Superman: Our Post-Post 9/11 Hero

Defy me to find a person who is more excited about the upcoming Man of Steel movie in June.  However, as a youth minister I am finding it difficult to rally my pupils around the release of this movie.  In contrast, last summer I spent a week with my teens making a Batman movie in honor of the release of the Dark Knight Rises and it was the most popular idea I have ever had.

I have seen it in the media, I’ve argued with my friends, and I’ve heard it in the groaning of students when I told them we’re going to make a Superman movie this summer.  America loves Batman and Superman is too ‘June Cleaver’

Let me tell you why you loved Batman:

Christopher Nolan’s Batman is a masterpiece of connecting mythology with culture.  When the franchise began in 2004 we were living in a post 9-11 world.  We didn’t trust anybody.  Not Muslims, not the Bush Administrations, not even our own opinions and perspectives.  Post modernity was on everyone’s lips.  We began unpacking the metanarratives; that is the story behind the story.  Everything was up for speculation and evil was everywhere, even within my own soul. 

Enter Nolan’s Dark Knight; a story that ultimately discusses that eliminating the evil in this world must begin within.  Bruce Wayne conquers his fears and doubts by embracing them.  And the ends justify the any means necessary if your heart desires justice and there’s a lunatic threatening to kill everyone (remember that Sonar machine Wayne had built using everyone’s cell phone).  In a post 9-11 world we needed a hero to teach us how to deal with all the uncontrollable evils in this world: By being on the side of justice at all costs both in our actions and in our character.

And then last summer someone killed a bunch of people in a theatre in Colorado, coincidentally during the release of Nolan’s final chapter to his Dark Knight trilogy.  And I believe we’ve never been the same since.  It seems in the last year public mass killings is all the news reports on, just when it gets quiet someone sets off a bomb during the Boston Marathon or shoots some kids in Connecticut.  Our conversation has dramatically shifted from terrorists in the Middle East to terrorists next door, and now we find ourselves in what I am calling the post-post-9-11 era.  We’ve shifted from airport security to gun control, racial profiling to background checks.

It’s not so much about what to do about evil in this world, it’s about asking an even bigger question: Is humanity doomed?  Are we as a society deteriorating?  Do I need to carry weapons on my belt to protect my family and me?  Can I trust anybody?  Are people good?

To quote Fred Rogers: ‘Whenever I saw something scary on the news, my mother would remind to look for the people who are helping.  There are always people helping.”

Whether it is underpaid and overly criticized teachers taking bullets for their pupils or people running into the blast site to help, we as the human race have beaten the terrorists simply by way of virtue.

And this is the overarching story I believe Zach Snyder will tell us in his Superman epic.  You see, Superman is a demi-God, his battle isn’t with bullets or being overpowered.  Superman’s battle is with humanity as a whole.  Are we the kind of people worth saving?  Why does Superman with all of his power choose to serve us rather than rule over us?  Why in light of all the evil things we do, does Superman race into burning buildings, stop rock slides, and save Lois Lane from a helicopter accident?  Because we as human beings are worth saving!  (For more on this click: here)

Superman exists to demonstrate to us the good in humanity, something we all need to be reminded of as our 24-hour news cycles perpetuate a lost and broken narrative about all of us.

Superman is the hero of post-post 9-11 America. 

Shalom.

Hiding: A Lenten Reflection

Note: For the purpose of fluidity, I’ve used the masculine pronoun when speaking about God.    I try to use more gender inclusive language when talking about Yahweh but either I’m not a very good writer or I’m not very good about talking about God.  Frankly, I don’t really know God’s gender anyway.  I digress.

Let’s first begin with a narrative: I believe in a God that created people to live together in a garden.  God lived amongst his people, he loved the creation and it was so good.  God’s only condition for keeping harmony was that we didn’t try to get between God and the creation.  God called this interference sin.  God warned us that the punishment for committing sin is alienation and death.  As the story goes, despite our conscience, we sinned, and found ourselves naked and alone.  But even though we deliberately disobeyed God, he came looking for us anyway.  And when he found us, he asked us why we were hiding.  We told him it was because we ruined everything, we disrupted the harmony, and we were afraid.  And so God grieved because he knew that this meant the end of his creation.  It meant evil, disintegration, and suffering would plague everything good he created.  So God changed his mind about death and began working on a plan to save the creation.  Instead of destruction, God chose redemption.  And that’s been the story ever since: God has worked tirelessly to restore harmony.  Sometimes, we help; sometimes we get in the way.  But in the end this God desires reconciliation, not punishment; and the more we give control of the universe back to God, the more ‘in tune’ the dissonant notes of this universe become.  I believe in a God of love and mercy.

My Lent so far: Over the past few years, Lent has been my favorite time of year (and probably not for the right reasons).  Spiritual disciplines are kind of my hobby of mine (this is supposed to sound ironic).  For most of the year, I humbly go about my business, praying the hours, periodically fasting, seeking solitude, and writing blogs about it.  But then Lent comes and I politely grin as I watch the less advanced struggle through giving up booze, coffee, television, or Facebook.  Suddenly people become interested in aestheticism and I’m the expert.  I get to give advice, pontificate on the saints, and offer support to others with quips like, ‘It’s supposed to hurt,’ or ‘the only way to know (what good this fast will bring) is to go through with it.’  Lent is the time where I don’t have to explain my strange dietary restrictions or why I can’t go get a beer with you tonight.  Lent isn’t difficult for me, it’s awesome!  Over the past few years, I have gotten really good at Lent. 

But then I met a girl.

Now I’m really bad at Lent.  My rhythm is off.  The disciplines that were as easy as breathing have become increasingly difficult.  My moral decisions have become a gray murky mess.  I have found myself declaring more self-imposed ‘Feast Days’ (that is, days I am allowed to break my fast) than actual fasting days.  In the midst of wedding planning, trying to buy a house, taking care of a 7-month old puppy, and struggling to be a decent youth minister, I haven’t been a very generous, thoughtful, kind, organized, responsible or creative person.  By my estimation, I’ve been a very bad boy.

And because of this I’ve found myself naked and alone in the woods.  Until now, it’s been easy to believe in a God of love and mercy when I’ve been behaving, because frankly, I think I deserve it.  It’s easy to let God be in charge, because, what bad could happen to me if I haven’t done anything wrong. 

So in my misbehaving and stress, I hear God coming for me.  So I hide.  I gather all of my belongings, run inside, and deadbolt the door.  And I wait.  I tremble as I watch the door, waiting for God to kick the door down and take back everything he’s given to me.

But God just knocks.  Gently.  Patiently.

And as God knocks, I continue to go about my business.  I can’t open that door.  I try to tend my garden that was once basking in the sunlight.  A garden that God and I used to tend together, I’ve removed from the raised beds and planter boxes and brought it within the walls of my own estate.  And as God continues to periodically knock on the door, I watch everything begin to turn brown.  The vines aren’t producing fruit anymore, despite the fact that I’ve worked harder than ever to fertilize the soil and water the roots.  My flowers don’t bloom. 

I know what I have to do to save my garden: Open that door.  But I’m too afraid of getting what I deserve, too afraid of facing his shame and disappointment, too afraid of God taking it all back and trampling it under his boots.

Perhaps all the ways I’ve ‘failed’ this Lent, I’m discovering Lenten humility.  Humility is allowing God to love me at a time when I least deserve it.  Faith is trusting that God is better at forgiveness and mercy than I expect him to be.  It is trusting that God doesn’t intend to destroy my life when I behave badly, but rather, God desires to save my life no matter what.  Consequences are not God’s punishment, they are the result of life lived without God.  At the moment we open the door and let God in, the healing begins and God does everything in his power to set things to right again.  I told you I believe in a God of love and mercy.  I lied.  I repent of that.

Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner.

Shalom.

Advent: A Christian Response to Mass Murder

In my tradition we call this pre-Christmas time, ‘Advent.’  It comes from the Latin word for ‘arrival.’  That is to say for the four weeks before Christmas we ready ourselves for the arrival of Jesus on Christmas morning.  However, the word Advent is a double-entendre.  You see, the baby Jesus has already come and gone, but he did promise to return to us.  So… the season of Advent is the time we sit in the tension of remembering the birth of our Lord and preparing for his second arrival. 

The Advent wreath is a staple of the Advent season.  It has three purple candles, a pink candle, and a white one in the middle.  Sort of like Chanukah, each Sunday during Advent we say a prayer and light a candle (and on Christmas Eve we light the middle one).  The Advent wreath not only acts like a calendar, counting down the weeks until Christmas, but it is a contemplative tool, reminding us what Jesus’ return means for the world.  Furthermore, in the midst of this reminder, we as the church, the incarnation of Jesus, the hands of feet of Jesus on earth, the gathering of people who show the world who God is, what God is like and where God exists, are called, each week, to embody a different element of what Jesus’ arrival means to the world.  For the first week, we light a candle in the name of hope, the second, peace.  And yesterday we lit a candle in the name of joy.  Next Sunday we light one in the name of love.

As I have grieved the massacre of last Friday’s tragedy in Connecticut and listened to the sounds of the culture, arguing about gun control, who to blame, and the rest, I believe that we mustn’t forget our responsibility in this time of Advent.

This is not the end of the world...

What I mean to say is, when tragedy strikes at this magnitude, it’s easy to believe that the narrative has somehow changed; that the times we live in are worse than ever.  That with the onslaught of stories coming out about mass murder, earthquakes, drought, war, famine, and the Mayan calendar (more on that later), that somehow we have hit rock bottom.  Because our narrative of safety and security has been rocked and disillusioned we somehow have to take up arms, fear our neighbors, bunker down and start thinking about ourselves.  Or that, now more than ever, we need to get rid of all the guns. 

It’s easy to believe that somehow this tension we feel, this realization that we have no control, means our idealisms about trust, expecting goodness in everyone and being a good neighbor to all, are a fantasy and we need to take immediate action to secure and protect ourselves. 

What happened last Friday was a distraction.  Yes, we grieve.  Yes, we stop and pray.  Yes, we dialogue about it.  But even in the midst of tragedy, the story stays the same: God is in charge and is making all things new. 

So I urge my fellow Christians, go back to your posture of Advent.  You may need to continue to grieve and dialogue, I know I will.  But remember that your first responsibility to the world this time of year is to embody hope, peace, joy and love.  Even as the volume of fear and anxiety get turned up to its loudest volume, we must endure with our mission.  We must continue to spread our message to the world that there is something to hope for.  We must demonstrate that things are in fact getting better.  We must be the people that make peace in all of our circles and find that tiny speck of joy amidst so much anguish.  And above all love our neighbor, our enemies, and those who's opinions make our blood boil.

Do you believe that God is working to make the creation whole again?  Do you believe that it’s getting better?  Do you believe that God is in charge?  Do you believe that hope, peace, joy and love are growing and growing like a mighty oak tree bursting its way through the pavement? 

Do you?

Then prove it.

Shalom.

A Call To End Your Church Baggage

I think I know how doctors feel… well sort of.  You know how when someone in a group meets a doctor, someone (usually me) blurts out some question seeking free unsolicited medical advice.  I have found that when I tell people I work for a church I usually end up with a lap full of unsolicited church baggage. 

Now my purpose in writing this isn’t to invoke sympathy.  It’s actually quite interesting to hear the very personal yet very common story about how God, Jesus and the church was terrible to you.  However, what does bother me is the caricature of the church I find myself defending in these conversations.  I often want to stop the conversation and say, do you really think we are all a bunch of delusional fundamentalists who hate women, the gays, and science.  Are we still going with the narrative that says the church is only interested in condemning people to hell if they don’t adhere to a strict moral code?

This is what evangelism has become for me.  Instead of spreading the ‘good news.’  I find myself at social gatherings answering the same series of questions about what I/the church think(s) about homo-sex, drinking, and hetero-sex.  What disappoints me is that I rarely get to share why I’m passionate about the Gospel and the church.

So here is my question: Is the overarching consensus about the church really that bad or has everyone just gotten too lazy to see the forest for the trees? 

It feels like every time there is a situation like Chic-Fil-A Day it only adds fuel to the superficial anti-church fires.  Come on, we are a brilliant generation of people, clearly you can see Chic-Fil-A Day was a political stunt and had nothing to do with the bible or church doctrine (if a man lies with another man, thou shalt eat chicken?  Come on).

My point:  If I were a nurse or a school teacher, no one would ask me to apologize for their childhood experience of going to school or the doctor.  Jesus nags this culture.  Why else, would people so voluntarily tell a stranger such personal information?  (It’s not uncommon for a stranger to cry in front of me about the subject)

For many in my context of the American South, I believe that Christianity is a dormant part of their identity that eats away at their soul.  I wonder if Jesus hovers around reminding people that there is life outside of this ridiculous rat race of hollow achievement and insatiable consumerism.    However, I believe people are mad (and people like me are left to apologize for it) because they believe the institutional church stands in the way; It’s too corrupt, too rigid, too anti-intellectual.

But you have to be smarter than that… right?  Every institution fails, every human has flaws, every person disappoints.  So why can’t the church?  Why can’t we simply discern that the church is the road that leads to the divine and not the divine itself.  Who told you the church was anything different, that you are left with this unrelenting disappointment?  Why can’t your own experience of your own shortcomings offer a perspective that understands this?   

So to everyone, my challenge to you is this: make a choice.  This way of ambivalence and bitterness will not lead you to wholeness.  Yes, the church in modern America has baggage.  But to everyone in their twenties and thirties, I write this to invite you to consider beginning a dialogue about how we are actually going to heal our planet and restore our humanity.  You know, something beyond good ideas, bumper stickers and conscious consumerism.  The church’s mission is to join God in healing the broken creation by living and loving as Jesus did.  You may not agree with a particular parish’s interpretation of that message but, I’m certain continuing to deconstruct the church won’t get any of us any closer to wholeness!  So either join the church or call a truce with Jesus because these conversations are a distraction!