Signs

"They'll know us by the billboards that we make,

Just turning God's words to cheap cliches."

- Derek Webb

T-Shirts (What We Should Be Known For)

My job requires that I drive. A lot.

Doing a heavy amount of driving in America means you're bound to see a lot of church signs. Doing a heavy amount of driving in rural America increases this exponentially.

I've seen all the classics:

"Stop, drop and roll won't work in hell."

"God answers all knee-mail."

"Try our Sundays; they're better than Dairy Queen."

"You think it's hot here?"

"Get off Facebook and into the Good Book."

I could go on and on. In fact, the good folks over at The God Article have a whole section devoted to photos of cringe-worthy (or snicker-worthy) church signs. Some of them are harmless enough -- although, to borrow a thought from an article Chris Rice wrote in Relevant magazine several years ago, we should be very careful about reducing our messages about God to a simple sentence on a sign.

Some, however, are dangerous.

While driving up US 25 between Pineville and Barbourville last week, I passed a church with the following posted on its sign:

"The next life is more important than this one."

I suppose the intention, as with many church signs, was to frighten or intimidate people into "getting saved." I could use the rest of this space arguing that any decision made under such duress would almost certainly not last (think of Jesus' parable about the seeds that fell on shallow ground and didn't have deep roots).

But let's dig a little deeper.

First, intentionally or not, the statement is only half an affirmation of the afterlife. The other half is a nullification, or at least a minimization, of the value of this life.

It's not unusual to hear preachers refer to the Bible as a "roadmap" to heaven. (I wonder why it's always a roadmap, never just a map. I don't go to Roadmapquest.com or pull up Google Roadmaps when I need directions. But I digress.) The truth is, if we're judging by biblical content, this life is pretty doggone important; the Bible has surprisingly little to say about heaven or hell, but much to say about how God means for us to live here on earth:

Things like taking responsible care of the planet. Things like treating one another with kindness and patience. Things like loving our enemies.

These are things that will be irrelevant when we're in "the next life," the one that the church sign said was so much more important. And these are things that change the world we live in now.

Which leads to my second point. Ignoring or devaluing this life in favor of "the next" one is ... well ... selfish.

I'm reminded of my favorite episode of Seinfeld. In "The Burning," Elaine discovers that Puddy is a Christian. Eventually, they get into an argument, which leads to this classic dialogue: 

Elaine: "David, I'm going to hell! The worst place in the world! With devils and those caves and the ragged clothing ... and the heat -- my God, the heat! I mean, what do you think about all that?"

Puddy: "Gonna be rough."

Elaine: "Ugh, you should be trying to save me!"

Puddy: "Don't boss me! This is why you're going to hell."

Elaine: "I am not going to hell, and if you think I am going to hell, you should care that I'm going to hell, even though I am not."

Puddy: "You stole my Jesus fish, didn't you?"

Elaine: "Yeah, that's right!"

I guess I took the scenic route to my point, but here it is: A faith that encourages us to care primarily about what happens after we die will almost certainly be a faith that has little bearing on the world around us.

I would much prefer to focus on this life -- on being the man I was created to be in the here and now -- and let heaven take care of itself.

I'm reminded of one of my favorite Donald Miller quotes, one I frequently think about when I start to wonder whether my beliefs about the afterlife are correct. In Blue Like Jazz, Miller writes:

“At the end of the day, when I am lying in bed and I know the chances of any of our theology being exactly right are a million to one, I need to know that God has things figured out, that if my math is wrong we are still going to be okay. And wonder is that feeling we get when we let go of our silly answers, our mapped out rules that we want God to follow. I don't think there is any better worship than wonder.”

So let's commit ourselves to changing the world, in small ways and large. And let's enjoy the wonder.

Resurrection thoughts

"If protest depended on success, there would be little protest of any durability or significance. ... Protest that endures, I think, is moved by a hope far more modest than that of public success; namely, the hope of preserving qualities in one's own heart and spirit that would be destroyed by acquiescence." 

-- Wendell Berry, "What Are People For?"

Greetings, and Happy Easter! I would like to share a couple of not-quite-related thoughts about the resurrection and what it means to me.

* * *

So, last night my wife and I went on a double date to watch "The Hunger Games." I knew nothing of the books; I went in virtually ignorant, except for having been coached by an excellent article in the April issue of Sojourners.

I'm now a fan.

For anyone else who is as unfamiliar as I was, here's a brief outline: At some point in history, the 12 outlying poverty-stricken districts surrounding the capital city of the country of Panem (known simply as the Capitol) attempted to revolt against their government. Their uprising was quashed, and, to ensure that it didn't happen again, the Capitol decreed that each year, each of the districts would send a boy and a girl to compete in a last-man-standing fight to the death. The central character in the story is one of the Games' participants, Katniss Everdeen (played by Louisville native Jennifer Lawrence).

The theme of the injustice of empire is prevalent throughout the film. Even the country's name, Panem, is a reference to panem et circences, or "bread and circuses" -- a term popularized by a first century poet who accused the Roman Empire of offering food to the poor and entertainment to the wealthy as a means of placating its citizens and preventing them from asking tough questions about how the empire operated.

Katniss and her male district counterpart, Peeta (also played a Kentucky native, Josh Hutcherson), are keenly aware of the injustice of the Capitol's practice of offering up human beings -- children, no less -- as sacrifices to the people's thirst for entertainment. The night before the Games are to begin, Peeta says to Katniss, "I just keep wishing I could think of a way to show them that they don't own me. If I'm gonna die, I want to still be me."

That's the line I keep thinking about as I contemplate Easter this morning.

Let's be honest: You don't have to look too hard to find something in our world that will piss you off. In the last month or so, during my Lenten Facebook fast, I have come across probably a dozen stories that make me angry -- from the story of a banker who left a 1 percent tip along with advice that his waitress should "get a real job" to the almost-daily reminders of how screwed up our political system has become (far right, far left, and all points in between).

Still, the empty tomb is a symbol of hope. Hope that life doesn't end with our last breath. Hope that love wins. And hope that the world will not always be as it is now.

The empire does not own us. Eventually -- maybe not in my lifetime, maybe not even in my daughter's -- the empire will crumble. Eventually, the world will again become everything it was meant to be. This is what we ask for every time we pray the Lord's Prayer -- "Your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven."

As we await the full coming of that kingdom and the death of the empire, we can resolve to take Peeta's words to heart. We can show that the empire does not own us. We can refuse to participate.

We might not change the world, but we can show the world that it will not change us.

* * *

Secondly, some thoughts of a more personal nature.

If you follow my ramblings on Facebook, you might know that I have lost some weight. From New Year's Day 2011 to sometime in mid-March 2012, I shed 100 pounds through smarter eating and exercise.

That was before vacation.

My wife and daughter and I went to Disney World during spring break -- a first for all of us. We had a great time -- it was an incredible privilege to see my daughter enjoy herself so thoroughly.

Our vacation package included the Disney Dining Plan, which provides one fast-food-style meal, one snack, and one sit-down-restaurant-style meal per day, per person.

The food was out of this world. Thus, I came back a few pounds shy of that 100-pound mark again.

This has been a little disappointing for me. The past week and a half has marked the most significant "backsliding" episode I've had in my quest to get healthy.

With Easter and its food and candy looming, I made the decision to eat what I wanted through this weekend, with a commitment to get back on track Monday morning.

I wrote above about the way Easter reminds us that the world can be different. But I'm also keeping in mind that the resurrection has implications for our individual lives.

Whatever we struggle with -- whatever our hang-ups, our weaknesses, our addictions -- they don't have to define us. Just as death isn't the end, so our failures don't have the last word.

Every morning when your alarm clock goes off and you roll out of bed, you have a blank page. What you did yesterday -- if you soared, if you crashed and burned -- is, in many ways, irrelevant. Today's a new day.

In Luke's telling of the resurrection story, a group of women discovered Christ's tomb was empty. They were met by a man (or angel) who asked them, "Why do you seek the living among the dead?"

It's a much more profound question than it initially appears.

The unspoken implication is this: Yesterday, Jesus was dead. Yesterday, this is where you would have found him. But today, he is not dead. Today, he is alive. You no longer need to look for him here.

This is the hope we have. Yesterday, you screwed up. Yesterday, I ate too much. Yesterday, you let your guard down and paid a hefty price.

But that was yesterday. Today, we're not the same.

May we make the most of new beginnings. May the power that raised Christ from the dead do the same for us, even now.

Post-Church?

"Christian is a wonderful noun, but a terrible adjective." -- Rob Bell, Velvet Elvis: Repainting the Christian Faith

Some books are timeless. Masterpieces by Tolstoy. Twain. C.S. Lewis. I could go on and on.

And then there are books like Mark Joseph's Faith, God, and Rock & Roll.


Having just tackled The Hidden Wound, a particularly weighty work by Wendell Berry, I was ready for some lighter reading. I rescued this paperback from the clearance shelves at Half-Price Books sometime last year for the whopping price of $1. Written in 2003, the book offers profiles of artists who carried their Christian faith into the world of "secular" music, or who found faith after beginning their careers -- artists like Sixpence None the Richer, Creed, Alice Cooper, and Lauryn Hill.

There are a few positives about the book. For one, Joseph refrains from passing judgment, even as he points out the criticisms leveled at some of the artists by other Christians for perceived moral discrepancies. It also highlighted some folks I didn't even realize professed faith (who knew Carson Daly had planned to enter seminary before getting involved in radio?). And the later chapters, the ones in which Joseph does more than simply rehash portions of artist interviews, are intriguing (I especially enjoyed Joseph's somewhat strong indictment of the commercial explosion of "praise and worship" music in the early 2000s).

Still, suffice it to say, this book does not stand the test of time.

There are probably a few reasons for that. One is that virtually none of the profiled artists are still on music's A-list (U2 being the most notable exception); most of them, while not exactly one-hit wonders, were flashes in the pan who faded into near-oblivion shortly after the book was published.

I think the reason the book falls flat in 2012, however, is deeper than that.

It often seems that, when I start pondering a possible blog topic, I happen across something else that further convinces me it's time to write. This was no exception: Last week, I listened to Tom Ashbrook's interview with church historian and writer Diana Butler Bass on NPR's "On Point." Bass was invited on to discuss her new book, Christianity After Religion: The End of Church and the Birth of a New Spiritual Awakening.


Bass pointed to a number of statistics that show the American church is in decline, particularly among young adults, who are leaving in droves. At the same time, those young adults are fueling an explosion of service and advocacy, and, while some are hostile to faith for various reasons, many consider themselves in that category that makes church leaders cringe: "spiritual but not religious."

Another writer, Phyllis Tickle, released a book in 2008 entitled The Great Emergence. The premise was simple: Every 500 years or so, the Church (with a capital C) undergoes a significant transformation -- from the institution of monasteries and convents in the sixth century to the Great Schism in the early 1000s to the Reformation in the 1500s to ... well, to what's going on now.

Tickle wrote:

"Thus, when pinned down and forced to answer the question, 'What is Emergent or Emerging Church?' most who are part of it will answer, 'A conversation,' which is not only true but which will always be true. The Great Emergence could not be otherwise."

Now, many Christ-followers will find Bass's proposal unsettling, or even downright scary -- a Christianity that doesn't involve church as we've always known it? And certainly it would be premature to assume that churches will go the way of the buffalo anytime soon. But there is no denying that Christianity will look different in the future than it looks right now, just as it looks different now than it did in the past. This is neither good nor bad; it just is.

A major upside of this change is a faith that is less cloistered. No longer is Christianity about hiding away in "Fort God" and only engaging the outside world in a hostile manner -- of course, the true way of Christ was never about this to begin with. Christ-followers are learning to coexist with those whose beliefs differ from their own.

One of the most inspiring news stories I have ever read can be found here. If you don't feel like reading the entire story, here's a synopsis: A Muslim community was building a cultural center in Cordova, Tenn., near Heartsong Church. While the center was under construction, the church welcomed its new neighbors with open arms and even let the community hold its Ramadan observances in the church's main worship space.

The NPR story concludes:

Although the Memphis Islamic Center is now complete, the Muslim community keeps a strong relationship with [pastor Steve] Stone and Heartsong's members. Once a month, they get together to help the homeless in their neighborhood, and there are also plans to build a new park that would sit on both congregations' property.

This is simply, stunningly beautiful. While few churches (as we currently know them) will be willing to take this kind of action, I believe it will become more and more common as Christ-followers continue to move into the new era Bass predicts.

Based on some of the phone calls Bass fielded during the interview and some of the comments on the Web version, one of the major concerns Christians have with the writer's proposal is that Christ-followers will find themselves "going it alone" rather than enjoying fellowship with other Christ-followers. I believe this fear is unfounded, for a couple of reasons:

First, many -- I would venture to say most -- churches offer very little in the way of true community. "Fellowship" is relegated to the occasional potluck dinner or church picnic, while the important stuff is what happens in the pews and on the stage every Sunday morning. Even in the current church paradigm, community is more fully experienced in organic settings that are neither church-organized nor even necessarily church-sanctioned.

Besides, even if Bass's prediction fully comes to pass, I believe that Christ-followers will continue to get together in some fashion. Perhaps it won't involve getting all cleaned up and driving to a big building on Sunday morning; maybe it'll involve a Saturday walk to the coffee shop, or a backyard barbecue, or a game night, or a bike ride, or ... the possibilities are truly infinite.

Reflections on the lectionary readings in the March issue of Sojourners magazine were written by Martin Smith, an Episcopal priest in Washington, D.C. In one of the reflections, Smith wrote that scripture "can give us the courage to see God at work in the historical forces that are dismantling so many elements of traditional Christianity in our own time." This is a refreshing viewpoint: just as we can see the hand of God in the Church's previous evolutions, so we can see it at work in what's happening now, and what's to come. Let us take comfort in this thought.

So, what does any of this have to do with Faith, God, and Rock & Roll?

In short, I believe that what a whole generation has known as the "Christian music" industry is experiencing, in microcosmic form, what Bass predicts for the church.

The industry is in decline; it has been for some time. (Joseph points out in his book that the industry propped itself up on inflated numbers for years by claiming sales figures for albums that were only Christian music in the loosest sense.) This decline is the result of many factors, not the least of which is that the vast majority of Christian music is ... well ... mediocre. (I'm being gracious.)

So, what will the post-Christian music era look like? I don't think we need too much imagination to envision it; it's basically begun. Artists are creating good, intelligent art without worrying about how it's labeled. The litmus test isn't how many times a song mentions God or Jesus; it's whether the song resonates with listeners as true.

This is why I think Joseph's book falls flat: It addresses a trend that is already obsolete. Artists taking their faith into the "mainstream" arena is not a fad or a trend anymore; it's commonplace. It's so commonplace, in fact, that the Christian music industry cannot survive for long.

We can complain about this, or we can embrace it and be part of what happens next. I know which one I will choose.

Driscoll's Rambo Jesus: or, Prophets Versus Peacemakers

Mark Driscoll is an interesting character. One of the most influential ministers in America, Driscoll started Mars Hill Church in Seattle when he was 25 years old. Formerly part of the "Emergent" church movement, Driscoll later distanced himself from the movement and is now one of the most vocal critics of leaders like Brian McLaren and Rob Bell (guys I very much consider influences, which might give you some indication of my perception of Driscoll).

Driscoll has long embraced a "man's man" image - one of his biggest criticisms of leaders like McLaren is their portrayal of Jesus as someone who embraced peace. In a 2007 article in Relevant magazine, Driscoll famously said, "In Revelation, Jesus is a (prize) fighter with a tattoo down his leg, a sword in his hand and the commitment to make someone bleed. That is a guy I can worship. I cannot worship the hippie, diaper, halo Christ because I cannot worship a guy I can beat up."

This statement is so wrong -- and terrifying -- that I can't begin to unpack it. Suffice it to say that any of us could indeed beat Jesus up -- you know, because of that whole "turn the other cheek" thing.

Driscoll has recently emerged (pun intended) in the news because of the publication of his new book -- "Real Marriage: The Truth About Sex, Friendship, and Life Together," written by Driscoll and his wife, Grace. Come to think of it, Grace might be Driscoll's only female friend, given some of his views on the role of women, particularly in ministry -- upon the election of the first female bishop in the Episcopal Church, Driscoll blogged, "If Christian males do not man up soon, the Episcopalians may vote a fluffy baby bunny rabbit as their next bishop to lead God's men."

In the immortal words of Dave Barry, I am not making this up.

While I was in Lexington for work recently, I met my buddy Caleb and his fiancee, Janie, for a Malibu veggie pizza and a Magic Hat #9 at Old Chicago Pizza. (My meal would've given Driscoll a headache -- I would earn man points for the beer, but lose them for the veggie pizza.)

Anyway, Driscoll came up in our conversation -- in part because Janie posted a link on Facebook recently detailing a radio interview Driscoll did in Great Britain. I would encourage you to read the entire thing, but if you'd rather not, here's a summary: Driscoll suggests that ministers in the UK are cowards; then proceeds to criticize the host's wife, who is a pastor; then, tangentially, begins to grill the host on his views about hell, eventually telling him to stop "drinking decaf" and get "more courage."

Caleb said that he is hesitant to publicly dive into the Driscoll controversy, primarily because he doesn't want to call attention to Driscoll's egomaniacal drivel (my words, not his).

I must admit that I have wrestled with this as well.

As I mentioned in a recent blog, I used to write a monthly "Faith and Culture" column for the newspaper where I worked as the sports editor. More often than not, I used that forum to try to convince people that Christianity wasn't what its loudest voices said it was. I hoped to communicate that many of us who are passionately committed to following Christ do not share many of the opinions of James Dobson, Jerry Falwell, and Fred Phelps ... and, now, Mark Driscoll.

I think part of the reason this is ingrained in me is because I know people who cannot accept faith in God as valid if it means swallowing what these guys are dishing out. It's heart-breaking to think of those who are hostile to the faith as a result of the things they've heard about what God is like from some self-appointed mouthpiece. I can relate to that hostility, because if I believed God was the way God is portrayed by these folks, I probably would not want to be a Christ-follower either.

Someone I'm very close to regularly encourages me to keep speaking up; she tells me that the things I write help keep alive at least a small interest in Christ. I would hope this is the case for others as well.

On the other side is the reality -- sometimes a very uncomfortable reality for me -- that Driscoll and Dobson are my brothers. As much as I would like to, I cannot disown them. To do so only intensifies the fracturing that plagues the body of Christ, and makes me as guilty of closing the borders as they are.

So the question becomes: How do I reconcile the two? How do I decry the hurtful words and actions of others who profess faith in Jesus, without showing the same disdain to them that they show to others?

I don't have a completely satisfactory answer. And, to be honest, the Bible is little help. On the one hand, we are clearly commanded to love one another and to be gentle in our dealings with one another. On the other hand, we find that Jesus saved his harshest words for the religious elite of his day -- those who "strained at gnats and swallowed camels," who observed the law to the letter while neglecting the more important matters of doing justly, loving mercy and walking humbly with God.

We are called to be peacemakers, but we are also called to speak prophetically against injustice -- and Driscoll's male-supremacy, homophobic, war-mongering, egomaniacal teachings are decidedly unjust. How does one function simultaneously as a prophet and a peacemaker?

A very similar issue arose in our Bible study not long ago, and it was suggested that perhaps motive is everything. If I repudiate Driscoll's words to start a battle of egos, to prove how right I am or how orthodox my theology is in relation to his, then my effort is wasted and I am as guilty as the man I'm criticizing.

Perhaps it's a different story, however, if I do it out of a genuine concern for those who are confused or wounded by his words; then, it would seem that my actions are more in line with the way of Jesus. At that point, it isn't about me; it's about those Driscoll would rather exclude. It's about helping those hurting, rejected people to know that there is room for them in the expansive Kingdom of God.

Maybe I don't have this exactly right. I want to walk that line, but I'm certain I make a misstep from time to time. But I will go on believing that, at the end of the day, God knows my intentions. I will go on believing that I can make a difference. And, most of all, I will go on believing that love will eventually trump every form of hate -- even the forms that are dressed up in God-talk.

(Note: For a couple of other reads about the Driscoll controversy, check out Mark Sandlin's post on The God Article and a piece on Rachel Held Evans' blog.)

What We Don't Understand

"'That's just the way it is.' But don't you believe them." - Bruce Hornsby

Last weekend, my wife and I took our daughter to watch the re-release of Disney's "Beauty and the Beast" -- skipping the 3D, which seemed quite pointless for a cartoon. We have seen the movie roughly 447 times in the past couple of years, as my daughter keeps it in heavy rotation at our house -- but, of course, seeing movies in the theater is a different experience and merits the trip, especially if you catch the lower-priced matinee.

If you do not have daughters or have otherwise been able to avoid the movie, it's about a prince who was turned into a hideous beast because he had no love in his heart. He must find someone to love, and earn her love in return, before he can become human again. He takes an old man prisoner after the man hides in his castle while seeking shelter, and later falls for the man's daughter, Belle, after she agrees to take her father's place.

I'm not ashamed to tell you that the movie's music -- which includes three Oscar-nominated songs -- is well-written and catchy. I've regularly found myself whistling "Be Our Guest" over the last few days.

And it was a line from a lesser-known song in the film that caught my ear and made me think as I struggled to stay warm in the ice-cold theater.

Late in the movie, Belle's would-be suitor, Gaston, convinces the villagers that the Beast must be hunted down and killed -- ostensibly for safety, but really because Gaston is jealous of Belle's love for the Beast. As the villagers are marching through the forest toward the Beast's castle, they sing "The Mob Song," which includes the lyric, "We don't like what we don't understand; in fact, it scares us." Rather than attempting to find out whether the Beast was dangerous or not, they would rather get rid of him than take the chance.

I couldn't help thinking of how this is an apt description of 21st century Christians. We immediately reject what we don't understand. Mystery can lead to questions, and questions can lead to people reaching different conclusions; and since orthodoxy must be protected at all costs, mystery is a door we'd prefer to keep locked up tightly.

Several years ago, when I was working as the sports editor at a small, daily newspaper, I also wrote a monthly Faith and Culture column. When the film adaptation of "The Da Vinci Code" was released in 2006, I wrote a column in which I quoted one of my favorite writers. Paul Prather, a pastor and columnist for the Lexington Herald-Leader, had recently written about the platitudes he was receiving from well-meaning people after losing his wife to cancer the year before.

As I reflected on the villagers' line in "Beauty and the Beast," I thought of the Prather quote I included in that column five years ago:

"If what you've believed is the truth, the truth can always stand up to scrutiny. And if what you've believed won't survive examination, why would you want to hold onto it? Who wants to entrust his eternal destiny to a myth?"

It's always amazing to me how God finds ways to emphasize these points to me once I start thinking about something. The day after we watched "Beauty and the Beast," I was listening to a podcast of a sermon from Mars Hill Bible Church. Shane Hipps read the Acts story of Philip and the Ethiopian. As a eunuch, the Ethiopian could not be circumcised (because ... um ... he didn't have anything to circumcise). And according to Jewish law, a man who was not circumcised would not be accepted by God. But Philip ignored this detail and baptized the man anyway.

In fact, by most conventions, the man would be unacceptable today. As Shane pointed out, the hormonal imbalances caused by castration often led to eunuchs taking on very feminine qualities -- in other words, it's very likely that the Ethiopian would be considered transgendered. Yet Philip bucked convention and baptized this uncircumcised, effeminate Ethiopian eunuch. As a result, Ethiopia has one of the largest Christian populations in that part of the world, and the Ethiopian church traces its roots back to a certain eunuch.

Good thing Philip didn't just reject what he didn't understand.

There are some rotten things about the world we live in. Our planet is witnessing an ever-growing gap between the richest and the poorest; and our excesses are beginning to catch up with us. Our nation has a toxic political system that punishes those who are willing to compromise and glorifies those who perpetuate gridlock. Our state, and especially my corner of it, is held hostage by an industry that convinces us it's our only hope for survival, when in reality it's destroying our health and our land.

We can accept the way things are, or we can dare to boldly ask why they should be that way.

Martin Luther King chose the latter, and sparked a movement that changed the face of the nation. Gandhi chose the latter, and won independence for his country.

What could we accomplish?

Whatever is True

"Christian is a great noun but a poor adjective." -- Rob Bell in Velvet Elvis: Repainting the Christian Faith

One of my favorite people in the whole world is my friend Caleb. I first met Caleb in the summer of 2004, when he was a teenager and was serving in my town as a missionary for the summer. I remember the first time I saw him at church; dressed up, tie and all, but sporting a heavy beard and shaggy hair.

In the years since, we have become very close friends -- and his beard has grown much, much longer. We occasionally come to different conclusions on issues, but we have much in common: our steady opposition to mountaintop removal (we attended I Love Mountains Day together last year, along with his fiancee, Janie), our deep appreciation for Wendell Berry's work, our love for The Boss (although mine far outweighs his!). Probably my favorite thing about Caleb is that he seems more comfortable in his own skin than anybody I know. The guy is absolutely unpretentious, in a way I wish I could be.

(None of that has anything to do with what I want to write about; I just wanted to introduce you to my friend.)

Caleb is also an extremely talented writer who has completed a first draft of a book (which I have had the privilege of proofreading) and has a number of blogs with various themes. I find the most recent addition to be fascinating. In "Twelve Months of Change," Caleb will be facing a different challenge, a la Morgan Spurlock, for each month of 2012. His first mission: He is spending the month of January on an exclusive diet of Christian music.

Now, before you rush to judgment, I should tell you that Caleb has no illusions about this particular venture. He writes:

"I'm worried that this move could be viewed as Pharisaical or legalistic. As I've stated earlier, I've heard from God numerous times through so-called 'secular' artists and just because an album is sold in a Christian bookstore does not mean that the artist's heart is pure. I do not believe that listening to only Christian music will somehow get me in good with 'the Man upstairs' or incline God toward answering my prayers. It won't even make me more holy -- so this experiment is not exactly about that."

So please don't think that my writing is in any way intended to belittle or criticize my friend's challenge -- as I stated earlier, I find it fascinating. I'm only weighing in because his experiment has got me thinking about truth.

My upbringing was not all that different from Caleb's -- we both grew up in church. In fact, "heavily involved" barely begins to describe my association with my church's youth group throughout my teenage years; I practically lived at church. I recall, at various times during those years, facing the supposed "big issue" of whether or not it was OK to listen to music that wasn't "Christian" (by which I mean music made by Christians and marketed to a Christian audience). The scripture that was frequently used to answer this question was Philippians 4:8, which reads, "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable -- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy -- think about such things" (NIV). Somehow, this was (mis)taken as another way of saying, "Yes, Jarrod, you should only listen to 'Christian' music."

(I'm quite embarrassed to admit this now, but I recall one revival-fueled episode during my teenage years in which several people from the church -- myself included -- made a bonfire, into which we cast all of our "sinful" stuff: CDs, movies, and the like. Thankfully, this didn't set me back a great deal, as I had very little "secular" music in my collection at that point.)

Fast-forward about 15 years. I still think Philippians 4:8 is a great measuring stick for the music I enjoy -- but now I understand it completely differently.

In particular, the beginning and end of Paul's admonition -- "whatever is true" and "if anything is excellent or praiseworthy" -- suggest something much broader than music that fits neatly into the "Christian" category. For that matter, the lion's share of Christian music is neither "excellent" nor "praiseworthy" -- and, in some ways, perhaps isn't even "true."

Here's what I mean by that last part: A lot of Christian music conveys a message along the lines of, "Life really sucked, and then I found Jesus, and now everything is wonderful." If you have followed Christ for any amount of time, you probably learned really quickly that life is still not wonderful -- at least not all the time. Even when there is some measure of honesty and conflict in Christian music, it's typically the kind that is resolved in two verses and a bridge ("Things are really bad; oh, wait, I'm having an epiphany; and now things are really good").

Contrast this with one of my current favorite albums. Having received some iTunes gift cards for Christmas, I set about downloading some new music last week and ended up selecting Amos Lee's 2011 release "Mission Bell." Usually, music takes a couple of listens to grow on me. Not so with Mr. Lee's album -- I loved it instantly.

You want truth? Several of Lee's songs are, for all intents and purposes, modern-day Psalms. Take "Violin" for example ("Oh, God, why you been hangin' out in that ol' violin while I've been waiting for you to pull me through?"). Or "Jesus" ("I remember when I was wild and free ... my heart was a skipping stone ... You know, I never thought that you hated me, but I've never felt so alone"). Or "Cup of Sorrow," which expresses a willingness to participate in suffering as a show of solidarity with those who are suffering ("I send a prayer out across the ocean, to a man who's being forced out of his home; I send a prayer out across the ocean, so that he may not suffer there alone").

This is truth -- and, according to Paul, that makes it worth thinking about.

Or, look at Johnny Cash. While everything the Man in Black did in his twilight years was amazing, my favorite of the American recordings was the first one released after his death. "American V: A Hundred Highways" features a very frail Cash, reeling from the death of his wife and close to death himself, singing songs of pain and desperation ("Help Me," "On the Evening Train," "If You Could Read My Mind") and taking a long look at the end of his life ("Like the 309," "Further On (Up the Road)," "I'm Free from the Chain Gang Now").

Every adjective Paul uses to describe the things we should think about -- true, lovely, excellent, and so forth -- is encapsulated in "American V."

I have long been fascinated with the prophets in the Hebrew scriptures. The prophets were, above all else, truth-tellers. That truth might call the people out for some social injustice or moral deficiency; it might be a soothing balm that healed where someone was hurting; or it might simply give voice to the nation's pain.

My musical hero, Bruce Springsteen, has made a career of this (you knew I couldn't write this post without mentioning Bruce, right?). From exposing injustice in "The Ghost of Tom Joad" to decrying the Iraq War in "Devils and Dust," The Boss has spoken truth in a way many saccharine-sweet Christian artists cannot approach.

Perhaps his most prophetic work was done in 2002 with the release of "The Rising." Recorded in response to the horrendous events of 9/11, the album is simultaneously a funeral dirge ("You're Missing," "Waiting on a Sunny Day") and a call to celebration (the title track, "Mary's Place"). One song, "My City of Ruin," is both -- from lamenting the destruction the narrator sees around him to urging listeners to "rise up" and praying "for the strength, Lord."

Regrettably, my appreciation for The Boss had not yet blossomed back when "The Rising" was released; but I've listened to several live performances from the tour on E Street Radio (thank God for Sirius XM) and recently watched  a concert DVD recorded in Barcelona in 2002, and have never failed to be deeply moved by the power and timeliness of the songs.

(In doing research for this post, I came across an excellent piece about the importance of "The Rising" here.)

Moving past the "truth" test, Christian music regularly fails the "excellence" test.

To be sure, there are a few artists in the Christian music genre who take their art seriously and consistently put out high-quality music. David Crowder is awesome and willing to take risks -- who else needs both turntables and banjos in the studio? Derek Webb is fearless, taking stands that are far from popular with many Christian music fans. Artists like Andrew Peterson write songs that ask questions and inspire.

But these are exceptions. Generally, Christian music is to music what Hunt's is to ketchup -- a knockoff that is clearly inferior to the original.

(Sidebar: Probably my favorite episode of "Seinfeld" was the "Jesus fish" episode, in which Elaine is shocked to find that Puddy's car radio presets are Christian music stations. "I like Christian rock," George chimes in. "It's very positive. It's not like those real musicians who think they're so cool and hip." Classic.)

Finally, in a broader sense, I have a problem with the whole concept of "Christian" music. I fully resonate with the Rob Bell quote at the beginning of this post. We have created an entire Christian subculture that insulates Christians from the outside world -- we can listen to Christian music, attend Christian movies, vacation at Christian theme parks, read Christian newspapers, even freshen our breath with Christian gum bought from a Christian dollar store (sadly, I'm not kidding).

I stumbled across a blog by a fellow apparently named Scott Baker while I was researching. (I should really do this more often -- finding lots of great stuff!) If you don't want to read the whole thing, here's part of what Baker had to say:

"There's no such thing as a 'Christian song,' or a 'Christian book,' or a 'Christian nation.' There are only Christians who do, say, and act. And there is no song, book, speech, or act that is 'un-Christian' either."

If God is the author of truth, then we must accept that all truth is God's truth -- whether it comes through an "approved" instrument or not.

After all, God apparently spoke through a donkey once. Is it so hard to believe that God can speak through a musician or writer who does not believe in God? Or through a movie? Or through the crazy guy you run into outside your office? Or through your Rice Krispies? Well, OK, maybe that's going too far...

Again, I am enjoying following Caleb's blog as he completes Jesus Music January. (And Caleb, if you read this, I will remind you that Crowder's final album comes out Tuesday!) But for those of you who might think Caleb's challenge should last longer than a month -- like, say, the rest of his life -- I encourage you to pursue truth where you find it. God's bigger than your Christian box, after all.

Preparing the way

It makes me sad to realize that I haven't posted anything in two months. Our lives have been an almost-constant flurry of activity since November started, and blogging - along with many other things - has gone on the back burner. I intend to be more consistent about this in the coming year; but that's a post for sometime next week.

At any rate, I have a few days off for Christmas and thought I'd take a moment to offer a short reflection. Over the past few days, I have been reading the accounts of the birth of Christ found in the gospels of Matthew and Luke. For anyone (like me) who grew up in church, these stories can become so familiar that we are no longer moved by them - kind of a paradoxical unfamiliarity through familiarity. So I've really made an effort to read them with fresh eyes this week.

One of the ways I've attempted to do this is by trying to put myself in the position of some of the key players - trying to imagine how they would have felt as they lived out their part in this incredible story. Yesterday, I read the conclusion of the first chapter of Luke, which includes the birth of Jesus' cousin and future forerunner, John (who would later eat bugs and be known as "the Baptist"). I was moved by the words of his father, Zachariah:

"And you, my child, 'Prophet of the Highest,' will go ahead of the Master to prepare his ways, present the offer of salvation to his people, the forgiveness of their sins. Through the heartfelt mercies of our God, God's Sunrise will break in upon us, shining on those in darkness, those sitting in the shadow of death, then showing us the way, one foot at a time, down the path of peace." (Luke 1:76-79, The Message)

John's work of "preparing the way" -  of presenting a new possibility to the people, the possibility of having their sins forgiven - sets the stage for an in-breaking of light; it opens the door for God to more fully arrive on the scene.

Our calling is not that different today. We also have the opportunity to "prepare the way," by telling people that God has a dream for the world, that a better world is possible, that a better way of life is available. (Jesus referred to this as the Kingdom of God.) This was ultimately what John did, preaching essentially the same message that Jesus did: "Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand." This is often misunderstood to mean, "Be sorry for your sins, because you're running out of time and God is about to cut you down," when a much better understanding is, "Change the way you think about the world, because God's dream is ready to become reality."

As people respond to the invitation to change their minds and live better lives, the world is slowly but surely changed. God arrives; chaos is replaced with peace; the oppressed receive justice; the poor find their needs met. The Kingdom of God, the dream of God, takes another step toward completion.

So let us live our lives to prepare the way for a new King - one who will "take over the running of the world. His names will be: Amazing Counselor, Strong God, Eternal Father, Prince of Wholeness. His ruling authority will grow, and there'll be no limits to the wholeness he brings" (Isaiah 9:6-7, The Message).

Merry Christmas, and a blessed New Year!