Day #4 We Have All the Faith We Need

In all my introspection over the years, I’ve never come away thinking, “Man. I am impressed with what’s in there!” I’ve also never come away feeling satisfied, happy, whole, joyful, Godly, content, and most of all, never, ever have I come away feeling simplified. Granted, there are those that need to do more soul searching. But I, and a lot of people I’ve met, have analyzed our way out of all God has for us. This is a huge issue for me, so I definitely don‘t claim to be a model for this, but here is what I’ve learned from a man who is (and I promise I’ll get off the 700 Club kick soon!):

The Catch the Fire conference (for those keeping up with the blog) has talked a lot about the Kingdom of God and how entering into it can be easily missed by our lack of child-like faith, or our idea of how to get faith. The striving to bring it down, conjure it up, generate or manufacture it turns all our attention inward, to that totally unimpressive, unproductive place. Gordon Robertson was explaining the simplicity of faith, and how Scripture teaches in Romans 12:3 that God has given us each a “measure of faith.” Since Jesus clearly taught that all that’s required to move mountains is the faith of a child-the faith of a mustard seed-and God has already given each of us, as believers in Christ, a measure of faith, then we have all the faith we need to pray for huge things. There is no striving for faith involved in our petitions. And while we should ask for more faith, Hebrews 12:2 says that Jesus Himself is the Author and Perfecter of it, and Philippians promises that He will finish the good work that He started. And it’s a load off our shoulders to know that’s it’s a gift from beginning to end.

In other news, today, I learned that bath towels don’t dry unless you hang them up. The past 3 months I’ve grown a little lazy from not feeling well. Because of this, some days I’d hang my towel up, and some days I wouldn’t. Consequently, some days I’d awake to a dry towel, and some days a very damp one.

What a mystery this is! I’d tell myself. I started doubling my towel usage. Then I told my mom the situation. She stared at me.

“Lauren, that’s what a towel rack is for.”

Such wisdom.

Day #3 Boll Weevils for Breakfast and Bill Johnson

This morning I woke up and poured myself a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats. I finished out the box and threw it away. As I sat down with my cereal I thought to myself, this bowl looks extra speckled. But I didn’t think too much of it because it’s the raisin version of Honey Bunches of Oats. So, I thought maybe along with the raisins they added some sort of grain that had settled to the bottom so I hadn’t noticed them until the last bowl. Reasonable, right? I kept eating. But things kept getting more strange. So I made a deal with myself. Okay, self. If these mysterious specks start swimming upstream, I’ll stop eating. I could’ve sworn they did. I stopped, went to the trash can and pulled out the box to see if it said anything like, “Honey Bunches of Oats-Now with new specked grains added for optimal nutrition!” It didn’t. And the picture with the loaded spoon looked nothing like my loaded spoon. So I took one of these nutritional, mysterious, speckled grains in my hands only to find what I feared most: the grains had wings. I had ingested at least 50 of them by this point. It’s been hours since, and I feel fine. Plus I’ve more than met my protein intake for the day and was able to make a great alliterated title for my third blog. Perfect! When life hands you Boll Weevils, make a blog.

Onto more serious matters. Yesterday I wrote about the 700 Club. Well, this week just so happens to be the Catch the Fire conference with speakers that I’ve grown to love: Bill Johnson, the Arnotts and Gordon and Pat Robertson (founder and son of the 700 Club). Bill Johnson in particular has sparked a lot of controversy because so much of his ministry seems to be focused on miracles of healing. He was confronted about this by another Christian who said “Bill, miracles aren’t the whole Gospel.” Bill replied “No, but the Gospel isn’t whole without them.” Some smirk at his name, but this conference has revealed him to be even more sound and in love with the things of the Lord than I once believed. Here are just a few things I’ve learned from his teaching, and other’s, at the Catch the Fire conference the past couple days.

Bill‘s ministry has been marked by the miraculous, and by criticisms.

“In an hour when the Lord is raising up a company of people to live in the extreme, I was warned by many saying, ‘Brother, we need to be careful, we need to live balanced.’” Bill’s analogy was perfect: Imagine Jesus turning to the Gentile woman who begged Jesus to heal her demon possessed daughter. At first, the Lord responded by saying he couldn’t give bread to dogs. He said this because he had come to save the Jews, and then the Gentiles. But his answer didn’t deter her, and this awesome woman said “Yes Lord, but even the dogs get the crumbs from the table.” Can you imagine if Jesus turned to her and said “You have chosen to live a well-balanced life. You will be remembered in eternity for your balance.” No! She was desperate, extreme, begging, pleading for a miracle. Jesus was pretty touched by it and healed her daughter that moment.

He told of a story that happened to a member of his church (Bethel) in Redding, California. A college student named Adam got off his shift and had craving for donuts. So he went to his local grocery store. But while in checkout isle #10, he saw a lady with hearing aids. He was in the habit of praying for anyone with an obvious disability, and this time was no different. He politely put his hand on her shoulder and asked if he could pray for her. She said sure. She was 80% deaf in one ear and 90% in the other. He prayed with her as the cashier looked on. He had her take the hearing aids out, and stepped back 10 ft, 25 ft, 50 ft, and said sentences. Her ears were completely opened. She and the cashier were sobbing, and Adam felt the Lord wasn’t done in the grocery store. He asked if he could use the intercom. “Attention all shoppers! Someone here needs a new hip! And someone else needs to be healed of carpal tunnel!” Come to checkout isle #10 if this is you!” A crowd soon gathered around the isle, and a lady wheeled her way to Adam.

“I’m the new hip,” she said.

Adam prayed for her and she got up out of her wheel chair and walked, then jogged, then ran through the isles as shoppers cheered her on, with no knowledge of what was going on. Then, as if it were a scene from the Bible, a man pushed his way through the crowd with his fists up. Adam was ready to defend himself, until the man said, “I’m a piano teacher. It’s how I make my living, but I’ve had carpal tunnel for two years.” Adam prayed for him, and as the pain left the man, he wept. While he had the crowd’s attention, he figured he might as well preach the Gospel. So that’s what he did, and many of them received Christ that night. Adam, however, never did get those donuts.

Day #2 Voluntarily Watching The 700 Club

What’s the dream vacation for a 13 and 10-year-old you ask? Why, A three night stay at the Christian Broadcasting Network, of course. They have a hotel on the grounds of their studio, and Pat Robertson’s house sits on the same property. I wasn’t happy about this excursion. My brother had a better attitude about it, which was usually the case. We watched a live taping of the show and the staff took the studio audience on a tour of the CBN museum. I remember having an awful headache. That, combined with being at the 700 Club, was enough to cause a noticeable change in my demeanor. One of the staff members asked me what was wrong. I told them my head hurt. The tour was stopped, and we gathered around, joined hands, and prayed for this pill-of-a -girl’s headache to be healed. It wasn’t. But I never blamed God for that one. I don’t know how much God can work with an attitude like that.

Today, the show gets a lot of flack-probably because Pat Robertson is getting older and, well, says things older people say. Or maybe it’s simply because it’s a televised Christian show. Whatever the case, since having a lot of time on my hands, every morning at 9 a.m., the 700 Club is what I watch. At will. And I’m so encouraged the stories of miraculous healings, conversions and visions of Christ throughout the world and right here in America.

This is my favorite story of a precious (and completely healed) man named Lee McDougald.

Day #1: Three Moves and Memories

Ten years ago, my family and I had just moved for the third time in two years to a small Virginian town. It was called Fredericksburg, and I hated it. I was 12, and the day we moved in, I was a mess. We loaded the boxes into what would be my new room. It had bright floral curtains and that strange, unfamiliar feeling to it. I was supposed to sleep here now? My dad hugged me and said words I’d cling to for the next 365 days, “Between you and me, we’ll be out of here in a year.”

So I did what any logical 12-year-old would do: I stayed inside and refused to make any friends or memories in a place I knew I’d be leaving.

My brother, however, loved this town. He went to a local private school and became the star of his tennis team. I, on the other hand, opted to be home schooled with Bob Jones video tapes that were recorded from the mid 1980s. The teachers wore thick, upside-down looking glasses and never swallowed.

I did do some things during this weird year of life, though…

#1 I watched Home Shopping Network. The ideal Friday night for me was when Suzanne Somers came on with my favorite host (Colleen Lopez) and sold her line of age-defying beauty treatments and leopard print blankets. They captivated me with their business savvy.

#2 I developed an obsession with parakeets (also known as Australian budgies). I read all about them and even rented videos from our local library so I’d be the perfect owner. Then I parakeet sat for a neighbor. I tried to cuddle with it, but it escaped from my 12-year-old grip and flew into our vaulted ceilings. And I mean into our vaulted ceilings. Feathers flew like you’d see in a cartoon. Thankfully it survived, but my desire for an Australian budgie did not.

#3 Every Friday was skate day with our home school group. I brought my Jessica Simpson album and had that guy who sits in a box in roller skating rinks (is he a DJ?) play “Woman in Me” (featuring Destiny’s Child) and “I Think I’m in Love.” It gave me an hour of exercise/week. That’s all they’re saying you need these days, right?

#4 I started playing the violin at a little music shop in historic downtown. That hobby actually had some value to it. This is also when I grew to love country music, and developed my first celebrity crush on George Strait.

#5 At the front of our neighborhood was a beautiful trail. It started off with a steep decline, perfect for a bike ride, and then leveled off with slight hills and bridges along the way. It dropped you off at a cul de sac, but picked back up, as if it were a secret passage way, in another part of the neighborhood. That was the best part of the trail. There was a creek there. And in the midst of our Bob Jones infested days, my mom and I would walk it.

Not only did I pick up these invaluable hobbies, but I also learned about weather systems. One night, for some reason, I was all alone in our house. We lived near a train station, and my mom had always told me that a tornado sounded like a train. I heard a “toot, toot” and my heart started pounding. “Quick! Run for cover!” I shut myself in the safest place I could find- a small bathroom right by our kitchen. I called my mom and explained that a tornado was headed straight for our home, straight for me. She calmly corrected me, explaining it’s the “chugga, chugga” and not the “toot, toot” that warns of an impending tornado. I breathed a sigh of relief, made sure all was clear as I opened the bathroom door, and went back to watching the Home Shopping Network in peace.

And with about as much brevity as a tornado, we were gone. We left Fredericksburg almost a year to the day of our moving in. And while I don’t agree with my middle school decision to not engage life for a year out of fear of making memories, it was all I knew to do at that age. But even that method didn’t work. I cried the day we left the place. I missed the wall the parakeet flew into. I missed the floor I sat on to watch Colleen and Suzanne try and sell me needless products. I even missed the strange carpeted bathroom that was, until that day, just an annoyance.

That year, I learned that you’ll make memories no matter what, and I could have made a lot more with lasting value had I engaged life instead of fear.

“I can walk away or face the emptiest day”

Today was monumental. Monumental, I tell you! It probably won’t seem like much to you reader(s), but it was a huge breakthrough for me. The thing about my breakthroughs, though, is that they always come a little late, after most people my age have already broken through. For example: I never won awards for talents or impressive character traits like a “most outgoing“ superlative or “best sense of humor.” No, the two awards I DID receive were for my improvement in a specific area. In other words, they were “you’ve come a long way” awards. Those two acknowledgements were a “most improved” certificate in the 4^th grade (which the teacher created specifically for me because I fit in no other category) and a “most changed“ superlative senior year of high school. The first merely meant that I managed to get decent grades by the end of the year, and the second was a euphemism from my classmates, as if they were saying as a collective whole, “you finally started caring about your appearance and socializing with people.” It’s been a theme throughout my 22 years, this not catching on until a little later thing. Which is why today’s revelation may not mean much to you quicker-to-catch-on folk. But here it is anyway.

I realized today that I have spent much of my life, since the teen-age years of getting together with friends and actively, independently socializing, living from gig to gig. What I mean is, if I didn’t have something to look forward to, if nothing exciting was going on, I didn’t know what to do with myself. And I sure wasn’t thankful. I was never thankful in my boredom. I would sink into the depths of despair (kidding, but close) because of my restlessness. An afternoon with nothing to do would end up in ungratefulness and a feeling that I’d been forgotten about. Friday or Saturday night would remedy this feeling because I’d go out with friends and be occupied by laughter, fun, food. But I never knew how to handle a plain, old, uneventful Tuesday afternoon alone. Much less a plain, old, uneventful season of life. At least, I didn’t know how to handle those times in a thankful way.

Those bland weekday afternoons always brought out the worst in me. I’d brood over what I didn’t have and what wasn’t happening and what could have been. My mom saw this trait in me at a young age, and always warned me against it. When she was 16, she was sulking, miserable in her boredom. The guy she liked paid her no attention, and life was generally uneventful. Then her mom got sick and nearly died. My mom prayed God would bring things back to boring again. She’d gladly accept the boredom, so long as her mom was healthy. Her mom did get better, and my mom learned her lesson at a young age.

Don’t get me wrong, afternoons are still the most unenjoyable part of the day in my eyes. They’re so non distinct. It’s not morning, it’s not nighttime. It’s just three o’clock. Boring, mundane three o’clock. It’s not time for lunch, not time for dinner, and a snack would ruin my appetite. It’s too hot for a jog, too early for reading (I have a hard time reading unless it’s nighttime) and a nap would make me feel groggy. It’s a boring part of the day-at least in my current schedule-and right now is pretty uneventful season of life, too. But living off the anxious anticipation of the next thing, the next text, phone call, social outing, date, or even the weekend is a confining and exhaustingly restless state of mind to be in. But for some reason, my mind isn’t confined today. Today I’m thankful. And I think I may be thankful again tomorrow, too.  Because this doesn’t feel like a mood, or the stars aligning just right. It doesn’t feel like good circumstances or happy times. It feels like contentment, like trust. And it’s a rather foreign feeing for this doubtful, restless girl, but it sure is a nice one.

True Personality

I spend an embarrassingly large chunk of my time thinking about myself. And when I think about me, I don’t just think about my needs or how to keep myself comfortable or happy, although I think about those things, too. Mainly, I think about what separates me from other people: personality,  preferences, likes and dislikes. What irks me? What makes me happy? How would I react to that situation? What do I enjoy doing and what do I hate doing? I search myself through and through to figure out what makes me an individual, to find my identity. And at the end of the day, the result of all the introspection is that, while I have what the world would call a “sense of myself,” I’ve grounded that “sense” in something other than Jesus. I’ve found myself, found my footing, in character traits, preferences, desires and my stances on various issues. And while our uniqueness and personality is a gift from God, I’ve made such an idol of it.

The worst part of thinking about myself so much, is that I find myself holding onto personality traits that aren’t like Jesus in order to retain my identity. If I gave up my quick temper or my unique position on an issue, who would I be? It’s really uncomfortable to give yourself up to Jesus when your self, in all its fleshly uniqueness, is all you’ve ever known. But if we find our identity in our personality, it’s no lasting identity at all.

After C.S. Lewis’ wife died, he said that no one ever told him grief felt so like fear. I think that’s true in this case, too. Detaching myself from myself feels like fear to me. If I truly surrendered my personality to Christ, making the decisions he would make, I would be found to be something other than an original. What would be left? Just a person trying to be like another Person. And while each one of us is called to that sort of imitation, the surrendering of our personalities goes against everything society says. The desire to be an original is so strong, to establish our uniqueness and our place in this world is so often the goal. But when we decide to follow Jesus, our uniqueness comes second to imitating Him.

In short, I dedicate way too much time trying to be “me,” or to the process of discovering “who I am.” I so often find that I don’t surrender areas of my personality to Christ because I would, in effect, lose part of that selfish identity I hold so tightly to.  But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter how I would react to a situation, or what my viewpoint is, or what I like and dislike. If it’s not how Jesus would react, if it’s not what He would like or dislike, if it’s not His viewpoint, then it’s of no consequence at all except that it needs to be altered to fit His character. I want to know that Character more, because when I do, I find I’m more of my true self than I ever was before.

“…what I so proudly call “myself” becomes merely the meeting place for trains of events which I never started and which I cannot stop. What I call “my wishes” become merely the desires thrown up by my physical organism or pumped into me by other men’s thoughts or even suggested to me by devils…I like to believe: most of what I call “me” can be very easily explained. It is when I turn to Christ, when I give myself up to His Personality, that I first begin to have a real personality of my own.” -C.S. Lewis

Live Above the Influence…of Emotions.

A few days ago, I issued for myself a 48-hour emotional detox. During this time I couldn’t read, write, talk about my feelings, explore the deep recesses of my soul, etc. The point wasn’t to be mindless for two days, but to forget about my often misguided emotions, thoughts and feelings and instead remember all God has promised, and that in Christ all His promises are a resounding yes. I’ll admit right up front that I only got through day one without stumbling across a blog I couldn’t resist. I read one, innocent post that quickly turned into a compulsive 15, which, in turn, morphed into an afternoon of thinking, thinking, thinking. But my epic failure is beside the point. Actually, my epic failure IS the point…but I’ll get to that later. I focused on these two verses for the one successful day I managed to have:

“If there is any encouragement in Christ, if any consolation of love, if there is any fellowship of the Spirit, if any affection or compassion, make my joy complete by being of the same mind, maintaining the same love, intent on one purpose.” -Phil. 2:1-2

“Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things.” -Phil. 4:8

My biggest struggle in walking with the Lord is allowing myself to be guided by my emotions. I have a lot of them, you know. Sometimes I experience thousands in a day. There are so many things to feel in this life! Anger, empathy, passion, pride,  joy, happiness, hatred, irritation, unbelief, nostalgia, love, etc. I’m thankful that God made us able to feel things deeply, but there are days when I run the whole gamut! And it’s exhausting, let me tell you. I often let whatever emotion I happen to be  feeling lead me; I let it determine truth for me. But I’m learning to think better things. I’m learning how prone to error I am. As humans, our thinking is fallible, our judgments misguided and our thoughts undependable. In my brokenness, I allow my heart, instead of God’s truth, have the final say in what is real. I adopt so many untruths and live in them, constructing my reality around the flimsiness of baseless feelings that are probably due more to my physical make-up than anything else. But we are commanded to walk in truth, not feelings-no matter how convincing they may be.

Paul knew the struggle we’d have in thinking good thoughts. He knew they wouldn’t be easy to find, that we’d have to scrounge for them some days and that even once we found them, we’d have to make dwelling on them a habit, as if we were trying to kick smoking or eating fast food. But he says that if there is ANY encouragement to be found, ANY love and ANY compassion, we’re to grab hold of it and dwell there. We’re to let our hearts encamp there and allow His good Spirit to lead us to level ground (Psalm 143:10) above the influence of emotions that ebb and flow.

My feelings and the Word of God are at war with each other, hardly ever agreeing. And in those moments, trusting in God’s truth instead of my emotions seems the most counterintuitive thing imaginable. But God is greater than our hearts and knows all things (1 John 3:20).

So, while I failed miserably at my 48-hour detox, it served as a great reminder. A reminder to remember God’s promises and cling to the good. A reminder that my brain is just a pea-sized, unreliable, fallen blob of gray matter that is completely unworthy of my trust. I’ve staked my eternity on His Word. I think my emotions are safe there, too.

The Thing About Doubt

When we chose to follow Christ, we knew we’d doubt at some point. And while none of us could have understood then how real and convincing and terrifying the doubts would be when they came, surely we must have known they would come. We just didn’t think they’d look like this. We didn’t know then how unbelievable they would make everything seem. But that’s what doubt does, it makes it all seem so unbelievable. I think I naively expected that I would be able to see doubt coming, acknowledge it as untruth and dismiss it as spiritual warfare before it had any effect on me. I think expected doubt to be obvious and unconvincing, and that it would actually appear as a tactic of the devil who was just trying to undermine my faith. I expected to be able to feel it and identify it for the lie that it was. I thought I’d be able to recognize it. But the thing about doubt, the true, agonizing, obsessive kind of doubt, is that while you can recognize that you are in a state of questioning, that you’re in two minds about a thing, to call them “doubts” feels so much like admitting that what you’re experiencing is spiritual warfare. And in the midst of this true, agonizing, obsessive doubt, spiritual warfare itself becomes of all things the most unbelievable. So you find yourself growing more and more detached from the idea that your doubts are linked to warfare, because warfare itself has become, in the doubting mind, the biggest farce of all. This is the worst kind of doubt there is, the deepest kind of doubt. And since Christianity is a fight from beginning to end, to question that you‘re actually engaged in a battle, and not just to doubt in a fleeting, emotional kind of way, is the most toxic of all doubts. And while in that state, it isn’t easy at all to say that your struggles are the schemes of the devil who roars around like a prowling lion seeking whom he may devour.  It feels too real, too all-together convincing for that kind of language. Because the thing about doubt is that it makes lies sound like the greatest truths. It makes what your soul’s been awakened to start to sleep again. The one truth that matters becomes the one most unbelievable.  Because the thing about doubt is that it’s so dangerously, so terrifyingly convincing.

But fighting against those things is the crux of Christianity and the very fight we agreed to when we decided to follow Christ. This IS Christianity. It’s a fight to see. It’s a fight to believe, among other things, that we are in a battle. And that, among other things, our doubts are part of that battle. But to doubt the battle itself is the doubt that should, above all others, be fought against. Because to disbelieve the battle is, in essence, to stop engaging in it. And nothing is more toxic than to succumb to that kind of disengagement.

We have to fight with everything we have to keep our sight. We have to ask God to open our eyes, and ask until they’re open. And when they are opened, we have to ask him for the grace and the perseverance to keep them open. It’s a fragile thing, faith is. And it’s a reliance on grace and God’s empowerment from beginning to end. But he will reward you. He will.

“Seek not to understand that you may believe, but believe that you may understand.” G.K. Chesterton.

“The Savior does not break the bruised reed. He hears our pleas for help and is patient with our doubts. He does not condemn us. He has paid completely for any sin that is exposed in our pain. He does not always answer with the speed we desire, nor is his answer always the deliverance we hope for. But he will always send the help that is needed. His grace will always be sufficient for those who trust him. The hope we taste in the promises we trust will often be the sweetest thing we experience in this age. And his reward will be beyond our imagination.”

-John Piper

World’s Most Annoying Word

A pretty quick and accurate gauge of where I’m at spiritually is to say the word “holiness” and see how annoyed I get afterward. If I‘m not in the right mindset, my skin will crawl with irritation. I’ll hear a singer sing about holiness and change the song. I’ll read a writer‘s thoughts on righteousness and close the book. Something in me grows so resentful so quickly, and that something is all too often successful in convincing my rebellious heart that I’m being slighted by the Creator of the universe. But when I’m walking with the Lord, having eyes that see the gospel and perceive His grace toward me, there’s no word more beautiful.

I think at some point, most Christians have moments when they feel as if they’re missing out on all the fun by following Christ. Whether it’s something as obvious as sex before marriage, or one of those more obscure sins that God has commanded us to stay away from, the tendency is to grow resentful and ultimately stop fighting and give into whatever sin we feel cheated out of not experiencing. At least, that’s my tendency.

Whenever I’m in the can‘t-stand-the-word-holiness phase, living in love toward others loses its appeal, too, and not just in a neutral sort of way. Love becomes silly, pointless, weird. It becomes unattractive. And when I notice my heart going back to its comfortable, callous, self-absorbed ways, I realize that all those seemingly insignificant self-centered choices I’d made the weeks or months prior to hating the word “holiness” have caught up to me, and as a result, I’ve got weeks or months worth of scales to remove before I can see God clearly again, before I can see the appeal of a pure life again. And before I can hear someone use Biblical words without wanting to slap them…again.

I think, at the core of every Christian there exists the struggle to accurately perceive holiness, to keep our hearts liking holiness. To understand what it is, what it looks like and why we should want it in the first place. To not squirm when we hear it, and to keep our hearts so close to Christ that we see the purity of it as an attractive thing. I think that process all starts with seeing the gospel as an attractive thing, and understanding the appeal of Jesus Himself.

When I can perceive the character of Jesus and the beauty of the gospel, the word “holiness” loses its prudish connotation and takes on a different meaning. I no longer want to hit people when they talk about it, or feel like they’re a prude for trying to attain some level of it. It becomes beautiful. And while love and purity grows in its attractiveness, all the stuff I at times feel cheated out of becomes increasingly less attractive. Those things begin to look cheap, and I finally start believing that God’s commands aren’t just a method for restraining rebellious humanity. They’re a matter of life.

So, if you find yourself wanting to hit people when they use Biblical words, maybe you’re missing their true meaning.

“Let your heart hold fast my words; keep my commandments, and live.” Proverbs 4:4

Dude, Can’t We Just, Like, Have Our Own Destiny?

These words came from a student who was arguing with a preacher on campus. To the preacher’s credit, he was not being obnoxious or angry. He was speaking the truth in love, just not the kind of love recognizable to most of us. The typical order of these attempts to engage the college culture is this:

1. Preacher points out that we’re sinners, occasionally and unsuccessfully throwing in college lingo in order to seem relevant.

2. Students get defensive for very good reason.

3. After making sure the audience fully understands that they’re going to hell for their sinful hair length, the preacher generally takes this time to present the solution (the Gospel) in a way that makes it seem like only semi-“good news.”

4. Students pull out their cigarette packs and light-up with extra enthusiasm, exhaling the smoke with a judgmental glare. People who don’t even normally smoke take part in this little Marlboro rebellion.

5. Crowd eventually leaves one by one, exhausted from the circular conversation.

6. Rinse and repeat.

As I said, this particular preacher was fairly reasonable. By “fairly reasonable” I mean he had the Gospel right, but his approach was still prickly and unapproachable. A long-haired guy carrying a guitar on his back started engaging the man in conversation (I guess that’s what you’d call the back and forth exchange of hateful words.) After a good half hour of the preacher trying to spell out the Christian worldview, the student looked at him in complete confusion and said, “Dude, can’t we all just, like, have our own destiny, man?”

And that is why the road is narrow.

What he did next is what I refer to as “dismissal by way of song.” He took the guitar from his back and started playing an original. I sat there watching him as he dismissed all topics of importance with the simplicity of a lyric. I’ve realized lately what a tendency this is. Not guitar playing or even writing music, but using that music and poetry as a means of not dealing with tough questions; as if to say I can’t figure it out, none of us can, so cheers to ignorance. I’m not saying that art as a whole is used to avoid dealing with issues; usually it’s a beautifully effective way of doing just that. I’m speaking specifically about nonbeliever’s use of music in the area of religion.

A few months after this happened, I was at my church’s homeless ministry in a downtown plaza. I was having a conversation with a guy who had just relocated from St. Augustine to the streets of downtown Jacksonville. He was carrying a guitar and eating a banana. Inside his guitar was a picture of Jesus. He said he believed Jesus was a prophet; a man he “gets goose bumps thinking about.” He didn’t believe Jesus was God and quickly rejected any Biblical idea that was difficult to understand or seemed unfair. We were talking about the hard-to-understand wrath of God in the Old Testament when he did it- the classic move. He grabbed a pick from his pocket, cleared his throat, and played Redemption Song. Conversation over. He had resorted to the “cheers to ignorance” mentality, adopted the philosophy of Bob Marley, and there was no coming back from it.

I only recognize this technique of dismissal because I’ve done it so many times. My “dismissal song” was “Secret of Life” by Faith Hill. I used to love it, and something in me still does. But every time I get in that 90’s-country kind of mood and go to turn it on, I inevitably end up turning it off before the chorus hits.

‘Cause the secret of life is in Sam’s martinis
The secret of life is in Marilyn’s eyes
The secret of life is in Monday Night Football
Rolling Stones records and Mom’s apple pie

We’re surrounded by this kind of thinking and have started using it in order to answer, or avoid answering, the most important questions of life. So, in short, it’s easy to play a song that’s essentially about nothing, but feels like something, in order to dodge unpleasant contemplation. So next time the questions get tough, keep asking and keep searching. And whether your dismissal tactic is Bob Marley or beer, resist the temptation to dismiss and instead give this incredible life the thought it deserves.