Good Riddance to Good Friday

Today, I am uncomfortable with the term "Good Friday."

"Good Friday" has varied etymological accounts. Since I'm not a philologist, I can't argue for or against any of these explanations. Besides, what a word or phrase meant doesn't change what it means today.

Not based on any serious study, but rather on my experiences and a brief perusal of the internet, today, the "good" of "Good Friday" mostly connotes how good it is that God sent "his" to pay the wages of sin: death. Let's also note that according to this line of reason, God set these wages and apparently never decided to give a increase or decrease to the wages. However, God accepts substitutes: animals and Jesus.

I won't get into the intricacies of sacrifices in Ancient Near Eastern culture or biblical references to further elucidate sacrificial, substitutionary atonement. Even at the surface level just described, I am uncomfortable with calling this Friday good. God can change the wages for sin as much as God can set them. Accepting a substitution is a change. Accepting a human instead of an animal is a change. So why the death of man? Why death at all? Human history shows that lessons cannot be taught without death, and death seems like a mighty high price for stealing a piece of gum, cheating on your taxes, punching someone, or eating or drinking to excess.

Even if I could accept calling the death good, why the suffering? Before Jesus, sacrificial animals weren't tortured; they were just killed. Jesus could have had his throat slit instead of being beaten, humiliated, and nailed to a cross. For that matter, Jesus could have died of old age, a heart attack, or some other "natural cause." If a spiritual existence and physical resurrection eons after death is the symbol Christians desire, resurrection could have followed any of those deaths, just like Lazarus's. For that matter, Jesus could have skipped death and ascended into heaven like Elijah, telling his followers, "You may die on this earth, but you'll ascend ages later, like my beloved Lazarus."

Many Christians look at Good Friday and Easter as the only solution to our sins. But if God is a creative God not bound by rules, then there certainly were and, possibly--likely--are other options that God could have made good. To call the cross the only option is tantamount to saying the cross makes this Friday good or saying Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken" is a poem about taking "the road less traveled by"--it is giving significance and acting as if the meaning were there all along, as if it were there intentionally.

According to the common interpretation of Good Friday, God chose a terrible option, not a good one. I can be thankful for Easter as a historical reality or as a powerful symbol without calling Friday good in this manner. And so I say, "good riddance" to Good Friday or, at least, the term as commonly understood today. (Again when I say "commonly understood," I am making a huge leap in judgment from my experience to most English speakers' experiences.)

Instead, I echo the words of Meister Eckhart today: "I pray God to rid me of God." How apropos of this Friday, also known as Holy Friday, Black Friday, Long Friday, and, appropriately in the German, Karfreitag, which means Sorrowful or Suffering Friday (credit for these finding these other names goes to about.com and Wikipedia). We remember--not celebrate--the death of a man so holy that he was called the son of God, Christ, and even God. In a sense, today is a day we remember not only God dying, but a way of understanding God dying. We remember disciples who could not understand Jesus being crucified so much so that they were embarrassed and denied Jesus when he was dying and dead. Today of all days is an apt day to sacrifice our understandings of God for and to whatever and/or whoever God really is. For me, today, this Friday is for remembering Jesus' death and waiting for the reality behind that word.

A Benediction

I wish you blessings of significance this Friday, a time of soul searching tomorrow on Holy Saturday, and a time of rebirth and newness this Easter Sunday. I can only hope that freedom will accompany that newness, a freedom in light of the oppression the Hebrews suffered and escaped in Egypt and a freedom from oppression that so many need today.

Remarks Given At My Grandfather's Memorial Service

The below was presented at my grandfather's funerary memorial service on November 5, 2012 in Dowling Park, FL.

Some people follow in the footsteps of their elders. It seems I have somewhat followed in the pulpits of my grandfather, studying theology, preaching, and finally standing at the very pulpit where he collapsed before dying just over 24 hours later.

When I went to college, I practically lived with my grandparents for a while. I remember asking him questions about scripture and theology and when I went off to graduate school, I remember him even coming to me with a few points to discuss. Apropos of that relationship, I think it appropriate for me to share at this funeral-memorial, a scripture with which I struggle. The words are printed in the bulletin, 1 Corinthians 15:55:

"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?"

The victory looks apparent and I know exactly where the sting is. It is in my heart. It is in the first few pews. It is in the hearts and minds of all of us here, all of us who never imagined we had so little time left with him.

In the sermon my grandfather was preaching when he collapsed, he was going to describe this sting-victory problem in an oft-told story about a nonexistent painting. The painting is of a chess match. One of the players has only one piece left, whereas the other, sinister-looking character has the obvious piece-advantage. This fictional painting is entitled, "Checkmate."

But the title of this painting is misleading, because the lone king on the board still has moves left. And I fully believe God's work--love--through my grandfather has not and will not stop at death. The grave has no victory when he lives on in us, in our hearts, our minds, and our memories. The sting is still there, but the grave is robbed of the victory.

That Sounds Just Like My Grandfather: Reflections on His Death

I got to know my grandfather best when I started college. I knew him before, but as a distant figure. He and his wife moved to Florida when I was young. I have two brief memories of them before they left Maine. In one, I remember being at their house and my great-grandmother was there, sitting in a chair in a corner. She wanted a kiss, but I didn't know her and felt scared.

The second was later, I believe. I think they hadn't moved from Maine yet, but maybe they were just visiting for the summer. We were walking to their apartment one summer day. I was in between them, holding their hands, and we were swinging their arms. When we are at their place, I remember thinking their refrigerator was weird, because it was a side-by-side refrigerator and freezer and I had only ever seen a top-freezer unit.

After that, I remember them coming to visit one summer and I didn't recognize them. Although young, I felt bad for not recognizing them and even worse for not feeling comfortable with them.

As I grew older, I began to remember and I would even expect them in the summers. I appreciated the birthday cards and the money inside. I would write thank you letters and make birthday cards for them.

Then when selecting a college, I looked into Palm Beach Atlantic University, which was about 20-30 minutes from my grandparents home in Jupiter, Florida. I became very well acquainted with my grandparents. I practically lived there for my first semester. Their guest room became "my" bedroom. It was still the guest room, of course, but it was often referred to as "Trevah's room." They lived in Florida for over 20 years, but the Maine accent never went away. It'll fo'evah be paht of his chahm in my mind like it is still paht of Joan's.

Like a college student becoming his own individual, I started making friends my own age. Consequently, I was visiting my grandparents less. I had joined the choir at their church, so I would see them every Sunday. I was struggling with faith at the time and I was uncomfortable with some things in that church. I left the church, so I stopped seeing my grandparents every weekend.

I never stopped thinking about them. I never stopped visiting, but the visits became infrequent. They understood that I was developing, I was becoming my own man. I missed them, but I didn't know how to balance multiple relationships that don't travel in the same circle. I still don't.

I don't keep in touch with my parents or brother enough. I don't keep in touch consistently with many friends who don't live close to me. And if I make new friends who don't travel in the same circles, I don't do well giving my time and attention to both groups.

That imbalance has influenced most of my grief since my grandfather died Monday night. Really, it started Sunday night when I heard he collapsed while preaching.

When I started graduate school, things only became worse. When I made friends in Florida, I brought them to visit my grandparents. They met girlfriends, roommates, and other friends. When my friend and roommate Matt and I graduated, they hosted a cookout in our honor and invited his family. "He made me feel like part of the family," Matt recently wrote me.

And when I moved away for graduate school, that imbalance became worse. I sullied what was a great relationship by barely ever contacting them. They, like my parents, wouldn't initiate contact, because they thought they would bother me. Sure, I'm busy. Sure, I'm terrible at returning calls. But I never think someone's call is burdensome. They would never have been a bother. I loved them. I still do. Both of them.

This past year, I was proud to send my grandfather a card for his 84th birthday on September 20th. Not only did I send the card, but I also sent it before his birthday. Usually I'm late, if I send a card at all. I even included a letter this year. He wrote me back "[w]ithout delay," which he said, "expresses my appreciation."

I'm fortunate to have not recycled the letter just yet. The letter is a good memory.

I had plans to call him or write him another letter, telling him about my recent cruise. When I hadn't done it right away, my parents reminded me that I should call. I put it off. Last weekend I was going to write a letter, but I ended up hiking, going to a haunted house, and grading assignments.

I never imagined I would run out of time.

Sunday night I lay in bed trying to sleep, but only regretting. I lay on my back and the tears slipped from my eyes and began to fill my ears. Why didn't I just call? Why didn't I write and send the letter in a timely fashion? Why didn't I assure that he and Joan know I not only love them, but think of them often? Did he feel again like that distant figure he was when I was a child and didn't recognize him?

Funny how we experience mourning. My grandfather died, left behind a large family, including his wife, and I am worried about how he felt about how I felt. 

I am sad that he is gone, but he went in a "good" way. He never wanted to have a prolonged death. He didn't want to be resuscitated. In fact, back in 2004 or 2005, I was the witness who signed a statement saying he didn't want to be kept alive if his quality of life was or would become significantly worse.

He collapsed while preaching Sunday night. He opened his eyes long enough to say that he was doing fine. That sounds just like my grandfather, using his last words to calm people by saying things are OK. He was revived, but not soon enough to prevent brain damage. He passed away in just over 24 hours, dying around 10pm Monday night. His death wasn't a prolonged process. He died while preaching, something I know made him nervous after such a long sabbatical from the pulpit. But he also enjoyed doing it, being involved again. There are certainly worse ways to die.

And what now?

I would like to say that I have learned about the shortness of life and how I will never again waste time in communicating with loved ones. But let's be realistic. For the next few days, weeks, maybe, I'll try to be honest with people about my feelings. Perhaps I'll even make a few more calls, send a few more letters. But it won't last. As my mourning progresses, I'll forget again about how we are not guaranteed more time together. I'll probably remember, occasionally, this lesson, but it cannot stick.

People die all the time. I am aware of my mortality and the mortality of those around me. We are aware, all of us. It doesn't change enough, not for any of us.

How bad, how good, does it need to get?
How many losses? How much regret?
What chain reaction would cause an effect?
Makes you turn around,
Makes you try to explain,
Makes you forgive and forget,
Makes you change?

I don't know the answer to Tracy Chapman's questions. I suppose the answer is different for all of us. Sometimes I wonder if the answer is only temporary for all of us, just as temporary as life. And even if we change--when we change--there is always more to change in life. There is always more to do to make life better for all. Balancing relationships is just one thing I want to do better. Next, how do I balance passions? How do I balance taking care of myself and taking care of others? How do I balance those cares with relationships and my professional life, my professional lives?

Excuse me for getting a little preachy, but I want my grandfather's death to mean more than just the loss of one great man. I will be asking myself questions about change and balance for weeks and months. But I must ask you, what will it take to make you change? Is your balance what you want? Is it what you would have wanted 10 years ago? Is it what you will be pleased with in 10 years? What other changes can you make?

We can always be better. Always. In his letter to me, my grandfather said  he was "reaching for the stars." The tattoo on my left arm has a tree growing for the stars. I tell people the tree is reaching skyward. Every time a tree grows, it gets closer to the sky--it reaches its destination every time it grows. Yet, it always have farther to grow, because the sky is always higher to a tree.

We are like that tree, like my grandfather "reaching for the stars." Every change we make is what we want, but it always requires more change. Tracy Chapman's question will never be fully answered, even when it is addressed. Like my grandfather said in his letter, "That's probably a little over stated but it sounds good when you can't really observe the facts."

Three Looks at Re-Thinking a Popular Leadership Quote by Emerson

"Do not go where the path may lead; go instead where there is no path and leave a trail."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

It was a dank and chilly Thursday morning. Five of my 25 students arrived to class on time. (I am planning a class day themed around punctuality.) I didn't spend much time planning for that day anyways.

Instead of talking about the differences between "affect" and "effect," I wrote the Emerson quote on the board and gave everyone an opportunity to respond in their Day Book. A few more students trickled in while we wrote.

I had no agenda at first. I planned to have them share what they wrote with others, honing their revision and editing skills. But as I thought about the quote more, I decided to try an exercise in critical thinking and analysis. If it flopped, at least I only had a few students criticizing me that day.

Ecocriticism

After hearing some initial thoughts, I asked my class what they think of when they imagine a path. We conjured up images of walking or hiking in the woods. When hiking, you are not supposed to stray from the trail for three reasons: (1) you might get lost, (2) you might get hurt, and (3) you are potentially harming the unadulterated nature you want to see while hiking. An ecological view of Emerson's quote changes the warm and fuzzy feelings it may initially conjure.

Paths are paths for a reason. They are proven to be safe. They get the traveler to the desired destination. They prevent aimless, time-consuming wandering. In the 19th century when Emerson lived, a path might help lead you to town or to a doctor when you didn't have time to get lost or run into a marsh. If you have a destination in mind, you should follow a path. If you want to be a doctor, you best go to medical school instead of making your own path. The only trail you leave will be one of lawsuits and sick people.

Beyond getting where you want to go, environmentalists preach low-impact hiking. The Matador Network suggests you follow the path or paths before you: "Especially when mud puddles or photographs are involved, it's sometimes tempting to wander off the trail. The long term effect is to create new paths that carve up formerly pristine areas. Not only does this look ugly, but it can hurt fragile plants and, over time, denude landscapes. Better to get your shoes a little dirty or sacrifice the perfect photo" ("5 Essential Rules for Low-Impact Hiking").

As the Matador Network notes, one of the points of hiking is the hike itself. So it is with life, too. We take paths to our goals and dreams not only to reach the destination, but so we can grow from the experience on the journey. Straying from the path not only ruins the experience for you, but for those behind you. The many shortcuts towards weight loss have resulted in tons of diets that neither last nor leave people healthy, but people still see the new trail and follow it. The beauty of discipline, changing one's diet, and exercising for health are hard to see through the vanity of weight loss and body images. Straying from the path denudes the landscape and the devalues the journey.

Approaching with New Historicism

Of course, sometimes straying from the path is good. If we only followed in the footsteps of others, we would never see progress. Indeed, we need to stray from the paths of the past in order to establish equality in the land.

Emerson is one of the founders and leaders of transcendentalism, a particularly US American philosophy that believed in the self-reliant individual. This emphasis on the individual helped us see injustice, because humans began not only to value themselves, but also other individuals in and for themselves. The value of the minority grew when each individual is as important as the whole. Emerson and others blazed this paradigm shift in Western thought from top down to bottom up.

Of course, Emerson's path may not have been the only one or the best one. We cannot know, because we live in a world where Emerson took the path he did. By telling people to make their own trails, he is asking them to do what he did, to do like he did. Paradoxically, he is telling them to go where there is no path, which is following the path he created. Essentially, he suggests to follow him by following no one.

Post-structuralist Critical Theory

Like good postmoderns and like people who simply want to hold onto something they enjoy, my students pressed my qualms with Emerson.

One student told me she found the quote inspiring. It encouraged her to be herself and not follow the trends society expected of her. A few students spoke about how they wanted to leave a path for a younger sibling to follow. One was even leaving a trail for an older sibling who returned to college when she enrolled.

At this point, my students confounded my agenda to unpack Emerson's metaphor in a way that makes one a little more uneasy about his advice. I wasn't ready to give up, though, because I reflected on my students. They are at a community college in Alabama, all of them required to take 093 Basic English--a class earning them no credits, but one they must pass in order to enter the core curriculum in English--and the majority of them are people of color. Although I cannot know them by these classifiers alone, they have different advantages and disadvantages than I do and than I had at their age.

I grew up in the northeast, and only qualified for one Federal Pell Grant during my time as an undergraduate student. My parents could even afford to send me to study abroad in Europe for a semester. Instead of taking a prereq class, I was in my college's honors program and I earned merit-based scholarships. Furthermore, I am white. I am white when people see me, I am white when people hear me, and I am white when people read what I write. People will always assume I am white, even when they don't see my skin.

I asked my class, "How much do you think privilege and your personal experiences impact how you read this quote?"

Their faces reflected their attempts to understand my question, so I began to explain privilege. I was thinking about the difference in the paths before Emerson, the paths before me, and the paths before my students. When any of my students, regardless of race, talk about leaving a trail for their siblings, I was wondering what the other options were for their siblings. Drugs? Homelessness? Foreclosure? Increased poverty in a world of increased cost of living? Dead end jobs? Gang association? Disease? Family life with a low, mediocre, or high paying job?

Following and Leading

"What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun." Ecclesiastes 1:9

The writer of Ecclesiastes (Qoheleth) might retract that statement after seeing a cellphone, but Qoheleth is right to assert that we are always following paths set before us, in a sense. Emerson had to follow many philosophical, religious, and economic traditions--paths--in order to come to his ideas of transcendentalism. President Obama might tell Emerson, "You didn't build that," and he would be right. Still, Emerson did found new ground and set a new trail much in the same way technology advances and groundbreaking legislation do.

Like technology and legislation, the trails we leave are not always for the best. Have US Americans emphasized individuality too much? Although the emphasis on the individual helped us recognize the Other, it sometimes helps us ignore the Other so that we can achieve pleasure, like when our clothes and technological devices are made through slave labor. 

One might say we shouldn't follow a path until we have enough time to evaluate the consequences. But we never know where a path truly leads. Robert Frost rightly describes the roads before us in The Road Not Taken. We can see down them only so far (ll. 4-5)--maybe this path leads to being a CEO, a president, or a parent. Then again, so do a multitude of other paths, some not even made yet. Which is best? There is no way to know, because you can only travel one (ll. 11-15). Later we may look back--"Somewhere ages and ages hence" (l. 17) and impose significance and value to the choices we made, the roads we followed, the trails we blazed, but that imposition will be an imposition, not objective truth, which is why Frost describes his imposition in line 20 as being told "with a sigh" (l. 16).

We are left with multiple paths and roads before us. In between, there is some elbow room to blaze our own trails in the sense that we are creating novelty, but not something completely new. Perhaps it isn't a trail we blaze, but rather a unique combination of routes (cf. Frost, l. 14).

Following Emerson's dictum may be good advice, but not for everyone in every situation. For some of us, the paths before us leave a trail that those behind us cannot help but follow, despite how harmful they are (fast food, fundamentalism, hate). Leadership for the sake of leading is not good like Emerson's quote seems to imply. Emerson's quote without context says simply to lead and always lead, not to lead to good results. More important than blazing trails are getting to good destinations and helping others along their journey.

A Confession: I Went To A Gay Bar Last Night ...

I went to a gay bar last night. Or maybe it was a club. A private club. You have to become a member in order to get in, which is how the bar can stay open all night here in Birmingham. I guess I went to a gay club last night.

This post is another one of my confessions. But the confession isn't about me going to a gay bar or my sexuality, although I mention the latter part in this post. The confession is about what happened before I even walked into the bar.

As I was standing in line outside of the bar, a man came by asking, "Would anyone like a tract?"

I said nothing. 

The man wasn't speaking to me, anyways. And he wasn't too near me at the time. I did get mad, though. And eventually, the man was standing right next to me, offering tracts on Christianity and salvation. Or that's my educated guess. And I'm going to be a little pretentious in this post, so let's just go ahead and say that I think my educated guess is a pretty good one in this situation.

I knew it wasn't the time or place to share my thoughts on what he was doing. He was "prepared" to address anything anybody said with stock responses he learned by rote, perhaps with a small addition of wit and on-the-spot, original thinking. Perhaps. I knew nothing I said could change his mind, because he wasn't there to respect anyone, but rather to express the wrongness of their lifestyle without knowing anything about them.

I was with three other people he didn't know. Probably he wouldn't approve of any of the four of us going to any bar that night. Maybe he hands out tracts to people going into any bar. Possible? Sure. Doubtful, though. That man was at that bar, because it was a gay bar and he assumed everyone in my party was gay. At the very least he was wrong about me and right about two in my group. The fourth member has never made a definitive statement about his/her sexuality, so I try not to say s/he is straight, although I assume s/he is. That's what those of us with a privileged identity do.

When he stood right next to me, I began to feel sorry for him. Everyone was ignoring him and he put himself in a no-win situation that he thought would please his god. So I said to him, "I think we're good, man."

My pity was just what he wanted, though. It took a few moments before he could either think of a reply or raise the courage to engage someone he (probably) assumed identified as gay.

"It depends on what you mean by good," he retorted.

At that point, I knew it was useless to respond. I felt worse for the guy than I did in the first place. Who really thinks that sort of cheesy response is the lead in to changing someone's mind and converting them to the way you think? Did he think I would banter with him, see his truth, cry, and repent of ... of what? Repent of being a heterosexual going to a gay bar with a few people who identify as gay and bisexual? Repent of respecting and engaging in loving friendships with people who he thinks are sinners on their way to hell?

I wondered how many times he's read the Bible. I probably have him beat there. How much does he knows about biblical history? I probably have him beat there. How much does he knows about Christian history, theology, and what different Christians believe? I probably have him beat there, too. 

I wonder how a "conversation" with him would have looked? I place "conversation" in quotes, because it is obvious that neither of us would have really listened to each other. Instead, we would have been trying to get the upper hand in a boxing match of words. I don't like that sort of back-and-forth, so I ignored him.

But I wonder how such a conversation would have impacted those around me. I consider myself an ally with the GLBTQ community, although I'm not as much of an advocate as I would like to believe. I know discussion was not possible with that man, but I wonder if a discussion/argument with him would have been encouraging or annoying to the people around me. Would I have embarrassed my friends? Would other people have got involved? Would I have been asked to leave for causing a scene? Would I have got frustrated and gone inside for my Jack and diet? Would he have got flustered and left? Would there have been a winner? Would people around me have thought, albeit briefly, that some Christians are worth getting to know? Would anyone have thought I was a Christian? Do I think I am a Christian?

A confession: I went to a gay bar last night. I was offered a tract and all I could say was a circumlocution for "no thanks." I wonder what Jesus would have done. What would you have done? What do you think about what I did?

I'm Open-Minded & I Vehemently Disagree With You

"Open-minded" is one term in a slew of identifying terms. As with any identifier, the term means many things, probably too many. An excess of meaning is tantamount to a paucity or complete lack of meaning. I am going to parse out what being open-minded means to me, balancing positive descriptions ("it is" statements) with negative ones ("it is not" statements).

When I identify as open-minded, I am doing so, because I perceive my beliefs and philosophies to be open to criticism and construction from within and without. The obvious metaphor here is a door. When an opinion dissents from mine, I keep the door of my mind open to that view.

Just because a visitor arrives, doesn't mean they will stay. Intellectual hospitality necessitates temporariness in some situations. To let any and all differences take residency would result in logical contradictions. Open-mindedness exists within the realm of logic and sense. I am open to listening to your views and I hope my interaction with your position to be mutually beneficial, but I may disagree with you in the beginning and in the end.

Some disagreements are simple matters of taste and opinion. Some disagreements are more significant, but without negative impact on anyone. Broadly speaking, theism and atheism are in this category. Before getting into the various permutations of theism and atheism, neither of these view points necessitate a negative impact on society or a lack of ability to collaborate for mutual growth of individuals, communities, and the environment at large.

Some beliefs hurt people. Anti-semitism is such a view. Racism is such a belief-system. Eurocentric, androcentric, and heterosexist positions are further examples of hurtful biases.

As with any other identifier, it isn't always true. Christians aren't always Christ-like. Libertarians enjoy some areas in which the government is involved. Heterosexuals have crushes on and enjoy physical contact with people of the same sex. People who identify themselves with a cultural definition of "masculine" have "feminine" sides.

Similarly, I am open-minded, but my mind is not open to somethings like anti-semitism, racism, eurocentrism, chauvinism, and heterosexism. I still can benefit from other views people in these groups hold, but I cannot imagine ever accepting their positions on equality. I think I listen to their beliefs, especially since I used to hold some of them. But from everything I've heard, they have nothing new to say. It is just the same old, misguided song and dance. I hear from them what they hear from me and neither of us do a great job at listening to each other.

Not only are they not saying anything new, but also they are hurting people. Just like open-mindedness does not mean being open to a slave trade based on race, sex, or economic status, neither does it mean being open to oppression.

In fact, it is precisely because of my open mind that I am against oppression. My open mind means I am for love, for love and reason brought me to an open mind. It would be outrageous and nonsensical to have an open-mind based on love and reason, but then be OK oppression and oppressive beliefs, to sit idly by while people are being actively hurt and discriminated. It is for this reason that I have dedicated my life (currently) to providing opportunities for college students to open up their minds: to do my part in fighting oppression and discrimination by influencing the development of college students.

I will continue to identify myself as open-minded, because I am. But I am certainly closed off to oppressive ideologies, because that is where the identifier falls apart, where it (self) deconstructs, because open-mindedness is built upon "closedness." (Get ready for my cheesy closing statement.) The open door defined by the closed, operating on the hinges of love and reason.

I Think You're Wrong, But I Don't Know How To Feel About Your Wrongness

I just read a blog post by Rachel Held Evans that conjured an image in my mind of Jesus singing, "Come together, right now, over me." I love the idea of Jesus singing the Beatles. The post challenged me, which is true to my generally ambivalent feelings about Evans. I like her, but I dislike liking her for three reasons:

First, because I didn't expect to like her. Sometimes "moderate" Christians (for lack of a better term) annoy me. I don't have a problem with moderates, per se, but I don't like how well they can blend in. I want them to be easier to spot.

Second, I don't like that Evans is popular. Simply put, I'm jealous.

Third, I don't like how likable she is. First I just read some of her blogs. Then I started following her on the Twitter. Before I knew it, I wanted to be her friend. How did she do that? Of course, she's a popular blogger and a print author, so the chances of me being her friend are slim. Really, the best part of being her friend would be that we could dialogue about her thoughts. Sometimes I don't want to ask questions to somebody's blog, I want to offer a dissenting, contrasting, or similar opinion and see what they think. Questions are more likely to get responses though. Even then, she can't answer every question. And what if I make a stupid typo or, just as likely, a stupid sentence or twenty? I don't want her dismissing me as much as I would dismiss me if I read my own comments.

Nonetheless, I follow her on Twitter and read a bunch of her posts. And I somehow went off on a jocose tangent before I even got started with the topic for this post.

When I read Evans's post about Christians coming together and working together, I had a hard time imagining it working. I have a pretty good imagination and I'm certainly an idealist, but reality got in the way of my imagination this time. The part of reality that got in the way was me.

If I read her correctly, Evans not only wants everyone to get along, but also to remain themselves. In order for Christians to work together, they need to be together. A lot. It would be a commitment as strong as going to church on Sunday. Although Christians could retain their congregating with their sects, I doubt most could collaborate with others while still meeting separately. 

We're talking here about desegregation. Desegregation requires identity loss. Commingling brings about mutual benefit and mutual change. Desegregation of something as radically diverse as Christianity would mean some people couldn't remain being the type of Christian they are. As one example, Landmark Baptists couldn't desegregate, because they strongly disagree that other Christians are Christians.

I would love the desegregation of Christianity, if the resultant change yielded a Christianity that looked a lot more like me.

I hate myself for saying that. Well, maybe hate is a strong word. And the feelings aren't because I said it, they are because I thought it.

I don't know about you, but when I'm honest with myself, I want some Christians to lose their identity. I want them to change. I want their particular brand of Christianity to cease existing.

For example, I believe in equality of the genders and sexuality. Those who do not agree have what I see as hurtful theo/ideologies. Through inter- & intrfaith dialogue, cohesion, and collaboration, I want people who disagree with me on these issues to change their mind. Sure, I want these conversations to be mutually beneficial. Those who don't agree with me on equality have things to offer, but I am about as ready to budge as a fundamentalist on this issue.

But for some Christian sects, they cannot be who they are and believe in gender and sexual equality. Patriarchy and hetero-privilege is so essential to their identity and it is wrapped up in their view of God, God's revelation, the Bible, ethics, and everything. Giving it up is tantamount to no longer being who they are. Christianity can't just come together without change and a lot of it.

How can I come together if I am like the missionary who wants to convert the heathens? As much as I don't like missions, I sometimes want to be that missionary. I've thought, "Maybe I should go back to church. You can't expect something to change if you're not a part of it. Maybe I should work to change it from within." But I'm not working to be transformed with it if I can't let go of myself first. Jesus said you have to lose yourself to find yourself and, according to the story, Jesus lost his life and found it again afterwards.

But how can I walk into intrafaith dialogue with someone who disagrees with gender equality without the desire to change them? How can I walk comfortably away from that dialogue knowing their beliefs are su/oppressing people?

I despise all of these thoughts. What if somebody actually reads my blog and just read about how much I want them to change, how wrong I think they are, how I think they are hurting people? All of these thoughts go against my faith in dialogue. They go against my understanding of deconstruction (I sure hope I am just missing something here, because I love loving deconstruction). I am dancing dangerously close to being a liberal fundamentalist. I can't even say I'm lacking a better term when I say "liberal fundamentalist." I like to tell myself it isn't fundamentalism, it is passion. But  I am just applying a bromide.

I'd love to end this post with a question, something to prompt you to respond. This post was partly confession, but confession with the desire for help. Perhaps that is the point of confession, not for absolution and forgiveness, but for help, for collaboration, for working together.

Even if I could come up with a good question, I would probably continue acting like someone so often identified as a liberal by talking more than I listen.