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Category: Culture

The outsiders: Faith and exile in America

5130991619_5f2a3bd38d_zLately I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to live as an outsider, marginalized by society.

Being an outsider is the focus of a chapter I am currently working on for my next book: when I am not researching, I am writing and reflecting on the topic.

I have always struggled with a feeling of “outsiderness,” but the feeling has been getting stronger recently. I really don’t “belong” anywhere. Academically, I wear the scarlet letter of a failed PhD. Philosophically, I am a small-town Montana boy whose beliefs and values go against those of my city (Portland, Oregon). Temperamentally, I am an introvert in a society which prizes extraversion. And politically, I find the most popular candidates for president to be either childish and vulgar, or lacking in credibility, or both. So even in my own country’s political process, with “outsider” candidates capturing huge numbers of votes, I feel like an even bigger outsider than they are because I don’t understand what their supporters see in them. I don’t get it; I just don’t fit in. I keep thinking, Why am I so out of step with everyone else? What am I missing?

For most of my life I have been “on the outside,” but like most people I have never wanted to be – and I have wasted much time and energy fighting to get “in.”

I wasn’t always an outsider. In grade school, I was the “it” kid (whatever “it” is); my house was the happening place. I reached out to everyone, and every prepubescent person in our neighborhood congregated at the Hochhalters. At church I won every “bring-a-friend” contest, and each summer they sent a Vacation Bible School bus directly to my front door to carry all of the friends I invited (true, the bus did make a few other stops, but not many).

But after my parents’ divorce, everything changed. I became bitter, shy, and fat. I definitely wasn’t popular anymore. Kids no longer came over because I had “it”. They only came over because I had a BB gun.

I flunked sixth grade and started my journey as the reject, always dreaming about what it would be like to be cool again.

4268300971_baf56e495d_zAnd then I added yet another undesirable “outsider” trait to my already-long list: gradually, over time, I decided that I was serious about being a Christian. This choice has only increased my “outsiderness”. Culturally, I long to be accepted and live in the center; but—especially in Portland, one of the most “unchurched” cities in the U.S.—I am marginalized. The harder I resist being rejected for my faith, the more society insists that Christians like me are outsiders, relegated to the margins.

Yet as much as I dislike my “place” on the outside, at the edges, in the margins, I see that it is here where God is the most comfortable—the most intimate and redemptive. It is here where grace shines the brightest. It is here where Jesus lives.

Jesus is the epitome of an outsider. At his birth he is laid in a manger (Luke 2:4-7), certainly not the hippest choice for a crib. He grows up in Nazareth, a town held in low regard (John 1:45-46). He lives to upset cultural and religious norms (Mt 10:34-39). He dies as a reject (Isaiah 53:3). And he says that, in this world, his followers will experience the same. Instead of status and prestige, he promises us hostility, saying: “You will be hated by everyone because of me” (Matthew 10:22).

Not the strongest recruiting line I’ve ever heard.

Throughout scripture, God is always working in the margins. In Genesis, he chooses as his people a bunch of nondescript nomads who become slaves in Egypt (Exodus 1:8-14) and, to lead them, Moses – a fearful, stuttering individual (Exodus 3:11, 13 and 4:1, 10, 13) with anger issues (Numbers 20:9-12, 27:17). After Moses dies, the people inhabit the Promised Land and eventually grow into the great nation of Israel, led by a succession of three great kings – Saul, David, and Solomon. But their golden age of wealth and expansion as a superpower lasts only a couple of generations; then Israel fractures into a divided kingdom and ends in another form of rejection and outsiderness: exile.

While the Israelites are living in exile, as outsiders in pagan Babylon, God does not promise immediate rescue but instructs them to embrace their “outsider” status for the long haul:

“Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease. Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper” (Jeremiah 29:5-7, NIV).

During this time, God never tells his people to seek recognition or acceptance in the center of society. He never tells them to fight for their rights – not even the right to worship him. In fact, he almost seems to prefer the times when they live as nomads, slaves, and exiles. If so, I don’t know his reason, but it could be that those are the times when his people are the most humble, teachable, and dependent on him.

In our time, God’s people are again being pushed to the margins. Many previously “Christian” countries, including the U.S., are now post-Christian; Christians have lost the culture war. More and more, we are in exile. We are outsiders.

This reality, though painful, is not necessarily a bad thing. Like the Jews in exile, maybe we are meant to accept and thrive in our outsiderness – because it is on the outside, in the margins, where the church really thrives.

Political pundit and former presidential speechwriter Peggy Noonan writes:

Pagans have been trying to kill Christianity for two thousand years, and each day it dies, and each day it rises. Force it underground and you empower it. You draw rebels, real rebels, the kind society doesn’t acknowledge till half a century later, but powerful people nonetheless. The faith will not only endure but flourish, and, as it does in times of adversity, produce real saints.[1]

110631988In fact, the most powerful periods in Christian history are not when Christians are in the center, but when Christians are on the outside looking in – or better yet, looking up.

So we must develop a higher worldview – a kingdom worldview. Our instructions are actually quite simple, but somehow very easy to forget: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’” (Luke 10:27).

It’s only natural to try to avoid rejection if we can; I’m not saying we shouldn’t. But I am saying two things: First, we must stop confusing hurt feelings with real persecution (for example, stop complaining about losing our “right” to say “Merry Christmas” – while Christians elsewere are losing their heads). And second, according to Jesus, we should expect rejection and persecution, and face both as he did – with grace and courage (Philippians 2:5-8).

So being an outsider, much as I resist it, is part of the terms and conditions of my faith. Therefore, instead of fighting so hard against my outsiderness, I believe it’s time for me to start embracing it and trying to understand God’s purposes in it.

Following Jesus is not primarily about winning court cases, getting the right politicians elected, or being accepted by the culture. It’s not wrong to care about those things – but it is wrong to make legal and political victories our primary goals, because those things are not what matter most; Jesus is. Instead of raging against our post-Christian world, we should be loving it as he did – yes, even if it hates us.

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“Hosanna!”: The presidential election, terrorism, and the state of the world

Last Saturday in Arizona, protesters tried to silence a presidential candidate while supporters retaliated with fisticuffs.

Hours later, on Palm Sunday, Christians commemorated Jesus’s kingly entrance into Jerusalem.

The next day, in Brussels, terrorist attacks killed over 30 people and injured at least 200 more.

This year has been that kind of surreal.

The elections, the unrest, the terror—all of this craziness makes me feel overwhelmed. Overwhelmed and afraid.

I can’t quite describe my feelings, but they include anger, horror, frustration, numbness, bewilderment and more, depending on what’s in the news each day.

I am distressed and heartbroken over the terrorism, crying out to God for the victims. But I can’t stop it. So I focus on something closer to home: election year, and how our next president might respond to terrorism and all of the other problems facing us, both here and abroad.

uncertainty-aheadYet it unnerves me to think who We, the people may choose as our next president. I am so un-thrilled by the choices that if I had to vote today, I couldn’t, even while holding my nose. I simply cannot shake the feeling that we are preparing to elect a dictator—because that’s what we seem to want.

I say this because I see a trend of feverish devotion, with several candidates being exalted to nearly messianic status. I understand that in a democratic republic, researching the candidates and trying to support the best one is a good thing. But where is the line between “support” and “worship”?

I’m not sure, but I think we border on worship when we defend our candidates by…

-shouting down or cold-cocking the opposition.

-attacking other candidates’ shortcomings while giving our own candidate a pass for the same offenses.

-name-calling and bullying anyone who dares to question our candidate.

-insisting that our candidate is the only one who has the answers.

All of these could fit the definition of “worship.”

It’s funny how history repeats itself.

In 2008 we elected a president based on a promise of “hope and change”—yet the world is still divided, hate-filled, and violent. Now we are preparing to elect one based on promises of “revolution” or “national greatness.” More and more these days, we seem to believe that the right person will be able to solve everything, and ring in utopia. Yet in truth, any president is lucky to fulfill maybe five percent, at most, of everything promised on the campaign trail (because our laws clearly define what a president can and cannot do—thank goodness for the Constitution’s “division of powers”!). In fact, no matter how great their desire, vision, and ability, none of these leaders will ever be able to save us—as a nation, or as individuals.

It has never happened, and it never will. 

Well, except once.

Jesus arrived in Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, things were much the same as they are today. Then, as now, people felt a sense of political unrest and unhappiness with the government (and it was a government of brutal Roman occupiers, not their own self-government). Then, as now, many of Jesus’s followers were seeking a social revolution instead of a spiritual one. Then, as now, they despaired when their leader didn’t do what they wanted. And then, as now, people feared forces beyond their control and longed for a messiah to deliver them.

Yet Jesus came in riding into town not on a white steed, like a military hero, but on a humble donkey.

Palm%20Sunday_jpgAnd crowds of Jews spread palm branches before him and cried, “Hosanna!”—a rich, ancient word that we now use only on Palm Sunday. But I’m thinking we should revive it, because its meaning is, “Lord, save us!” (Psalm 118:25)—an urgent and desperate cry for deliverance.

The people were quoting this word from the Psalms. They weren’t welcoming Jesus into their city; they were pleading for divine rescue—as at Passover when God rescued their ancestors from slavery in Egypt, and as at Calvary when he rescued humanity from sin. No one knew it yet, but Jesus was coming to completely and finally answer the cries of “Hosanna.” He was coming to rescue us all.

Ironically, those cries for rescue would be answered just days later, after these same crowds turned on Jesus and demanded his death—the very death which would save the world.

If only they had known.

And now, during this holy Passion Week, we need saving more than ever. We see Americans attacking one another, a capital city recovering from fatal bombings, and a world possibly inching closer to the next great war.

None of this is exactly new (we’ve seen it all before), but it still feels so chaotic, so desperate, so uncertain. I simply do not have answers—nor, despite the politicians’ promises, does anyone else.

I’ve lived long enough to realize that we will never be rescued by anyone on the ballot.

And at that realization, my spirit cries, “Hosanna! Lord, save us!”

Only one Messiah has sacrificed himself for us, instead of for his own political ends. Only one Messiah possesses all of the power, authority, and credentials required to save us.

There is only one Savior.

And he is not currently running for President.

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Why I am already giving up on 2016

20130704-defeat-chess1When things are beyond our control, we tend to “give up” in one of two ways. The first way, which does little good, is to appear to give up by saying, “I’m done” – and throwing up our hands in disgust. The second way, which I recommend, is to truly give up.

Let me explain.

In 2015, I tried the first way.

I immersed myself in the news, trying to get my mind around the emerging crises of city riots, global terrorism, leadership vacuums, and the uneasy feeling that we may be headed toward another world war.

I couldn’t discuss these issues on social media, because the response there is always character assassination from angry people with pat answers which they (wrongly) believe will solve everything. So I internalized my concerns and frustrations. But that choice led to worry and despair. Many nights I couldn’t sleep because my mind raced with headlines, talking heads, and complete nonsense I had heard during the day.

Finally, I defiantly told the world (well, at least, my little world): “I’m done.” Done with the chaos that appeared to multiply with each passing day. Done with not being told the truth, or being told that the truth doesn’t matter. Done with the idiocy of social media. And definitely done with elections –all of the posturing, defending, promising, accusing, and denying.

Done.

I threw up my hands, gave the world the finger, and plunged my head into the sand. I chose ignorance over awareness. I pretended that since I couldn’t see or hear all the madness, it had disappeared.

On the surface, this approach had some merit: it gave me a moment of peace.

Unfortunately, though, the harder we try to ignore something, the more we think about it. Announcing “I’m done!” can never change the soul. Inside, I was still as uptight and stressed as ever.

So my moment of peace was an illusion, because it never healed my inner turmoil. It didn’t eliminate my frustration and anxiety, or their cause; it only drove them underground. My mouth said, “I’m done” – but my heart continued to pump vinegar. The fire – the fight – was still there. I was just denying the problem, yelling, “LA-LA-LA-LA-LA!” with my ears covered – and then washing my hands of the whole situation.

But in doing so, like Pontius Pilate, I missed the Truth himself – standing right in front of me.

I realized that, despite every attempt to withdraw and hide, I was still overwhelmed by the vitriol, the violence, the threat of war, the lack of direction, the uncertainty in the world. No matter what I did, I could not escape the insanity all around me.

At about that time, 2015 ended and 2016 began.

So I decided that in the new year, I would work on trying the second approach: truly giving up.

I would quit fighting. Raise the white flag. Tap out. Accept my total helplessness to affect world events. Understand that the issues before us have no simple solutions, no easy answers.

Truly giving up doesn’t mean washing my hands of the whole mess, but rather admitting it’s out of my hands. Embracing my inability to fix things. Acknowledging that there may be no earthly solutions at all.

3985490626_4ece1bf58aTruly giving up may seem like a hopeless response – but it is not, because it shifts my focus back to the Creator of the universe. And staying focused on him is the most hopeful response there is.

Since 2008, when “hope” was used as a campaign slogan, the word has lost its power. Just as in every other election, we placed hope in a finite man who made many promises, but things didn’t get better. In fact, one could argue that they’ve gotten worse. And now we have a new batch of candidates stepping up to the plate, again asking us to place our hope in them.

But by truly giving up, I am choosing to place my hope in God, who is far bigger than any candidate or cause.

When I do that, my peace returns. When I focus on Jesus, the Prince of Peace, I find peace that can’t be quashed by parliamentary procedures, executive orders, or judicial override. Peace that can’t be won or lost in an election. Peace that can’t be stomped out by terrorism.

Then I don’t have to work so hard to ignore all of the unraveling going on around me. I don’t have to fret, stress, or worry over it. Instead, I can give it up to a Creator who thoroughly understands every problem – and holds every solution.

And he is GOOD.

So that is why I choose to give up on 2016.

In other words: surrender.

Take it, Savior. It’s all yours.

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The gift of “angry eyes” on Halloween

I love fall, and that includes the guilty pleasure of Halloween.

When I was a kid, Halloween was a great community event. I have fond memories of trick-or-treating on crisp, windy nights in a town where every home was filled with light and candy, ready to greet small visitors whose costumes were mostly covered by winter coats to block the Montana chill. The coats weren’t in character, but then again, neither were shivering zombies.

So, a few years ago, I decided to get in the spirit: I turned our house into a “monster house,” with two angry eyes to watch over the neighborhood at night.

Our house has two upstairs dormer windows, so I illuminate each one with an orange outline, a red iris, and a scowling purple eyebrow. This year I also outlined the garage door below them in a clumsy attempt to make a mouth. Then I replaced our two white porch lights with red ones, right about where the dimples should be. (Do monsters have dimples?) The resulting monster face is crude and unrefined, but I enjoy it and so do the trick-or-treaters.

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Here’s my best photo, as an amateur photog, of our Monster House. 🙂 The reflections below the eyes are unintentional.

However, this year the project turned into a headache. I was swamped by other household chores and business matters, and frustrated because my well of possible blog topics had run dry. The last thing I wanted to do was to feel the October sun beating down on the rapidly-expanding bald spot on the back of my head as I crawled around on my roof with cords and tools, wrangling strings of lights and screwing them into place.

And on top of that, this year the process did not go well. I had forgotten the cardinal rule of plugging in and checking the lights before attaching them to the roof. After I got them all up and plugged in, I saw that one eyebrow and half of one iris wouldn’t light. So I took them down again, only discover the problem: I had not plugged them in correctly. After fixing that problem, I put them up for a second time and everything was fine – until I learned we had to caulk all of the windows and doors before winter. Once again, the lights had to be taken down and then put up for a third time.

I really was not thrilled about my Halloween decorations this year. And every time I had to crawl out onto the roof yet again, my grumbling about it became more and more pronounced.

So why do it? What’s the point? Aren’t there better things I could be doing?

I never asked that question until this year. And this year I asked it many, many times – each time with more, shall we say, gusto than the last.

I didn’t have an answer until I finished the job for the third time, all sweaty and cranky and sore.

I called my wife outside to look.

As we stood in the dark, looking up at that silly, cartoonish monster face, she commended me for choosing to put it up three times and then said, “You’ve brought a gift to the neighborhood.”

That’s when it suddenly made sense why I went through all the trouble.

You see, we live in one of the many neighborhoods, more and more common these days, which has earned the nickname “Felony Flats.”

Far from the hip, trendy parts of Portland, this neighborhood is dotted with junk cars, drug houses, shouting matches, and occasional police raids. In fact, shortly after we moved in, just after Halloween and before we got an alarm system, our own house was robbed of whatever the robbers could carry, including that year’s leftover Halloween candy. Ironically, though, I don’t feel unsafe here – partly because the drug dealers (whom we greet by name as we get the mail or take out the trash, and who may or may not know that we have observed their drug dealing) try to keep the neighborhood crime and disturbances to a minimum since they don’t want the cops coming around.

So Halloween is different here than it was where I grew up. Here, most houses remain dark and unwelcoming, with the occupants turning in early or going elsewhere to avoid the constant doorknocks. Yet despite my dream of living someplace less crowded, noisy, and stressful, I am coming to the conclusion that—at least for now—this is where God wants me. And when I get beyond my own selfishness, it is not hard to understand why: Jesus loves the people here. He died for them. He is the light in their dark world.

And that is why I climb up on the roof every year to hang the lights. Despite my constant  complaining, even in past blogs, about living in this neighborhood, I choose—in a moment of spiritual enlightenment—to be a gift to our neighborhood. The local kids don’t have much, but our house is one of the few which deliberately invites them in. Families escort their children from blocks away to trick-or-treat here. Under the glow of the eyes, they waddle up our driveway in a long, comical parade. The rule is, no candy until after they show us their costumes, so we can “ooh” and “ahh” over them, and ask them to tell us their names and where they live. After many smiles and much laughter, they and their parents grab handfuls of chocolate eyeballs and other body parts from our big candy bowl, and go happily on their way.

We’ve been told that visiting the “monster house” is an eagerly anticipated event, for kids and parents alike.

In the entire scheme of things, decorating my house doesn’t seem like much. Some people do much greater things to serve others. However, in God’s kingdom, any gift to others – no matter how small – can be used.

When my wife reminded me that this effort is a gift to the neighborhood, I realized that it is an act of love. Jesus wants us to be a gift to our neighbors

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The New American Pharisee

When we think of a modern-day Pharisee, most of us immediately think of a stereotypical “us vs. them, holier-than-thou” legalist, pointing a judgmental finger at others and trying to force his or her narrow religious views on all of society. But lately I see a new kind of Pharisees emerging within the body of Christ, and though their fingers point back at that stereotype, they are every bit as judgmental.

Recently I saw a disturbing Facebook exchange about the scandal involving AshleyMadison.com (tagline: “Life is short. Have an affair”). Sadly, the breach of this hookup website for married people exposed many subscribers who were Christians—even well-known pastors and other spiritual leaders.

Yet the Facebook posts which so bothered me contained not sadness but celebration. One poster crowed, “Folks: Evangelical celebrities are bankrupt…how many more examples do we need?” Another expressed his disdain for a famous preacher, and his hopes that this preacher also would be on the list of exposed subscribers.

I was horrified by the vitriolic glee of these self-identified Christians over the downfall of other Christians. These posters not only rejoiced over those who had fallen; they even hoped more would fall. (Note that I am not saying everyone should just “forgive and forget” about sin, nor am I saying we should sweep it under the rug to protect Jesus’ name from further scandal. Instead, I believe in a church-led healing process of reconciliation, accountability, and restoration. And I believe this healing process is exactly that—a process.)

Yet there was more to come.

Days later, I came across a social media video in which several young adults each proclaim, “I’m a Christian, but I’m not…” and then they fill in the blank with such words as: a hypocrite; homophobic; uneducated; judgmental; closed-minded; unaccepting.

Newpharisee2One person says that just because Christians subscribe to “a faith that has terrible people in it, does not mean that we’re all terrible.” Another adds, “A lot of people think Christianity ruins people, but to me, I think it’s people that are ruining Christianity. You never really see the good that happens; you only see the hypocrites that put themselves on a higher pedestal.” A third claims that he is not perfect—with two underlying implications: first, that he thinks some “other” Christians believe they are perfect; and second, conversely, that he expects them to be. In other words, even though he himself makes mistakes, those “other” Christians had better not make any—especially not the mistake of being judgmental, according to his own judgment.

None of these people seem to see that putting themselves “on a higher pedestal,” which they denounce in others, is exactly what they are doing.

The people in the video, along with the Facebook gloaters, sound an awful lot like a new American version of the Pharisee in Jesus’s parable (Luke 18:9-14, NIV), who prayed: “God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector.” But Jesus condemned that prayer, and praised instead the prayer of the tax collector—the lowest, most despised rung of Jewish society: “God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

Origins of Jewish Pharisaism

In the Gospels, Jesus clearly condemns the Pharisees; yet originally, their movement had noble roots.

After centuries of sin and idolatry, the Jews fell under God’s judgment and, as a result, were conquered and carried away in exile. Decades later, when they finally returned to their homeland, they understood at a deep level that the exile had been their own fault, brought on by their disregard of God and his commandments. So, to prevent a repeat of that hard lesson, they vowed absolute obedience to the Law of Moses.

Sounds great, right? But then they went further. To be sure they didn’t disobey the Law, they began to create “buffer” rules—a kind of padding around the Law to make sure no one came even close to breaking it. For example, the Law of Moses forbade work on the Sabbath, so the Pharisees’ new rules spelled out things like exactly which tasks people could do, or even how far they could walk, on the Sabbath before work was being done. Anyone breaking these “buffer” rules was censured before they could break the Law itself.

In this way, the Pharisees became protectors and arbiters of both the Law and the new rules, trying to make sure everyone toed the line so the Jews would never again experience God’s punishment.

But all of these new rules were extremely intricate and hard to understand, or even to remember, much less to obey. So the Pharisees worked very hard at trying to track and follow them all. In fact, they tried so hard to stay pure and holy that eventually they came to see themselves as spiritually superior to everyone else. They became so proud of their own hard-won “righteousness” that by the time Jesus came, he had to directly challenge their arrogant, legalistic ways.

A brief history of American Pharisaism

A couple of thousand years later, on the other side of the world from the original Pharisees, a small group of Christians fled religious persecution in Europe to establish Christian colonies in the New World—but in the area of Salem, Massachusetts, some of those colonists soon began executing others on the mere suspicion of witchcraft. The persecuted had become the persecutors. Even the passing of two millenia and the crossing of an ocean couldn’t root out pharisaism.

In the early twentieth century, many American Christians believed liberal modernism was infiltrating the church, diluting Scripture and diverting attention from the person and work of Jesus. In response to this threat, a group of theologians wrote The Fundamentals: A Testimony to the Truth—a multi-volume series of essays which spelled out Christian beliefs and their differences from the beliefs of the surrounding culture. This movement came to be called fundamentalism. But eventually it splintered into factions, each one claiming to have the only true doctrine—pharisaism at its best.

In the mid-twentieth century, discomfort with fundamentalist separatism gave rise to evangelicalism, which tried to maintain a Christian identity while engaging the secular culture instead of avoiding or condemning it—but again, in some ways, traces of pharisaism crept in. Then, in response to the free-wheeling 1960s-70s, the 1980s-90s birthed Christian moralism. Like every other attempt to define and protect true Christian belief and practice, this movement was not necessarily wrong in itself—yet like all the others, it contained pharisaical pitfalls.

 The new American Pharisee

And now, as mentioned above, a new American Pharisee is emerging. I believe that those in this group, like their predecessors, sincerely desire to obey God’s commandments to “love the Lord your God…” and “…love your neighbor as yourself” (Mark 12:30-31, NIV).

Still, though it seems nearly impossible to bring legalism into this commandment, these new Pharisees found a way to do so. Like every human, they too fall into the “us vs. them, holier-than-thou” trap. By claiming not to be judgmental, they judge those “other” believers who they think are – especially believers whose convictions are “unhip” and countercultural, even though Jesus himself was countercultural.

And if one of those “other” believers is caught in sin, they symbolically stone him or her—in order to prove to the world that they are, in fact, loving Christians.

Jesus’s solution

Let’s be honest: we are all Pharisees in one way or another. Jesus calls his followers to unite the church and heal its wounded; but Pharisees, no matter how well-intentioned, always end up dividing the church and executing its wounded.

Pharisees1 copyHowever, in the Luke 18 parable, Jesus shows us the solution to our own pharisaical ways.

What if those Facebook posters were to express sorrow over each exposed Ashley Madison subscriber and say, “I disagree with this guy on a lot of things, but he and his family really need our prayers”? What if they humbly admitted that they themselves are just as capable of committing terrible sins?

What if those video makers were to proclaim: “I am a Christian, and I am a hypocrite, and I am judgmental, and I am closed-minded, and I am unaccepting—especially of other Christians!… and I am in need of a Savior”?

What if we Pharisees, both old and new, were to abandon our attitude of spiritual superiority and cry out, like the lowly tax collector, “God, have mercy on me, a sinner!”?

Because Jesus said the tax collector, not the Pharisee, “went home justified before God. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted” (Luke 18:14, NIV).

Jesus made it clear: the penitent tax collector had a better understanding of sin and grace than the proud Pharisee beside him ever could.

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Five reasons I hate debate on social media

 

Recently, I broke my cardinal rule to avoid joining political debates, especially in social media. Just before heading out to see a movie with a friend—like a real, actual human in the flesh—I went online and checked my Twitter account.

And there it was: A provocative political comment at the top of my feed, beckoning me to respond. Such comments are my kryptonite, my greatest danger. They often come across as punchy and irrefutable to those who agree, but shallow and half-baked to those who don’t – and they tempt me to respond with some quick, off-the-cuff remark which I immediately regret. So I am constantly on the alert to ignore them. But this comment was especially hard to ignore; it was one of those that seemed ripe for a ready-made zinger.

Usually, I type out my zinger and then delete it when my  better judgement convinces me to let it go. But this time, my better judgement was late to the party and I clicked send. True to form, immediately I regretted it and tried to delete my reply, but the poster had already seen it and had sent me a direct question.

Like an idiot, I took a shot at an answer. The next thing I knew, we were locked in a pointless spiral of “thrust and parry” which went on for at least an hour. Fortunately, I came to my senses and bowed out. But I still felt like crap the rest of the day.

DebateBelieve me, I have opinions on culture and politics. They’re pretty strong and can be uttered with great—I daresay uncontrollablepassion (see the “Zealot” chapter in my book, Losers Like Us). But experience has taught me two things about getting myself into any debate on political topics: 1) Nothing good ever comes out of it, and 2) I feel incredibly icky afterward.

I have yet to come across an exception.

Thus, my cardinal rule to avoid such debates.

My original reason for making this rule was not simply to stick my head in the sand, away from the stresses of politics (although that is a wonderful side benefit), but to keep my relationships peaceful. As a broken person who has experienced the need for healing myself, I want to spend my time healing others, not debating them. I want to listen and help, instead of trading jabs which diminish and divide us.

But diminishment and division is exactly what happened in my ill-advised Twitter debate.

The truth is, our society has changed. In the age of social media, debate isn’t what it used to be.

So below, I share my rationale for seeking to remain as apolitical as possible, especially in online forums,

Social media has changed the goal of debate. There was a time when debate was used as a tool to change hearts and minds regarding worthy causes. For example, after the Revolutionary War, robust debate was used at America’s Constitutional Convention to persuade adamantly opposed conventioneers that the new nation needed a Constitution. The persuasion was successful, and the Constitution was adopted. Similarly, in England, William Wilberforce used tireless debate to convince adamantly opposed parliamentarians to end slavery. Again, the effort was successful.

But in social media, the goal is for the poster to shout down all opponents with brute insults, just to get “likes” or “retweets” from those who already agree with him or her. Changing hearts and minds is the least-considered objective.

Wallistweet copySocial media has also changed the strategy of debate. The strategy of official competitive debate is to start with a stated premise and examine its legitimacies and fallacies with critical thinking. But in social media, the strategy is simply to throw out an inflammatory statement, fishing for a response. When someone takes the bait and challenges that statement, the initial poster often asks a question. This is a good strategy; however, in social media it’s used not to understand others, but to sideswipe them. Asking a question casts the poster into the role of superior, nuanced teacher, and the responder into the role of defensive, inferior student who must try to give a complex answer in a short sentence or two. (Note – if you can’t think of a question, a good default is “What do you mean by ________?”)

Social media limits our words, and therefore our thinking. Great thinkers have written volumes of books debating complex political issues—yet in social media, somehow we think we can reduce these issues to 140 characters on Twitter. That’s about the length of the sentence you just read. And Facebook and other forums aren’t much better. Everything is abbreviated. No matter how hard we try, social media can never capture the essence of a person’s knowledge and experience, or the contextual nuances of her perspective.

politcaltweetSo we shoot back a reply based on one sentence, launching a quibble-fest that devolves into simplistic arguments and ridiculous name-calling until one or both parties grows tired and leaves the discussion. No one wins; yet each side typically claims victory.

Social media eliminates face-to-face contact, and thus a bit of our humanity. Online, we are reduced to little more than avatars, making it easy for us to stereotype one another. But we forget that behind every avatar and every zinger is a real human being for whom Christ died. And if that human being believes in Christ, we will be sharing the Great Feast in heaven, no matter how much we disagree here on earth.

Occasionally, a poster will try to sound more humane by calling the opposition something like,  “my progressive friends” or “my conservative friends” – but this phrase usually masks subtle mockery of, rather than true respect for, that opposing group. If the insulting stance is called out, the poster generally feigns innocence, like Miss Piggy: “Who—moi?” The truth is, when people are face-to-face, most would be too ashamed—and rightly so—to use the scathing language which is commonly used online.

Political debate tends to divide the body of Christ. Last week, when a shooter killed nine prayer warriors at the historic Emanuel AME (“Mother Emanuel”) church in Charleston, South Carolina, believers glorified Jesus in a very dark situation. Supported in spirit by the body of Christ across the country (see onechurchliturgy.com), the victims’ families faced the killer and told him they forgave him. From those saints and from the solidarity of churches nationwide, I learned more about forgiveness and grace that week than in all of my years at seminary. In social media, some have tried to divide the body by politicizing the shooting—but such efforts have largely fallen flat due to the unity of the churches.

thebodyofChristThe kingdom of God is about showing Christ’s light. It is about his followers caring for the poor, the sick, and the oppressed (instead of trying to get the government to do it for us—that’s just laziness). We have the resources to represent God’s kingdom on earth, but we cannot do it unless factions of believers stop bashing each other and recognize that we are part of his kingdom first, even though we may disagree on some issues.

Debate is healthy. It stimulates thought and drives the democratic process. But we are Christ-followers first. Our mission is to lift up Jesus, not a political party, candidate, or referendum. None of these can perfectly embody the kingdom of God. Cramming God’s kingdom into a political party (as if we could) makes the kingdom subservient to the party.

John 3:17 (NIV) says: “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.” If you are a Christ-follower who feels called into the area of politics or political debate on some level, then prayerfully follow that call. But no Christian is called to mudslinging. Instead, we are called to reflect Christ’s salvation throughout cyberspace and to the ends of the earth.

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Remembering D-Day: “The eyes of the world are upon you”

On June 6, 1944, on five French beaches—Omaha, Utah, Gold, Sword, and Juno—the U.S. and other Allies launched the largest military operation in history. Their objective was to establish a beach head, liberate France from the Nazis, and ultimately move on to Berlin to defeat Adolf Hitler and win World War II. And they succeeded. Today, seventy-one years later, we honor the 3,000[i] Allied heroes who died in that “D-Day” offensive which turned the tide of history.

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Near the visitors’ center of the Omaha Beach Cemetery and Memorial, at Colleville-sur-Mer on the Normandy coast of France, there is a slab of pink granite with a time capsule, set to be opened on June 6, 2044—the 100th anniversary of the D-Day invasion. The plaque on the slab is emblazoned with the five-star seal of General Dwight D. Eisenhower, the Supreme Allied Commander of the European theatre during that invasion and later the President of the United States.2005 Paris-England 913

According to the plaque and nearby signage, the time capsule contains original news reports of D-Day and a personal message from Eisenhower.

I first became aware of, and photographed, this granite slab in 2005, when I had a chance to visit three of the beaches—Gold, Omaha, and Utah—which were invaded on D-Day. As a World War II history buff, I was deeply honored to stand on these beaches about which I had read so much.

2005 Paris-England 896But I wasn’t prepared for the experience.

Especially Omaha.

Bloody Omaha.

Of the five beaches involved, Omaha had the highest casualties. Unlike the other beaches, which include gift shops and recreation areas, Omaha is somber—even sacred. I saw no joggers, swimmers, or picnickers. Those who hiked down to the beach from the cemetery above talked quietly, reflected alone, knelt to touch the water and feel the sand that had soaked up the blood of three thousand men during the first hours of D-Day.

2005 Paris-England 854I had read books and seen movies about that day, but it didn’t really jolt me until I stood at the water’s edge and looked up at the now lush green hills which had once been filled with Nazi machine gun nests and concrete bunkers. In the silence, I could almost hear the screams of the dying amid relentless explosions and gunfire. Eventually, many would be buried above the beach in the cemetery, where thousands of white marble grave markers—both Christian crosses and Jewish stars—now line the grassy hilltop.

2005 Paris-England 922This week, as I’ve considered D-Day—the start of the Allied invasion of Europe and the beginning of the end for Adolf Hitler and the Third Reich—I’ve spent a lot of time thinking: In the context of those grave markers and the lush green memorial lawn overlooking the now-quiet beach, what message might be in that time capsule? What did Eisenhower want to say to future generations?

He couldn’t have fathomed the directions the world would take in the next seventy years. However, on D-Day, as he faced the Nazi holocaust of millions of Jews and other victims—an example of the absolute worst human nature has to offer—and issued his Order of the Day to stop it, I’m sure he understood firsthand that real evil exists. Further, I’m sure he understood that this invasion would not stop evil once and for all, but that a broken humanity would continue to spread brutality and terror well after his time.

But now, seven decades later, most of us were born after World War II. We weren’t there; we don’t know what it was like. We seem to have forgotten that sometimes there is such a thing as a fight against evil. It is not uncommon to hear military personnel derided as uneducated hicks, bloody murderers, or both;[ii] even in the city where I live, anti-military sentiment is endemic. Though many people do respect the bravery and sacrifice of the military, I am saddened and angered by the disrespect of those who don’t.

Americans are restless, continually reinventing ourselves. We lack the focus to sit still for any period of time. We ­­­make critical decisions based on a two-minute news story or a twenty-second soundbite. Our impulsive social media posts can turn events or change lives at the speed of light, for good or ill. In fact, the only characteristic that never changes in America is our quickness to forget—and our ability to remember selectively.

So I wonder, what might Eisenhower’s message be? ­­

I suspect it might be summarized in one word: remember.

When Eisenhower visited Orhdruf, the first of Hitler’s concentration camps to be liberated by American forces, he cabled George C. Marshall of the Joint Chiefs of Staff to request a visit from prominent editors and congressional leaders. One of Eisenhower’s concerns was that if they did not record proof of the mountains of desecrated bodies and other Nazi horrors, future generations would never believe it. [iii]

And that prediction proved accurate. Today, despite all the original photographs, film footage, eyewitness reports, and other verified documentation, it is becoming trendy to downplay or deny the Holocaust. In 2014, an eighth-grade teacher assigned her students an essay to decide whether or not the Holocaust was real.[iv] Even anti-Semitism is making a comeback, again on college campuses.[v]

It’s been just seventy years, yet already we have forgotten.

2005 Paris-England 925Remember.

Remember why the men on Omaha, Utah, Gold, Sword, and Juno beaches pressed forward against a wall of enemy gunfire. Remember that humanity is still broken and that people have an incredible ability to brutalize each other. Remember that evil is real; it is not simply a misunderstanding.

We are still twenty-nine years away from 2044, when we will open the time capsule and read the message Eisenhower prepared ­decades ago. I have no idea how the world will look at that time. But, given human nature, I am certain there will still be war, brutality, and terror. It’s a scary time. We are overwhelmed with all that is going on, and clearly, we have no idea how to stop it.

But the Allies did. At that time, in that place, there was almost universal agreement on who the enemy was and what needed to be done. And they did it.

So, through historical images and documentation, I remember D-Day. I remember the brave soldiers who pushed across every inch of that bloody beach, and their brave brothers who fell. I remember the stacks of Hitler’s dead victims in Ohrdruf and Auschwitz and Dauchau, and scores of other sites.

I remember so I won’t be apathetic.

I remember because, in the words of George Santayana, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”[vi]

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[i] Exact numbers are hard to verify, but reputable sources estimate total casualties (injuries) at about 8,000 to 10,000, and fatalities at about 3,000: http://warchronicle.com/numbers/WWII/ddaycasualtyest.htm

[ii] One representative example is a 2012 NBC news story about “anti-military vibes” and insults directed toward college students who formerly served in the military (http://usnews.nbcnews.com/_news/2012/10/17/14469487-stray-anti-military-vibes-reverberate-as-thousands-of-veterans-head-to-college?lite).

[iii] See these original communications:
http://www.eisenhower.archives.gov/research/online_documents/holocaust/1945_04_19_DDE_to_Marshall.pdf;
http://www.eisenhower.archives.gov/research/online_documents/holocaust/1945_04_15_DDE_to_Marshall.pdf; http://www.eisenhower.archives.gov/research/online_documents/holocaust/1945_04_15_Patton_to_DDE.pdf.

[iv] http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/answer-sheet/wp/2014/05/07/8th-grade-assignment-write-essay-about-whether-holocaust-was-real-or-made-up/

[v] For example, see http://www.nytimes.com/2015/03/06/us/debate-on-a-jewish-student-at-ucla.html?_r=0 and http://www.sacbee.com/news/local/crime/article8865731.html

[vi] George Santayana, The Life of Reason: Reason in Common Sense. Scribner’s, 1905: 284.

 

 

 

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Discussing race with grace

th0N86DEBTWriting or talking about race relations is something I strive to avoid. Great passion and real emotion surround the topic, and I’m deathly afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing, however unintentionally. I absolutely don’t want to “go there” – so I deliberately keep quiet.

This self-protective strategy of silence may cause some to think I’m apathetic or that I don’t care. That’s not true; I do care. But in my view, it’s far better to speak little and be wrongly labeled as apathetic, than to speak clumsily and somehow get wrongly labeled as racist. Because the latter charge, no matter how undeserved it may be, is a death sentence; all you have to do is throw that label at someone one time, even if it’s baseless, and it sticks for life. Their reputation never recovers.

So, to avoid the horror of possibly being misunderstood or mislabeled, my game plan has always been to stick my head in the sand.

Not the most noble response, I know.

Yet here I am, “going there” – joining the discussion.

Why am I choosing to do this now? This time I was forced into it: My church is doing a sermon series in which several different speakers are addressing the topic, and I am the facilitator for my home community’s post-sermon discussions. So sitting quietly was not an option.

Further, I knew God was pushing me into it. When I considered asking someone else to lead the discussion, I felt certain it was the wrong thing to do (after all, passive avoiding is one thing, but proactive dodging is another). So after each sermon I replayed the podcast several times, trying to hear what God might be saying through each speaker.

And it was stressful. Very stressful. “Sleepless nights” stressful.

Not because I rejected the material, but because I knew I would have to lead some tough dialogs, and I was terrified I’d mess up.

For me, the question of race relations, especially racial injustice, is a hard thing to get my mind around, like a pulsating blob of ambiguous definitions, unsolvable problems, fiery rhetoric, and equal levels of passion, pain, guilt, and shame. As I approach this scary blob and try to pull off pieces small enough to examine, honest questions arise that I have been too afraid to ask out loud.

As the sermon series has progressed, many of these questions have been raised and discussed (not debated—there is a difference!) among my home community members, and I am grateful to them for bringing grace into this overheated area. But one thing that has not come out of the discussions is a cure-all. Race relations simply cannot be solved with a simple three-point plan.

Instead, throughout the series, the only thing I have felt sure of is the need for more discussion. Real discussion. Even for an avoider like me.

Beyond that, I’ve become aware of a few helpful things to keep in mind in discussions about racial issues. If you are involved in such discussions (and I hope you are), maybe these points will help you too…

  • First, create a safe place. A one-sided discussion is no discussion at all – it’s a monologue. Everyone must commit to allow all viewpoints to be shared. Everyone must have the freedom to talk, listen, and learn without censure or shame, and even to make some mistakes. I have been fortunate enough to be able to do all of that in a close, caring home community of love and grace.
  • Second, hear each other. Listen—really listen—to each other’s stories. Hear the pain behind the passion. A friend raised this point recently, and I know she nailed it. People’s hurts and needs are too complex to reduce to simple arguments. The goal is not to win debates, but to heal hearts. The only way to do that is to step alongside and carry each other’s burdens. And the only way to do that is to hear each other.
  • Third, seek truth along with justice. To me, this is critical. If the facts of a case are in debate, then people start quibbling over those and stop listening to each other. Let’s work for justice, based on truth that has been verified. In the 1960s, the effects of segregation and Jim Crow laws were still very real in the South and Rosa Parks already had been arrested, but people far away hadn’t actually seen or experienced those events. Then images from Selma were published and televised, and everyone saw the police dogs, the water cannons, the tear gas, the beatings. It was horrible, but because the facts were documented, the truth was verified and the nation collectively agreed: “That’s not right.” And changes came. Justice must be based on truth.
  • Finally, approach the issue with a spirit of grace. In any truly honest discussion, someone will put their foot in their mouth; someone will say the wrong thing. But nothing freezes a dialog faster than a look or a word that conveys disapproval or condemnation. Under grace, everyone is free to stumble through difficult issues to a place of deeper understanding. That is the goal – but it is possible only if we love each other before, during, and after every conversation.

anti-racismI know God’s heart breaks whenever anyone suffers under the burden of injustice. And I know it breaks when his children show animosity and bigotry toward each other. (Even worse are attempts to justify such sins with Scripture!) The church should be the perfect avenue for real discussion and mutual understanding. I don’t claim to have solutions, but the graciousness of my home community has created a small circle where a few people feel less hesitant to talk. I’d like to see that circle grow, one conversation at a time.

The most important thing is how we come to the table. Our approach makes a big difference in whether people feel welcome to enter the discussion – and perhaps even to help lift the burden.

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Facing down fear with faith

4f0115cde03fb27ee24be46deda8454fThe holidays are over, and the new year is here. Traditionally, the masses welcome it by drinking champagne, singing “Auld Lang Syne,” watching the ball drop in Times Square, and kissing or getting kissed by total strangers. There’s a sense of relief in having made it through the old year, and a sense of hope in anticipating the new one.

As for me—well, I am usually in bed by 9:00 p.m.

It’s the classic head-in-the-sand approach: if I can’t see something coming, it’s not really there.

While I absolutely love the Advent season, I always seem to face the new year with apprehension. What I am trying to understand is why. Actually, I am pretty sure I already know why, though I am reluctant to admit it: I think the reason is fear. And part of that fear is not having any choice, any control—because I don’t have any choice or control over the new year; I must go forward into the future, even if I’d rather not.

To me, the unknown new year is a wide, gaping chasm, and I have no other option but to step into it. I feel like Indiana Jones in The Last Crusade, standing before an abyss, with his father’s notes telling him he must “leap.” But the void is too wide to leap across, even with a running start, a good pair of Air Jordans, and a pole vault. Indy has no choice: the only way forward is to step off the cliff, into thin air.

Yeah—it’s like that.

I can’t help but wonder as I face this year: What surprises might be in store? What catastrophes might befall? When the phone rings unexpectedly, will it bring news that is happy, or horrific? And at this time next year, what will life look like?]

Just like every other year, I know this one will include both tears and laughter, gains and losses, but I don’t know how or when.

And that is what scares me—the unknown.

I fear it.

It’s the fear of a roller-coaster ride in pitch blackness—when you can’t see the track in front of you.

The Israelites faced a similarly unknown future at the edge of the Promised Land. They had sent twelve spies to scope out the land, to see how fruitful it was and to assess the military strength of its inhabitants. And the results were positive, at least regarding the land’s fruitfulness. But the inhabitants were, you might say, a big issue. Ten of the twelve spies reported: “All the people we saw there are of great size….We seemed like grasshoppers in our own eyes, and we looked the same to them” (Numbers 13:33).

And their words struck fear into the whole nation of Israel.

But two spies, Joshua and Caleb, disagreed:

‘Then Caleb silenced the people before Moses and said, “We should go up and take possession of the land, for we can certainly do it.” (Num. 13:30)

I can see it now – ten spies, rushing wide-eyed back to camp with the terrifying report: “You won’t believe these guys. They are GI-NORMOUS! They’ll smoosh us like bugs.”

Then the minority has the guts to step up and say, “We can take ’em.”

Fortunately Joshua, the Israelites’ future leader, listened to faith, not fear. Later, when he commanded the people to cross the Jordan River and enter the Promised Land, the thought of smooshed grasshoppers littering the desert was probably still in their minds. But just before they crossed, God gave Joshua this assurance:

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9)

And based on Joshua’s faith and God’s promise, they did cross over.

So how can we move from fear to faith? There is only one way: like Indiana Jones and the Israelites, we must close our eyes and step into the void, acknowledging that anything—anything—could happen. This year could be the greatest year ever, or just another average rotation around the sun, or an absolute disaster. It’s a roll of the dice.

Well, correct that. It’s not up to the dice. It’s up to God. With each new year, and each new day, we must consciously remind ourselves to place our lives yet again into his hands—no matter what happens, good, bad, or ugly—and proclaim: “God is good.”

Simply put, the only way to move from fear to faith is to obey his command and absorb his promise:

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

uncertainty-ahead

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New life in the zombie apocalypse, part 3: Abandoning self-sufficiency

Note: I love zombie apocalypse stories because they are a great metaphor for life crises. This blog series on the topic has four parts: 1) waking up in the crisis; 2) defining “alive”; 3) abandoning self-sufficiency; and 4) spiritual weapons and sustenance. All scriptures are NIV unless otherwise noted.

The Walking Dead, a zombie show based on a serialized graphic novel, is one of the most-watched shows on TV, while other zombie books and movies continue to sell like hotcakes.

Why is the zombie genre so popular?

I think one reason is the compelling question at the heart of it: In a zombie apocalypse, what would I do? Or more specifically, excluding the suicide option, what would I do to survive?

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This question faces all fictional people in zombie stories, and stirs such passionate interest in actual people that a real-life industry has grown up around it. Amazon.com sells a survival manual, and other websites offer real-life training camps on the topic. In 2011, even the History Channel aired a special (Zombies: A Living History) about outlasting a zombie takeover. The History Channel!

The question of survival can be broken down into more specific questions, such as: Where would I go? With whom would I associate? What about weapons for self-defense? And what about sustenance (food and water)?

Each of these questions has spiritual applications. Let’s tackle them one at a time.

First, where would I go?

Would I go to a city or to the country, and would I settle into a secure, well-equipped home base or stay on the move?

A city contains more scavengeable resources for greater self-sufficiency (or the illusion of it), but it also has more zombies. To get around the zombies to the resources, I’d need massive courage and ninja-like stealth – attributes rarely possessed by a guy of my size and agility. Also, in the city, there’s more danger of getting trapped in tight spaces (narrow streets, tall buildings) with no escape, whereas in the country there are fewer zombies and more escape routes. As for establishing a well-equipped home base, doing so could attract other survivors who’d kill for it; better to stay mobile.

Zombie wisdom says: Don’t follow the crowd to the cities, and don’t settle in one place. It’s safer to keep moving through open country and live off the land, even though resources might be scarce. At least, according to my sources.

In the Old Testament, the dichotomy was the same. As people built cities, they began to “follow the crowd” and develop wealth, resources, and delusions of self-sufficiency, all of which laid the foundation for many evils. Think of the people of Babel building a tower, seeking to become almost godlike: “Come, let us build ourselves a city, a tower that reaches to the heavens, so that we may make a name for ourselves” (Genesis 11:4). Or think of the Hebrews establishing cities in the Promised Land, then rejecting God as their leader and demanding a human king like “all the other nations” (1 Samuel 8:5).

In actuality, a city in itself is not evil. But symbolically, it is a monument to human strength. Living in a “city” (metaphorically), we can forget our dependence on God and find ourselves trapped in dangerous places, like in the delusion that we are self-sufficient.

Perhaps this is why, before the Hebrews became a nation, God led them away from the cities and toward complete dependence on him in the wilderness, where they had to trust him to provide manna every day (Exodus 16).

Personally, in the real world, I prefer books and computers to rugged outdoor life. But metaphorically, I believe that living in daily dependence on God’s provision – to me, represented in zombie literature by living off the land in remote places – is the way to go.

165c_aluminum_zombie_shelter_signSecond, with whom would I associate?

Would I remain a lone individualist, join a small group, or become part of a large group?

On one hand, a loner requires fewer supplies and can escape more quickly and easily—again, creating an illusion of self-sufficiency—but she has no one to watch her back or cover her blind spots. On the other hand, a large group poses logistical problems and offers little sense of true closeness. The third choice, a smallish, close-knit group, offers real interconnectedness and the best chance of survival.

Zombie wisdom says: Go with a small group. Small groups are stronger and safer than large groups or loners.

Jesus supported this model by forming a small group of disciples who knew each other intimately. He prayed that they, and we, would experience true unity (John 17), which is essential for spiritual strength.

I’m an introvert and I’m also from Montana, where personal freedom is a core value, so I tend to favor being “on my own.” When my world imploded in 2008, I just wanted to withdraw and be by myself. Thankfully, though, my church stressed the scripturally-based point that everyone, even an introvert like me, should join a home community for close relationships. So I found the nearest one and started attending. And this ragtag band of Christians surrounded me and lifted me up. They bound my spiritual wounds and defended me from further attacks of the enemy. They cared for me through prayer, encouragement, and many other forms of support. Had I stayed alone, I might still be living, but I probably would be more dead than alive. In the zombie apocalypse and in real life, living in a small, caring community is best.

So depending on human self-sufficiency, whether in a “city” or on one’s own, is not the best way to survive the zombie apocalypse. Instead, it’s better to depend on the strength of God and a few believers who know you very well.

In my next blog, I’ll wrap up the last two questions: What about weapons for self-defense? And what about sustenance (food and water)?

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