Ah, Jeff... How You Do Ramble On...

I'm driving home from a solo dinner at Chipotle, past the ganstas hanging out on the corner of the strip mall, which seems an odd place for gangstas to be hanging out, listening to the Inuit singing through my car radio. So many cultures, so many voices... The southwestern food sloshing contentedly in my stomach, the hip-hop vernacular laughing on the sidewalk, the strange Arctic syllables that make it no farther than my windshield.

I was reading Gilead as I ate, wishing I had a highlighter from time to time. The narrator speaks of young skeptics:

And they want me to defend religion, and they want me to give them "proofs." I just won't do it. It only confirms them in their skepticism. Because nothing true can be said about God from a posture of defense.

Why the crap don't I bring a highlighter? It made me think of "the Book of Daniel" again. I watched about 45 minutes of it last night, and frankly don't have a lot to say. Their Jesus was more schlocky than anything, with an overgrown beard and pouffy robes that made him look more like a linebacker than the Son of God. I appreciated that he had a sense of humor, telling Daniel he'd been "reading too many Episcopalian self-help books." (In The Name of the Rose, Umberto Eco theorizes that Jesus never laughed because he knew how much evil Christians would commit in His name. I don't buy that, but it's thought-provoking.) But the figure in "The Book of Daniel" didn't come off as Jesus as much as he came off as Daniel's concept of Jesus or maybe the writer's concept of Jesus.

My primary impression was that the show just wasn't very good. A clear shot at "Desperate Housewives" meets "Joan of Arcadia" with a dash of "Six Feet Under" thrown in for good measure. Nothing to see here. Sadly, that may be the ultimate guarantee of the show's success. I really don't care.

"Nothing true can be said about God from a posture of defense." Really? That's the kind of quote that turns my brain into a cow's stomach - pushing the thought back and forth to be chewed like cud at least four times before I can finally digest it. My immediate response is ironically defensive, "Well, there go half the writings of C.S. Lewis..." But then I think of ideas that have come up again and again at church lately, the thought that "the gates of hell will not prevail" puts the church in an offensive light, anything but hunkering down passively and waiting for Gabriel's trumpet. NBC's Jesus had so little impact on me precisely because of his passivity - I couldn't relate to a Jesus that didn't take the initiative, that served as a sort of spiritual Howard Cosell, offering presence but no passion, commentary, but no call.

Now that I think about it, Lewis wasn't writing entirely from response. He consistently paints Christianity as broader and wider and deeper and richer and infinitely more compelling than any of the world's philosophies. He wasn't writing with his shoulders out to block modernist ideology, he was throwing a hail-mary deep into and beyond enemy territory. (Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Jeff just used a football metaphor. Write it down, cuz it ain't likely to happen again.)

I can't help but believe that God has the defense covered, that if we were living lives that passionately and proactively brought the Kingdom into the world, His Life - His ideas, His emotions, His Presence, His purposes - would shine such that skepticism-as-faith would be revealed as shadows and dust. So maybe Robinson's narrator is right... I don't know. All I know is that the idea that I, the eighty-eight pound spiritual, physical, and intellectual weakling, am needed to defend the omnipotent one seems laughable. On the contrary, I need His defense to even take a step toward the life He's calling me to.

But I've rambled long enough. I want to read more of this book before bedtime - I'm sure there are more landmines like this waiting to be tripped. If you have any thoughts, I'd love to hear them. I'm still trying to wrap my head around all this, and I'm sure I will be for the rest of my natural life. Blessings on all y'all out there in blogland. Be present to His Presence.

Matters of Perspective

Yesterday, I had a lunch date at Chipotle (mmm... Chipotle...). I backed out of my garage into the alley, and as I turned to look forward, I noticed a big ol' snowplow cruising past the end of the alley in the distance. I had a Tim Allen "huh, huh" moment because of the massive machine, but something about it bothered me. Lo and behold, I got to the end of the alley to pull into the street, and what to my wondering eyes did appear but the plow -- a mini front-end loader designed for clearing sidewalks. I had that strange moment of vertigo as my perception shifted and clicked, like when you finally see the sailboat in those "magic eye" pictures that were all over the malls in the late 90s. It was just this teeny little plow. The impression was no longer one of raw power, but of simple work. I had to laugh.

A couple of days before, I noticed a blurb on IMDB about this American Family Association that's boycotting NBC's "The Book of Daniel" because it features an episcopal priest who talks to Jesus. The problem? He is also "addicted to painkillers, has an alcoholic wife, a drug-dealing daughter and a gay son." I rolled my eyes and thought to myself "Frickin' Christians..." I mean, seriously, how many ministers -- how many CHRISTIANS are addicted to substances or work or (gasp) ministry? Are wrestling with broken relationships? Have no clue how to effectively fight for their kids? Aren't these precisely the kind of people Jesus WANTS to talk to? Don't get me wrong - I have a healthy amount of skepticism about any "Christian-themed" progam that makes it to network TV (ask Judy how resistant I still am to Joan of Arcadia...). But it seems to me that even if the show is completely theologically whack'd and WAY off base, we should celebrate, because at least it can leverage dialogue about the things of God. I walked away from the article preparing a blog-style smackdown rant calling down lightning on the latter-day Pharisees of the AFA.

Then I came across Jan's post. She surprised me yet again, quoting Semisonic's tune "Closing Time" (I love that song!). Reading those words again, singing them in my head with Jan and her story of late in my mind, tears came to my eyes. This super-fun song that could so easily be written off as an ode to the drunken one-night stand shifted. The spelling of the chorus changed in my mind to "I know Who I want to take me home." Not the usual, jeff-drama, life-sucks-God-let-it-end sort of take me home, but a take-the-driver's-seat, whatever-road-You-choose-no-matter-how-winding kind of take me home. It became an anthem of dependence.

Notice the difference in perspective?

Timbur's post from a while ago has stuck with me, ringing in my mind. I read the papers, channel surf to FOX news for a few minutes, and my stomach turns at being stuck with the label "Christian" in this culture. But I also feel like it would be giving ground to call myself something else, though since DC Talk, I've kinda liked "Jesus Freak." So here's my solution. I'm taking a page from the consumer culture and coining the word "Xian." I don't think I would ever call a person an Xian, but organizations and behaviours definitely qualify. Xians take the Christ out of Christian. They are more concerned with prohibitions than with possibilities, more focused on politics than people, more vested in safety than salvation.

And no sooner do I type that than I notice the Xian in me. Ugh.

But I want to be a Christian. I want to follow a God who's not safe, but is good. I want to practice risky obedience. I want to be able to see Kingdom significance in everything, to say with Gerard Manley Hopkins, "The world is full of the grandeur of God."

So to my inner Xian, I hope you wither and die. To Jesus, take me home. On the way, give me more and more Kingdom perspective. And may my wee little plow clear a bit of the way for others.

Community Musings

Yes, I'm back in blogland -- with a vengeance. Expect a few posts today. Maybe I'll even get a head start on Jamie's record from last year.

In the meantime, check out Bart Campolo's Manifesto on their new community in Cincinnati for some food for thought...