As a music education major--and at one point worship arts major--you might expect the most profound and life-changing class of my college career to have been one with a musical, education, or theological focus. But you'd be wrong...mostly.
When I look back over the last four years of my life and the changes that have taken place in me over that time, and as I notice the lessons I am still learning from things I thought I "learned" in college, the vast majority of these developments spawn from ideas that I received in--get this--speech. What does the art of orating before a crowd have to do with the development of my soul? How have basic presentation skills improved my relationships? A lot of people could come out of a speech class with twenty more tips and tricks for fooling people into thinking you are something you aren't. I can't think of a situation where those skills have ever helped someone improve and develop as a person. If anything it helps you deteriorate on the inside while still hiding the undesirable elements of yourself.
Yet, here I am, grown and growing all because of a few simple statements I heard in speech class.
My professor was (and still is) a wise man, a fantastic father, husband, and friend (from everything I saw of him), and most importantly he was a humble servant of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. He wasn't such a great man because he was perfect. He was a great man because he had failed (and he made that clear through his many anecdotes) and learned from his failures.
But what could he teach in a speech class that would be so life-changing?
Dr. Trammel didn't approach the class simply as a forum for developing orators. He approached it as a means of developing communicators. Communication is all about presenting a message that will be received and understood by the recipient, AND being ready to receive and understand the messages of others. He focused this idea down to a part of a passage in Ephesians, "Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen" (4:29 NIV). Dr. Trammel placed extra emphasis on this idea of "according to their needs." Communication isn't just sending out the message you want to send in the manner you want to send it. If you don't consider the needs of others, what good is your message to them. They may not need your message, or worse, they might need it, but not understand it.
Throughout the class, Dr. Trammel equipped us with numerous tools to help identify and address the needs of others. The majority of it has less to do with the message I want to send, and more to do with the messages being sent by others. In order to understand their needs, I have to understand them. One of the tools (the one I remember best) that Dr. Trammel suggested for that very purpose was to enter their world. Consider the other person's way of thinking; his way of life. And more than just considering it, take opportunities to live it, and join him in it. (All of this within God given limits. It doesn't do either side any good to join in the sin of the other side. We have enough of our own to deal with.) What are his interests? What is he good at? I might not give a spit about most athletic events, but if I care about the person, and the person cares about the sport, it would be easy enough to watch a game or two with the person. I may not be very good with history (just ask my college roommate), but if the other person is all about a particular era of the past, I can spend some time listening to him share some of his unique (or at least new-to-me) insights on this thing that is so important to him.
These are just a couple examples (and perhaps weak ones). But the idea of entering their world is that of moving past our own perspective, our own interests, our own selves, and considering the interests, perspectives, and personalities of others.
Along these lines of getting over ourselves, Dr. Trammel suggested a more specific tool for developing our abilities as communicators. The scenario was one with which I was all too familiar, so I'll present it from my perspective:
I'm in a conversation with someone or a group of people as another person is relating a story of some event in their life or some accomplishment they have experienced. My natural instinct is to make a personal connection with the story. The result is that as soon as he has finished his story, I begin mine.
It seems harmless. That's what we do every day. Millions and billions of conversations are entirely made up of these back and forth anecdotes.
What my professor suggested, however, is that this form of conversation does not promote relationship or communication; it promotes me.
"Oh, that's what happened to you? Well, guess what happened to me?" "So you've done that? Well, I've done this!"
As Dr. Trammel explained this idea I knew I was guilty of that very thing. I always want things to be about me. Even if I convince myself that I just want to communicate a shared experience, the reason I want it is so that the other person will understand me. It is not out of a desire to make the other person feel understood.
Thankfully, Dr. Trammel had a suggestion for those of us who struggle with the me-mes. He said next time I was in one of those situations where I wanted to tell my story, I should ask more about the other person's story instead. "What was that like? How did it make you feel? What did you learn? Would you ever do it again? How has that changed your perspective?"
Don't make it about me. Make it about them. Enter their world. Look beyond myself. Try to understand them. Because that might just be exactly what they need.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Saturday, March 16, 2013
A Side Order of Sorrow
Last weekend I was out on the town with some of the dorm kids from my school. I teach music at a private Christian school in Montana now--in case I hadn't mentioned that before. The school is part boarding school, so we have a dorm full of students from all of the country and the world (Ethiopia, Korea, China, Rwanda, Haiti, New Jersey, Washington, Texas, Georgia...and others). We started the new trimester just before March, and with the trimester came new students. Four of these new students are Muslim. (Don't ask me why they came to a Christian school. I have no idea what-so-ever.)
So last Saturday I took some of the dorm kids--including three of the Muslims--into town to do some shopping. While we were there the kids persuaded me to let them go to a local Chinese restaurant. I like Chinese food, so it wasn't a hard sell.
The whole thing ended up being a very interesting experience. Here I was with five Chinese students in a Chinese restaurant listening as the students and the waitress (who must have been around their same age) converse in their native language. I just sat back and enjoyed the oddity of the whole situation (right up there with me teaching Spanish in Montana--oh yeah, I do a little bit of that too--where Latinos are few and far between).
We all order our food--the Muslims being very careful to not order pork per their religious dietary restrictions. Before too long the food arrives. I start digging in without thinking much about the situation around me. Next thing I know two of the students are waving their hands in the air trying to get the attention of the waitress. I figure they are just being ridiculous--and a little rude since the waitress is tending to other customers. When they do get her attention they babble frantically in Chinese, and pretty soon I realize what is going on. They are asking about the fried rice...the fried rice that was served to everyone at our table...the PORK fried rice. As the waitress explains the contents of the dish three students look with shock and dismay at the food before them.
Only two of the three had eaten any of the rice. Those two promptly excused themselves to the restroom so that they might, shall we say, "purify" their bodies.
The restaurant was very gracious about the whole thing once we explained the situation. They brought out some steamed rice and a new plate of food for the student who had dumped his rice all over his platter. The students returned from purging, and I thought it was all over and everything would be okay.
I returned to my food, and the students returned to their crazy antics and ridiculous conversations (I love high school kids). But now what? One of the students that had returned from purging was standing up in the middle of the meal to pay the waitress, and--as another student was so gracious as to point out for all the world to see--he was crying. To be honest, I didn't understand what was going on, but then I heard one of the students at the other end of the table explaining it in perhaps exaggerated, yet powerful terms: "eating pork is like killing someone to them."
So here is a boy, a young man who knows his religious duties and what he believes his god has commanded of him. He knows he has failed in his spiritual devotion, and he is sorrowful to the point of tears.
James--the brother of Jesus and one of the early church leaders in Jerusalem--says "For whoever keeps the whole law but fails in one point has become accountable for all of it. For he who said, 'do not commit adultery,' also said, 'Do not murder.' If you do not commit adultery but do murder, you have become a transgressor of the law" (James 2:10-11).
Now, many Christians believe that eating pig is no more a sin than brushing your teeth before going to bed. So we might be tempted to look at this instance of sorrow and think the boy is making a big deal of nothing. But he sees it as a command from his god (or--in all possibility--from his parents, family, and community) just as much as the other commands that we might even see as honorable and worthy of recognition.
I'm not saying what he believes is right. What I am saying is...why am I not that devoted to the commands of my God? For he who said, "Do not commit adultery," also said, "Everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart" (Matthew 5:28). He who said, "You shall not murder; and whoever murders will be liable to judgment" also said, "Everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment" (Matt. 5:21-22), and, "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you" (Matt. 5:44).
So why do I not become sorrowful to the point of tears with every spiteful thought and with every lustful glance? Sure, you won't find me anywhere near the woman's bed. You won't catch me standing over a corps with a knife in my hand (and may the Lord preserve me from ever falling away into such practices). BUT if I am going to take my God at his word, if I am going to believe the one who is Lord and judge over all things, then I have to admit that I am no better than the man who does find himself holding that knife. In the moments when those thoughts pass through my mind I am harboring SIN. In those moments my heart is in a state of rebellion against the order God created, and a wall is put up to try and hide my sin and shame from God. Of course all the wall does is keep me from turning to him for help and healing while the sin continues to fester.
How did we come to this point where we would be so desensitized to sin that we could recognize wrong but not be ashamed of it to the point of sorrow? At the same time I recognize this is nothing new. There is a reason God destroyed the world with a flood. There is a reason God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah. There is a reason people in the early church had begun to "fall asleep" (ie. die). People had become so used to living in and accepting the sin around them that they could not even blush. God was going to destroy the people of Nineveh, and he says of them that they were so distorted in their understanding that they did not even know their right hand from their left (Jonah 4:11). BUT God spared Nineveh! Why? Because they sorrowfully repented!
Oh, that I could be like Nineveh, and in my ignorant and distorted understanding of right and wrong still come to a point of brokenness and sorrow before God. Oh, that the Spirit would bring me to a point of seeing my sin, and that he would turn my heart toward the only one who can spare my life and heal my mind and soul.
So last Saturday I took some of the dorm kids--including three of the Muslims--into town to do some shopping. While we were there the kids persuaded me to let them go to a local Chinese restaurant. I like Chinese food, so it wasn't a hard sell.
The whole thing ended up being a very interesting experience. Here I was with five Chinese students in a Chinese restaurant listening as the students and the waitress (who must have been around their same age) converse in their native language. I just sat back and enjoyed the oddity of the whole situation (right up there with me teaching Spanish in Montana--oh yeah, I do a little bit of that too--where Latinos are few and far between).
We all order our food--the Muslims being very careful to not order pork per their religious dietary restrictions. Before too long the food arrives. I start digging in without thinking much about the situation around me. Next thing I know two of the students are waving their hands in the air trying to get the attention of the waitress. I figure they are just being ridiculous--and a little rude since the waitress is tending to other customers. When they do get her attention they babble frantically in Chinese, and pretty soon I realize what is going on. They are asking about the fried rice...the fried rice that was served to everyone at our table...the PORK fried rice. As the waitress explains the contents of the dish three students look with shock and dismay at the food before them.
Only two of the three had eaten any of the rice. Those two promptly excused themselves to the restroom so that they might, shall we say, "purify" their bodies.
The restaurant was very gracious about the whole thing once we explained the situation. They brought out some steamed rice and a new plate of food for the student who had dumped his rice all over his platter. The students returned from purging, and I thought it was all over and everything would be okay.
I returned to my food, and the students returned to their crazy antics and ridiculous conversations (I love high school kids). But now what? One of the students that had returned from purging was standing up in the middle of the meal to pay the waitress, and--as another student was so gracious as to point out for all the world to see--he was crying. To be honest, I didn't understand what was going on, but then I heard one of the students at the other end of the table explaining it in perhaps exaggerated, yet powerful terms: "eating pork is like killing someone to them."
So here is a boy, a young man who knows his religious duties and what he believes his god has commanded of him. He knows he has failed in his spiritual devotion, and he is sorrowful to the point of tears.
James--the brother of Jesus and one of the early church leaders in Jerusalem--says "For whoever keeps the whole law but fails in one point has become accountable for all of it. For he who said, 'do not commit adultery,' also said, 'Do not murder.' If you do not commit adultery but do murder, you have become a transgressor of the law" (James 2:10-11).
Now, many Christians believe that eating pig is no more a sin than brushing your teeth before going to bed. So we might be tempted to look at this instance of sorrow and think the boy is making a big deal of nothing. But he sees it as a command from his god (or--in all possibility--from his parents, family, and community) just as much as the other commands that we might even see as honorable and worthy of recognition.
I'm not saying what he believes is right. What I am saying is...why am I not that devoted to the commands of my God? For he who said, "Do not commit adultery," also said, "Everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart" (Matthew 5:28). He who said, "You shall not murder; and whoever murders will be liable to judgment" also said, "Everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment" (Matt. 5:21-22), and, "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you" (Matt. 5:44).
So why do I not become sorrowful to the point of tears with every spiteful thought and with every lustful glance? Sure, you won't find me anywhere near the woman's bed. You won't catch me standing over a corps with a knife in my hand (and may the Lord preserve me from ever falling away into such practices). BUT if I am going to take my God at his word, if I am going to believe the one who is Lord and judge over all things, then I have to admit that I am no better than the man who does find himself holding that knife. In the moments when those thoughts pass through my mind I am harboring SIN. In those moments my heart is in a state of rebellion against the order God created, and a wall is put up to try and hide my sin and shame from God. Of course all the wall does is keep me from turning to him for help and healing while the sin continues to fester.
How did we come to this point where we would be so desensitized to sin that we could recognize wrong but not be ashamed of it to the point of sorrow? At the same time I recognize this is nothing new. There is a reason God destroyed the world with a flood. There is a reason God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah. There is a reason people in the early church had begun to "fall asleep" (ie. die). People had become so used to living in and accepting the sin around them that they could not even blush. God was going to destroy the people of Nineveh, and he says of them that they were so distorted in their understanding that they did not even know their right hand from their left (Jonah 4:11). BUT God spared Nineveh! Why? Because they sorrowfully repented!
Oh, that I could be like Nineveh, and in my ignorant and distorted understanding of right and wrong still come to a point of brokenness and sorrow before God. Oh, that the Spirit would bring me to a point of seeing my sin, and that he would turn my heart toward the only one who can spare my life and heal my mind and soul.
Saturday, February 09, 2013
North-East Montana
When I first arrived it was
mostly brown. Not an exciting color. But the romantic in me saw it as the
golden-brown of fields in the time of harvest. Such a distinction gave this
drab landscape a purpose and an importance, and therefore a beauty.
There are no mountains this far
east of the Rockies. Only rolling hills with occasional plateaus that drop off
suddenly into creek-bed crevasses, bone dry in the prairie sun.
The vast expanse is the thing
that really gets me. I grew up in the Willamette Valley at the foot of Mt.
Hood; surrounded by forests and peaks. There was a limit to the eye's scope.
The horizon was found in the tops of trees. A true, unfiltered sunrise was a rare
thing.
Here the human eye is limited
only by its own disabilities and the curvature of the great sphere. You look
out and you see the big world that you grew up hearing about in stories and
watching in the old westerns. The eye surveys the vast emptiness, but the heart
sees the wild frontier; full of adventure and life; at once both wild and wonderful.
Back in the city, there is a lot of work to be done, and it seems so important and prestigious (at times). But this is
the land, the dirt, the soil. This is where hard work, good work is put forth
to survive and to prosper. There is no Starbucks around every corner, or even a
grocery store for that matter. This is not a land of convenience or amusement.
It is a harder land, a simpler land, and in that sense, a purer land.
And then there is the snow. In
Oregon snow comes down, lands, and either melts at once, or waits a matter of
hours (maybe a day) before fading into the puddles and creeks. It is wet, and
it is dead.
The snow in Montana is very different. It often comes in flurries
as legions of flakes riding the great winds over the plains. Even if it comes to
land in some location, there is every chance that it will jump right up onto the back of the breeze
and carry on its way. And in this frigged haze the world turns from gold to white.
The very floor of nature becomes a blank page on which the adventures of two
children, three tabby cats, and a black-capped chickadee can be written and easily read. Every
footprint is crisp in the making and clear in the leaving. The expanse is all
bright and dark as the shadows of the rolling plains are cast here and there
across the land's fresh blanket.
As the fog sets in and a bitter
chill begins to creep from west to east, castle spires form on every upright
surface. Soon half the world is white with crystallized fog while the other side
remains both dark and colorful. Giant, half-flocked, Christmas trees stand with
the appearance of dwelling in two worlds: One of sun-bathed forests and the
other of winter-laden lands.
This is the mysterious and majestic land in which I now dwell. The creativity and power of God is present in every moment; every biting breeze; every passing cloud; every waving field. God is here.
And now, so am I.
Friday, June 15, 2012
When "I" Win, We All Lose A Little
Last night I had some guys over to my house for a game night. We played a game that I have appreciated since my freshman year of college. After observing how excited I was to play it last night, I have come to realize that it is my all-time favorite board game; Shadows Over Camelot.
No, it is not like Dungeons & Dragons. Essentially you play as the knights of the roundtable, all working together against the game. This may sound like a simple task, but the game fights hard and plays dirty. Winning is no small feat.
But I love this game. I love the camaraderie that it fosters. I love the opportunities it presents to teach the values and Christ-seeking character traits of the knights of the roundtable. For me the game carries memories of my freshman year in college, talking with "Mack" for hours about the knights. He taught me a lot about those subtle yet important character traits that become a man of God.
These are all important elements that combine to create my strong appreciation for this game. However, as far as the game in itself goes, the thing that I most enjoy about it is the team aspect; it truly is all against the game. We all win together, or we all lose together.
I was reading a book last fall wherein the writer presented the notion that all of our society's strongly acclaimed "healthy competition" is anything but. Before you click the back button on your browser, let me challenge you to at least think about this. Our society holds a lot of values that we have grown up with and accept because we have been taught that they are natural and good. Christ came to shake up our perceptions of "natural" and "good." He wanted to give us the opportunity to see these things as he sees them. So please, let's at least explore this idea for the sake of double-checking our preconceptions. What if this is one of those areas that has us all fooled into living a damaging lie?
What if there is no such thing as "healthy competition"?
What is the point of competition anyway? In every case one competes with the intention of either proving oneself to be the best, or perhaps merely discovering where one sits on the spectrum of ability and skill.
Jesus didn't get caught up in these games, and he shut it down when it came up among his disciples:
"An argument started among the disciples as to which of them would be the greatest. Jesus, knowing their thoughts, took a little child and had him stand beside him. Then he said to them, 'Whoever welcomes this little child in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. For he who is least among you all--he is the greatest.'" (Luke 9:46-48)
The disciples, in an attempt to at least maintain some status, try to set up an us-and-them wall:
"'Master,' said John, 'we saw a man driving out demons in your name and we tried to stop him, because he is not one of us.'"
But Jesus doesn't bite:
"'Do not stop him,' Jesus said, 'for whoever is not against you is for you.'" (Luke 9:49-50)
Whoever is not against you is for you. So why do we keep trying to turn all these friends into enemies by pitting ourselves against them? Why do we make our own superiority more important than our relationships?
And what is so great about us anyway? What good is it to prove that I am accomplished in some external area of my life? God says, "The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart" (1 Samuel 16:7). Who really cares where I fit on man's silly spectrum of accomplishment?! Not God.
Paul says, "If anyone thinks he is something when he is nothing, he deceives himself. Each one should test his own actions. Then he can take pride in himself, without comparing himself to somebody else, for each one should carry his own load" (Galatians 6:3-5). We are not called to compare ourselves to others, but to our own selves. Only then, when we have determined that we are adequate to the task that has been given to us, can we be proud. Yet, it is not a pride that stands out among others. Instead it is an inner confidence in our standing before God. It is the humbled understanding that God's guiding and steadying hand is the thing that enables us to endure the load we carry.
I don't see much encouragement in scripture for this so-called "healthy competition." Everything I see in scripture talks about setting others above yourself, serving over being served, taking pride in low positions when the world would have you think highly of yourself.
Don't get me wrong. I think it is still possible to enjoy a game that involves winners and losers. What does concern me is that those people who push so fervently for others to participate in their "healthy competition" are often the ones for whom competition is a major stumbling block. It is precisely those people who are least capable of maintaining healthy lives when in competitive atmospheres.
Think about it. Then go find some way to edify someone else instead of finding a way to dominate them. Let me know how that works for you.
No, it is not like Dungeons & Dragons. Essentially you play as the knights of the roundtable, all working together against the game. This may sound like a simple task, but the game fights hard and plays dirty. Winning is no small feat.
But I love this game. I love the camaraderie that it fosters. I love the opportunities it presents to teach the values and Christ-seeking character traits of the knights of the roundtable. For me the game carries memories of my freshman year in college, talking with "Mack" for hours about the knights. He taught me a lot about those subtle yet important character traits that become a man of God.
These are all important elements that combine to create my strong appreciation for this game. However, as far as the game in itself goes, the thing that I most enjoy about it is the team aspect; it truly is all against the game. We all win together, or we all lose together.
I was reading a book last fall wherein the writer presented the notion that all of our society's strongly acclaimed "healthy competition" is anything but. Before you click the back button on your browser, let me challenge you to at least think about this. Our society holds a lot of values that we have grown up with and accept because we have been taught that they are natural and good. Christ came to shake up our perceptions of "natural" and "good." He wanted to give us the opportunity to see these things as he sees them. So please, let's at least explore this idea for the sake of double-checking our preconceptions. What if this is one of those areas that has us all fooled into living a damaging lie?
What if there is no such thing as "healthy competition"?
What is the point of competition anyway? In every case one competes with the intention of either proving oneself to be the best, or perhaps merely discovering where one sits on the spectrum of ability and skill.
Jesus didn't get caught up in these games, and he shut it down when it came up among his disciples:
"An argument started among the disciples as to which of them would be the greatest. Jesus, knowing their thoughts, took a little child and had him stand beside him. Then he said to them, 'Whoever welcomes this little child in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. For he who is least among you all--he is the greatest.'" (Luke 9:46-48)
The disciples, in an attempt to at least maintain some status, try to set up an us-and-them wall:
"'Master,' said John, 'we saw a man driving out demons in your name and we tried to stop him, because he is not one of us.'"
But Jesus doesn't bite:
"'Do not stop him,' Jesus said, 'for whoever is not against you is for you.'" (Luke 9:49-50)
Whoever is not against you is for you. So why do we keep trying to turn all these friends into enemies by pitting ourselves against them? Why do we make our own superiority more important than our relationships?
And what is so great about us anyway? What good is it to prove that I am accomplished in some external area of my life? God says, "The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart" (1 Samuel 16:7). Who really cares where I fit on man's silly spectrum of accomplishment?! Not God.
Paul says, "If anyone thinks he is something when he is nothing, he deceives himself. Each one should test his own actions. Then he can take pride in himself, without comparing himself to somebody else, for each one should carry his own load" (Galatians 6:3-5). We are not called to compare ourselves to others, but to our own selves. Only then, when we have determined that we are adequate to the task that has been given to us, can we be proud. Yet, it is not a pride that stands out among others. Instead it is an inner confidence in our standing before God. It is the humbled understanding that God's guiding and steadying hand is the thing that enables us to endure the load we carry.
I don't see much encouragement in scripture for this so-called "healthy competition." Everything I see in scripture talks about setting others above yourself, serving over being served, taking pride in low positions when the world would have you think highly of yourself.
Don't get me wrong. I think it is still possible to enjoy a game that involves winners and losers. What does concern me is that those people who push so fervently for others to participate in their "healthy competition" are often the ones for whom competition is a major stumbling block. It is precisely those people who are least capable of maintaining healthy lives when in competitive atmospheres.
Think about it. Then go find some way to edify someone else instead of finding a way to dominate them. Let me know how that works for you.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
The Monster I've Become
Every monster needs an owner; someone to feed it, care for it, and raise it as his own. There are all kinds of owners, and each one will raise a different sort of monster. Suffice it to say that when making a monster the first step is to find an owner.
The next thing is to give the owner an Idea. This is where creativity and careful selection comes in. Different owners will respond to different Ideas. The most important element is that the Idea be given a label. Some owners will respond best if the Idea has a label that is simple yet strong, such as “true”, “right”, or “just.” Others will attach themselves more to Ideas labeled “fun”, “popular”, “manly”, or even “secure.” For some it is better to give them a “good” Idea, others will attend more to a “bad” Idea. If it is a truly “good” Idea, the monster will likely grow big and strong yet remain unnoticed. For the Idea is the monster (or at least the guise of the monster). As the owner feeds the Idea, the monster grows.
It matters little if anyone else does or does not see the monster. Especially if the Idea is a “good” one, others are likely to help in the feeding. Most important is that the owner sees the labels “true” and “right” whenever the Idea enters the room… at least for the time being.
Eventually the owner will begin to compare everything else with his “right” Idea; first a little foible in his boss, then some ignorance in his neighbor. He will tolerate these for some time, comforting himself in the thought that he has the “truth” and knows “right” from not.
Then one day the owner will exhibit his Idea—of moderate size by this time—to his friends. He will put it on display for them to bask in the power and beauty of his very own Idea. His friends, however, will be less than impressed. Some will laugh, some will shrug, and some will return to their discussions of caviar and Cadbury eggs. One of his friends might show an interest in the Idea, but only enough to draw the discussion to his own Idea (which has been locked up in his basement for the last three months).
The owner will become infuriated by the response of his friends. Here he has a perfectly good Idea—more than that, it is the “right” Idea—and they won’t even give it the time of day! What is to be done? How can he convince them, exhort them, set them straight? After all, he’s got the “right” Idea, and everyone should recognize it.
What the owner doesn’t realize is that over all this time, as the Idea has been fed, and tended, and grown, it has also changed. It is no longer the Idea it was in the beginning. What started out as a “good” Idea may have turned slowly and imperceptibly into a rather “bad” Idea. Or it may simply be another generally “good” Idea. Either way, the owner will think it is still the same Idea he fed from a little “thought”, and try to feed it in much the same manner as before. What’s worse, after the fiasco with his friends he will try to feed it much more in hopes that it will grow to an un-shruggable, un-laughable, un-snubbable size. With a “true” and “right” Idea that big, everyone will have to recognize it—even his incompetent neighbor.
Unfortunately, the Idea will not be pleased with this dietary strategy. Food for “thought” is not food fit for grand Ideas. It will become discontent, and demand ever more creative sources of fulfillment. The Idea will grow. That much the owner will achieve. But it will grow distorted and gnarled. It will become too big for its cage, and the owner will find it following him everywhere.
The Idea will follow him to work and chew up his boss’s desk. It will follow him to church and eat the hat off the old lady in the third pew on the left (the lady who wears far too much perfume and coughs something horrible during the climax of every sermon). It will even get into the neighbor’s yard and dig up all the tulips, and bite an ear off the neighbor’s schnauzer.
Before he knows what has happened, the owner will be carrying his destructive monster of an Idea with him everywhere. And do you know what people will think? Will they be impressed, or convinced, or even concerned? Chances are…they will not.
What is more likely is that they will recognize the monster for what it is—a very bad Idea. They will respond to it with great indifference and the subtle satisfaction of knowing that their own Idea is so much “better.”
The next thing is to give the owner an Idea. This is where creativity and careful selection comes in. Different owners will respond to different Ideas. The most important element is that the Idea be given a label. Some owners will respond best if the Idea has a label that is simple yet strong, such as “true”, “right”, or “just.” Others will attach themselves more to Ideas labeled “fun”, “popular”, “manly”, or even “secure.” For some it is better to give them a “good” Idea, others will attend more to a “bad” Idea. If it is a truly “good” Idea, the monster will likely grow big and strong yet remain unnoticed. For the Idea is the monster (or at least the guise of the monster). As the owner feeds the Idea, the monster grows.
It matters little if anyone else does or does not see the monster. Especially if the Idea is a “good” one, others are likely to help in the feeding. Most important is that the owner sees the labels “true” and “right” whenever the Idea enters the room… at least for the time being.
Eventually the owner will begin to compare everything else with his “right” Idea; first a little foible in his boss, then some ignorance in his neighbor. He will tolerate these for some time, comforting himself in the thought that he has the “truth” and knows “right” from not.
Then one day the owner will exhibit his Idea—of moderate size by this time—to his friends. He will put it on display for them to bask in the power and beauty of his very own Idea. His friends, however, will be less than impressed. Some will laugh, some will shrug, and some will return to their discussions of caviar and Cadbury eggs. One of his friends might show an interest in the Idea, but only enough to draw the discussion to his own Idea (which has been locked up in his basement for the last three months).
The owner will become infuriated by the response of his friends. Here he has a perfectly good Idea—more than that, it is the “right” Idea—and they won’t even give it the time of day! What is to be done? How can he convince them, exhort them, set them straight? After all, he’s got the “right” Idea, and everyone should recognize it.
What the owner doesn’t realize is that over all this time, as the Idea has been fed, and tended, and grown, it has also changed. It is no longer the Idea it was in the beginning. What started out as a “good” Idea may have turned slowly and imperceptibly into a rather “bad” Idea. Or it may simply be another generally “good” Idea. Either way, the owner will think it is still the same Idea he fed from a little “thought”, and try to feed it in much the same manner as before. What’s worse, after the fiasco with his friends he will try to feed it much more in hopes that it will grow to an un-shruggable, un-laughable, un-snubbable size. With a “true” and “right” Idea that big, everyone will have to recognize it—even his incompetent neighbor.
Unfortunately, the Idea will not be pleased with this dietary strategy. Food for “thought” is not food fit for grand Ideas. It will become discontent, and demand ever more creative sources of fulfillment. The Idea will grow. That much the owner will achieve. But it will grow distorted and gnarled. It will become too big for its cage, and the owner will find it following him everywhere.
The Idea will follow him to work and chew up his boss’s desk. It will follow him to church and eat the hat off the old lady in the third pew on the left (the lady who wears far too much perfume and coughs something horrible during the climax of every sermon). It will even get into the neighbor’s yard and dig up all the tulips, and bite an ear off the neighbor’s schnauzer.
Before he knows what has happened, the owner will be carrying his destructive monster of an Idea with him everywhere. And do you know what people will think? Will they be impressed, or convinced, or even concerned? Chances are…they will not.
What is more likely is that they will recognize the monster for what it is—a very bad Idea. They will respond to it with great indifference and the subtle satisfaction of knowing that their own Idea is so much “better.”
Friday, February 17, 2012
Perspective
*Journal Entry*
Perspective is an interesting concept. As I write this I am thousands of feet in the air, flying home after a wedding in California.
Looking down I see the cars inching their way along the road below. I think back to the trip I made with my friends in college. We drove all the way from Salem to Disneyland, stopping only at the house of my friend whose wedding I was in yesterday. It took so long just to cross the border into California. The scenery slipped by at a rapid pace, and although it took some time, we seemed to be moving along fast enough.
From up here I see miles upon miles of endless, curving roads. The cars zipping along down there seem to scoot through the pass at a snail's pace. Three years ago when we made that trip we were four young, ambitious college students with things we wanted to do, places we wanted to see. We were racing through college one assignment at a time (and sometimes three). The lessons, experiences, adventures, and friendships flew past as we rushed down the freeway of college life. Down on the road all we could see were the things that were important to us: relationships, grades, adventures, and making our mark on the world.
As it is, I'm not far removed from that freeway, and my perspective hasn't changed much. But as I look down on those rippling ridges and patchwork plains I can't help but think that some day I will look at the landscape of my life and realize that those speeding miles were lingering inches, and all around me was a world and a story that I could never have fathomed.
Perspective is an interesting concept. As I write this I am thousands of feet in the air, flying home after a wedding in California.
Looking down I see the cars inching their way along the road below. I think back to the trip I made with my friends in college. We drove all the way from Salem to Disneyland, stopping only at the house of my friend whose wedding I was in yesterday. It took so long just to cross the border into California. The scenery slipped by at a rapid pace, and although it took some time, we seemed to be moving along fast enough.
From up here I see miles upon miles of endless, curving roads. The cars zipping along down there seem to scoot through the pass at a snail's pace. Three years ago when we made that trip we were four young, ambitious college students with things we wanted to do, places we wanted to see. We were racing through college one assignment at a time (and sometimes three). The lessons, experiences, adventures, and friendships flew past as we rushed down the freeway of college life. Down on the road all we could see were the things that were important to us: relationships, grades, adventures, and making our mark on the world.
As it is, I'm not far removed from that freeway, and my perspective hasn't changed much. But as I look down on those rippling ridges and patchwork plains I can't help but think that some day I will look at the landscape of my life and realize that those speeding miles were lingering inches, and all around me was a world and a story that I could never have fathomed.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
He Sets The Lonely In Families
It truly is a wonderful time of year. Some folks would go so far as to say it is the Most wonderful time of the year. Others would find that hard to believe. For some people it is the most lonely time of the year (just watch the opening credits to the movie "Surviving Christmas" and you'll see what I mean). It's a time when family comes together...unless you have no family. It's a time to celebrate with friends...unless your world is friendless.
Who cares if a baby was miraculously born so many years ago? Who cares that angels proclaimed the birth of a new king? Peace on earth and good will toward men are great taglines, but where are they?
Even our Christmas specials and holiday movies declare over and over again that the only thing you truly need to have a wonderful, joyful, and maybe even miraculous Christmas is your family and friends. So what good is this holy celebration to those who are lonely and abandoned?
If this is you, I would say that you have more to gain from the miraculous Christ-child than any of us. And if that is going too far, then at the very least you could understand and appreciate him and his purpose more than most. He came here for you.
In celebrating the Christmas season we rejoice in the coming (and subsequent life, death, and resurrection) of our savior, and look forward to the second coming of our glorious king.
But there is more to the birth of baby Jesus than that. There is something much more simple, and perhaps more meaningful in the coming of the God-child.
I am talking about Emmanuel.
It means "God with us." God has come down to be with us; to live with us; to know and be known by us.
Jesus didn't just come to die. He came to start a relationship between man and God that had been--for the most part--lost since the fall of Adam and Eve. He came because he sees our loneliness and wants to fill it with his love. That is why he came in our likeness to relate with us, connect with us, and show us how much he loves us: first in his life and even more in his death.
God knows we are lonely. We are ALL lonely. Certainly, we cover it up well with our schedule of activities, our social circles, our hobbies, and our vices. But when you take them all away we feel just how lost, empty, and alone we really are. God is not fooled by our antics. He knows. That's why he came to be with us.
He came to show us where we are and lead us on the right path. He came to feed us the bread and water of life. He came to care for us, to be with us, and to create a family for us with him as the firstborn and God as our father.
"A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families, he leads forth the prisoners with singing" (Psalm 68:5).
Even Christ's death was the means of making a way for us--broken and wicked humans--to approach and know the perfect and loving God. He made a way for us to have a relationship with himself now and forever.
So as we celebrate this Christmas season may we certainly worship the Christ-child as God and honor him as king, but may we also love him as our great and dear friend.
"We love because he first loved us." (1 John 4:19)
Who cares if a baby was miraculously born so many years ago? Who cares that angels proclaimed the birth of a new king? Peace on earth and good will toward men are great taglines, but where are they?
Even our Christmas specials and holiday movies declare over and over again that the only thing you truly need to have a wonderful, joyful, and maybe even miraculous Christmas is your family and friends. So what good is this holy celebration to those who are lonely and abandoned?
If this is you, I would say that you have more to gain from the miraculous Christ-child than any of us. And if that is going too far, then at the very least you could understand and appreciate him and his purpose more than most. He came here for you.
In celebrating the Christmas season we rejoice in the coming (and subsequent life, death, and resurrection) of our savior, and look forward to the second coming of our glorious king.
But there is more to the birth of baby Jesus than that. There is something much more simple, and perhaps more meaningful in the coming of the God-child.
I am talking about Emmanuel.
It means "God with us." God has come down to be with us; to live with us; to know and be known by us.
Jesus didn't just come to die. He came to start a relationship between man and God that had been--for the most part--lost since the fall of Adam and Eve. He came because he sees our loneliness and wants to fill it with his love. That is why he came in our likeness to relate with us, connect with us, and show us how much he loves us: first in his life and even more in his death.
God knows we are lonely. We are ALL lonely. Certainly, we cover it up well with our schedule of activities, our social circles, our hobbies, and our vices. But when you take them all away we feel just how lost, empty, and alone we really are. God is not fooled by our antics. He knows. That's why he came to be with us.
He came to show us where we are and lead us on the right path. He came to feed us the bread and water of life. He came to care for us, to be with us, and to create a family for us with him as the firstborn and God as our father.
"A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families, he leads forth the prisoners with singing" (Psalm 68:5).
Even Christ's death was the means of making a way for us--broken and wicked humans--to approach and know the perfect and loving God. He made a way for us to have a relationship with himself now and forever.
So as we celebrate this Christmas season may we certainly worship the Christ-child as God and honor him as king, but may we also love him as our great and dear friend.
"We love because he first loved us." (1 John 4:19)
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