Reaching Across

If I had a hammer.

Blowin in the Wind.

Where have all the flowers gone.

Sitting in my local coffee house this morning. 

The music playing overhead was right out of 1967:  Joan Baez.  Peter, Paul, and Mary.  Kingston Trio.  Jim Croce.  Crosby, Stills, and Nash.

I had to stop and reflect on human arrogance.  We always seem to think that we are so much more civilized than previous generations, that we have it all figured out.  No matter what side of the political coin we are on, we are absolutely positive that we are right.  We are quick to judge the motives and ideologies of others, and assume that they are wrong, evil, or malicious.

It seems every generation, political ideology, and movement believes, 

“It’s us against them.”

“We have truth on our side.”

“We have the right reasons.”

“We have facts on our side.”

“We have pure motives.”

 “We mean well.”

“Therefore, anything we do, is acceptable.”

It seems to me, that any large movement in this line of thinking becomes a steamroller that ends up squashing people who don’t agree with them, smearing those who dissent, attacking those who dare to believe differently:

From the 60s protests to the War on Terrorism.  

From the black berets of the Black Panthers to the white sheets of the KKK.

From shameful signs of Westboro Baptist to the shaming smears of GLAAD.

From the Moral Majority to the affirmative action for minorities.

From the Border Guard to the Derechos Humanos Coalition

When groups become so assured of their righteousness on a single issue, they begin to see all others as their enemy, and that isn’t healthy for any of us.

Our culture claims to value diversity.  It champions tolerance and equality.  But the truth remains that diversity rarely includes opposition.  Tolerance doesn’t tolerate dissension, and everyone is equal unless they are on the other side.

Will history judge us for the choices we made today?  Is there a way to bridge beliefs, to cross boundaries, to befriend those who are radically different from us?

I believe there is, but it doesn’t come from a big movement.

It comes from the individual actions of people who care enough to sit down with those who are against us, to have real conversations, meals together, and intentional outreaches.  It comes from those who are willing to say that I sorely disagree with you on this one issue, but we can come together in a dozen other places.  It comes from those who are willing to be humble and value others above themselves.

One on one, we can build relationships that can stand through anything.

That’s the theory.  Now, comes the time to put it into practice.  Can you swallow your pride and reach out to that family member who is in that other political party?  Can you invite that guy from the office out to lunch who always talks about that one issue?  Can you be the humble one and reach out to the friend on Facebook who has strong opinions? 

Thanksgiving is coming.  What better time to sit down and make peace?

Someone has to make the first step.

Will you?

Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.

Philippians 2:3-4

Mr. Brown

It’s his hat that I remember most.  I don’t think I ever saw him without it.  You know the kind: navy blue truckers hat... the kind with the foam front half and plastic mesh back half with the little plastic snap band for sizing.  U.S. Navy was emblazoned in gold on the front and that stuff that looks like scrambled eggs was on the brim.  He always wore it perched on his gunmetal grey hair, everywhere he went.  He dressed well too, always with a polo shirt and slacks.  He’d be walking down the street and there was no doubt it was Mr. Brown when you saw him.

His smile.  I remember that too.  He always had the biggest smile and friendliest laugh of anyone I’ve ever met.  Always a joke.  Always an encouragement.  Always brightening your day.

Mr. Brown was an elderly black gentleman who I met when I was 17 and working at the restaurant.  I never knew his first name, he always introduced himself with a smile and said, “I’m Mr. Brown, what’s your name?”  He’d come in and say, “Hello,” to everyone in the dining room and every staff member.  He had a way of talking to you that made you feel like you really mattered.  He’d remember your name (and everyone else’s) and ask you how your dad was doing, how you did on your final, or some other tidbit about your life that he had tucked away during your last conversation.  He was a presence when he came into a room.  You couldn’t miss him.  He was the most amiable man I have ever known.

I only saw him angry once.  One of the counter girls had been treated poorly by her boyfriend shortly before and she had been crying.  Mr. Brown put his arm on her and told her that she was beautiful and that she was too valuable to waste her time with someone who couldn’t appreciate that. I believe that her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend would have been really sorry if he been there, at that moment.  Mr. Brown soon had her sniffing away the tears and laughing along with him.

Mr. Brown was generous with his time.  He helped me do my taxes for the first time.  I think he did the same thing for almost every young kid there.  He helped my friend work on his car and helped me fix my bike once.  He always seemed to be helping someone with something.

We walked together from the restaurant to my house to do my taxes.  It was normally a 20 minute walk, but it was five times that with Mr. Brown.  Along the way, he stopped at almost every shop and business to say, “Hello,” to people he knew there.  He took time with every single one of them to flash his smile and to listen to their story.  And, he introduced me to every single one of them as if I was his closest friend in the world. 

Mr. Brown impressed me so much, that I vowed that someday, I’d be like him.  I want to live in a community of people and be known by everyone.  I want to be able to encourage people and help them out.  I want to lift up those whose spirits are down, and be the kind of guy who can make a young girl smile through her tears and be just a bit scary to her loser boyfriend who hurt her.  I want to help some dumb kid with his taxes and maybe pass along a few life lessons along the way.

That’s who I’d like to be.  Just like Mr. Brown.

For years, I’d see Mr. Brown and his Navy hat walking around the streets of this neighborhood.  I moved to a different part of the city for a few years, and I haven’t seen him since I’ve moved back.  He’s probably passed on by now.  It may not be theologically accurate, but I like to picture Mr. Brown strolling the streets of heaven, wearing his Navy hat, stopping and talking to every single person there, remembering their name, and listening to their story.

He may be gone, but Mr. Brown lives on in my memory, and in my desire to be just like him.

The Most Common Lie

Every single day, you tell a lie.  In fact, you probably tell two lies at the same time and haven’t even thought about it.  I will go so far as to suggest that you tell these same two lies dozens of times every day and it doesn’t bother you.

The first part of the lie is a word you use every single day.  It’s the four-letter F-word. 

This is the part where you draw in an abrupt breath and cover your mouth while using all of your Puritan roots to say, “I don’t use the four-letter F-word.”

And this is the part where I say, “Yes, you do.”

I can pretty much guarantee that someone walked past you today and said, “How are you doing?”

You quickly said, “Fine, how are you?”

And they replied with the same word, “Fine.”  Then off they went, and off you went, forgetting the entire transaction.

F-I-N-E, let’s spell it out.  That’s the four-letter F-word.

You probably aren’t “Fine,” and they probably didn’t really want to hear how you really are doing.

You are both liars.

There are few worse things in this life, that we accept so readily, than missed opportunities for deeper relationship.  We hide our own pain and never stop to think that the other person might be fighting the biggest battle of their whole lives.

What might happen if we told the truth?

What if we cared enough to love our neighbor as God calls us to do? (Matthew 22:36-40)

What if we were to bear each other’s burdens as we are told to do in the Bible? (Galatians 6:2)

What if you actually stopped a moment and said, “You know, Bob, I’m not fine.  In fact, yesterday was a real struggle, but I’m working my way back today.”

What if Bob was concerned enough to stop and say, “I’m sorry to hear that, I had a rough day too, a few days back, is there anything I can do to help?” 

Why, a connection might be made.  A friendship developed.  Hope and encouragement could be given.  You might even grow a little.

It doesn’t always have to be burdens.  Maybe you are having a major life victory.  Don’t you think that you might share that and encourage others?

It is my commitment never to use the four-letter F-word.  I promise that I won’t lie to you by saying, “fine,” if I’m not, and I won’t ask you how you are doing unless I’m ready to hear what you have to say.

I invite you to make the same commitment.

So…

How are you doing?  

The Coffee House Lesson

Sitting at one of my favorite coffee shops a couple of weeks ago, I observed a sad phenomenon that marks our culture.
First, though, I must tell you that I love coffee shops!  Sights, smells, sounds, flavor, and texture all come together to create an environment that welcomes almost anyone.  Where else can you put an overstuffed electric-blue couch next to a pair of Danish modern leather chairs?  What other place has smells of coffee, chocolate, cinammon, and cardamom floating freely for your nostril's delight?  How many other eating establishments allow you to nestle down in big squishy, comfy, sofa while kicking your feet up on the table?  I frequent coffee shops several times a week and I love to have meetings and appointments there because the atmosphere tends to disarm people much more than sitting in THE PASTOR'S OFFICE seems to do (ominous organ music crescendoes).

That's how I found myself sitting in a local coffee house several weeks ago, waiting for an appointment with someone.  I arrived early and sat there nursing my coffee and watching the people around me.

A small group of police officers sat on the patio, lounging, laughing, but also lethal, in their vests, uniforms and guns.  There is an air of readiness to police officers, their heads on swivels, constantly aware, ever vigilant. One of the officers is clearly ‘The Old Guy,’ shaved head, grizzled squint to his eyes, and clearly the center of attention from the other three.  Two of the others have been cops for awhile, aware of their surroundings, confident and experienced, but comfortable.  The last guy is plainly the new guy.  In all the cop shows, he is ‘The Rookie,’ still possessing an eagerness and shininess that is noticeable to anyone who looks.  The new-cop smell still hasn’t worn off yet.  These guys have a long and ranging conversation, but no one sits anywhere near them.

A gaggle of large women come in, clearly secretaries or other anonymous office personnel.  The three could be sisters, all pale and pudgy.  Non-stop prattle emanates from them as they gossip about the other women at the office.    I’m not sure who Susan is, but if they are right, then she probably shouldn’t be doing that with their boss.  I don’t think these women like her very much.  After getting their coffees and pastries, they move off to a table and sit together in a cloud of perfume and judgment.

Near their table is a pretty young co-ed, listening to her iPod and lackadaisically surfing the internet on her laptop.  She looks very, very sad: the kind of sad where her eyes seemed to have tears ready, waiting for the slightest motivation to fall.  I wonder what her story is, but I don’t ask.  A young college age boy sits directly behind her, also surfing the web and listening to his iPod. Maybe if they both got out of their data-driven isolation cells, they might have something in common and maybe she wouldn’t be so sad.

Behind me are two men speaking in rapid fire Spanish.  I catch snippets of family life and stories about their students.  It sounds like they are both teachers.  They have similar complaints to those of my English-speaking teacher friends.

Looking over, I see that the cops have left, only to be replaced by a young girl in her teens with hair a shade of red that doesn’t occur naturally.  She sits next to her heavily pierced friend.  Both girls are busily texting, but occasionally break their silence to comment to each other while pointing to something amusing on their phone.  It appears that they are texting each other and at least one third party, but they don’t speak much to each other in person, just inside their electronic realm.

A large man in an even larger cowboy hat pulls up a footstool to sit and talk to an even larger man in a camouflage trucker’s hat.  Cowboy Hat guy is wearing shorts and sandals, and looks like he could do some damage to a horse if he sat on it, so I’m pretty sure he really isn’t a cowboy.  Cowboy Hat and Trucker Hat get into a heated discussion about politics, but take periodic breaks to glance over lasciviously at the sad young co-ed.  They ignore the business man sitting next to them in a suit as he talks too loud and too fast on his cell phone, gesturing passionately as if the person on the other end of the line could see him.  He keeps checking out the sad, pretty girl periodically too.

A black guy with shoulder length dreadlocks brings his bike inside and orders coffee.  I think to myself wistfully that I wish I could pull off the dreadlock look. It just wouldn’t look nearly as cool on an overweight white guy as it does on a buff black dude.  He looks around the room briefly, and then leaves with his coffee and bike.

All of these people come together in the same place, brought together by coffee.  There’s little else to connect them otherwise.

I find myself saddened that each one sits alone, or only with those that are very much like them.  In all this diversity, I can only find homogeny.  I don’t want to surround myself with people who are exactly like me; who look, act, think, believe, and talk just like me.  And.. I don’t want to be alone in a 2-dimensional, online world that exists outside of reality, either.  I want to strike up a conversation with each of them, to find out their individual, poignant, funny, sad, and hopeful stories.  I find myself wondering why someone would choose a gray existence of mirrored personalities over the rich tapestry of real people around them.

Life is real, and it is short.  Let’s get out there and make it exciting.  Let’s not just live lives in proximity to each other, but let’s actually live our lives side-by-side with each other.  Let’s hold conversations with people who look strange to us (because we probably look weird to them).  Let’s talk about our experiences, our beliefs, and our ideas, withholding judgment for a time, and seeking to find commonality and even growth by the exposure to thoughts we’ve never considered.  If you’ve read this far, I dare you to go to the local coffee shop and strike up a conversation.  Ask someone who looks interesting what their story is.  Buy a cup of coffee for someone and find out what they believe.  Say, “Hi,” and smile at those around you and ask them how their day is.  Then, sit back and hold on tight as your horizons are broadened and your life gets far more interesting.

Beautiful

We stood as a small group in a parking garage outside of the lecture hall, getting ready to head off for discussion groups.  14 teenagers, a close female friend as an adult sponsor and myself.  In moments, I was going to have my heart broken in a way I could never have anticipated, but I didn’t know it yet.

I had the kids stand in a circle while I was trying to gather my thoughts on what to say.  We had just come out of a summer camp session for high schoolers that talked about the cultural and personal issues of sexuality by Craig and Jason of XXX Church and had been instructed to meet briefly to talk as a group and then to split by gender and have a more personal discussion on these issues.    It had been a powerful session that had taught me something.  I had always thought that pornography was predominantly a male issue.   Though it is the subject of jokes and lighthearted acceptance in our culture at large, the truth is, it consumes the lives of many men, breaks their marriages, and is very destructive in a multitude of ways. 

But, here was something I hadn’t realized.  What Craig and Jason pointed out was that the overall culture of pornography also is destructive to the women in our lives.  They asked the question, “Why is it that when you look at almost any men’s magazine, there is a beautiful half-naked woman on the front?  And, why is it that when you look at almost any women’s magazine, you see the same thing?”  Not even discussing magazines such as Penthouse or Hustler, but Swimsuit Issues, FHM, Maxim, and the like.  And women’s magazines such as 17, Vogue.  There is a message of perfect beauty that pervades our culture and it affects the self esteem of our young girls.

Back in the parking garage, I recognized the truth of their message, or at least I thought I did.  But, it was about to be brought home in a powerful and painful way.

I asked the kids to look around at each other and then I said, “These are your brothers and sisters.  Girls, look at these guys.  Every single one of them struggles with these issues.  They deal with lust and temptation on a daily basis and it affects how they look at women and how they look at themselves, and it’s a very real struggle in each of their lives.”  The kids looked at each other with some discomfort, but the moment passed and they waited for what else I had to say.

Then, I said, “Guys, look around you at these girls.  Each and every one of them struggles with their self-value in some way.  They wonder if they are pretty enough, smart enough, or valuable enough to be loved.  They envy other girls for their beauty while they secretly doubt themselves.”

That’s when it happened.  I thought I had understood the issue.  I had worked with teens for almost a decade and had a young daughter of my own, but I didn’t really understand.

When I had finished my statement I saw every single one of those girls, including the adult sponsor get the most heartbreaking look on their faces and look quickly down at the ground.  Tears ran down several of their faces. 

My words had struck home in a deeply personal way that was shattering.

My own eyes teared up as I looked upon these girls who I cared so much about.  I had known most of them since they were small children, including the adult sponsor.  Now, every single one of these girls was beautiful and every single one didn’t believe it.  I don’t say they were beautiful, “just because I was their youth minister and I was supposed to say that kind of thing;” it’s true, every one of those young women were physically beautiful.  There wasn’t one who wasn’t pretty.  Very pretty.  What’s more, I knew every single one of them, and each was a beautiful person inside too.  They were my friends, they were my students, and I loved them as if they were my own daughters.

Yet, here they were broken to their very core by the message of value that our culture had put on them.  These lovely young ladies, each and every one, wondered if they were loveable.  It’s not enough to say that my heart was broken for them… It was torn with grief that they would have to fight this battle.

As instructed, we broke into two separate groups, male and female, to have our discussions.  I walked quickly ahead of the guys to the room where we were going to talk, so they wouldn’t see how much this had shaken me.  I needed time to gather my thoughts before I spoke again.

I have often discussed the issue of pornography with guys.  I truly believe that puberty is a much worse experience for guys than girls. Everything that happens to guys is in secret and it is culturally surrounded with shame.  Every guy at some point feels like a dirty little pervert and wonders if there is something wrong with him, because other guys don’t seem to have these issues.  Even in a culture that is now seems accepting of pornography, there is still an underlying message that you are sick if you look at it. 

But, the pictures and advertising that pervades our media, magazines, movies, and music are destructive to our young women.  Airbrushing, makeup, special lighting and Photoshop, along with the selection of only a certain female models who meet a narrow set of criteria, leads us to a standard of beauty that is all but impossible to meet in the real world.  I once heard a quote from a supermodel where she said, “We are freaks of nature.”  Years ago, we had a young girl in our youth group who was a model.  She did runway shows and fashion modeling.  Let me tell you, she was gorgeous even as a teen.  Tall, thin, long hair, and perfect skin… Amazing physical beauty.  When I saw here again a few years later, I found out she was no longer modeling.  Why?  They told her that she was too fat!!!!!!!  She looked no different to me, most women would envy her figure, yet she wasn’t ‘perfect’ enough for the modeling world. 

Dove (the soap company) has a drive to change this.  In their Campaign for Real Beauty, they have created videos that show the reality of women in advertising and the painful truth of how this affects our girls. (Fair warning, the second video is very sad)

 There is a cartoon that I have seen several times posted on the internet.  The caption says, “The difference between men and women.” It shows two panels.  One shows a girl looking in a mirror and the other shows a guy looking in the mirror.  The guy is overweight and bald, but looks in the mirror and sees himself like Charles Atlas.  The girl is curvy and attractive, but in the mirror, sees this dumpy ugly woman.  There is so much truth here, it hurts. 

What saddens me the most is that I see this message being eaten up by my own preteen daughter and her young friends.  I hear them talk about diets and exercise, not because they want to be healthy, but because they think they are fat.  It makes me want to go have an angry and quite violent encounter with the editors of every fashion magazine in existence. 

It’s time to dump these ideas as a culture.  They don’t work, and they are spiritually and emotionally (and sometimes physically) destructive to our daughters….

And our wives and mothers too.  Our culture values youth and discards the aged.  I love the scene in the movie, “A Family Thing” where Robert Duvall is looking at old family pictures and says to the Grandma, “You were very pretty back then,” and Grandma replies, “There ain’t nothing wrong with the way I look now.”  But, even our adult women are sucked into this twisted culture of youth and beauty.  Liposuction, plastic surgery, and fad diets are the way of life for many of our adult women.

Let’s never spend another dime on one of these magazines.  Let’s turn the channel when shows like Top Model come on.  Let’s send the message to our girls that it’s good to be healthy and fit, but it’s not healthy to obsess about appearance.

The cultural idea of beauty has changed over time.  Sometimes it has been healthy, other times destructive.  The 1911 Swimsuit Issue would have looked VERY different from the 2011 one!  Let's change this culture's idea of beauty.  Let’s send the message to the girls in our lives that they ARE beautiful as they are. 

Let’s work for the day when another youth minister is standing in a parking garage looking at his group of kids, saying, “You won’t believe this, but many years ago, our society used to believe that a woman’s value was in her physical beauty.”  I hope he never has to see the looks on his girls faces that I saw.

Tall or short.

Curvy or thin.

Black, White, Brown, Yellow, or Red.

Long straight hair or kinky afro.

Blonde, brunette, or redhead.

Young or old.

You are beautiful, just as God created you.

---------

P.S. To all of you girls that were there in the parking garage that day, you were beautiful then and you are still beautiful today. 

Long Before I Tell You

I am a follower of Jesus.

Don’t assume you understand

what that means.

It saddens me that

you probably don’t know at all.

Even more heartbreaking,

I know you just got a picture

in your mind that looks very different

from what a follow of Jesus is.

There are far too many people

that you’ve met,

and heard, and seen,

who say they are Christian,

but don’t follow his way.

“Feed the hungry,” Jesus says.

     “Get them off welfare,” they reply.

“Give your money to the poor,” he tells the rich young man

     “Well, he didn’t mean me,” they explain away

“Turn the other cheek, and love your enemies” he teaches

     “I’ll get even,” they respond at work,

     and “torture the bastards”

     they say of ‘enemy combatants’

“Invite the stranger in,” Christ requires of us,

     but their reply is, “What part of illegal don’t you understand?”

“Render unto Caesar,” he spoke,

     “He’s not my president, I hate him,” they proudly proclaim.

“I don’t condemn you,” he told the woman,

     “You’re going to burn in Hell!” their sign says.

He says that his followers

will be known by their love,

but these ones have no compassion

and forgiveness isn’t there

even for others who they claim to be their brothers.

He tells them, “follow me” and to leave

the things of this world behind,

but they bring an American flag and

their political party too,

as if the Kingdom of God

is split into two.

 “He’s my Lord, my very brother

as I’m a child of God,” they declare

while forgetting his words, “My brothers are those

who hear God's word

and put it into practice.”

Jesus gave love and compassion

to the hurting and lost

and he gave nothing but contempt and rebuke

to pompous religious fools

who professed to follow God,

but crushed others with their pride

and judgment and deceit.

What of those today who claim him as their own

but condemn others and live as hypocrites.

I don’t know how they mixed up the messages,

the words are right there

in millions of copied pages.

They don’t know his words

and don’t do his works,

but unfortunately,

arrogance and ignorance go hand in hand

just as the songwriter said.

Why are the worst examples always the loudest ones?

I’m sorry that those are the ones you see on the news,

the ones who preach at you at work,

the ones who condemn you for your sins

while conveniently ignoring their own.

Please know, there are others,

many more than you realize:

the quiet ones who listen,

the faithful who follow,

the busy ones who act,

the selfless ones who serve,

the ones who take his word seriously,

and do his works generously,

who live justly,

and who love mercy,

who walk humbly with their Lord.

Watch for them, they are there,

and ignore the ones who talk

but don’t bother to walk.

Don’t assume that you know what a Christian is

because you’ve seen those others.

A person can claim anything they want,

but you can see right through.

Jesus said you’ll know a person by their fruit

just as you can tell a tree by what it bears;

if their fruit is condescension,

self-righteous judging and rage,

they aren’t bearing the truth

and don’t know his message,

but if their fruit is love and joy and peace,

patience, kindness, and goodness,

faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control -

well, that’s the right kind of tree

and a message you can believe.

Judge his message by

his followers who really live out their faith,

who serve you and not hurt you

who love you and not hate you

who tell you truth gently and not hate-filled rhetoric

who earn the right to be heard and do not demand it

who are selfless and not selfish

who are like Jesus

and not like those others you've seen.

I am a follower of Jesus,

and I hope you can see him in my life

long before I tell you

I am a follower of him.