggars," and its title track has the most profound lyrics about how we're all beggars in this world, that everything is a gift, bestowed by Grace.

The first three verses ask a series of questions. To the "great men of power": do you have power over when you die? To the scientists and "rulers of men": can you control the spin of the earth? To the "big shots": did you choose where or when you'd be born?

And the song concludes:

Tell me what can you claim not a thing, not your name

Tell me if you can recall just one thing, not a gift, in this life

Can you hear what's been said?

Can you see now that everything's Grace, after all

If there's one thing I know in this life, we are beggars all

I suppose the aroma of this metaphor isn't the greatest for most people. We don't want to be needy or appear needy. And frankly, we don't trust the needy.

We give into the illusion that we have control over our circumstances. Ha, no really. (I like where I'm going with this.) We like believing that our lives are in our own hands. Sometimes they are. But mostly, they aren't.

We are given very little guarantees in life. We can't choose the culture we're born into. We can't choose our parents. And until we graduate and become "adults," we don't even get to make decisions for ourselves. People make decisions for us. (Most of the time for our benefit, even.)

And so we get out into the real world and start taking control of our own lives, right? We choose our jobs ... or do they choose us? Not everyone who wants to work at the New York Times gets to.

This makes the whole "free will" argument so flimsy. Yeah, okay, God (or evolution) gives us the ability to choose the "right" or "wrong" path, but even so, does that really mean you get your way?

Too many variables. You're just a mist that appears for a little while. You're a grain of sand. You're just one out of six billion.

All this is to say Grace. Everything in life is a gift. The LORD gives and the LORD takes away. Ebb and flow. Tide in, tide out.

We are beggars all.

--

"In this world you will have trouble, but Lauren, I have overcome the world."

--

A conclusion.

This whole series has been built on a series of questions:

If I ignore God's revelation, does that nullify it?

What does it take to forgive the way Christ wants us to?

Does everything have to (metaphorically) die?

Do we have any claims in the world?

My great theory of this season has been: it's better to fight with God than to push him out. It's okay to doubt and have questions and to be angry - as long as you take it to God. He can handle your frustrations. (And he'd be delighted to address them.)

So keep asking questions.

And keep teaching me as well, friends.

with love and squalor,

Ezek.

on Redemption

I love this city, but I've set and numbered its days

I love this city, enough that I'll set it ablaze

--

Lots of things have died this year. I mean this figuratively, of course, but the pain is no less real.

I've lost good friends. I've attended the funeral of my RELEVANT dreams. I've mourned the loss of crushes. My ambitions were murdered; my pride suffocated.

I was the one who pulled the plug on most of those. I made the decision to take them off life-support, to say my final goodbyes, and lay them in the earth. It was me. It was my decision.

And I say I've seen a lot die this year, but I've seen more die in previous years. Ever since I read that passage in Ezekiel - Son of man, I'm about to take from you the delight of your life—a real blow, I know. But, please, no tears. - I've routinely killed my dreams.

I am the knife-wielding Abraham on Mt. Moriah, but with no angel to stop me.

I am the farmer on the seventh year, letting my fields dry up.

It feels like I spend so much of my life giving things up. Is there anything I can keep?

--

I pray for redemption.

I sat in the Williams' prayer chapel a month ago, asking God to redeem something in my life. And oh, He redeemed it - by setting it on fire.

That is redemption after all, is it not? It's the refinement of gold in fire. It's transforming what's unholy into something holy.

Therefore all that is not beautiful in the beloved, all that comes between and is not of love's kind, must be destroyed. And our God is a consuming fire.

I keep asking for redemption: "Oh Lord, that I may live according to your will." Or, "Make this job/relationship/hobby yours."

And so God does what is asked of Him. He redeems. He puts my love (my ambitions, my crushes, my relationships) into the fire and sees what happens.

Whatever is not in His will - burns up. It falls apart.

I don't mean this is a BEHOLD THE WRATH OF GOD! sense, really. I don't think God sets things on fire for fun. But when I ask him to redeem something, he does it, and it hurts.

I suppose we let God redeem things because we expect something new or polished in return. We "give God our relationships," assuming he'll point us to the love our life. We "give God our finances," assuming big bucks will come our way.

It doesn't always work like that. Sometimes the fire kills. Sometimes our dreams don't play possum, but stay dead on the side of the road.

--

The worship band played "The Old Rugged Cross" in church this morning. I think I sang along sarcastically:

I will cling to the old rugged cross

Till my trophies at last I lay down

Like I've said, I've seen a lot die this year. I've had to give up a lot. It's not about laying my trophies down "at last." (My bitterness is speaking, mind you.) It's more like: God, I've laid down every last one of them. I cling to the cross in fear that you'll take that away too! That's what I picture, anyway. I'm clinging to something for dear life, not because I believe my sacrifices will make my life any better, but because if I don't have anything else to cling to.

Is this the Christian life? Sacrifice after sacrifice, death after death?

God promised me a resurrected life. He promised me that every seed will die before it grows. Where is this growth?

We're in the dead of winter. (Read that again for its irony.)

Bradley Hathaway wrote, "Grace grows in winter, I'm told."

Grace grows in winter when everything else dies. Ugh.

I yearn for Grace. I want God to show His face in these crummy circumstances.

I'm sick of making sacrifices.

I'm sick of seeing my friends make sacrifices.

I'm sick of hope with no follow-through.

More questions than answers - I know. This may be the nature of blogging. Or at least the nature of my blogging.

With love and squalor,

Ezek.

on Forgiveness

This is the worst one.

--

Yesterday the newspaper staff had a meeting about some of the problems we've been having this year so far. I brought up a long list of clerical issues - stuff we couldn't have anticipated earlier on - hoping to diffuse any catty fighting before it began. Our staff has turned against each other; I call it "the War." I thought talking about productive issues like how to get people to turn assignments in on time would keep any emotional stuff from surfacing.

Yeah right.

The song kept popping into my head: "If we're adding to the noise, turn off this song."

I've added to the noise.

I pretended to be Switzerland; I've become Benedict Arnold, a backstabber. The traitor on both sides. I'm not a revolutionary; I'm not a Tory.

I gossip. I can't stop doing it! I slander. I don't obey the post-it note on my desk: "God wants me to love [coworker's name]."

I don't hate bigotry; I hate bigots. I don't hate war; I hate warmongers.

It's as if every lesson I've learned about love has been erased: I've edited them into nonentity. It turns out being bitter/angry/wrathful is way easier than forgiving.

--

This is the hardest one: I don't know how to forgive. I know how to say it: "I forgive you," but I don't really know how to forgive.

I wrote an essay on forgiveness for Sentence Strategies about my stepmom, about how I haven't forgiven her for her alcoholism and the effects thereof. I told her that I forgave her, and it's not that I've been mulling over her past mistakes or anything. But I still don't think I've forgiven her.

I think forgiveness takes reconciliation.

I hate that word. It's a tough, tough word. It implies action. It implies humility. It involves me asking for forgiveness for my unwillingness to forgive.

Ugh.

The thing is, I know that this newspaper stuff isn't all that I need to ask forgiveness for. There's another publication that I've stirred drama over: dear RELEVANT. I feel burdened to ask Cameron for forgiveness.

Ugh.

It's ironic that what I thought I hated about RELEVANT is the very thing I'm engaging in. I am not being very Christ-like. Huh.

--

At the beginning of this school year, I found myself hating people on campus for no good reason. This happened frequently:

Lauren: Arrg. There's [insert name of NECC intern]. He hasn't even acknowledged me all school year.

Abby: Well, why don't you say hi to him.

Lauren: But he's a leader. And it was my church he interned at.

Lindsey: Oh geez.

Those people don't need to be forgiven - isn't this interesting? - but I feel like they need to apologize to me. Huh. I think people owe me something. They owe me a "hello" or a nod or something. But they don't.

No one owes me anything ...

... but I'm in debt to them.

"Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another. ..."

They don't owe me Grace, but I owe them Grace. It's not their attitudes or behaviors that I need to change, but my own attitude toward them.

--

Before our meeting ended, Dr. Huckins closed with a prayer. He mentioned a verse in his prayer, and it stuck with me:

"Be kindly affectionate to one another with brotherly love, in honor giving preference to one another. ..." Romans 12:10

I like that: "giving 'preference' to one another." Not only am I going to forgive you or ask you to forgive me, I'm going to prefer you over myself. I'm going to prefer being around you than being away from you. I'm going to prefer you to be my boss and no one else.

What a radical ("rooty") picture of forgiveness. And Grace.

It's not just a way to take care of the immediate issue ("I'm mad at you about this and this") but a way to get to the root of it, to reconcile, and keep bitterness from brewing.

An Introduction

I don't know how to start this blog - I don't have a witty anecdote. I guess I could say this: the other day Molly and I were having "WTF, Jesus?" moments around the same time. I went to the Williams' prayer chapel and scrawled broken arguments to God. (I'm not sure what Molly did.)

I'm fine, really, I am. I am.

I started taking control of my life instead of letting God, and whenever I do that trouble follows. This isn't to say God is punishing me; I just don't know how to run my life as well as God. Amen, amen.

--

I want this to be a series, a four-parter: Grace, Faith, Redemption and Forgiveness. I can't do blog series because I get so bored and distracted. I write what I wanna write when I wanna write it. But this I need to do for myself, and for God. This blog series is my spiritual act of worship.

--

Why these four topics? Well. That's a good question.

In World Civ. we're learning about the 7 Deadly Sins. After discussing Greed, I began thinking about which of these sins would be friends, had they the ability to form relationships. I came to the conclusion that Greed, Lust and Gluttony would be BFF.

I figured it like this: Gluttony has to do with hungry, about getting your fill. Greed is about desiring money and possessions and stuff. Lust is about hungering for another person, for them making you feel a certain way. They're all about hunger - eros and what not.

If four virtues (are they virtues?) could be friends, it would obviously be Faith, Redemption, Forgiveness and Grace. And Love. Love would be in there somewhere. Maybe Hope too.

Anyway, Faith is about belief and loyalty - no matter what. And it takes Forgiveness to keep faith in someone or something that isn't faithful back. And Redemption is like that never-ending process that underlies it all: you the faithful are redeemed while the unfaithful is redeemed, becoming the faithful, etc.

And Grace is the hug that brings us all together.

That doesn't make much sense, I'm sure. I'm just finding correlations - it must be the economics student in me.

--

I'm processing life right now. Piece by piece by piece by piece. I know who I am. I am Lauren Deidra Sawyer. I am classy. A little quirky (no, Linds, not awkward). A writer. An avid reader. A music snob. A little sister.

But what do I do about you? I know who I am, but what do I do with you, Life? What do I do with you, Religion?

Thus: this series.

with love and squalor,

ezek.

Child, I don't remember.

Saturday I felt more human than I had in a really long time.

Dr. Smith in World Civ. talks about the importance of having a big view of sin in order to have an even bigger view of Grace. Saturday my view of sin grew big. And I felt small.

Jacqueline and I watched Lars and the Real Girl (in Elder Hall on the big screen - heehee) and it reminded me of my humanity, my sinfulness, my inadequacies.

The movie is about Lars, a socially awkward guy who lives alone and hates being touched. One day he decides to order an anatomically correct doll/manikin and makes her his girlfriend. He's having a delusion - he thinks she's real - and everyone eventually goes along with it. The whole movie is about their relationship.

Lars believes this manikin, Bianca, is real. He talks to her. He loves her. He buys her things. If someone told him that he was going crazy, he denied it.

Hmm.

Richard Dawkins wrote a book a few years back, heading the New Atheism movement. The book is called, "The God Delusion." Hmm. There's that word again.

And I'm not denying God's existence. But I thought about it a lot while watching this movie. I thought a lot about Pascal too. He said that it's reasonable to believe in God, because if he is real, you'll get to heaven, but if he isn't, you'll be unaware of your delusion after death. Win-win.

Then I thought of Peter Abelard, Medieval philosopher. He believed in the importance of doubting and questioning one's beliefs. It's how you learn faith.

Then I thought a lot about love. How Lars treated Bianca so well and how I wanted a boy to treat me that well.

Then I thought about how imperfect I am. How I am just a girl, not a god. I am so in love with myself sometimes that I forget about other people.

And I thought about how I have lost all ambition, have been caught up in my silly little stories, and have no idea what I want to do with my life. I don't know if I want to change the world anymore.

Part of me wants that picket fence and 2.5 children. And a hot husband. A nice home. Lots of money.

Then the other part of me, not really standing for social justice, still hates American consumerism. Then I go and buy stuff for myself. And dream about being comfortable.

I know I'm under Grace, but I'm suddenly aware of all the rotten shit I do. (Like cussing. When did I pick that up? A few weeks ago, I think. Around the time Lindsey started calling Medieval kings stupid bastards. lol)

I guess that is what Grace is about.

We don't get excited about Grace until we realize how selfish, arrogant, dirty and self-righteous we are. Big view of sin, bigger view of Grace.

Then Jesus looks at me and says that he doesn't remember any of those things I just listed off. He forgets. He sees me as 100% righteous. Amen and amen.

And he likes it when I ask questions and doubt a little bit. He knows that this is a season. That this dry, lazy, disillusioned valley I'm in won't last forever.

--

Everybody's waving hands in the air

They're singing songs of Grace

But it feels so dead to me

Could it be that I just don't believe?

I can't let go what's holding on to me

This is just for show

'Cause you don't want to see who I am

Sure as hell not the better man

Sure as hell not the better man

I am naked, and I'm trying, but I can't make it

Oh Jesus, I'm doing all I can

I'm just a man ...

"Child, I don't remember

What you've done

Child, I don't remember

The things you're dying from"

Grace (revisited)

I wonder if this is our view of Christianity.

Some questions:

1. Does God punish us for our sins if we're under Grace?

2. Does God ever take his protection from us?

3. Does physical unhealthiness reflect God's wrath or our healthiness reflect his approval?

(Side note: This comic [via JesusNeedsNewPR] is hilarious. Jesus spanking a little girl? I mean, those anti-corporal punishment guys are probably having a hay-day right now.)

But really, that's beside the point.

Prof. Perry and I were talking about this yesterday, in regard to Dan Merchant's "Lord, Save Us from Your Followers" screening Wednesday night. Christians have an easy time pointing the finger, telling you what's wrong with you, warning you of consequences, but not showing any bit of love.

I got to sit down with Dan on Wednesday for a one-on-one chat about his book (and my Don Miller marriage plans). We got on the topic of homosexuality. I mentioned my column from last week's issue of the Sojourn and the conversation that arose at Starbucks a week or so it was published.

I let Lindsey read my column, to make sure it didn't sound like a rant or that anything I said could be mistaken for heresy. As we discussed it between the two of us, the rest of our group overheard and started their own dialogue. Soon six of us were engaging in this debate (should this even be a debate?) about homosexuality and the church.

Lindsey and I came to the conclusion that, despite what the Bible says about homosexuality or any so-called "lifestyle" sin, Christians shouldn't tell people what they're doing wrong. We should just love them.

No strings attached.

No I-love-you-ifs.

Just ... I love you. We're all human. We are all depraved. We are all the image of God. We are, as I love to say, glorious ruins.

Dan and I talked about this for a while. We mulled over Jesus' words, how he never, ever, ever, ever condemned a sinner. He stood up for them; he risked his life for them.

In John 8, when the Pharisees bring to Jesus a woman caught in idolatry, despite the law he stops the men from stoning her, dusts her off and tells her to go leave her life of sin. No "you're a dirty whore, you deserve hell" or the less extreme - "I disapprove of your lifestyle choice."

Dan also used the example of the thief on the cross. What good deeds did that man do to deserve paradise? Absolutely nothing.

So why in the world do we keep condemning people to hell?

Really, though. Why?

When we read the Gospels, and we call ourselves Christians ("little Christ"), then we flippantly blame the divorce rate on gay marriage or our addiction to pornography on the liberal media ... there's something disconnected. There's something not right.

If we could spend a little more time on the first two commandments - love God, love others - maybe people would stop hating us Christians so much.

I believe in Grace. I believe that God forgets my sins before I commit them. ("Forgiveness precedes repentance.") I believe that God cares more about people than he cares about their sins.

There's a story in Brennan Manning's "The Ragamuffin Gospel" that exemplifies this. A woman claimed that she was having visions of Jesus, so the archbishop of the area decided to test the validity of this. He told her to ask Jesus to tell her what the last thing he confessed was (in her next vision). And she did. Jesus' response? "I don't remember."

He doesn't remember.

God is the god of Present Tense.

I believe that acting righteously comes as a response - a response to God's love and grace. But if you've never experienced that love and grace from his followers, why the hell would you want to live morally?

We talk about "speaking the Truth in love," but what we're saying isn't with love. And love, real honest-to-God love is Truth.

--

I want you all to converse about this. I know half of you disagree with this. Half of you are going to say things like "but God hates sin!" and claim my doctrine is flimsy. But is it? I urge you all to challenge me, but please back it up with the words of Christ.

with love and squalor,

Ezek.

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.

That was his total reaction.

I've felt very odd this week.

I've had a lot of frustrations, most of which came from a single person, one who I vow to hate as to avoid any feelings of sadness or loneliness. Perhaps this is why I am in this mood.

I'm not as happy as I was last week, but I'm not as down as I was two weeks ago.

I feel ambivalent, apathetic, like I'm floating from my room to class to McConn to class to McConn. I'm lukewarm. Not strikingly successful, but not a failure. I've had wins and losses this week: nothing has upset me, but nothing has excited me.

What's up with you, self? Why are you acting this way?

God's been teaching me about Grace, and how it doesn't rely on any merit system. It's free for everyone. I wonder if Love isn't the only thing that lacks a price tag. Maybe Grace is the same way.

Last year I was so far from God. I pushed him out, I reluctantly prayed and begrudgingly read the Word. I didn't care one way or another. I sought after my own desires, and honestly, my life reflected it. I wasn't happy. I had hope, but I wasn't happy.

This year I am again having a hard time seeking God. I try, but I don't try very hard. I read my Bible when I feel like it, pray when it comes natural. But my life is awesome. I love my friends, I love what I'm learning and I love my job. My self-esteem has skyrocketed.

I would have found irony here. I would have. I would have said that's the devil out to trick me, that he's just making it seem like my life is good, but it's really not because it's not full of the fire of God.

But that's not the point. I cannot earn good days. God is no subject to karma.

Grace says that my good days are gifts from God and my bad days are too. They're gifts, not punishments or illusions.

This is rough, but I got to keep chugging - not as a way to earn more good days, but to remember who those days came from.

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.

--

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.

on love and hate

As promised, here's another blog about Grace.

I was watching the Today Show this morning and more than one segment was dedicated to the 1989 Jaycee Dugard kidnapping. For those not on top of the news, Philip Garrido had kidnapped and locked Dugard inside a shed for 18 years. The big debate now is whether or not Garrido's wife Nancy is also guilty.

Everyone can agree -- and everybody does agree -- that this was a heinous crime, worthy of some sort of sentence. The world wants justice [mishpat] served; we want things "made right" for Dugard and her family.

But I fear that in the meantime, we forget that the Garridos are human; that God has called us to love them, even.

Jacque and I were talking about Grace (of course) a little bit on Sunday after church. We want so bad for our Christian brothers and sisters to love and to show Grace to people whose lifestyles differ from theirs.

We want Republicans to love Democrats.

We want patriots to love immigrants.

We want Christians to love non-believers.

But when it comes to loving the rapists, the murderers, the drug lords, the hatemongers, the slave traffickers, we limit Grace.

Love can only be given to these people.

Grace can only be shown to the well-deserved.

While watching the Today Show this morning, I made myself look at Philip Garrido without smirking or glaring or damning him with my thoughts. I tried to look at him the way Jesus might -- with overwhelming compassion, forgiveness and with a realization that the world is fallen.

But then I found it not so difficult.

Because really, I don't have a hard time not loving criminals.

But there are people I find hard to love,

people I find hard to show Grace to.

--

I find it easy to justify hatred when I hate people who hate people. It makes sense though, right? If you hate someone, shouldn't I have the right to hate you back?

I hate racists, but that's okay, isn't it? I mean, racism is a sin, so hating people who discriminate on the basis of skin color and nationality is justified. I hate homophobes because they refuse to see gay people as human. I can justify that.

But I shouldn't.

To allude back to Pastor Tony once again, Jesus' mission was global -- it was for everyone -- which means we are bound, we are called, to love one another. We don't get to pick and choose.

And though we may love the people most find hard to love, that doesn't exempt us from loving those we don't.

Author Anne Lamott said that you know you've successfully created God in your own image when he hates the same people you hate.

So are we loving people the way we are called to? Or are we hating people because found a way to justify it?

it is by Grace you have been saved, through faith

O Grace.

I feel like I have a new secret crush or something, and now I'm here to reveal it. Grace! I'm in love!

Okay, so last blog got a lot of responses - a lot, lot, lot, lot - via Facebook, and just one via Wordpress. I've had several urges to comment as well, clarifying what exactly I meant to say or to agree with someone's response, but I decided not to. Instead, I'm going to write this blog.

For over a year now God's been teaching me about Grace. It started in April '08 with Paul's sermon series based off of his favorite book, "What's So Amazing About Grace?" And since then, through books I've been reading, songs I've been listening to, friends I've been chatting to and through the Word of God, I'm finally starting to understand a thing or two about it.

First of all, FORGIVENESS PRECEDES REPENTANCE.

I was talking to Jacque about this at Warren Dunes a few weeks ago, half thinking it was blasphemy.

Grace says that you can be forgiven before you even ask for it -- before you even want to ask for it.

This phrase (and it is true, by the way) kind of woke me up.

See, I've been a Christian since I was about 12 years old, and I kind of always understood the faith thing. I got that you needed to have a relationship with God, that Christianity is more than just a moral code.

But I didn't get Grace.

I thought that Grace was God's way of tolerating me.

I may not be saved through my actions,

but I better pull myself together

or God won't like me much anymore.

I ascribed myself to legalism. I never really got why I loved rules so much and why I loved when people got what they deserved. I thought it was because I was a moral person -- and I know for many of you reading this, you'll nod profusely, recalling a time when I just said no to one thing or another.

But I don't think it was because I'm a moral person. I think it's because I never understood Grace.

Grace says that I'm forgiven before I repent. I'm forgiven before I realize what I am doing.

But I was mistaking Grace with mercy. Mercy, is (and excuse my extremely secular and kind of heretical description here) ... mercy is Grace without balls. It says that I gueeessss I'll forgive you because you asked politely.

Mercy says, "You've gone through enough punishment so I won't add anymore. (But you're not off the hook yet!)"

Mercy says, "You deserve my pity."

Oh, but Grace says to the prodigal son, "Let me throw you a party!"

Grace says, "Whatever you did yesterday, whatever sin you have committed will be forgotten. Come and rest."

There will be more on Grace in blogs to come, I assure you. But for now, like any new secret crush (or, not so secret), I'm going to relish in what I do know about Grace. I'm going to take joy in the fact that I am forgiven. Already. I don't have to do anything to earn God's favor. :-)

Ezek.

What Matters More

I wanted to quote this song in my facebook status, but I thought it'd stir up more controversy than conviction. So I thought I'd blog about it instead.

Derek Webb (musican/activitist) released his new album digitally -- and with it came a lot of drama. He wrote a song called "What Matters More" that not only speaks blatently against the Christian tendency to condemn homosexuals, but also uses two whole cuss words. (GASP!)

So, like I said, instead of just posting the lyrics so we can gawk at them (or nod in agreement), let's discuss them. Yes, you and me. (Okay, just me. This is a one-way blog, after all.)

VERSE 1:

You say you always treat people like you like to be
I guess you love being hated for your sexuality
You love when people put words in your mouth
'Bout what you believe, make you sound like a freak
'Cause if you really believe what you say you believe
You wouldn't be so damn reckless with the words you speak
Wouldn't silently consent when the liars speak
Denyin' all the dyin' of the remedy

What if we treated people the way we wanted to be treated? No really, what if we actually followed the golden rule? What if we stopped using the word "gay" as a synonym for stupid?

After reading The Unlikely Disciple by Kevin Roose, I started noticing how often people use "gay" to mean all these negative things. And after reading that book, it started getting on my nerves. Gosh, whether or not we believe it's God's will for guys to like guys and girls to like girls, we have no excuse to mock their lifestyle by turning it into a cuss word.

I believe that the greatest two commandments are to love God and to love others. And to love others, I think that means to treat them with respect.

CHORUS:

Tell me, brother, what matters more to you?
Tell me, sister, what matters more to you?

And here's the question: What matters more to God, do you think? That people know what they're doing is wrong or that they can be offered freedom through Christ?

And what makes us think that telling people they're living in sin will bring them any closer to the cross of Christ?

What matters more to you?

VERSE 2:

If I can tell what's in your heart by what comes out of your mouth
Then it sure looks to me like being straight is all it's about
It looks like being hated for all the wrong things
Like chasin' the wind while the pendulum swings

Again, the first two lines hold the punch. Why are we Christians known for our anti-homosexuality more than for our loving kindness and mercy? Does this seem right at all?!

I know that God is a God of justice. I know that he HATES sin so, so much ... but I also believe that there's grace. And I believe that it's offered freely. And that I sin. And that you sin. And that God cloaks us with his grace, if we accept it.

I believe there's forgiveness.

And I believe we should be talking about this more than anything else, friends. More than anything.

VERSE 2.5:

'Cause we can talk and debate until we're blue in the face
About the language and tradition that he's comin' to save
Meanwhile we sit just like we don't give a shit
About 50,000 people who are dyin' today

Lines 3-4 were taken from a Tony Campolo quote 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 shit. What's worse is that you're more upset with the fact that I said shit than the fact that 30,000 kids died last night" ("The Positive Prophet," Christianity Today).

I think of chapter 12 of Lord, Save Us From Your Followers when documentarian Dan Merchant creates a confession booth like Don Miller did in Blue Like Jazz. But Merchant created it at a gay-pride festival.

Merchant sits in this booth apologizing for the way the Church has acted toward the gay community. He apologizes for gay jokes and for lack of help with the AIDS epidemic. He apologizes for not showing Christ's love.

And he's forgiven.

Everyone he talks to forgives him.

Are we that forgiving?

(I do say it's a beautiful chapter - all of it. I remember reading it early last school year, late at night, wanting to cry and to build my own booth.)

The chapter concludes with a quote from none other than Tony Campolo. He says, "You don't have to legitimate someone's lifestyle in order to love that person, to be brother or sister to that person and then stand up for that person."

And I conclude my blog with the words of Jesus Christ:

"I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me." Matthew 25:40