Death.

Some friends and I drove down (which means "south" if you live far enough north) to Iowa today.

At face value, this might seem like a fun little field trip. We did end up having a good amount of fun, but this trip was founded on highly unfortunate circumstances.

My friends Ann and Taylor, who recently moved to India to do two years of mission work, have come back stateside to be with family because Ann's sister passed away. The funeral was today and so my friends and I drove down (again, south) to support Ann and Taylor, as being uprooted immediately after putting down roots in a foreign country because of the death of a loved one is probably one of the more difficult things through which one can go. Hell of a sentence, that one.

The funeral was in Webster City in a big, solid Lutheran church that was erected in 1953. The way that I know the church was erected in 1953 is that there's a big stone slab built into the outside wall with "1953" etched into it. My observational skills are unmatched. I've seen those things on multiple churches, but I don't think I've seen them anywhere else.

There was a sermon preached by a minister who sounded just about exactly how a non-Iowan might expect a small-town Iowan Lutheran minister to sound.

Oratorically, he wasn't the most captivating guy ever. I'm not bringing this up to knock the guy, but rather to give you an idea of how difficult it may have been for him to hold the attention of several of the funeral's attendees solely on the merits of his public speaking ability. I'm not pointing that out to knock the guy, either, but to give you an idea of how gripping his subject matter was for me when he got to this point:

Sometimes a person dies and, for a while, the only thing we can think is why? Why this person? Why now? Why in this manner? Why something that seems so wrong? Why not something that seems more right, more fitting?

These sorts of questions are especially appropriate in the case of Ann's sister, Emily, whose mind never developed past a certain point, leaving her mentally much younger than the 34 years she lived on earth. She had a series of seizures, her brain went without oxygen for several minutes, and all normal brain activity ceased. Her family made the unenviable decision to remove life support and Emily stopped breathing and died peacefully. When the minister started pulling out the whys, though I had never met Emily and was not in any way connected to her life, you better believe I was paying attention.

This line of questioning by the minister reminded me of my favorite co-worker, whose name is Gustavo. He's from Oaxaca, Mexico, and he's short enough that a lot of us in the kitchen just call him Pequeño, which means "small." Gustavo is possibly the hardest-working man I know, in addition to being hilarious and more than a little bit feisty. More endearing to me than all of these things is his big heart. He genuinely and deeply cares for the people around him.

Gustavo and I will talk about things of a religious nature every now and then, as we share faith in the same God. When we do, things often come to a line of questioning like that of the Iowa minister. Gustavo is a very sensible, reasonable person, and that quality works together with his big heart to frame these sorts of questions in a way that hits me much harder than when other people ask them. Additionally, we're often talking in Spanish, and so I'm concentrating harder on each word and its meaning.

He'll ask me why. "Por que, Jon?" We'll talk about his ailing mother and Gustavo, who wears his heart on his sleeve will ask me why. We'll talk about large-scale human suffering and I'll see how much the troubles of others can hurt him and it just punches me in the gut. I just stare at him and say "no se." I don't know. I can never answer his question. In that situation I can't get past empathy and start articulating thoughts on a complicated matter.

I don't know why. I can't answer the whys. All I can say to the whys is that I know that God understands it better than I do, is more compelled by human suffering than I am, and is more capable to deal with it than I am. That's enough to keep me walking. It doesn't always convince the other person in the conversation.

But I am comforted when I think about certain realities of death. Regardless of how much death can confuse us - Why? Why this person? Why this way? Why do they have to suffer? Why must we lose them? Why did you let this happen? - regardless of how much we think God has to do with our death, whether by permissiveness or deliberate action, regardless of how wrong it seems that we die, often in ugly, grueling, and terrible ways, regardless of the worldly circumstances surrounding our death and whether or not God was interacting with them...

Whatever was wrong about when or how or how soon or how tragically we die, something will be right. Whenever I die, God will then do whatever is most pleasing to him to do, whatever is most right in his eyes to do.

How much time and energy do we spend on that here? A lot of the people I spend time with spend a lot of time trying to figure out what is most pleasing to God to do with their lives, trying to figure out what God's will is for their lives.

When Jesus taught us to pray, he asked God to let his will be done. Whenever I die, that will happen. I will be removed from the influence of the things of this world and be placed in the hands of the most wise, most skillful and most compassionate of caretakers.

Something will be right. Something will be made absolutely right.

Blessings.

I recently read a blog post by my good friend and roommate Drew. He laid out some thoughts on blessing and how modern-day Christians define it in comparison to what Jesus said about it in the book of Matthew.

Some of these thoughts, as well as others about which I am to blog, popped into my head this Sunday when I was sitting in church.

A man who works at my church was up front talking about the church's financial situation, noting the recent considerable drop in offerings collected. After sharing some details, he lead the congregation in a prayer in which he asked God to bless those who are hard-up with full-time jobs that pay better than the ones they had before, jobs with benefits so that families can be adequately taken care of and so that people can live with a little more peace.

I want to be very clear about this: I take no issue with the things for which that man prayed in front of the congregation. I have no problem with praying for and trusting God for provision; in fact I endorse it. I regularly pray that God would provide for me and that I would be able to trust him to do it, especially in circumstances in which it's difficult to see how things will work out for me financially.


But the word bless reminded me of Drew's blog entry and made me think of the way I think about blessings. Drew lays out some of the ways we've turned blessing into materialism - it's plain to see that there's some truth to that.

I started to think about how I define blessing and how that measures up to Jesus's words in Matthew 5. I started to think about the things with which I ask God to bless me.


My mind's definition of blessing (as evidenced by the "blessings" for which I ask God) is both different from and exactly the same as everyone else's.


When it comes to blessings, I don't spend a lot of time and energy thinking about the material things I have. I've never been a person who's been very strongly concerned with those sorts of things. If it sounds like I'm putting myself above anyone else, it's only a matter of sentences before I clearly explain how I'm at the exact same level as the most selfish and materialistic of men.


The blessings I ask for are generally immaterial and most often have to deal with my interactions with others. I ask to be used by God to make an impact in other people's lives. When people I know are in particularly difficult situations, I ask God to use me to bless them by bringing them comfort or encouragement. When I'm at a ministry event or going to hang out with someone I know primarily from a ministry setting, I ask God to use me to bring love and hope to them.

At a quick glance, the "blessings" I ask for are way better than materialistic blessings - they're philanthropic, humanistic. They seem less selfish than wanting to be blessed with a big house or a bunch of money or some other material excess. I mean, the things I'm asking for are "more right" or "less bad" than materialistic wishes, right?

Maybe not.

On a basic level, a person who's pursuing materialistic or financial "blessings" is just putting their energy toward interacting with God and hoping that it gets them what they want. Success, comfort, riches, ease of living, whatever.

What am I doing? I'm putting energy toward interacting with God and hoping that it gets me what I want. I want a different thing - something that might seem much nobler or more worthwhile - but when it comes down to it, I'm doing the same thing as the guy who's actions tell you that he thinks God exists to make him comfortable.

The materialistic, health-and-wealth gospel guy is doing what he can to fill his need to feel comfortable and secure. I'm doing what I can to fill my need to feel significant.

I'm doing the same thing.

Does it matter that I'm pursuing a different end if I'm using the same means? I don't know.

My definition of blessing is the same as everybody else's: the next thing I want.

Let's take a look at Matthew 5.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

You likely noticed that I bolded the "for" after the comma in each of those. It can be easily replaced with a word like "because" and still hold its meaning.

Because theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Because they will be filled (with righteousness). Because they will be shown mercy. Because they will see God. Because they will be called Sons of God.

When you look at it this way, it's easy to see the second half of those sentences as what Jesus is defining as blessing in that particular moment; if you are blessed because you will be shown mercy, being shown mercy is the blessing.

Being shown mercy, being filled with righteousness, seeing God, being called God's son - these are blessings. Not just having the next thing you want. If you want those things, sweet. Looks like you're after true blessings. I hope that my efforts sometimes stray far enough from just fulfilling my need for significance that they approach pursuing true blessings.

Drops in the River.

My friend Taylor is a good man.

I met him at a park on a mild August evening. He was grilling hamburgers, helping out at an event put on by the young adult ministry from my church. We were introduced to one another and made a few minutes of small talk. He knew what he was doing on the grill. In that situation it's just knowing when to flip and remove pre-formed burger patties, but you can tell a guy who knows what he's doing even from easy stuff like that if you're paying attention.

Some time later, we eventually got to talking about making ginger ale. I have no idea how this happened, but I thank the good lord above that it did. Taylor and I not knowing one another very well at all and Taylor wanting to learn how to make ginger ale led to my coming over to his place on New Year's Eve of 2007. His wife Ann, who is wonderful, had to go to bed early to wake up early for work and Taylor didn't have any plans. I considered going to a party to which I was invited by a friend, where my main objective would have been to get to know a girl for whom a couple friends thought I'd be a good match. Spending some time to get to know Taylor instead of chasing a girl is one of the better decisions I've ever made. I showed up around nine with a bunch of ginger root, some sugar, club soda and cranberry juice - Taylor had told me that Ann loves a little cranberry juice with her ginger ale.





Making ginger ale is extremely easy and extremely delicious. All you need is ginger, sugar, water, and club soda. Saying that it's "making ginger ale" isn't entirely accurate; it's actually making a ginger syrup which is then added to club soda to make the equivalent of ginger ale. Heat equal amounts of sugar and water in a pot. While the sugar and water are heating, peel the ginger. This is done quite easily by scraping it with a spoon. Chop the ginger up and add it to the sugar and water mixture. Let it boil in there for about 15-20 minutes. Remove it from the heat and strain the ginger out. Now you've got a nice concentrated ginger syrup. Add it to club soda to taste. Good with a little lime as well.


We started talking while we were preparing the ginger syrup. At the time, I didn't know how easily the ginger could be peeled with a spoon, so we used paring knives. I also didn't know that removing the ginger's skin isn't very necessary at all. It was tedious, but both of us are the type who enjoy the process of food preparation too much to be annoyed by it. As we leaned against counters and talked a bit, the boiling ginger syrup filled the house with the smell of fresh ginger. There aren't a lot of things that smell better than fresh ginger. After the syrup had reduced enough, we strained it, made a couple of drinks and sat down.

We talked about a lot of things, among the first of which was how stupid it was that I was going to go chase some girl I didn't know at a New Year's Eve party. In disbelief at how stupid it was, I was telling Taylor about how dumb I felt about it. Rather than trying to convince me to think otherwise, he talked about how it was stupid and about how coming to his house was way the hell better. I liked that about him.

Taylor cut right to it, and it was easy to do so with him, even that early in our friendship. That same night, we talked at length about a difficult decision I was in the process of making. I was about to stop attending college for a number of reasons. He listened, weighed what I had told him, and gave me his honest opinion on it. I quickly learned that as good as Taylor was at messing around and having a good time, his ability to connect with people and to get to the heart of a matter was far more impressive. We sat down together and talked about the deeper and more important things in our lives - an activity we would share countless times in the months after that.

Taylor and Ann are moving to India for the next two years to do missionary work (they have a blog set up on which they will chronicle important events). They leave this Thursday. A few nights ago, I stopped by their house to sit and talk with them, to get to the heart of matters one more time before they leave. Just me and a couple of very, very good friends talking about life and God and all the things that make us happy to be alive and to know one another.

Though I couldn't be happier that they're doing what they're doing, I'm met with a deep sadness at the thought of not seeing them for so long. They are the truest sort of friends.

The knowledge that I'll go so long without seeing them has made me think about all of our times together and has brought me to this realization:

There are few things that feel better or more right to me than to sit and connect with people, getting to the heart of matters. That process of drawing people together through the relation of thoughts and hopes and sorrows and experiences might be the most gratifying thing I get to do in my life. Being involved in youth and young adult ministry, I get to do it a little more than some people - but I don't get to do it nearly enough.

My favorite Fleet Foxes song suggests that days are just drops in the river to be lost always. I feel like the days when I get to do this are the part of the river where the current is most swift, where the river is most forceful and has the most potential to change the landscape ahead of it. They seem to me the most significant and noteworthy - but I don't get to do it nearly enough.

Jesus Loves the Little Fascist Zombies.

I recently saw what I expect is a pretty old clip - a couple years anyway, though I don't really have any idea as to when it would have first been aired. It was from a series of stories CNN did called "God's Warriors," looking at different aspects of modern expressions of Judaism, Islam, and Christianity.

This particular segment was following the events surrounding something called BattleCry. Here's a little exerpt from the main page of BattleCry's website:

In America today, we have the largest number of teens since the baby boomer generation. These teens hold the future in their hands. BattleCry is here to answer why and how to reclaim our youth for Christ. At this very moment, an entire generation of young people is at risk. Giant corporations, media conglomerates, and other purveyors of popular culture have leveraged every dollar they can spare, as well as every waking hour, into claiming the souls of today's youth. BattleCry is answering the call.

There are a lot of things about stuff I'll reference in this post that are troubling to me. One of them is the second-to-last sentence in that snippet. Giant corporations, media conglomerates, and purveyors of popular culture (three super general, mean-nothing phrases that only ever are used to describe something that's about to be demonized) aren't advertising with billboards and magazine ads and television commercials and product placement to get your children hooked on products and to fuel consumerism for financial gain. They are, apparently, making an effort to harvest their souls, to capture the very essence of their beings.

If you drive into the city, to one of the very tall buildings, and you travel up the elevator to the highest floors where the most important business is being conducted by the people with the most power - there, in those very rooms, there are the people in charge. They're wearing suits with pocket squares that cost more than my college tuition, they're smoking cigars and drinking cognac - and they're all talking about how they can get more little kiddie souls to feed on. They hunger for them, as you or I do for common vittles. The only problem is, once you've had little kiddie souls, it's hard to go back to casual restaurants or to eat last night's leftovers. Unless it's leftover little kiddie souls - those are almost better reheated on the second day, like your mother's lasagna.

What better way to provoke the overprotective suburban Christian mother than to convince her that the man or woman in charge of the company that's making little Eric's blue jeans is really out to eat his soul?

Anyway, here's the video. I'm not sure where it'll pop up, because I don't know anything about embedding videos in my blog. Let's talk about the video.




The video follows a guy named Ron Luce around during one of these BattleCry events, which is being held in San Francisco. The students, who have received considerable emotionally-charged ramping up from leaders, are demonstrating in the streets of what is widely referred to as one of the most liberal cities in the United States, largely because of its close association with homosexuality.

This sounds like one of the more productive things one could do with a few hundred teens, right? Get 'em all hopped-up on Jesus, convinced that they have to be a cultural force by being loud and confrontational, and then turn 'em loose to go combat homosexuality when they view it as a behavior and homosexuals mostly believe it to be directly linked to their identity. This brings us to another reality that troubles me: out of all of the many, many people it takes to organize something like this, there weren't a big enough number of level-headed people there to say "good God, what good do you think this will accomplish?" to stop it (or at least to talk about a better way to move forward).

Not far into the video clip, you'll hear a man with a megaphone yelling out: "BattleCry is a tool to turn the kids into little fascist zombies." No, you silly man; read their website. BattleCry is combatting the soul-eating practices of corporate big-wigs. Duh.

Another thing that troubles me about this video is that the guy in charge of the thing doesn't expect or understand this great ugly shouting match he's instigated. The reporter notes that Luce "professes not to understand the anger" directed at him and his demonstrators. He was "shocked...with the amount of anger and hostility from the protestors."

Are you kidding me? How can a person choose these methods and be honestly surprised at these results? Take a bunch of teenagers and rile them up about sexual purity and morality and then make a public demonstration in San Francisco - how do you think that's going to be received? You think nobody's going to feel like it's hateful or gay-bashing? This is the guy who's the public face of the whole operation. He's got his teen followers chanting in the streets: "We won't be silent! Our voices will be heard!" and honestly expects a softer reception? As a person who is often put in charge of many teenagers, this is awfully unsettling to me.

But the thing that's most troubling? It's not that the public accepts these things as hateful, gay-bashing, fascist zombie-making teeny parties. It's not that the guy who runs the thing seems to be about as brainwashed (or out-of-touch, I guess) as his critics think he's trying to make the teens. It's not that there's a big ugly scene and everyone's screaming at one another thinking they're more and more right while others are more and more wrong and that the divide between people who think differently gets wider and wider and wider and wider.

It's a single sentence, beginning at the 1:27 mark:

This is the intersection of faith and the secular world.

We're screwed. If these things, these events - if the screaming and hating and not listening and being shocked that others think differently and just getting more and more riled up about what we think without listening to anybody - if this is the intersection of faith and the secular world, we're screwed.

But if it's just people connecting with people, in conversation and in action, in living and working together and learning from one another? If that's the intersection of faith and the secular world, then there is hope. If it's something we do together and not against one another, then there is hope.

I don't know exactly what it looks like in all situations, but I know that being open and honest with those around me is a start. If we can have honest conversations about what is most important to us and learn from one another as a starting point, I can deal with that.