Searching for David

Last weekend's "Restoring Honor to America" rally, sponsored by Glenn Beck to promote his brand of faith, hope and charity continued a train of thought I've had for awhile now. What first made me want to blog about it (by which I mean the train of thought, not the rally) was Mel Gibson's bile-filled and inducing tirade, which we all learned about earlier in July.

You see, a few years ago, as he promoted The Passion of the Christ, he became the latest David for much of the Christian world. Like Israel's anointed king of old, he was our champion, casting rocks of truth at the cultural giants who have dominated for too long. I admit, with so many movies and plays about Jesus ranging in quality from poor to cheese, it was gratifying see a Jesus film of Hollywood quality craft - from acting to cinematography (the Aramaic/Latin was a nice touch too).

There was criticism, as you'll remember. The violence of torture and crucifixion was excruciating - an acquaintance called it "violence pornography." This didn't bother many of us - I've heard Good Friday lectures in which medical experts described, in graphic detail, the effects the process had on Jesus' body - every whip, nail and thorn. More to the point, each Sunday, I eat His flesh and drink His blood. Whenever the Lord's supper seems mundane in its familiar bread and wine, I remember the the expression a Chinese woman once made when I explained it to her. We both were in Germany at the time, and she knew nothing of Christianity, and her face contorted in surprise and disgust at such barbarism. Remembering the crucifixion, in all its barbarism, and the dark reality that it was in my place, remains a serious act of worship. Gibson may have taken it further than history or taste would have allowed (I do agree, he showed more than he needed to), but I wonder how many of these critics were so bothered by, say, Quentin Tarantino's flicks.

The more serious criticism was that of anti-semitism. I've never personally known a Christian who has promoted anti-semitism, and I was raised, along with many Christians, with a deep respect for Jewish people, not to mention a real awareness that all of our Biblical heroes were Abraham's descendants. However, many of us, myself included, were ignorant to the extent of which European passion-plays promoted anti-semitism, often to violent ends. Many Jews, of course, were not ignorant of this, and the Passion brought much darker collective memories.

Gibson, to defend his film, played the David, rallying conservatives and Christians alike to his cause. Friends of mine attended an event in his honor in Orlando, where local church leadership asked if they could pray and fast for him. Gibson, with a twinkle in his eye, jumped from his seat and said, "ok, nobody eat until the film comes out!" Whatever his original intentions, the Passion broke out into another culture-war battle, which only advantaged the film. Gibson was on the front line, a David on our behalf, throwing what we saw as stones, taking what we saw as slander.

Davids disappoint. Mel Gibson's marriage unraveled a couple years later, and gossip photos showed him drunk at parties with models in each arm. His inebriated, anti-semitic rant to police, seemed only to confirm the critics' view of his film. Then, to their delight, came the rant his second ex recorded this summer. Whether the tapes were fabricated, or whether he was just crazy, it put the nail in the coffin of his Hollywood career (so it seems), not to mention his role as anointed culture warrior.

Sounds familiar doesn't it? Actors, rock stars, presidents, prominent pastors - so many have been given the David mantle by excited evangelicals praying for the tide to turn. I've been caught up in it before, and I am not completely over the temptation not to get caught up again. I know I would hate to have that role myself - to have the hopes of Christians everywhere depend on my personality, decisions and ability not to sin. Of course, we know that the original David screwed up royally. (In fact, since he was king at the time, I wonder if that's where the phrase screwed up royally came from? Maybe the prophet Nathan coined it) This man after God's own heart committed adultery, covered it with murder, and set up a chain of events that led to bloody rebellion and civil war. He came through in the end, but what a cost.

David repented, privately and publicly. I hope that Mel Gibson will too, without the meddling of a PR team.

In the meantime, thousands of Americans marched on Washington this past weekend for an ecumenical church service of vague patriotic spirituality. Fortunately, this has caused some soul searching among Christians these days as many point out that whatever Glenn Beck is selling, it's not Christianity. But for others, he's wearing a heroes mantle, throwing rhetorical stones at perceived enemies, even as they throw back.

We look for heroes, but there is only one Anointed One who can bear that cross. We Christians, whether or not we stand in the light of cultural attention or political leadership, should honestly seek to emulate Him. Jesus is the hero of our story. Let's seek him first and stop searching for David.

Inciting Incidents

I'm currently reading Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, and something he wrote made me think a little more about this "emerging adulthood" phenomenon, which I wrote about in a previous post.

The book covers what Miller learned while writing a screenplay for his memoir, Blue Like Jazz. Along with valuable spiritual and developmental lessons, Miller learns, along with us the reader, some useful story devices. One device he describes is called the "inciting incident." An inciting incident is that moment in a story where a character is forced into action, forced to confront his fears, take a stand or simply get off his butt. In Spider-man 2, Peter Parker would not admit his love for Mary Jane, and his powers were getting weaker. That is until, during a heart-to-heart with his red-headed true love, the evil villain Dr. Octopus throws a sedan through the coffee-shop window and kidnaps her. That event causes him to leave behind his old self and confront both the villain he fears he cannot conquer and the girl he fears he cannot win. Cheesy example, but it's the first that came to mind.

The point is, story characters, like real people, rarely change until they are forced to. Miller writes:

"A general rule in creating stories is that characters don't want to change. They must be forced to change.... The rule exists in story because it's a true thing about people. Humans are designed to seek comfort and order, and so if they have comfort and order, they tend to plant themselves, even if their comfort isn't all that comfortable. And even if they secretly want something better."

He goes on to describe, darkly, a report he heard that women who suffer from domestic violence often remain in abuse relationships, even after seeking help, because they are so afraid of change.

It makes me wonder if one of the reasons my generation is so reluctant to grow up is a lack of inciting incidents. Our grandparents and parents lived through depression, world war, social revolution and an economy that was not yet so service based. I suspect that so many of our forefathers, as with so many in the developing world, found spouses, work, children and community without so much naval gazing, because their very lives and subsistence depended on it. They had no chance to find themselves in travel or graduate school.

Several years ago, at what was in hind-site exactly the right moment, God dropped the woman who became my wife back smack dab into the middle of my life. In doing so, He ignored the ocean between us, our different cultural backgrounds, and the fact that neither of us could find our way out of the brokenness, pain, sin and captivity we had found ourselves in. We did not expect it or ask for it, but suddenly she was in my neighborhood, within walking distance, asking me to see her. Reconciliation showed up, unannounced. That was an inciting incident. I would need a few more before, a few years later in the National Arboretum, I asked her to marry me.

I am not proud that I needed inciting incidents to grow, and that I would not have escaped without divine intervention. I may still need a few. That is why, however misguided and lost my generation of "boys who can shave" (as Mark Driscoll calls them) may be, I cannot look down my nose at them. I am one of them, desperate for grace and in need of truth. Like every generation we need the wisdom, peace and hope that comes with the Gospel of Christ. Within the church community, we may need to be "inciters" to one another as well. Let's face it, we all need more help than we let on, even the real adults. Wherever we stand, this is my prayer and, thankfully, has been my experience: God will be as merciful and severe as he needs to be to open our ears, our minds and our hearts, so that we may grow and mature in Him.

Emerging Adulthood, Culture and a Suggestion

There's a lot I could say about the New York Times' most-sent story this weekend, perhaps most-sent because 20-somethings themselves read "What Is It About 20-Somethings?" by Robin Marantz Henig - on their laptops at their parents' house or on their smart phones at a career counselors' office. I read it because I am at the end of that decade, and I work with people who are at the beginning of it. I observe and have been this culture pulverized by choice. I don't know if "Emerging Adults" qualify as a new life stage, but I see it and have been there. In my mid-twenties my life needed a re-boot and I moved back home. Since then, I've moved out, moved cities, found work, married and had a child. At crucial moments, I've been shepherded by men who have helped me take final steps into adulthood, and I acknowledge that I need it still. Or is the growth I still need the normal stuff that's part of the human condition? I don't know.

The article covers valid and interesting economic, social and neurological factors as to why so many of today's young people put off major adult decisions. But Henig barely touches on culture, and I think that is a shame. I mean, we have spent the last five decades glorifying youth - in our art, in our entertainment and in our advertising. Could that at all have any effect on my generation's collective effort to stay young longer? Ever since "Rebel Without a Cause," this youthful rebelliousness, going my way and taking time to figure it out has become an icon. Yes, youth has been a prized character trait in literature - as in so many of Shakespeare's plays, young characters who haven't figured things out are more interesting than old ones who do. But I can't help but think our interest in youth has turned to worship. Watch television for one hour and see which products promise to make you free, which means youth, healthy teeth and endless possibilities. Consider even the twelve pictures that accompany the article. They're lovely. Wherever those young people are, I want to join them, and I want to buy the clothes they're selling. They are icons - thin, good looking, full of possibility. Those photos make my well-trained brain wonder if any of those young people started careers, found spouses and had children, they'd be spoiled. That's not true, and I know it from experience. But the fact that I feel that way confirms that I am, in part, a product of this world around us. Whatever causes this limbo of emerging adulthood, our cultural worship of youth and the accompanying possibility must play a part.

If you are in your twenties and feel like you are caught in possibility limbo, here is advice from someone who knows emerging adulthood very well. Find a church. Find a church that preaches love and grace. Find a church with other emerging adults in the same boat. Find a church with older, loving people who can help you find the courage to commit. It sure helps me.

Our House, for One Night

Tonight, for one night, my wife and I had a house. We were homeowners and American dreamers.

Our daughter had her own room, and she sleeps there peacefully and undisturbed. We ate leftovers, and finished off the wine from a few nights ago - the two bottles re-corked and waiting like gypsy orphans on the china cabinet in our dining room. We watched a movie on our big-screen TV, one of those that hang on the wall, framed like a mural. Those used to be luxury items, the kind we'd see only at our rich friends' home. But it seems like everyone has one these days. Even us, tonight.

My wife baked bread. She could see the big TV from the kitchen so she wouldn't need to miss anything. I sat on the huge rwap around couch with cushy pillows. There was even a dog, who wasn't allowed on the nice red carpet. We stretched out and looked across at all the space, furniture and blessings.

In a few days we'll be back in our little DC apartment, watching movies on our laptop - enjoying the fruits of technology most of the world cannot even touch and about which our ancestors could not even dream. We'll eat like a king and queen of our little space and remember tonight, when we stretched out and played house.

Happiness Producers

Some happiness producers:

1. A delicious pot-roast in a red wine sauce, served with mashed potatoes, squash, carrots and salad. Thank you, mom.
2. A homemade chocolate pound cake that defies all pound cake stereotypes. Thank you, sister.
3. An office, a house, a place to focus (if I can). Thank you, dad.
4. Youtube videos of historic moments and sports glory. Thank you, dad again.
5. A bought and paid-for date with my wife, combined with free babysitting. Thank you, dad and mom.
6. Help being more German in the written word. Thank you, Schaetzle.
7. Happy, funny little sounds well past her bedtime. Thank you, daughter.
8. Depth and beauty. Thank you, Schaetzle again.
9. A birthday vacation, one month early. Thank you everyone.

I'm not thirty yet...

Read My Facebook Profile

I was browsing Justin's Facebook profile the other day when I happened upon a link to Richard MacManus' discovery that Facebook profile pages are becoming irrelevant, at least for his readers. The whole article is an interesting read, but I particularly want to endorse MacManus' lament for the Facebook profile at the end.

Now, I appreciate that Facebook has acted intelligently enough to keep its product from being reduced to the technicolor mess MySpace became. But the hyper-focus on the newsfeed turns Facebook into nothing but a Twitter with more attractive link posts. There's use to that, sure, and perhaps that's the only way to travel with a smart phone, but that's only part of what Facebook does.

I like Facebook, because it gives me a chance to show people things about me they may not learn through regular interaction. This is not just the clever articles I like to post, but my profile, what others say to me, beliefs, background, education, etc. Like any other human being, I want to be known, and Facebook helps with this.

Likewise, I get to know you, too. At least the parts you carefully (or not so) choose to share. I learn things about you, interesting things you wish everyone knew, organized neatly with a pleasant blue background.

So read my Facebook profile. I'll read yours too. It will be a serene break from the world of constant status updates, links and advertisement.