No Answers Yet, But I Feel Like I’m Asking The Right Questions…

Many of you know that I’m in transition…between what I used to do and what I’m going to do.

Part of the deal is reading all sorts of books on my parachute and making myself a “start up” entrepreneur or trying to somehow be like Steve Jobs. That’s all well and good…and mildly helpful.  But here’s the true heart of the matter after the color of my parachute has been decided and I brand myself for a new job market and I imitate a business icon:

It’s the set of questions I keep asking myself as I take long walks in the beautiful weather (in both Oakland and back here in Texas) and think and pray and try to listen.

These questions come from an interview with an actress/author/professor Susan E. Isaacs:

You should pay attention to what makes your heart ache. What makes you thrilled. I see great movies and I am just thrilled by them. Seeing a great performance or seeing a great story and recognizing great writing…that’s what gets to me. That’s where I feel like that’s the note I want to play. So I would say for someone starting out it’s like the cliche from Chariots of Fire, ‘I run fast and when I run I feel God’s pleasure.’ When do you feel like you’re in your element? Like you were born to do that one thing? Like a labrador retriever. You throw a stick into a lake and that dog is in its element. And I would ask the person, ‘What do you really feel in your heart? When do you feel most alive? When do you feel like there’s something holy and God-given where you are lit up from the inside?’

So, it’s simple today, patrons…

…answer the question.

If you have the fortitude. And they do take fortitude. And apparently…

…more time than I thought.

And if you want to watch the entire 4:42 you can do that here:

A Few Lessons Punk Can Teach The Church, Entry #3

I felt a little dead on the inside. Thrice.

The first moment was when I heard Iggy & The Stooges’ song “Lust for Life” on a commercial for Carnival Cruise Lines. Not too sure if the ad agency knew that particular song’s catchy chorus is part of a song about a heroin user. The second was when “Blitzkreig Bop,” the anthem of teen angst by the Ramones that more or less started the punk movement, was used to hawk Diet Pepsi (even if it was kinda cool that Diet Pepsi soda cans were punks in the commercial).

We’ve all been there.

Like when The Beatles song “Revolution” was used to sell sneakers.
Or when Led Zeppelin sold us a Cadillac with “Rock and Roll.”

But the third time sent me over the edge: When Johnny Rotten, lead singer of the furious and anarchistic Sex Pistols licensed their song “Anarchy in the U.K.” for the video game Guitar Hero III.

Look. I’ve got no beef with a rock band making lots of cash with their art. I’m all for a merger of art & commerce and believe that artists should benefit from what the market will give them…and especially so with the Sex Pistols (who were the naive victims of unscrupulous businessmen and lost nearly all their money to swindlers). I’m glad that Johnny was likely able to make more money of licensing royalties for that video game than he ever would’ve through a standard record contract back then.

But it seemed wrong somehow. Like buying “authentic punk memorabilia” at the mall.

And the reason it seemed wrong is that, while the next generation will get to hear the music for the first time, the MEDIUM they’re getting art is the MESSAGE they’re getting.

Let me explain.

When I first heard “Mommy’s Little Monster” by Social Distortion, it was on vinyl, on a record player, in my room with headphones on. It put words to what I’d been feeling in an aggressive and angst-filled manner that, well, spurred me to some sort of action. The next thing I know, I’m running into other people who felt it, too. We went to the same shows at the same clubs and were part of a tribe. The music and the band and the scene and the people all merged into one big melting pot. And the reason it stuck with us (and still does, to an extent) is that the MEDIUM WAS THE MESSAGE.

See, rock bands of the day, like Pink Floyd, were putting together elaborate shows in arenas where they literally built an 80 foot brick wall and had lasers and lights and all sorts of special effects. You went and you became a spectator in a theater. Everybody who liked the music showed up and got treated to all the bells and whistles and got great guitar solos and all that. Big ads in the paper, big marketing agencies behind the bands, big promoters…all very corporate and entertainment-driven.

Punk was different.

We had our dingy clubs. The bands didn’t play solos and stripped everything out of songs that wasn’t necessary…sometimes even the bridge or the chorus! No lighting rigs or fancy guitars or effects pedals or hydraulic lifts. The MEDIUM used to communicate to us was the MESSAGE. We were small in number, fringe, even. Like the clubs that band played in. We were angry. Like the music. We weren’t looking to be entertained, so the music-first approach appealed to us. Again, the MEDIUM was the MESSAGE.

Say it again.

And again:

The MEDIUM is the MESSAGE.

And churches don’t realize this. A perfect example is a church in our area recently built a 100,000 square foot 10-story building for their church home. Now, it isn’t my cup o’ tea, but if that’s what they believe God’s asking them to do let’s let that stay between them and God. But after the news agencies got wind of the big opening with all sorts of big name pastors coming to speak, the pastor was quoted as saying, “We wanted people not just to see a building but to feel God.” Okay, I’ll take him at his word, even if my suggestion for people to feel God would lean more toward sitting beside a river or on a mountaintop or on a beach. But he missed the reality that his building was the message.

The people who come to his church because of the cool building will leave later on when a better building comes along. Same for people who choose a church because of the playland for the kids, or the worship pastor or the course that was offered. The method you use to attract people will be the method you keep people because the medium and the message are the same thing.

So, if people are attracted to bells & whistles, you have to keep making a bigger/better deal out of the bells & whistles.

We do this with our buildings. We build them as we might an arena. We have a stage where the worship band and pastor are up front with an amphitheater seating arrangement, complete with big sound systems and video screens and lighting. Architecture matters and says something. Remember when old cathedrals had amazingly high steeples? Why? To draw the eyes toward God. The medium was the message. Ever asked the question as to what the modern architecture/design of our suburban American churches says about our message? Hint: it might fall toward comfort, passivity & consumerism.

We do this with our sermons. It’s well documented that you don’t remember much of sermons you hear, even if you’re a note-taker like me. Want me to prove it? Tell me something you learned from last week’s. Got something? Okay. Three weeks ago. Five weeks ago. The monologue sermon is a part of our spiritual growth, to be sure. Hey, I’m a sermon geek and listen to 3 per week minimum. But to put so much energy and effort into it as the be-all, end-all of learning the spiritual life seems like spinning our wheels.

We do this with our seminaries. We have lecture formats and train ministers to be professional according to our definition of professional and then wonder why our churches look like they do.

And, most importantly, we do this with us. Our very lives are our message. Paul said that. We are “living letters.” The things we emphasize to ourselves and our children, the values we hold, the dreams we dream, the love we show…the medium of our lives is the message.

And, yes. I’ve been the beneficiary of these realities both personally and professionally. So, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying they don’t help people in their journey. Not at all.

Say it with me, this time for emphasis: I’M NOT SAYING THEY DON’T HELP people in their journey. Hey, I like air-conditioning here in Texas. I like a good cup of joe while I’m listening to the sermon/music in a church service. I loved my seminary professors (some of them, anyway). My life is better because of the journey I’ve walked with people I care about greatly.

I’m saying it’s okay to question the MESSAGE our MEDIUM sends and re-think how and why we do things…because folks are picking up on the MESSAGE our MEDIUMS send out.

Why not rearrange our buildings to say something about how we value community? We did a little thing at the church I used to work for that I thought was great: Instead of communion on brass trays with grape juice and plastic cups, we put tables with elders to lead smaller groups in the celebration of the Lord’s Supper. A small change…but one that made a healthy statement. Could we arrange our buildings with a community emphasis? Things like soup kitchens or clothes dispensaries or medical clinic or automotive mechanic availability, etc.?

Why not have interactive sermons? Why not more film and theology discussions? Why not have a Sunday where families stay home and read the word and pray together? Why not have beer & theology groups that meet in pubs on various nights? Who says it has to be all on Sundays or Wednesdays?

Why not make seminaries more like one professor who basically leads life groups of 10-15 students and trains them for ministries?

Why not make deep community, love among people, as our ultimate apologetic? And provide/design ways to establish authentic community rather than successful programs? Even at the expense of successful programs?

Because, frankly, the MEDIUM is the MESSAGE. I can’t say it enough.

And, like the kid who hears a punk song on a video game can never really HEAR the message (because the message is how to get points and win, and when you think about it, it’s the very opposite of learning how to be an artist and express a point of view through that medium)…

…a person who is drawn by any anything less than Christ won’t either.

Your thoughts, patrons?

A Few Lessons Punk Can Teach The Church, Entry #2

Confession time:  I went to see the band Journey as a junior in high school.  I’m not proud of that.  The girl I was dating, like most of the girls of the MTV generation were smitten with them thanks to videos that were in HEAVY rotation on that channel.  Pam knew that my even agreeing to go was a major concession in our relationship and offered to pay my way.  Look, just because I was into punk didn’t give me license to neglect my duty as a boyfriend.  I paid, I drove, fought the crowd for good seats. I got her a t-shirt. She was (and still is) pretty. She had a great time. All in all: Worth it.

That concert was a lot like most of the arena rock shows of that age: Big stage. Big lights. Video screens to help those in the back get a better view. Choreographed moves between band members. Predictable banter (“Hello, Birmingham! How you doin’ tonight?! Nobody parties better than Birmingham!”). My guess is you could name your band: Steve Miller, The Eagles, Van Halen, Def Leppard, Peter Frampton, Paul McCartney & Wings, Kiss, Rush, the whole deal, and you could follow the formula. All the above, plus an incredible guitar solo at some point, a bass solo, and a drum solo–usually with the drummer on a hydraulic lift and he’d go for like 10 minutes.

And you paid good money for festival seating and probably got your money’s worth of entertainment for the night. I know Pam did with Journey. She was thrilled with it. She heard her favorite songs. She sang along to them all. She swayed back and forth with a lighter during “Faithfully.” All very normal. There’s no question that the band was made up of quality singers and excellent musicians. They probably had the top sound & lighting engineers on the team, too.

But coming home from Journey that night was a uniquely different experience than what I enjoyed. Being in an arena with 14,000 other people. All the bells and whistles of sound & lights…and a video screen. Predictable banter. Singing along. Extended guitar & drum solos. We’d been entertained. Well, mind you. But entertainment seemed to me to be the end result.

Contrast that with a former warehouse in a seedy part of town that had been converted into a club. The 688 Club in Atlanta was almost ideal. About 300 or so could fit. Everyone there was ready for action. There would be a mosh pit where people would have their valuables locked in the car and their steel-toes boots laced up. You wore clothes that weren’t important to you because they’d most likely get torn (if not ripped off). There was a bedsheet with the band’s logo on it hung behind the drummer (who may or may not have even been on a riser). Two guitarists. A lead singer. The only lights were so you could see the band. The band was never introduced by some local radio DJ, but rather they’d just come out and play. There were never solos of any type (more on that in another entry). Any banter was usually at the expense of the crowd (“Let’s see a little more motion up here in the pit. This ain’t no country club.”). People would run on the stage and dive into the crowd. They’d run on the stage and sing with the singer. The band members would dive into the crowd during songs. Friends of the band sold the merch and ran sound and moved equipment from the van. It was mayhem. It was chaos. It was an amazing experience.

But we, as paying customers, were actually a part of the show. Not there to be entertained, but rather to experience something together as a unified group. See, punk tore down that barrier between the stage and the crowd. It wasn’t so much a band saying, “Here we are, big stars, come and watch and enjoy” but rather “We’re just like you, let’s have this experience of expressing angst and energy together.” That line between band and crowd was erased.

And sometimes I think the church has drawn that line just like the big arena bands of the late 70′s and early 80′s.

See, we have this class of professional Christians who are supposed to do the work of the ministry. They preach the sermons. They play the music. They run the various age-segregated life-station ministries. I had a youth minister when I was a kid who used a lot of illustrations from his own life. He’d tell us about his amazing run of consecutive days of having a quiet time and stuff like that. I remember thinking, “That’s so great. But I’m not that. I could never be that. I haven’t had a quiet time this whole month.” The exact same feeling I had when watching Eddie Van Halen play a guitar solo. I could practice a gazillion years and never be that. So, just stand on the sideline and watch him do it.

But when you watched any punk guitarist go through simple three-chord barre progressions you thought, “I could do that. I can get a guitar and maybe some friends and we could form a band.” You wanted to do what they did because they weren’t even good at it but were DOING it as best as they could.

And that line needs to blurred. The leaders need to de-centralize themselves. Sure, there are standards in 1 Timothy and Titus that must be adhered to. But they should be building up the Body to use their gifts and talents to help the Body mature. It was never supposed to be a superstar in the pulpit (or youth room or leading worship) drawing crowds to watch him/her play the solo and go home raving about the show.

That street runs both ways, too. Those in the crowd shouldn’t be coming to see the show, but rather lace up their steel-toed boots and mosh together. Recently, the student ministry I used to work for had a pretty innovative and creative deal that had a web presence. Some adults checked the page and all that and thought it was a pretty cool thing and came up to me and said, “Hey, that’s a neat way to minister. Could you put something together so our adults could do the same thing?”

Did you catch that subtlety?

They didn’t phrase the question, “Could you teach me how to set something like that up for the adults?” In fact, when I suggested that I could help her head that up, she recoiled and said, “But that’s your job, isn’t it?”

Well, no. Not at all. My job is to equip the gifted ones to do it.

But I think the church could learn a few things about de-centralizing the leadership as well as the other side of the street, a crowd not ready for entertainment but for action.

So, for today…

What steps should pastors take to de-centralize their position?
What steps should congregations take to get ready for more involvement?
How do you see entertainment vs. participation taking place in your everyday life in various ways?

In Light of Current Postings…

I found this photo on Facebook that says a lot.

Ian Mackaye of Minor Threat and Henry Rollins of Black Flag...

It also wears progressive lenses to the shows and pays extra for reserved seats at punk shows so they won’t be sore from moshing for work in the morning.

A Few Lessons Punk Can Teach The Church, Entry #1

The number one song on April 23, 1976 was “Disco Lady” by Johnnie Taylor. The first few lyrics: “Shake it up, shake it down, Move it in, move it round, Disco Lady.
Move it in, move it out, move it in round about, Disco Lady.”

On that very date, The Ramones self-titled debut album was released. The first song on the album was “Blitzkrieg Bop” and the first few lyrics read, “Hey, Ho! Let’s go! Hey! Ho! Let’s go!” Then the song talks about the crowd of kids ready to release “lightning war” at their shows: “They’re forming in a straight line. They’re going through a tight wind. The kids are losing their minds. The Blitzkrieg Bop. They’re piling in the back seat. They’re generating steam heat. Pulsating to the back beat. The Blitzkrieg Bop.”

The number one song on October 27, 1977 was “You Light Up My Life” by Debbie Boone. The sappy love song starts with “So many nights I sit by my window. Waiting for someone to sing me his song. So many dreams I kept deep inside me. Alone in the dark but now, you’ve come along.”

On that same day, the Sex Pistols released their debut album “Never Mind The Bollocks, Here’s The Sex Pistols.” The 38 minutes and 45 seconds of fury started with the song “Holidays in the Sun” which begins with the sound of boots marching and the lead singer announcing they took a vacation in “other people’s misery.” The lyrics about their trip to East Germany: “Sensurround sound in a two inch wall. Well I was waiting for the communist call. I didn’t ask for sunshine and I got World War Three. I’m looking over the wall and they’re looking at me. Now I got a reason, Now I got a reason. Now I got a reason and I’m still waiting. Now I got a reason. Now I got a reason to be waiting: The Berlin Wall.”

I could go on with other hit songs from the late 70′s. Paul Simon had 50 ways to leave your lover. Manfred Mann blinded us by the light. The Bee Gees were stayin’ alive. Rod Stewart asked the world if we thought he was sexy and implored us to let him know.

Now, these songs were all #1 on the charts for a reason. People must’ve liked them for some reason or another. But here’s the deal: There were those of us who wanted just a little bit…

…more.

We wanted music that was ABOUT something. Even if you disagreed with what that something was.
Something that wasn’t boring (even if themes were simple).
Something that was played as loud and as aggressive as we felt.
Something that couldn’t be played as background music at a party.
Something that wasn’t safe.
Something that was OURS.
Something let the establishment know we meant business, even when they mocked us and patronized us.
Something that was made because it was authentic, not because somebody was trying to get rich and famous.
Something that said things needed to change.

In short, some of us were indeed all revved up and ready to go. We had a reason. And the status quo of music during the mid-70′s caused a reaction that now academics study and musicians acclaim critically. Want proof? Ever seen a recent list of the greatest albums of all time? You’d be amazed at the percentage of a top-100 list that includes punk music. You’d be amazed at how many are in the top-10.

And if you don’t think there’s something wrong with the status quo of The Church in America, can I humbly suggest you might not be paying attention? The amount of publishing to the Tribe that is pointing out the failings of the church is staggering. I’ve mentioned plenty of those books here at The Diner before and quoted extensively, but if you want studies about it, feel free to check out The Millennials by Thom & Jess Ranier as well as Gabe Lyons’ work The Next Christians: The Good News About the End of Christian America.

The peculiar thing about the reality to me is the reaction of not only the church leadership but also the rank-and-file to this data.

It can be summed up in a sermon I heard via podcast this week. It was from a church I value, with a pastor who “gets it.” They’re doing great things for the Kingdom. And the guest speaker they had that day had the chops to talk about the church. He’s forgotten more than I’ll likely ever know about The Church and there’s no question he is a respected person to speak on the subject of what the church is and should be. He did a fantastic job, frankly.

But there was one part of his sermon in which he alluded to the very statistics that shows The Church is in decline. The statistic he quoted, rightly, was that some 80% of active evangelicals will leave the church for good before they turn 40 years old. Now, keep in mind this number is staggering…and a reality of the status quo. Offhandedly, the speaker said that this exodus of our younger generation was because they hadn’t been taught the true nature of the The Church.

With all due respect to this speaker (and much is due, trust me), I’d like to have a cup of coffee with him and discuss this a bit. Because my experience has taught me that the younger generation HAS been taught the true nature of the church…

…and the church isn’t living up those standards, folks. That’s why they’re leaving and not coming back. It isn’t that the upcoming generation of the Church doesn’t know what the Church should be, it’s that they do know what the Church should be and can’t find one that measures up to the high standards they’ve been taught in Scripture.

They want it to glorify and focus on Christ…not peripherals (yes, I’m staying vague here).
They don’t want the same-old, same-old.
They want something that calls them to a higher lifestyle founded on the highest ideals.
They don’t want the Church as another part of their life, they want it to be their life.
They don’t want the “well-worn path to successful mediocrity.”
They don’t want to be pigeonholed, they want to have ownership of vision and direction.
They don’t want to be patted on the head by being given an alternative room or service.
They don’t want to show up on Sunday, hear nice worship and hear a good sermon and then go on with their week.

They do want to be part of a body that is everything Scripture says it should be.

And if even some of our most revered leaders in our churches today admit the status quo needs to be challenged, then by all means, don’t you think we should start doing that very thing?

So, a few discussion points:
Why do you think the younger generation is leaving the church and not coming back?
How can you challenge the status quo and do so in love?
What would attract you to be a part of a community of believers in Christ?

A little deep for a Saturday, but have at it, patrons.

P.S. If you’re looking for my “must-reads” on this topic, you might want to pick up the following:
The Tangible Kingdom: Creating Incarnational Community by Halter & Smay. (now a Kindle edition, too)
And, if you really want to have your hair blown back:
The Shaping of Things to Come, The: Innovation and Mission for the 21st-Century Church by Frost & Hirsch. (now in a Kindle edition as well)

How Punk Changed My Life

My childhood musical choices reflected my life-station.

There was plenty of The Walrus going goo goo g’joob and Jumpin’ Jack Flash was a gas gas gas thanks to my older cousins. Then the suburban America standard issues demanded that I respond to Peter Frampton’s question about how I felt, and that it was indeed more than a feeling when I saw my Mary Ann walking away, and I can guaran-damn-tee you that I wanted to rock and roll all night and party ev-u-ree day even if that involved losing my mind in Dee-TROIT rock city. Unique to my geographic birthplace were the reality that Sweet Home Alabama caused raised glasses when the guitar intro played and let’s just say that the way we ran our lives made no sense to me and when we gambled with our time we chose our destiny (please tell me some of you know that one).

In sum, my childhood bordered on idyllic. I had good friends (some of which I still have today) and we were outside almost all the time. We made ramps out of plywood and the picnic table to jump trash cans like Fonzie did in that episode of Happy Days. We went to minor-league hockey games and worked out rides with parentals doing the drop-off and pick-ups. Hours of football, baseball and basketball (and even street hockey) modified by the yard/driveway we happened to be playing in. As we got older that changed to driving with the windows down (and the music loud) and toilet-papering yards and chasing skirts. In so many ways it was generic and we were good kids who seemed to figure out that fine line between mischief and trouble.

My musical tastes reflected that childhood story I’ve referenced plenty of times in The Diner over the years. I won’t bore long-time patrons with it again and noobs can hit the archives to dig it up.

You can dig around in the archives with the story of how that all ended in 1979, too. The short version is that my dad died unexpectedly when I was 13. My life changed dramatically as my mom went back to school & work. During school and the extracurricular stuff I was outwardly a good kid. So many of my “good” decisions when I was out and about blurring the line between mischief and trouble came mostly because I didn’t want to make my mom cry anymore. I stayed in-bounds even when society would’ve given me a free pass to go crazy. The power of a mother’s tears, at least to this kid, were quite the Jiminy Cricket.

But inwardly, I was angry.

I never told anybody about how angry I was. I’m not entirely sure I had the tools to do that, anyway. I couldn’t put into words the sorrow about my dad’s death even if I’d wanted to. How do you tell your friends you feel like you got universally ripped-off? How do you tell your friends about your deal with God that if He’d stay on his side of the universe you’d stay on yours? Why would you tell your friends that stuff when they had their own stuff to deal with? I mean, their parents were divorced. They didn’t make clubs or teams. Their girlfriends broke up with them. Et al. High-school is pretty tough on everybody (file that under “Lessons We All Learned From The Breakfast Club”).

So, I went to school and didn’t have to think much. I exerted precisely the amount of effort to avoid taxing myself while keeping Mom off my back about grades. I chased skirts with more losses than wins but the wins were spectacular. Lots of laughs and good times with my cronies. Pretty normal all-in-all.

But when I got home the house was empty for the most part. My sister and I were five years apart in time-line but that may as well have been a solar system apart in life-station. I came home and in the hours alone things got pretty dark. I took to reading Edgar Allen Poe and if Steven King wrote it, I got it as soon as I could get to the bookstore (Carrie, Salem’s Lot, The Shining, The Stand all hit my nightstand during this time). I journaled extensively. I was a loner until my sister and I came out of our respective room-caves to fix our own dinner. In my case, those dinners were one of three things: Hot dogs heated in our new microwave, mac & cheese, or soup. Then we found some sort of TV to watch and we even had cable (when I wasn’t watching the Atlanta Braves on WTBS, mostly we watched the new channel, MTV).

And my musical choices reflected that.

Granted, it took 3 years for punk to get to Alabama, and few bands ever came there…but the Ramones found their way into my life with four guys in nothing but leather jackets and jeans in front of a brick wall on their album cover. This required a purchase of the cut & paste of the Sex Pistols Never Mind The Bollocks, Here’s The Sex Pistols. These were gateway bands and led to Black Flag, X, Fear, the Germs and a host of other hardcore punk bands that came of age during my high school years. And when Social Distortion’s first album hit my hands my junior year of high school, well, I recorded the album to TDK cassette that very day. Put it in my Jensen sound system for whenever no one was riding with me. Even my closest friends didn’t get it…and by extension…

…they didn’t get who I was becoming. And isn’t being misunderstood one of the most frustrating and devastating things that can happen to you?

But that music was my drug, man. And using it didn’t make my mom cry. I could go to a punk show and mosh around and while I was bruised and roughed up I came home feeling strangely better. In fact, Jim Lindberg, lead singer of the California punk-band Pennywise (who many snowboarders and skateboarders and surfers still listen to when they practice/compete) wrote a book on parenting called Punk Rock Dad (as an aside, it’s a book I HIGHLY recommend…lots of common sense stuff) with punk ideals and describes that time:

Punk rock came along at the end of the decade just when we needed it most, and in the chaos of it, everything made perfect sense. The music was fast, furious and seethed with adolescent resentment and frustration. It was anti-fashion, anti-authority, anti-everything. Verbose social critics saw it as a postmodern expression of Dadaism, an exercise in semiotics, the rejection of traditional culture and values, and the symptom of an underlying societal disease. We saw it as a righteous way to piss off the status quo. We would shove their screwed up world right back in their faces, wear torn-up clothes, and put the middle finger up to the mainstream. We would never grow up, never sell out, and never give in. We’d change the world with distortion, anarchy and angst. Just as our parents used Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, and the Beatles as the soundtrack to their adolescent rebellion, we would use Johnny Rotten, Keith Morris, and Joey Ramone.

Now, you can say what you want about how well it all turned out (and I’ll deal with that in a future entry). But at the end of the day…

…I discovered that that status quo was something that should constantly and vociferously be challenged. It’s a GOOD thing to do. And punk was the first time that I realized it SHOULD be done and that very thing was rewarded.
…I discovered that you didn’t have to be an observer. You could be a participant. Ever been to a punk show? The crowd is just as much a part of the show as the band. The stage wasn’t a barrier.
…I discovered that the medium was indeed the message (even if I later would realize the message had gaping philosophic flaws, well, that happens when you grow up).
…I discovered that movements could grow on its own without a lot of planning or manipulation. Simply people who felt the same way finding each other…which is such a cool moment: When you find your tribe. It’s the exact opposite of being misunderstood. The movement grew without the traditional means of agents and record labels (and even without the Internet).
…I discovered that when thing were kept at a “do it yourself” level, without commercialism, it would stay minimalist and the movement would stay true to the ideals.

And that’s how Punk changed my life.

And I’ll be exploring that and how the Church could learn a few lessons from Punk.

So, a few things for you to join in the conversation:
What music brings back fond memories of your teen years and why did that music make it a good memory?
What music “spoke” (speaks) to you, if any?
How do you deal with it when you feel like an outsider, or misunderstood?

Have at it kids…should be a fun few days, no?

Unemployment and Abundance

Francis Schaeffer was highly influential in how I see the world. In upper-level courses at college I was taking a course where we basically read prolific religious authors and wrote papers on their works. Most everybody picked C.S. Lewis based on available library resources, but the guy mentoring me in my faith thought it’d be good to read all 21 books the “missionary to the intellectuals” authored and discuss them over coffee. So, we did.

In the introduction to one of the books Dr. Schaeffer mentioned a crisis of faith he experienced after roughly 10 years of being a pastor. He took a birds-eye view of himself and his people. He took a look at what the Bible said should be true of those who follow Christ, and found both himself and the people he served wanting in that regard. His response was that he re-thought his entire philosophy of life. Does God exist? If so, in what form? Yep. He went all the way back to his agnosticism and re-thought it all. He even mentioned that when the weather was poor he’d pace back and forth in a barn. That image stayed with me.

And several people have asked me if my current experience as an unemployed professional Christian has caused that kind of situation for me.

Thankfully, the answer is that is hasn’t.

First of all, I have seen evidence of those things the Bible says should be true in the lives of the people I served. Granted, there were those folks that you walked alongside for over a decade who didn’t grow as fast as you thought they might. Or some didn’t grow at all. Some took significant steps backward. Sure. All that was true. But there were also those folks who surprised you with how fast they grew in their faith in six short months. Some grew a ton. Some took significant steps forward. In sum, I had plenty of evidence that God was at work among the folks I served.

Yes, I saw evidence in my own life of that, too. Sure, I had moments of stupid-head. But I also had moments where I couldn’t deny that I’d changed, too. To top it all off, sometimes I’d dig through an old journal and be wowed by how much God had changed my thinking in a particular area or whatever. It wasn’t as quick or meteoric as maybe I’d wanted it to be, but slowly and surely it was there. I could sense it at the very least.

But then again, I’ve always had a sensitivity to the work of God in my life for as long as I could remember. Maybe it’s a product of becoming a member of the Tribe at a very early age, but walking with God has always been my style. I mean, my character in Dungeons & Dragons (don’t judge me, I was a kid in the late ’70′s) was always a cleric. I’ve always had a church family to live this life with–the good and the bad. When my dad died at age 36 it didn’t cause any dark night of the soul where I doubted the existence of God. Just the opposite, in fact. I made a deal with Him to just stay on our respective sides of the universe. When the greatest high-school girlfriend of all time ended our relationship, I spent more time moping and praying than dealing with any existential angst. It’s been a four-decade walk…but I never felt a need to go back and re-think from the beginning. My starting point was much further down the line.

So, when I read the appendix of What Color Is Your Parachute? and the author (a former pastor) stated that a time of unemployment could be an excellent time for re-focusing your relationship with God, well, it was putting words into how I’d already viewed this season in my life.

Rather than pacing back and forth in a barn and thinking deep thoughts, I’ve been sitting in coffee shops and journaling thoughts along the lines of the abundant life.

I mean, isn’t that why Jesus said He came? Well, it’s what He said in John 10:10, anyway.

To give life. And life with abundance. And I’m of the understanding that phrase includes the life we’re currently living as well as our future existence with Him in the Kingdom.

Given that understanding, I’d love for all you patrons to pour a cup of coffee and tell me what you think makes up this abundant life Jesus talked about. If you’re not “there,” what steps do you take to get “there?” As a side question, what role do you think your occupation plays in that life? If you’re feeling especially adventurous, tell me what you’d like to see professional Christians play in serving you as you try to live abundantly.

Yep. Those are the questions I’m wrestling with and will be sharing as I walk along week 2 of trying to find the next steps…

…so, have at it, patrons!

But…I’m Colorblind.

So, I’m only one chapter into a book the higher-order life-liver sister Jilly gives Kid2 and I a book for Christmas: What Color Is Your Parachute? A Practical Manual For Job-Hunters and Career-Changers. She also included two different colors of stickers/highlighters as we’re both a little…

…ahem…

…unclear…

…about our futures at present. She’s trying to sift through a myriad of great post-graduation opportunities. In a much different way, so am I.

And the first chapter of the book, which is designed to help you figure out your great post-graduation opportunities, is all about the attitudes you’ll need to cultivate while you’re figuring. Good stuff, too.

Thus far the advice given involves:

…getting more sleep.
…drinking more water.
…taking walks.
…reading books–keep your mind active, etc.
…observing & appreciating the world around you–kind of a stop & smell the roses kind of thing.

A couple of quick observations:

First, I am doing VERY well in my search so far. Apparently, I’m a natural at these very things.
And, secondly, I don’t see any real need to read further in the book.

Just Some Quotes From Stuff I Read

Been reading a lot…and I do have some blog topics I’m pretty excited about diving into once I get my thoughts organized. So, while you’re waiting, here’s some mind vitamins I’ve picked up from the books I’ve been reading. All over the map, I know, but mind vitamins nonetheless.

Broadcast TV is living on borrowed time. It is not going to be long before it goes the way of vinyl records and eight-track tapes.

–Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito, commenting on a case involving decency standards on network television.

Here’s to the crazy ones.
The misfits.
The rebels.
The troublemakers.
The round pegs in square holes.
The ones who see things differently.
They’re not fond of rules, and they have no respect for the status quo.
You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them.
About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them,
Because they change things,
They push the human race forward.
And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius.
Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do.

–advertising copy for Apple in 1997, when Steve Jobs returned to the floundering company.

We never know which lives we influence, or when, or why. Not until the future eats the present, anyway. We know when it’s too late.

–Stephen King, in 11/22/63

Sometimes the things presented to us as choices aren’t choices at all.

–Stephen King, in 11/22/63

Do you want to spend the rest of your life selling sugared water or do you want a chance to change the world?

–Apple CEO Steve Jobs when trying to lure the Pepsico CEO to come work for his company. (it worked)

It’s obvious that rock radio has been suffering from some kind of formulaic playlist syndrome over the past 10 years. The feeling that you had the first time you heard Bohemian Rhapsody or Roxanne or Smells Like Teen Spirit–that’s what radio is for. Radio should not be warm milk. it should be moonshine.

–Dave Grohl in Rolling Stone, January 19, 2012.

Rock & roll is dying because people became okay with Nickelback being the biggest band in the world.

–Black Keys drummer Patrick Carney, in Rolling Stone, January 19, 2012.

There you go…just some random stuff that struck me while reading.

I’ll be back with some more focused entries soon enough…

Slackster, Flannel-Wearing Coffee-House Misanthrope

Long-time patrons of The Diner are well-aware of my firm belief that your identity affects your behavior.  It shows up in all sorts of places in all sorts of ways.  You know, a new student of guitar begins to carry around a guitar pick in his/her pocket because they now see themselves as a guitarist.  I have an acquaintance who happens to be a vice-president of a successful company who won’t go into a Wal-Mart because he feels it would damage the opinion others have of his business (which caters to higher-end clients).  I could go on with examples of varying degrees.

My identity for nearly a quarter-century has been as a pastor. The over-arching umbrella of that was I’m a child of the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.  Exactly the masterpiece that He created me to be to do things He designed a long time ago.

At times, my identity was embraced by others.  The long hair was understood not to be a rebellious symbol but a chance to donate to an organization that provided wigs for cancer patients.  The tattoos came from periods of deep emotion, including the death of my mom and spiritual fall of a friend…and the results of my spiritual transformation.  The constant challenge to status quo wherever it’s found was seen as part and parcel of the youth ministry profession.

At times, my identity wasn’t embraced at all.  I’ve been told that as a pastor I needed to cut my hair and dress more “business-like.”  I’ve been quoted Bible verses about long hair and tattoos (as if I was sick at seminary the days we covered those or that there might possibly be a valid alternative interpretation).  My politics have been vilified.  I often felt I was viewed by the majority of folks the same way Ferris Bueller was by Mr. Rooney: “He gives good kids bad ideas.”  Such is life when you live/teach grace in sanctification.

Like all identities, there were upsides and downsides to mine.

But it was mine.

WAS.

Now people talk about me in the past tense (“He WAS a great youth pastor.”).
And people seem to be concerned about my future (“What ARE you going to do now?”). They give me books to read that will help me figure it out, too…which is pretty nifty.
And people think it’s pretty nifty that I have some time to try to figure out what my next steps are. (“Man, you can be whatever you want. I wish I could have a mid-life do-over.”)
And people are great and encouraging to me all along the way. (“You know, Tolkein said that all who wander are not lost.”) I’ve heard that a great deal and even changed my description of my blog to that phrase because it is a nice reminder.

But I have to say that all of this seems terribly surreal. It isn’t all bad, but it is peculiar. It isn’t all exciting, but it is unique.

The identity of a wanderer is unique to me and I’m trying to get used to the fit of these new clothes. So, if you see me in a coffee-house as a flannel-wearing slackster in my own haze (if you get THAT movie reference, we can hang out a lot)…

…just know that it’s me adjusting to my new identity. It’s a slow business.