Response to "Eleven Things I've Learned About Forgiveness"

Mitchell, Brody, Silly, and Shelby,

But in particular, Silly.  I said that I would call you that for the rest of the month, and today is the last day in March, so I figured I'd get around to that response to your blog entry, Eleven Things I've Learned About Forgiveness, now.  One, because I said I would.  Two, because this will give me as many opportunities as I can, in one entry, to call you Silly before April comes.

1) Posting a public list of insults against you is probably not for healing; it’s for sweet revenge. Knock it off. {I say this aggressively to myself, because it’s so classic and tempting.}

I guess I've never been tempted to rationalize one of these lists this way.  In any case, if I were to publicly list the sins someone committed against me, it would be because I wanted justice, not mercy.  And that's to say that justice isn't a bad thing.  There are times were I think that someone's sins should be known, because for the types of issues at hand it's important.  So in other words, I think the question is whether or not my desire for justice is marred with vengeful thoughts.

2) Going to sympathetic friends when you are hurt & wounded is not your first step towards forgiving the offender; it’s your first step towards hating the offender. Because good friends empathize and tell you what a beep beep beeeeep your offender is, they will fuel your fire of hatred. But great friends…great friends will empathize, love on you, give you all the hugs {physical or virtual}, and then move you toward a better version of yourself–a version not twisted with hatred.

Sometimes I wonder if a friend should sometimes actually sympathize with you and share your sense of justice.  As in, there are times when people have hurt me, and when I'm angry about it and go to a friend to talk about it, I really don't want them to play Devil's Advocate.  I do want them to be genuinely sympathetic.

However, I do also want a friend who who will steer me to being my best self and try to prevent me from wallowing in hatred.  I don't want them to do this by judging me for my hatred, though.

As it happens, I can think of that one grudge I had a year ago.  It was very strong.  I still have it, but I at least it isn't as strong now and it isn't directing my life.  Shelby, you and Justin really helped me wrestle with this, and I'm also glad that you really waited.  Hannah also waited for half a year before saying that the person in question really wasn't worth it.

As best as I can describe this experience, it played like this: You guys didn't necessarily reflect my passions the same way I did.  I wouldn't expect you to, since it was my own struggle.  You weren't part of that world and couldn't take ownership of the conflict in the way that I could.  It was uniquely my own.  I wouldn't want you to be quite as angry as me, although I did definitely want people to be on my side.  I wanted people who understood why I felt as wronged as I had been.

Otherwise, I guess I did hope for my friends who help me reach a resolution.  I'm not sure what I wanted.

In any case, those are my thoughts.  Not too different from yours, actually.  Although I'm trying to think of the best examples of what that looks like.  That, and I think that the unconditional love of the friend is the most important thing, and that we should love our friends regardless of whether or not they ever truly come up from that hatred.

And yeah, Silly, you were of help, too.  I know you were looking at me impatiently and waiting for me to give you your due.  Now you can stop it with that look.  No seriously.  Stop it.  You're freaking me out!

3) Sometimes you need to say goodbye to past people and things before you can say hello to new people and things. Say goodbye properly. Process through it.

This is more or less what I've done.  It wasn't truly forgiveness, though.  There are things that I don't think I can truly forgive.  I merely move on and decide that I'm not going to think about it anymore.

4) Forgiving the obvious sins of your offender is difficult enough, but forgiving the subtle nuances of things that drive you crazy and make you mad and don’t make sense is WAY HARDER. Because there’s no logical reason that something so small should drive you so crazy; it just does. 

Figure it out. Put a finger on all the little things twisting your mind up with bitterness. Bring it to God and ask him to wash it away. Or if you can’t let go of it yet, if your brain simply needs one. more. thing. to hold against your offender, beg God to set you free.

Usually I can put a finger on the little things because I'm aware from a very early stage why they irk me.  I don't know, though, that's just me.  They certainly add fuel to the problem, though, and make it more real for me.

5) Don’t be afraid of admitting to God all of those “stupid little things” that made you mad. Trust me, He gets it. Remember that our great High Priest is able to “empathize with our weaknesses,” for He “has been tempted in every way, just as we are–yet he did not sin.” {Hebrews 4:15} Jesus was probably tempted to be bitter towards Judas for betraying Him–a big thing. But Jesus was probably also tempted to be bitter when Judas stepped on the back of his sandal or cut him off on His way to the well–all of those “stupid little things” that add up. All of those “stupid little things” matter to God, because they matter to you. He’d love to hear about them from you. He’d love to process through them with you. He’d love to take them away from you.

You know, those stupid little things often don't bother us too much, when you look at the big picture.  99% of the time, they annoy us for one second, and then our attention gets diverted.  Just because we don't hold it over their heads, though, it doesn't mean that we forgave them.  It's more like we turned those small little things into infinitesimal, nonexistent things.

6) It’s okay to be tired. Allow yourself to be tired. Forgiving someone is exhausting. You may look like crap; you may be pale; you may have eye bags turning into Darth Vader’s helmet. Remember that you are beautiful.

Very helpful advice for someone struggling with forgiveness.  I think that it's basically what you guys allowed of me.  I got very, very tired and you guys still treated me like I was beautiful and worthwhile.

7) Don’t yell at yourself for being a jerk. Or being a doormat. Or being weak. Don’t feel shame about yourself–period. We all have our unshining moments. And God still loves us.

The duality of either being a doormat or a jerk reminds me of the book Boundaries.  Great book!  But yeah, there are different ways of going about unforgiveness.  When you're a jerk, you're overconfident in yourself as an agent of justice.  When you're being a doormat, you're using superficial forgiveness as a means of avoiding real forgiveness.

We do that because we're broke.  We're corrupt, spiritually bankrupt people, and we fall short all the time.  Yet, we're forgiven.  God expects us to forgive us, and yet...Somehow, even when we don't, He's surprisingly merciful and very patient.

So it's basically really important to always recognize how you are forgiven for not forgiving your neighbor before you can even begin the process of actually forgiving your neighbor.

8) You have been hurt, and you can admit it. I affirm your right to feel hurt. Mourn for yourself and for the hurt that you feel. Feeling hurt is part of being human. And God loves you for being human. He made you to be human. He likes you best this way. He doesn’t condemn you for feeling hurt. In fact, He feels your hurt and longs to heal it.

Wow, Silly!  Your wording here is so strong!  I don't have any additional thoughts, because you captured so well what I might have said, only much shorter.

9) Accept love. If you feel at your ugliest–unlovable and unworthy of love–then you need love the most right now. Let God love on you. Let your friends and family love on you. [And if no one is, if no one sees how desperate you are for love–ask them. Ask them to love on you.]

Thanks for the advice about asking.  That's actually a novel idea to me that I need to repeatedly remind myself.

10) Understand where your offender is coming from. See things from his perspective. If he is lashing out to hurt you and make you feel unloved and unlovable, that’s probably how he feels: unloved and unlovable. Apologize, when you can–especially now that you know what it feels like. Acknowledge that you played a role in making him feel like crap. Acknowledge that he played a role in making you feel like crap. Acknowledge that you have both hurt each other deeply; mourn that.

I don't necessarily think that this is forgiveness so much as immersing ourselves in accountability.  It's being more wise in our judgment.  It's recognizing that we both need forgiveness.  But in some ways, I really don't think that this really has to do with forgiveness so much as rationalizing away bad deeds, both those of our own and those of our neighbor, until we reach the point where we've decided that there's nothing to forgive.

Otherwise, it's good advice, but I want to be realistic about all the other things that are required.

11) Move on. If you have legitimately forgiven someone and feel at peace with him in your soul–move on. If you haven’t forgiven someone and are still festering, stay there until you heal. Don’t rush the forgiveness process just because you want to be rid of the offender. Chances are, if you still want “to be rid of” him, you haven’t truly forgiven him. And that bitterness will eat you up. It will make you an uglier version of your beautiful self. {psst! It’s not worth it!}

I think that very often we equate moving on with forgiveness.  I don't.  I really don't.  I think that all those times when I've moved on, I really just didn't want to deal with the hatred anymore.  And it did a lot of good for me, truly.  At the same time, no, it wasn't ideal.  I never truly forgave.  I just put those things on the backburner once they no longer became relevant to whatever I was doing at the moment.

Alright, that's it.  I responded to Silly's entry, like I said I would.  It feels good to have that out of the way.  Make sure to check out her blog at Silly Sparkle!

Yet, about a month ago I went to this thing with Shelby called the Elevate Conference.  Levi and Valerie were there.  We had an interesting conversation about forgiveness.  I think I will share some of my thoughts on that tomorrow.

Sincerely,
John Hooyer

The Nostalgic Now

Mitchell, Brody, Silly, and Shelby,

People in our family enjoy fishing.  I have to wonder how many people, in the business of life, take time out of their schedule to go out to a river or a pond, attach a string to a pole, attach a hook to the string, attach bait to the hook, and then throw it all out into the water to catch a fish.  When I think about it, contemporary America doesn't really give me that impression, especially now that I live in the city.  But my family enjoys fishing, and I grew up with it so that now I have a few memories that most people don't have.

My father loves to fish.  He loves the whole fishing season.  Now please don't ask why; no one quite knows the reason.  It could be that his head isn't put to much use.  It could be, perhaps, that his shoes are too loose.  But I think that the most likely reason, if you really dig, is that his heart is two sizes too big.

The great irony in this is that, by his own admission, he's not a good fisherman.  He rarely ever catches fish.  Still, he loads up his truck, finds a spot, and starts fishing anyway.  He doesn't even know what to do with the fish once he catches them, and just lets them go.  Yet if his actions weren't proof enough, you can tell how much he loves to fish when he opens his mouth and rambles on about subject matters that would classify him as a redneck if it wasn't for his clear "nerd talk."  I believe the term for it is "Asperger's Syndrome."

Fishing with my father is an insufferable experience.  He will talk on and on about things that interest him, and if you don't share that interest, too bad.  I sometimes go fishing with him, but mainly out of my determination to have a relationship with my father.  We all have to make sacrifices.

Yet, in spite of how boring fishing has become, I see why he loves it.  I see why people in my family generally enjoy it.  I hope to fish someday and enjoy it, too, and also be enjoyable while fishing.  I hope to talk about things that matter, talk about life.  The past, the present, the future.  Eternity.  That which we have faith in.  That which we hope for.  That which we love.  And to top it all off, things that are absolutely meaningless.  It seems to me that this is what fishing should be all about.

I was walking through town the other day, and I enjoyed the recent heat wave that rushed in out of nowhere.  For years now, my regular attire consisted of fine dress clothes, but I wasn't always that way.  I remember the summers where I only ever wore t-shirts, and I didn't care what I wore.  I remember being a kid.  I also wish I had enjoyed the moment.

Well, here was that moment.  I thought, "You know, I want to enjoy this."  So I did.  I now have a very good memory of that Tuesday afternoon, for no reason whatsoever than that I decided that I wanted to embrace that moment.  I loved it.  I loved the sunshine, and the hills, and the backstreets and the obscure parts of town.  I loved the silence of some neighborhoods, the robustness of others, and when I later told my mother about this over the phone, she didn't really quite understand why I loved it so much.

Now I want to enjoy it again, when I have time.  Except this time I would love to enjoy it with the people that I love.  Maybe longtime friends.  Maybe new friends.  I can see myself getting to know someone and spending a couple of days doing nothing but walking through town.  It's nostalgic for me, and it hasn't even happened yet.

And then, what if I took them fishing?  I didn't always find it boring, after all.  And you know, I felt something warm make its way through me.  That knot in my back that I've had this last week temporarily melted.  It felt right.  I want these moments to happen, those moments where you don't do anything but exist.  "Six days," said God, "ye shall work and do all your labor.  But on the seventh day, find rest."

Everything slows down.  Time halts to a stop.  The sunset glows with warmth and lazily overlooks its handiwork, knowing that it fueled a day of play and innocence.

These are the days of our lives.

Then Monday comes and we pick up our hammers, slam the iron over the anvil, and create sparks.  For some, this is Hell.  This is work.  This is the hectic work that detracts from life.

This lazy pastime, fishing, was also the primary source of income of the apostles.  It was work.  It was hard, manual labor.  It was hectic, full of worries about tomorrow.  Yet it wasn't Hell.  It was fishing.  It was intimate.

When Jesus walked up to them, most of the apostles were fishing.  It was what they had done for as long as they could remember.  I don't think it was easy for them to give this up in order to follow him.  As it turns out, they didn't quite have to.  He helped them with their fishing, and I wonder what that must be like.  To be on a boat with Jesus.  To have Jesus there, physically right beside them, with calloused hands and suntanned back, casting out a net with you.

Or maybe a net isn't your thing.  Maybe it's nursing.  Maybe it's welding, or carpentry, or farming.  Whatever it is, I can imagine Jesus being right there, working jut as hard as you.

"What are you doing?" you might wonder.  "Aren't you the Lord of the Sabbath?"

"Yes, I am the Lord of the Sabbath," says He.  "I am also the Lord of Creation, and in six days I created the Heavens and the Earth.  I am here.  I am working on Creation right now, with you.  I want to be with you, sharing in what I created you for, right this very moment."

Rest is a good thing, but that's not the only time that we enjoy life.  There's something very good about this hard work.  God loves it so much that for every Sabbath, He made six workdays.  When we think of people being at peace, we often imagine them resting, but I imagine a worker with seasoned shoulders lifting his tools of the trade high and leading the way for others with his industrious spirit.

You're a writer after my own heart, John Hooyer.
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Well, that's not exactly what I meant.  I think we might be inclined to ask ourselves which is more important, the workdays or the Sabbath days.  Is true spirituality fully found in our work or in our rest?  Even though I don't necessarily see the full relationship between work and rest, I don't see a conflict.

It is important to keep in mind that while good work is peaceful, work is not peace itself.  Work can be a sign that someone isn't overly caught up in religious Christianity and simply lives a life of faith, but hard work can and has — on very explicit terms — become a religion.

When traditional religion was outlawed in Russia, the Communist Party was ushered in to replace it.  In other words, Communism and communistic values became the new religion.  If you had asked Stalin if that was a fair description, I wouldn't be surprised if he agreed with that wording.  "Yes, Communism is our new religion."  Communism valued hard work.  They treated it like the ultimate spirituality, as the ultimate expression of a human's humanity.  With the hammer and the sickle, they glorified the worker.  Was there anything more noble and sweet?  Perhaps one: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.  The Communist Motherland was the ultimate cause, and hard work was the ultimate means to that cause.

History has another example in a Chinese rebellion.  Not so long after China adopted Communism, there was a rebellion among working class citizens who wanted to abolish all intellectual trades.  To them, there was nothing more noble than manual labor.  Everything else was a lie.  The writers, legislators, lawyers, judges, and so forth had no purpose.

This reminds me of the natural backlash that we might have against religious Christianity.  When we find that overseas evangelism and Bible study group leaderships aren't our things, it only takes one swing of the pendulum to say that "True Christians would be a hard and humble worker like me!"  In other words, we make a religion out of previously non-religious activities.

What is the difference between the spirituality of work as I see it and the spirituality of work as Stalin would see it?

The answer, you know, is Grace.  Grace that we might work not in order to earn anything, but out of a natural expression of our identities.  Grace we might not have to worry about success or failure.  Grace that we might be Christians on all seven days of the week.

Stalin saw work as something glorified, a necessary spiritual means to a spiritual end.  He saw work as producing spiritual fulfillment.

Whereas I guess I just sort of get nostalgic when I work.  Nostalgic for the past, yes, but I'm also reminded of that restful Tuesday evening where I walked through town and felt glad for my present.  So in a way, I'm caught up on the Nostalgic Now, and I let my work be a part of that.  I see how all of the past and the future come together to create these short moments.  I see how I've been made to live in the present, and how the only sane reaction is to love it.

My identity is not in the present, though.  The present is merely the point where our time touches Eternity, to paraphrase C.S. Lewis.

I believe that we humans are all homesick for our proper place in Eternity.  We're homesick for the relationship between us and God that we lost when Adam and Eve sinned.

That relationship has been restored, though.  And because of that, even though we don't fully live in eternity yet, we have blessings in the present.  We can live in the now and feel nostalgic for something other than the past for once.  We always long for something, but now we can direct our longing to something we already have.  The Present.  The Nostalgic Now.

This restores us in all things, our work as well as our rest.

As opposed to Stalin's worker.  Yes, the Communist will find something redeeming in his work.  He will put some identity in it, some faith in it.  And you know what, it's founded in truth.  There's genuinely something good about work, since it's what we're made for.  Yet, they can't access their spirituality without that work.  When they rest, it's in order to appreciate the handiwork of their labor.

For me, when I work it's to appreciate the handiwork of my rest.  And yes, that works the same in reverse.  Each is the fruit of the other.  Each is also independently its own thing with no need to be defined by the other.

Most importantly, both "work" and "rest" can describe the state of fishing.

In order to truly fish, someone must know something.  He must know himself, for sure.  Fishing builds that sort of internal relationship.  He also needs to know the Fisher.  The One who invented fishing, the One who spoke it into existence.  True fishing involves a relationship.  It involves Jesus.

I find it interesting that Jesus' inner three disciples were all fishermen before He met them.  Then, after they walked with him and had their world turned inside out, filled to the point of overflowing with revelations that changed absolutely everything to the point where they simply couldn't live the same way, brought to tears by a physical encounter with the Risen Lord, they returned to fishing.

It really almost seems anti-climactic, and yet that's how John ends his gospel.  You could say that it's a literary device to emphasize the importance of being fishers of men, but even if he hadn't emphasized it, that doesn't change the fact that the disciples returned to fishing.

You know what I think?  I think that it must have been one very special pastime.  And they evidently weren't doing it because they were looking for Jesus, either.

As flawed and as broken as he was, in spite of how much he had denied Jesus, and also in spite of how much he was about to inadequately confess his love for Jesus very soon, I think I saw something that only Grace could give.  In spite of how big his world had become, Peter had returned to fishing.  He found himself now a little more content with the relationship he had with the sea, a little more at peace with his work.  The sheer size of this new universe helped him appreciate the small things like fishing even more.  John never spells it out, but I do believe that Peter returned to his work with the faintest tingling of love.

That love which is given to us is the fuel that gives meaning to all that we do, in rest and in work, in sickness and in health.  Because God is big, we're free to be small.  Because Christ died for us, our small things are made big.  Because Christ is alive, He has a relationship with us.  Because we have that relationship, we can either work or rest and still be completely ourselves.  Because we are ourselves, we have the Truth.  Because we have the Truth, we have life.  Because we have any life at all, we have eternal life.

And our limited Now becomes an Eternity.

Sincerely,
John Hooyer

Religion of Anti-Religion

Mitchell, Brody, Silly, and Shelby

We've all heard of politically correct.  How about "religiously correct?"  That should really be a term.  It's applicable.  And these days, the religiously correct thing to say is that we're against religion and all for faith.

Except it gets a little formulaic.  "I'm not religious.  I'm just spiritual."  It's like we flex our Holy Spirit whenever we say this.  "Oh, religion?  Yeah, I have no need for that, because I'm Christian and counter-intuitive like that."

Then we call out people who do things that look "religious" instead of "spiritual."  Reformers call out Catholics.  Pentacostals call out Reformers.  People of the "Church of Christ" denomination claim that their not a denomination and anyone who does belong to a denomination isn't part of true Christianity (even though denominations are necessary in a world where not everyone comes to the exact same conclusions on some of the deeper questions of the Christian mystery).  Then, offering up their alternative, each denomination, church, and individual shows their way of being Christian that is so good that it doesn't need religion.

Yet I take a step back.  I look from the outside.  People who don't belong to Christ look at the church, and what do they see?  They see Christianity, and then Islam and Judaism and Buddhism and so forth.  They are all belief systems — religions — with their own unique creeds, codes, and conducts.  To many, Christianity's belief in a community in Christ is inherently a religious one.  If someone wants something purely spiritual, they might instead go to Buddhism, or Confucianism.  Definitely not Christianity, because it simply doesn't stand out in the way that we claim it does.

So perhaps we have to be a little more honest and reevaluate the way we experience this faith.

People still say, "No, you don't get it.  Just look at it.  All we do is love each other and read the Bible and follow Christ's lead.  It's not about what we do, but accepting Christ's forgiveness!"

Ah, okay, now that you put it that way...

No, it still sounds religious.

Now, reading the Bible isn't a bad thing.  Following Christ's lead isn't, either.  And loving one another most certainly should be commended.  It's just that, to be honest, we do use religious language to frame these ideals and put them into context.

Religion doesn't save you.  Absolutely not.  Yet, it's something that often leads people to faith, isn't it?  Just like the Bible does.  Technically, the Bible itself doesn't save you.  Neither does the Message it's preaching.  It's the actual historical fact of Jesus' death and resurrection — and the proceeding Grace — that saves you, if you accept it.  Yet, nobody's going to deny that the Bible is important and should be embraced by Christians.  So why not religion?  Properly understood, religion is a guide that helps us get to the point where we can make our confession of faith, and after that it can be a healthy expression of faith.

When people criticize Christians who are "religious," I think that they should step back and think about what it is that they should really be criticizing.  As it happens, I'm not incredibly "religious" most of the time.  I'm proud of what I do and the life that I'm living which, to the untrained eye, looks secular.  Yet, I don't harp on my friends who express themselves in more visibly religious ways.  I'm very happy for them.

What, then, is our real concern?  It's when religion, as a system or as a name brand, becomes the vessel for salvation.  It's when we begin to promote Christianity instead of Christ.  Or more subtley, when we begin to promote "being Christian," because it's the religiously correct way to say "Christianity" without making it sound like we're promoting organized religion.  It doesn't have to be organized in order to be religion, you know!  Any framework through which we interpret reality becomes, in effect, our functional religion.  It's an inherent part of being human.  Therefore, religion is inevitable, because we're always interpreting something.  The question is, will proper faith lead us to a proper religion?

More specifically, if religion replaces Christ, it's really a sign that we've reached the point that we don't believe in Grace.  It might be a part of the religion, sure, but the religion doesn't spring from the faith.  The religion comes first in the matters of the heart.  We put our faith in that, and we lose sight of Grace.  We aren't saved by Grace — we're saved by "being Christian."  Christ doesn't have all the answers — Christianity does.  We start believing that a certain set of behaviors, mixed with the right attitudes, will get us going in the right direction.

That's essentially the same thing that happens when we're saying that we're spiritual instead of religious.  We've learned the religiously correct terminology, the words that the censures inside our brains haven't so easily detected yet.  The word "spiritual" is still essentially religious, though.  If religion is ultimately our framework for understanding reality, then spirituality is another form of religion, only in this case it is a personal religion.  We should pay close attention to not put spirituality in place of Grace, either.  At the end of it all, it only becomes another way in which we "control" salvation so that it seems more acceptable and predictable.

It's come to the point where religion and spirituality, to me, only appear to be two different names with separate connotations but ultimately the same definition.  Even the golden word, faith, is often just a synonym for these.  The only difference between faith — that is, true faith — and religion is that someone can technically have a religion and not follow it.

Against many, I wouldn't be surprised if most of this is really only a straw man argument.  I think that most of us realize that religion has its place.  Still, I think that it's an appropriate reminder, and a call back to continual confession that by Grace alone we are saved.

Sincerely,
John Hooyer

P.S. I told you that I was going to call you Silly O'Wacky for the rest of the month, and I stand by that statement.

Downtown Christianity, Downtown Christians, and a Downtown Christ

Mitchell, Brody, Shannon, and Shelby,

When I talk about the frustration of not being able to to "Christian" things, it seems that everyone inclines to take the subject the wrong way.  Except my main issue isn't that I don't feel Christian enough.  Rather, it's the lack of connection and relationship I have with my friends, or people I would like to be friends with.

See, we're good at saying "You don't have to do church things in order to be Christian."  Yet, it seems that sometimes our culture nonetheless praises specifically ecclesiastical acts more than anything particularly mundane.  We encourage values that are distinctly Christian, like mission trips, and passionately hug the people who do such things for the example they set.

You're so good that you're okay!
What, my compliment is lame?
Whoops!  Oh well!

The normal people?  Well, I guess they'll get a prize for showing up.  Normally, the most congratulations that we give them is "It's okay that you're not leading an obvious Christian life."  That's their trophy: being "okay."  We go on telling them that they're okay and telling them that they're okay.  We tell them and tell them, and tell them and tell them and tell them.  If we ever say that they're living an amazing life, that the things they do are amazing, we usually don't bring Jesus into it.  So it goes on, and we say that "It's okay."

When we unceremoniously hitch a ride
on that ugly freight train heading to
someplace around the corner that
we can never see.

Then they die, and we talk about how they were the most loving person in the world.  I'm never inclined to believe in the sincerity of those statements.  I feel that people would have said those things more often while the dead person was alive if they really meant it.  Their memories were either quite romanticized, or they made for terrible friends and family who knew that their departed member was Christlike and decided to never acknowledge or embrace that until after it became socially convenient.

When my grandfather died, I tried to break this pattern and failed.  Sure, I complimented people more often, but it just seemed that I was more likely to compliment people for being "servants of the living Christ" if they did something religious versus any other modest display of good character.

Meanwhile, there is such a pressure in modern society to "lead."  Ever notice that this is often elevated to the point of being one of the more common virtues?  People go to leadership summits, listen to seminars about leadership, huddle up for pep talks about leadership, hear speeches praising individuals for leadership.  Even our churches push that mentality.  We love nothing more than a success story.

These grand delusions of recognition and relevance appeal to me.

The message is clear.  Be a leader or go home.

Within Christianity, certain things usually get brought up.  Now fortunately, we don't necessarily preach this to ourselves as "these are the things we must do if we are Christian," but we do press several issues and come up with a system of Christian priorities.  One of them is participation in a small group built around spiritual nourishment, growth, and Biblical studies.  The other that I hear quite often is "outreach."  Sometimes that means outreach into the surrounding area, or some sort of focus on charity, or mission trips to bring the Gospel to groups who haven't heard it.

These are all good things.  They are all important.  Unfortunately, I have been unable to participate in any of those things.  It's life, and these things are quite often beyond my control.  Most of the time, even writing this blog is actually inconvenient and irresponsible to God when He's put me in situations where I'm really supposed to be focused on other things.  If I can't be an active force in these big issues, particularly evangelism, charity work, and my writing, what are my priorities?

As it happens, I really do want to engage in those things.  You could say that I have failed at that, but failure is tricky.  In our junior year of high school, we were made to watch a video about changing our perspectives on reality.  We often limit ourselves by only looking at certain things, but if we just step back and stop having an agenda in what we're seeing, we notice important details that we might have otherwise missed.  One of the important lessons that I learned there — and since have had quite a bit of practice in — is seeing "failure" as an unforeseen opportunity.  Not as something bad that we learn from, but genuinely an opportunity.  This way of looking at things helps me quite a bit, because it's hard to keep me down, and when I gain momentum I have a greater tendency to keep that momentum.

And beyond that, Grace.  I do not consider myself so good that I can go without repeating that with every entry.  It's necessary to highlight Grace, and repeatedly define it so that it's more than just a word.  So it's necessary to say that Grace doesn't mean that I pray more often, or have been inspired to live a better life.  Grace isn't some gateway drug that gets me into the Christian life.  It isn't the fuel that gets me to a destination.  Grace is so much more than that, precisely because it's so simple.  Because Grace really isn't anything but Grace.

Grace is unmerited and unrelated to behavior.  Grace transforms us, but the transformation isn't the point.  Grace sticks with us even when our Christian momentum slows down.  Grace is something the rich in spirit need just as much as the poor in spirit.  Grace causes the first to be last, and the last to be first.  Grace is for complete losers.  Grace allows us to not worry about tomorrow.  Grace doesn't exist in order to improve us, but because God loves us.

We eat of that fruit again.  And again.

Then we try to complicate it.  We complicate it precisely because we need it.  We'll try to add on implications to Grace and define appropriate ways of responding.  And there are implications.  Yet we set out to define ourselves by the implications of Grace instead of by Grace itself.  It's a circular kind of poison.




So, of course, the most obvious implications of Grace would be gratitude, and we set out to try and define what it looks like.  We acknowledge that Grace is big, so we try to make the implications big.  We always focus on the big implications, the big reactions that we could have.  And they aren't always bad, but I know that it's a mathematical fact that when you try to measure yourself by the momentum of your Christian walk, the diagram to the right becomes true.

When we confront the "less exciting" realities of life, one of our natural coping mechanisms is to say "Well, I suppose that my calling in life is to find a less obvious Christian pastime.  I guess I'm not called to live as Christ lived.  I'm not meant to do anything spectacular."  We say that because we know that it's wrong to beat ourselves up over it.

Except that doesn't quite work.  God does call you to live as Christ lived.  He does have a remarkable plan and purpose for you that involves guiding you in the footsteps in Jesus.  We can't belittle God by saying that His plan isn't grand.  We can say that our brightly burning Christian walk doesn't always follow worldly wisdom for what religion must look like.  If someone thinks that they're merely a less conspicuous Christian, I'll tell them that they're so Christian that they are in fact the poster child!

I may not always have the time to look like a Christian, and my participation in ecclesiastical structures might seem invisible, but that doesn't mean that this isn't who I am.

After all, I've always considered myself a writer.  I haven't written a single book, and I haven't put any of my fiction down to paper yet, but in my mind I am still a writer.  I am also a traveler, even though I rarely go anywhere and have never left the country, but I still encountered this as a tangible part of my inner being when I ran around town to take several pictures just for the sake of this entry, and when I put on my jacket to bike through hills and wind to see Brody last fall.  It isn't "traveling" in the Indiana Jones sense, but it's a sign of what will naturally pour out of my identity into my occupation when the circumstances are right.  Because of Grace, identity comes before occupation.  I know that I have this identity in Christ's body because I have seen the hands and feet, brief glimpses of God's creative nature in me.  Those hands and feet must have come from somewhere.

So when people say that art and evangelism simply isn't a part of who I am, I understand that they're trying to comfort me, but I also think that they're wrong.  What are their criteria?  That I have "failed?"  That it's currently inconvenient?  What I see is a person fearfully and wonderfully made in God, Who wants me to embrace my truest self.  While it is still hard to see exactly how these passions will work their ways outwardly into my life, Grace allows me to have no shame in saying that these things are still part of who I am.

I also consider myself to be a Christian in a relationship with the church, although it doesn't always look like it because of how busy I am.  It might look to outsiders like it's something secondary, since I only involve myself in Christian activities — not counting liturgical services — maybe once a month.

My situation isn't the most ideal, but I make due with what I have.  I'm a resourceful guy.  If anyone criticizes me for not being able to participate in Christian leadership, that's their problem.  I take issue with that.

I can see the signs of an industrious spirit,
but there's all this tangled stuff in the way!

All of those little things that we prioritize as a Christian community, even if they are quite good, ultimately become religious instead of spiritual.  It's become the theologically correct catchphrase to say "I dislike religion.  I'm more of a spiritual person."  So we do all of the Christian things and rename them "spiritual," and consider it good.  The moment we take an ideal and make a virtue out of it, it becomes religious.  Someone might organize a potluck in the name of Christ and say that it's spiritual instead of religious since they did it as a relatively spontaneous act and independent of any church ordinance — I still have my doubts.

There are actually some things that really frustrate me.  I'm trying to describe something good, but I really don't think people are going to truly understand where I'm coming from unless I talk about the possible alternative.  I said before that my lack of "Christian" activity frustrated me, not because I felt bad about myself, but because of odd relationships it creates with others.  There is a distinct problem that needs addressing here.  It needs to be named, to be defined, to be given a face, so that way I can more fully move on to finding answers to these issues.

So here's what really gets under my skin:

I.  Think.  I.  Can.  I.  Think.  I.  Can.

I've been judged for not leading.  I remember feeling down and out, disappointed with a failed semester at college and lamenting that I didn't have "momentum."  My social life was fairly disappointing as well, not because I didn't have friends, but because I was always a secondary or incidental friend who never had an active hand in shaping the character of the group — or so it felt to me at the time.

So anyway, someone tells me where I got it all wrong.  He tells me what real momentum is, what it means to be an alpha male, and it was the simplest thing ever.  "Being an Alpha Male is being a leader in a Christian group, and having a job there.  You have to go more often, participate more often, and..."

In other words, I had to become an insider.  What he just described was something that actually appealed to me.  He basically told me to apply for official status as part of the cast and crew of a Christian youth ministries.  When I'm looking for a more spiritually engaging life, it sounded like a very positive sort of encouragement.

Except his attitude toward me was condescending.  Oh, I understand that he only meant to judge the sin in me, but when you're up close and know someone, you can tell when they're judging you as a person.  Even if you give them the benefit of the doubt, you can feel it.

Other people have given me similar attitudes.  "Have you lead a Bible study?"  I've heard people list off things that I could do to build my spiritual growth.  Among them, one of the most common I've heard has been "Start and lead a Bible study."  I often hear people boast about how they lead their Bible study groups, or at least how they basically co-founded one among a small group of friends.

On the surface, it looks admirable, and most certainly humble, but after repeated mentions of it I really get the impression that they're fairly insecure.  They most certainly care what others think of them, in spite of everything they say to the contrary.  Imagine if I started a Bible study, and I regularly mentioned it to an audience who highly values that particular religious devotion.  I might even — oh, I don't know — mention it while trying to score a date with a pretty Christian girl.  Would anyone call me out on that?  In my experience, I know that people, on some intuitive level, would not feel entirely free around me.  They inevitably seek out friendships with other people because, for lack of a better way of putting it, those other people just felt right.

So there's that.  It's one of the issues I have with people who try to shoot for the "Christian" things because, ultimately, they're insecure.  It's hard to say who's doing those things out of their natural sense of identity and who's wearing the name brand because of insecurity and lack of Grace, especially since most people are smart enough to claim "I don't do it because I have to, but because I want to."  Just get up close and know a person, though, and you can tell.

The problem doesn't stop there.  Here's my next beef:

There was one youth outreach ministry that valued Christian growth and could never really be content with accepting normal people into its fold.

And yes, I say "fold."  One of their popular kids said "We're not a clique — I swear!"  The fact that anyone needed to clarify this essentially proved that they were a clique.

I walked the walk and had the tracks to show for it.

Because it's a Christian group, it's a friendly place when you first visit.  After all, they were trying to reach out to unchurched people.  But I kept on coming.  And I did some rather fantastic things in my regular life.  You know, the life I have "outside" of church.  The one that has nothing to do with religion.  In any case, they were impressed with me.  They wanted me.  I would make a good poster child for the cause.

Of course, I wasn't a poster child yet because I had to channel all of that capacity for amazing works into "Christian" things.

Personally, I didn't change who I was.  My home, my ecclesiastical "immediate family," was elsewhere.  It also wasn't the right time in my life to make a major commitment toward any particular group of people (and it still isn't).  When they realized this, I noticed something.

This group was knit together quite well.  They said that everyone was welcome, that everyone was equally their friend, but that didn't really play out in practice.  The extent to which they considered someone a friend depended on how much of an "insider" they were.  I knew the insiders.  They were "official" members of this group.  They spent a great deal of time in this group.

Hey, I spent several summers volunteering at a Catholic Vacation Bible School.  Doesn't that mean that we have a common bond?

No, because it wasn't participation in their group.  And while I actually did participate in that group, it wasn't enough.  I felt that I couldn't truly have a connection unless I explicitly identified with them as my immediate family.  For a while there, I suppose they thought that they had a new member.  They also said to make sure to bring people from my hometown to start participating.

"Participation."

It began to become an identifying feature of Christianity.  In spite of how often I see people say that their identity is in Christ, I see various alternatives hidden behind smiles that they themselves don't know are fake.  In the case of that group, it was participation.  Participation defined who they were and how they experienced relationships with one another.  They were inviting to outsiders, but only sincerely caring towards their participating insiders — and one would have to wonder if that was any real kind of caring at all.


Then I distinctly remember one person who, on a few occasions, said "My main joy in life is worshiping Christ."  Her joy can from the feeling that she should be joyful, because that's what Christians do.  Specifically, she always did this within the Christian group.

Participation.

It's what Christians do in order to measure their Christianity and their usefulness to God.  They have to participate, but not just anywhere.  They have to participate in a Christian group dedicated to spiritual growth.

Hey there!  Remember me?

And then there are people like me who somehow lack any label.

Fruits of the Spirit, y'all.

Because of societal pressure, I'm inclined to feel ashamed about that.  If I was somebody, I would surely have a label.  But the problem with people who will ask for your participation as your first step toward spiritual growth is that they become greedy.  If the have enough self-control to avoid monopolizing your participation, they will still try to push you in the direction of participating toward something that they can label.



"Catholic Vacation Bible School?  That's great!  Oh wait, you quit?  What went wrong?  Are you not as spiritual as you were before?  What can I do to help make sure that you start growing again in Christ?"

There's the porn of watching a train wreck, but some people
don't need the wreck in order to lust after the atmosphere
of a train yard.

When we delight in the growth of friends, is is really true joy?  Or is it just the positive counterpart to when we look twice at a train wreck?  You know what I mean; there's a demon inside of us that absolutely loves seeing disasters.  It's perverse.  In the same way, sometimes I wonder if the swell of pride and sense of victory we feel when one of our brothers or sisters grows from being a mere working class Christian to a charismatic evangelist really only amounts to some sort of Christian porn.

Heavy words!

That's my second issue.  I really don't like that this happens, and I'm pretty sensitive to the subject matter.  The examples I give aren't extreme, but they are still fairly obvious.  Ever since encountering obvious situations like that, though, I've just become so much more aware.  I know that God forgives us for our habitual desire for labels and control, our insecurity, and our tendency to set our trust in Christ's Grace at a conservative 1%.  Yet, I think these weaknesses should be addressed.  After all, it is possible to twist ourselves so that our faith dips from 1% to 0%.

Mortal sin right there.

Now that I've addressed these things which I consider antithetical to my views on what the church and the Christian walk are supposed to be, how do I move on?  How do I justify and exalt the Christians who don't do the "Christian" thing?

"It's nine o'clock on a Saturday.  The regular crowd shuffles in."

Recently, I began listening to my old favorites from Billy Joel for the first time in a while.  The last time I did that, I was under loads of pressure to do more things in the name of Christianity.

Something really hit me while listening to "Uptown Girl."

As you guys know, I really fell for an "Uptown Girl" a couple of years back.  She was a highbrow Christian, who did all of the Christian things.  She prayed, joined Bible Study groups, and so forth.  There was nothing in which she needed any reformation.

Then, meanwhile, there was that bad boy, Johnny.  Me.  Someone who could clearly be reformed.  I was the "Downtown man."

So there are Uptown Christians.  Then there are Downtown Christians.  You know, the people who don't have any of the royal marks of Christianity.  The people who almost practically look like they reject Christianity half the time, or at the very least like they're lukewarm.  Surely it's better to be rich, and it's the charitable responsibility of the Uptown Christians to give to the Downtown Christians so that they, too, may wear all the fine marks of the faith.


Zealotry.  Missions.  Bible study groups.  Piety.  Donations to charity.  Leadership in small groups.  Fundraising.  Taking prayer requests.  Having answers to difficult questions.  Listening to Christian music.  Wearing shirts with Bible verses on them.  Writing a Christian blog.  Et cetera.

Looks pretty, right?  Not having the time is one thing, but surely no one would ever actually say that they have better things to do.

Except Billy Joel strikes a completely different chord for me.  He's not hoping for the Uptown Girl to convert him.  He's trying to convert her.  He's trying to get her to loosen up.  He doesn't want to be judged for being a Downtown Man who doesn't have much high society.  He cherishes this identity.

In fact, he thought it was quite sexy.

Or maybe he isn't trying to convert her.  Maybe she just wants her to believe him.  Maybe he only really just wants her to love him back, and to love for him for who he is.  He seems perfectly willing to love her for who she is and is really quite fond of her Uptown-ness.

Your "Okay Level" is over 9,000!

I'm in love with that sweet "okay" aroma!

So maybe the question isn't whether or not being a measly Downtown Christian who never moves beyond the simple pots and pans of everyday living is a bad thing.  Most of us have the maturity to encourage Downtown Christians and say that it's okay that they aren't missionaries or Bible group leaders, because God has a plan for every sort of Christian, because a relationship with God looks different for different people, and so forth.

I'm going to school for welding.  I work at McDonald's.  And let me tell you, this isn't merely a different way of living out my Christian faith.  When I get up in the morning, knowing that I'm about to put on safety glasses and smell napalm argon, it satisfies me.  It's a glorious Christian life.  Then I put on my earphones, listen to work music.  "Hi-ho!".  "Piano Man".  "Allentown".  "The Downeaster 'Alexa'".  "Anvil Chorus" Il trovatore.

Getting down, getting greasy, getting burnt, lowering myself to something menial.

It's very spiritual.

God created man in His image.  God is Creator.  The reflection of Himself that He created and put in creatures is, by nature, a creative force as well.  Man doesn't create so much as build from what has already been created.  He's a steward over the Garden, a carpenter who's given the honor of leaving his own mark on the earth.  Before the Fall, simply doing things, whatever he could aspire to do, was good.  Stewardship came from Adam's own, unadulterated humanity.

Jesus did things out of His humanity as well.  We always talk about becoming more Christlike, more godly in our actions, but Jesus was fully God and fully man as well.  It isn't right to say that He did something out of His God nature.  Our justification hinges on how He lived in fullness and goodness out of His humanity as well.

Are we trying to become godly at the expense of reveling in our own humanity?  I don't even think it's possible to grow in godliness without diving into our humanity alongside it.

Before He started His ministry, Jesus did absolutely nothing to suggest that He was the Messiah.  Once He was baptized and began wandering the Holy Land as a rabbi, the people of His home town refused to believe that there was anything sacred about Him.  "He was a nice guy, but the Messiah?  Sure, He's acting all righteous now, but He was just an average schmoe when we knew Him.  The carpenter's son?  Fah!""

Who would suspect a common laborer on the back end of the train of being God?

Even Jesus felt the condemnation of not being Christian enough!  And yet He was perfect!  He didn't even need to be "Christian enough" because He was Christ!  What's more, He spend more time being normal than He did doing all of the things that an Uptown Christ was supposed to do.  And He most certainly never wrote a Christian blog.

Are we so arrogant that we presume that Jesus' life before His ministry was less important and Messianic than His life during His ministry!  I think that there's a fairly good reason that He kept the first thirty years of His life as mundane as ever.  And it wasn't because of circumstance.  I believe that He chose to be mundane, because that was what He wanted spiritually.

Building bridges

So actually, instead of seeing Downtown Christians as an alternative to Uptown Christians, I think that the spirituality found in Downtown Christianity is something we all actually need if we wish to grow spiritually.

The real question I have is whether or not Uptown Christians can have an intimate and equal relationship with Downtown Christians.  And before you think I'm using the dating relationship within the song "Uptown Girl" allegorically, I'm not.  I'm talking about intimate interpersonal relationships.

When my friends lead praise groups, Bible studies, charity events, and when they go on mission trips, I'm happy for them.  I'm also quite happy for myself and what I do in my own time.  I've grown mature enough not to compare myself to them for those things (even though on a knee-jerk level, I sometimes feel inferior, because insecurity is human).  What I still find a little difficult, though, is maintaining intimate relationships with them.

Just to name one activity in particular: mission trips.  I don't feel bad that my friends have gone on mission trips and that I haven't.  I'm realistic to understand that it is God's will that I first seek out my education and explore the working-class world.  I'm content with that.  I enjoy living as a Downtown Christian because of the raw and authentic relationship with myself that develops from it.  Yet, I wonder how much I can relate to my friends.  I didn't share their spiritual experience with them.  And in particular, what if I want to court with someone who has a heart for missions, and has already had quite a bit of experience in that field?  Are we unevenly yoked?  Can there genuinely be a real connection there?  Can we completely share in our spiritual journey?

If you want the short answer, "Yes."  I rely on experience rather than theory here, and I've seen it happen.  Not consistently, but I know that it does happen.  How do I explain this, though?

Well first, I've learned from mistakes.  I've seen how this doesn't work out, first from that person who told me to participate more, then from that youth group that asked me to participate more.  Then I learned from my literal Uptown Girl.

Downtown

The real person that Billy Joel wrote that song to, by the way, turned him down.  That's what happened with me, too.  "I know for a fact that he's not the one God set aside for me."  It was a bit insulting to hear that she had said this behind my back after the multiple times she led me on with those refined "come hither" looks.  Maybe she ascertained before I ever articulated them that we had our theological differences, but I think it was because of the distinction she made between Uptown Christians and Downtown Christians.

Leadership.  Participation.  Being big and strong in faith.  Living by every last virtue that by now have become common sense.

More of the downtown.

So yeah, I was a Downtown Christian.  Which meant, from the point of view of worldly wisdom, that I ain't too pretty and ain't too proud.  And a bad boy.  Either that or a weak Christian, someone who needed an Uptown Girl to lead him and reform him.  I was half-hidden behind some sort of worldly barrier.

That boat never sailed in part because of the simple assumption that Uptown Christians lead Downtown Christians and not the other way around.  Yet, I look at that Billy Joel song, and he's asking her to say "I'm yours and you are my man!"  In Christian circles — let's face it — we still believe in something that doesn't entirely jibe well with modern feminism, that a husband is supposed to lead his wife.  That's one of the values that we have.  That's attractive, desirable, virtuous.

God chose the meek in order to shame the mighty.  Likewise, what's to say that a Downtown Christian can't lead an Uptown Christian in their spirituality?

"She's getting tired of all her high class toys and all the presents from her Uptown Boys..."

"You know, I can't afford to buy her pearls..."

When we're not such Uptown Christians ourselves, or at least not in the same ways as our peers, where does that leave us?  What can we give them?  If I had a close friend or a wife who regularly went on mission trips, for example, wouldn't it be a detriment to them to maintain a close relationship with regular old, grounded me?  Sometimes I worry, too, that I might marry someone who won't be of the slightest help to me as a writer.  That is a mission I hope to consummate someday.

The Downtown Spirit, a compassion only attainable to the lowly and poor in spirit.

During a Christian Q&A session at Sunnybrook, married couples told college students about Christian relationships.  The two sexes split up into separate group sessions, and the men were tutored by the wives while the women were tutored by the husbands.  Someone asked whether or not it was a good idea to marry someone who only just recently became Christian.  The wives we were asking these questions to concluded that it was a bad idea.  "You need someone with the same level of spiritual maturity than you and who is at about the same point in her Christian walk as you are."

That's very interesting advice, and I understand why they had to give it.  I related to it, and I understand that this boundary must be in place, in a sense.  I can't recommend any man to take a wife who will be spiritually unhealthy for him.  Furthermore, I can't recommend any marriage where one party feels the need to condescend, look down on, or feel pity for the other.  No man should ever enter into a relationship that tempts him toward developing a savior complex.  I relate to that.

What I don't relate to is people who would think it odd that I would value mission trips and marry someone who has gone on a dozen before I even got a start in the field.  I don't think that this would make us unevenly yoked.  It would be an issue if I inhibited her from being her truest self and doing the things that she loved, or vice versa.  I would hate it I married someone who couldn't bond with me as a writer.  At that point, we're no longer talking about comparing spirituality test scores.  We're talking about something else.

In both cases, I don't think that this relationship advice is about who's more developed than who.  I think it's about our attitudes toward each other that really make a difference.  Do we really see each other as husband and wife, or does one of us treat the other like an older sibling?  Or see themselves that way?  And when talking about who's further along, let's be honest, it's not about that.  There's no measuring stick for how developed someone is in their faith, per se.  Once you're in, you're in.  You are Christlike.  What we're really concerned about are basic matters of maturity.

Philia, "friendship love"

Quite simply, we give each other love.  It's a generic answer, but it's true.  That's how we build that bridge.  That, and by Christ's death and resurrection we are afforded Grace so that we may be saved, and in all that we do our true humanity shines through.  Since everything is already accomplished for us, we don't have to worry about how someone else advances our "growth" in Christ.  We don't have to worry about who we should label as "Christian associates" and who we should elevate to being "Christian peers."  We're allowed to enjoy relationships for their own sake — people for their own sake.

Love has made an amazing difference in my life.  The most Christian people I have ever met were not the people you would expect me to call Christian.  There was one, a friend who was practically Downtown Christ reincarnate, who never even said a religious word in our conversations together.  Then there was my father.

Ah, him.

Perhaps I should end by using this man as a positive example.  In all my life, I meet many Christians.  Every once and a while I personally canonize some of them.  My father is one of those special elect.

He doesn't talk about his Christian faith too often, except to me, his son.  Generally speaking, he just goes out and works odd jobs every day.  Once upon a time, he was a carpenter, and for a few years now I will be following in his footsteps before moving into something more ministerial.  It's interesting that I flinch when I think of it that way, because of the evident parallel between myself and Jesus' story.  How often do we consider ourselves unworthy of menial labor?

My father is a very broken person.  If you were his son or daughter, you would know what I mean.  He's often a bad role model, and someone who I generally don't want to be like.  Except for one thing: His stubborn, not-so-pretty adherence to salvation through Grace.  He might mention something else about his faith, but he absolutely refuses to forget that it all stems from Grace.

Because of that, everything else he does becomes elevated.  I see something spiritual in his walk, even when it doesn't look Christian in the slightest.  He's a man of the world, and by that I mean the earth.  Literally, the earth.  Dirt.  He's a farmer's son.  Our family name, Hooyer, literally translates to "Hayer," or "One who hays."  (this is not to be confused with "One to hazes," so don't get any ideas next semester for newcomers to your fraternity, Mitchell)  The word for "hay" in Dutch is sort of like the word for "fish."  A person who catches fish fishes and is a fisher.  A person who farms hay hays and is a hayer.  So for generations, we've been hay farmers.  It's in our name.  It's part of our historic identity, bought for us by the sweat of a forefather from another hemisphere.

It's really hard to describe it, but a simple man with bad manners who almost never does anything religious spiritually leads me.  I don't necessarily have an intimate relationship with him the way I'd like to.  There's something rigid that keeps us apart, as with any family dysfunction.  But he has an intimate relationship with himself, simply by working and practicing stewardship over the earth.  It's incredibly humble.

Someone once criticized me for my deep respect for my father as an exemplar, a shining beacon that has helped guide my Christian faith.  "You say your father is so Christian — you've admitted that you've never seen him pray!"

Die.  That infidel.  He accused me of wanting to punch him, but honestly, what did he expect?  He slandered my father to my face, intending it as an insult against both him and me (In the name of love, I assure you!).  It angered me.

Like I said, my father isn't good at doing all of those religious things.  He has a very unassuming spirituality.  And if you dare criticize him in the manner that the one person did, I will end any friendship that we might have had.  If someone has rejected my father, then they reject what Jesus has accomplished for him.  And they put their faith in religion.

My father doesn't do that, and personally I see it.  I see it in the areas that matter, because I understand the parts of him that are truly authentic.  He's freed to be truly himself, truly human, and I as his son feel that he lives into that promise.

So at the end of the day, maybe there's more of an Uptown Christ in Downtown Christians than we usually give them credit for.  After all, they live up to that admirable virtue of spirituality without ever even calling it that.  It's just less stylized.  So let's compliment them on that!  They truly are just as Uptown as the rest of us!  Even so, I prefer to think of the Downtown Christ is the Christ that we need to pay more attention to, and on a very personal level I am more in awe of this person than I ever will be of the gold-trimmed portrait.

Sincerely,
John Hooyer