An idea is like a virus...

Two nights ago I sat in wonderful bliss for two and a half hours weaving my way through the winding, logical labyrinth known as Inception. With as many twist and turns as a soap opera, the movie left me staring unblinkingly at my T.V as I was too fearful to miss a beat. For two and a half hours I was enthralled over the prospect of being able to have the gears in my head turn furiously. For two and a half hours I dived into the emotional and psychological folds of the movie. And for two and a half hours I entered a fantasy world so appealing it was nearly impossible to claw myself out of.

                Any one who knows me knows that I consider myself to be somewhat of an intellectual. I have been successful in my academic endeavors, love reading classic novels, and have been kept spellbound by the raw complexities present in the concept of logic. Now this of course does not qualify me as being intelligent in any quantifiable way but is used merely to illustrate that I enjoy the process of thinking (as weird as that sounds).To me, the world is a puzzle in which I must figure out. Like the bourgeois longed for more capital, so my mind yearns to accumulate the knowledge of how the world ticks. However, as smart as I think I am, or at least how intelligent people perceive me to be, I must admit that I found it hard to keep up with all of the stories within the stories presented in the movie.  Christopher Nolan, the director of Inception, beautifully and entertainingly explored the subconscious state of mind as one entered the dream realm. Taking him nine years of research and rewrites to prefect, Nolan shed some light onto the possibilities of our brains full potentials. And while the movie is undoubtedly a work of fiction, I can’t help but wonder if Nolan himself can completely grasp the concepts that he unlocked. For you see, at the absolute core of his imaginative movie, Christopher Nolan stumbled upon some of the deepest, and undisturbed truths of reality: our subconscious projections and our desires for power over self creation.

In the movie, it’s revealed that the dreaming state of mind is one full of generation and ideation. Truly the only constraints are the sizes of our imaginations. Our dreams are where we accomplish things that the laws of this world say we can’t. Suddenly blanket forts as tall as the sky, western shootouts, and walking on walls become common everyday occurrences. It is while we sleep that we become Captains of our own ships. However, ironically it’s not our conscious but our subconscious that determines the settings and people present in our dreams.  These nouns- so to speak- are what the movie calls subconscious projections. The people, the places, and the things of our dreams are determined by what our subconscious decides to fill the void with. And this subconscious (according to the movie) does not like to share. In Inception, the subconscious is not a big fan of someone or something else sticking their grubby hands into its cookie jar. If it suspects that some outside force is tampering with its personal playground (dreams) than it is quick to attack. Like antibodies, the subconscious projections become aggressive and begin to declare full out warfare on the intruders, stopping at nothing to eradicate those who dare to subvert its rule. And here lies hints to the golden egg of truth.

   I can’t help but notice that the control hungry subconscious of the dreams of the characters presented in a fictional movie are mirror images our own realities

Now before you think that I’ve been knocked off my rocker, I pray that you hear me out. Whether we are aware of it or not our conscious and subconscious create our own little worlds. We project our own images of ourselves, see what we want to see, and hear what we want to hear. We manipulate our personalities and traits to present only the parts that we deem presentable. We attempt to take command of our lives, seeking to control every last detail. And perhaps most importantly, we, like the subconscious projections in Inception, spurn anything that even remotely tries to subvert our control.

Truth is it’s easy to project a certain aspect of yourself. It’s easy to make yourself appear certain ways to certain people. We may not even do it intentionally but subconsciously the person we desire to be is often the way people see us. For example many people see me as being biblically knowledgeable because I choose to make that aspect of me known. I preach and spit out facts often. I attend numerous church events. I have even led bible studies. However, most people honestly have no idea of the personal struggles I have wrestled with for years. Most people couldn’t begin to believe some of the issues I have experienced over 19 years of my life. And many can’t fathom some of the sins I’ve fallen into. Truth is it’s easy to make them see only the sides I want to expose.  Truth is Truth is it’s easy to play a role. Creating and manipulating our own versions of ourselves seems almost natural.

But being the character God wants us to be; now that’s what’s hard.

Our minds both conscious and subconscious don’t like intruders. We like to call the shots. We like to feel like we’re in control. We like to run our own show.  We resent those who suggest an idea that we wish we would have thought of. We rebel whenever our parents try to tell us what to do. And most dangerously of all, we reject the assistance and input of God in our lives thinking that we still have control. And this is where the true problems begin (talk about stories within a story).

You see we were created with a purpose, and that purpose is determined by God not by ourselves. We can desire to be numerous things; successful, rich, powerful, respected, famous etc. but truth is unless it’s what God wills it will not happen. This conflict over what we want vs. what God desires is why it is so hard for us to let God in. We’ve spent our whole lives building armored fortresses to keep trespassers out, raising armies to attack any foreign tampering, and manning the walls to defend and protect our control. But that’s the kicker: we’ve spent our whole lives fighting for and defending something that was never ours to begin with. In Galatians 2:20 it says, “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives within me.” Our lives aren’t in our control. Because of what Christ did for us, when we chose to follow him, we sign off on our own authority; we effectively answer the call to die to ourselves. When we chose to call ourselves Christians, we are made into a new creation ( 2 Cor. 5:17). God, the designer of the Universe, becomes the author our lives. And every author has the right to fill his pages how he/chooses.

Now I’m not saying that realizing that God is ultimately in control will instantly cause us to lose our identities, but it does call for us to realize that apart from Him we can do nothing (John 15:5). If we are to truly live the life that we were intended for then it’s about time we start making Him more and ourselves less (John 3:30).

An idea is like a virus, but when it’s not our own idea we’re the ones who begin to feel sick. Only by dying to these selfish intentions and to our defenses will we genuinely come alive. So I leave you with one last question: Who are you living for?

Oh come all ye faithful

As the weather outside finally begins to embrace its frosty facet, and as the annual twinkles of ROYGBIV begin to shine from their little frosted homes, I can’t help but feel giddy. Why? Because these signs along with the miniature tree that has been in my suitemates’ room since early November are sure indications that Christmas is right around the bend. In fact, as I am writing this blog right at this very second, December 25^th is only 19 days, 2 hours, 11 minutes, and 27 seconds away. No I’m not some crazy fanatic who keeps a continual countdown until Christmas rolls by (that’s what the internet is for), but I include this seemingly insignificant detail to illustrate how dear we hold this holiday and time of season in our hearts. Does any other holiday have such an extensive list of family traditions? Does any other holiday have as many advertisements? Does any other holiday spark enough fire in our hearts to risk getting on a slippery, ice covered roof solely to adorn our house in colored lights? If your family is anything like mine, than the answer is clearly Of Course Not. To even suggest a rival holiday would be like suggesting 2 +2= 5. Throughout the world and especially throughout America, it seems as if Christmas has enough power to create eternal memories, has the ability to make time standstill, and has the capacity to wipe away our fears and failures of the previous months. Now I’m aware that many people also feel the stinging of tears around this time as they are often reminded of the death of a beloved, or at the recognition of their self imposed loneliness, but for the sake of simplicity and generalizations I think we can agree that during Christmas we seem to enter a bubble of tranquility and happiness- or an undisturbed snow globe perhaps may be more fitting.

Normally I’m one of the first to advocate getting the old tree and ornaments down from the attic. But this year (and maybe it’s due to the fact that I’m away from all of the nutcrackers, garland, and tinsel for the first time in my 19 years of existence)I have a heavier heart than normal. At first I wasn’t really sure why I felt so sorrowful at a time as joyful as Christmas, but then it dawned on me as I listened to a church service online this morning. The pastor that was preaching this morning proposed the idea that somewhere in the last few decades our outlooks on Jesus and on the good ole Saint Nick have become blurred. I must admit this was a very intriguing idea to me and a somewhat provoking one at that. On one hand you had a man/God, who lived with 12 disciples in the Middle East over 2000 years ago, and on the other you have a red clad, rotund, pink cheeked, white bearded myth who received its origin from the Dutch hundreds of years later. How could any sane human being confuse the two? Surely either this pastor was insane or there was a case of mistaken identity that even Shakespeare would laugh at.  For a few minutes I pondered and even scoffed at anyone who could get the One who walked on water confused with the one who flies a sled. But then it hit me, and it hit me hard. This crazy pastor may just have a point.

Have we reduced God to a mere Santa-like figure?

Of course many of you many now think that after this rhetorical question I too have lost some of my marbles, but please indulge me a little bit. In today’s society it appears that we think God is some kind of figure similar to Santa Claus. If we do good deeds, God will reward us with his grace and mercy, and perhaps even bestow us with gifts and blessings. If we do bad deeds, God will revoke his hand from our lives and remove his grace from us. Basically, our whole faith now totters on the Good and Naughty List. But does it say anywhere in the Bible that Jesus came or died so that we may act as model citizens? Or does it ever say that making errors in judgment would result in the revocation of our salvation? According to Titus 3:5 “He saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy” (NIV).  It is by grace and by grace alone that we are saved. Christ, and this is where He strays from most other major religions, did not teach that one had to first be good to then receive His love, but instead taught that by His mercy and by His grace He has extended His hand to us in hopes that we may leave our sins for the greener grass on His side.

So what then does this mean for our faith, for our culture, and for our cornerstones of thought? Are the traditions and associations of Christmas wrong? Is that jolly ole Santa Claus an idol or vice? Am I suggesting to not celebrate the seasons? By all means no. I do not wish to discourage anyone from rejoicing in this time of the year, and in fact rather encourage everyone to plug themselves into the contagious festivities. But I do want to suggest (and I know you have probably heard this thousands of times before) that you rethink the purpose of this holiday.

And I hope that you rediscover the true Christ behind Christmas.

Can you hear me now?

“Why, O Lord, do you reject me and hide your face from me?”

-          Psalm 88:14

Why, O Lord, can I not hear you?

Why, O Lord, do I search for you and find nothing?

Why, O Lord, do you say, “Seek me and you’ll find me,” but not make yourself known?

How can I reach you if I’m not even sure who/ or what it is I’m trying to reach?

How can my prayers be heard if I’m praying them to the oblivion?

These questions have been actual progressions of my thoughts. I have had periods of my life where I felt as if God was cruel, mean, and a tease. I’ve had moments where it feels like God is ignoring me. I’ve even had days where the deafening silence on God’s end spoke far more volumes than actual words. The bottom line and the problem I think most Christians come across is the idea of praying/ conversing with something they can NOT see, and very rarely hear. Many of my friends, and I myself will be the first to agree, say that praying is like having a one way conversation with the wall: there simply is no response. It seems as if we do all the talking and God refuses to answer. These conversations appear lopsided, pointless, and above all else awkward.  I can distinctly remember a specific example in which I’ve had a one way conversation and can testify that it was far from ideal or fun. 10 years ago my Grandma (whom I call Nanny) suffered an unexpected stroke leaving her bedridden in the hospital for days. It also left her partially paralyzed and affected the Broca’s Area of her brain (located in the temporal area of the cerebral cortex) which impaired her ability to speak. A few days after the incident, my mom called me and told me that Nanny was on the phone. She also gently tried to explain to me that my grandma would not be able to respond and that I was to do all of the talking. Let me just tell you that it has been over 10 years and I still cringe thinking about how awkward that 60 second conversation was. I love my grandma, but I think I honestly prayed for my mom to take back the phone so I wouldn’t have to endure the eternal echoes of silence on the other end.

I have experienced, firsthand, the uncomfortable nature of prayer and the pain that corresponds to the feeling of being ignored by God. I have undergone extensive periods where I have literally cried out for God to speak to me, or reveal Himself, and have been slapped by silence. I too have come across chasms of confusion, loss of direction, and bitterness. But, and this is leading to my main reason of writing, I have also experienced revelation, and have also gazed upon the dissipation of my ignorance that dispelled the “cloud cover” that prohibited my connection to God.

Simply put, I believe that main reason we come across this seemingly perpetual silence is because with our prayers hitchhikes a deadly and awful sin, a sin that caused the Israelites to repeatedly stumble and fail, a sin that’s been hiding in the dark corners of our prayers, a sin known as idolatry.

Let me explain myself as I’m sure many of you are thinking that I have surely gone off the deep end. To accuse someone of idolatry is to accuse someone of worshipping an alternative and false God. The accusation of idolatry is a far bigger stick to swing at someone than Teddy Roosevelt’s, and I do not make this claim without reason. When many of us pray, especially those in the infant stages of our walk, we pray by formula or to a “black void”. Many of those that have survived to experience the adolescent stages of our faith have matured from praying to nothing to praying to a certain image of God. ( Now by no means am I advocating that envisioning a mental picture of Heaven, of the Throne, or of God, is flat out wrong or detrimental, but I am advocating that it should only be done if one has built a mountain of faith reinforced by revelation.)

Maybe our prayers aren’t received by God because we are too busy wrapped up in trying to sound proper or too preoccupied with attempting to constrain the wonders of The Lord into a definitive picture.

Maybe our prayers don’t receive responses because we are praying to the wrong God.

Is us praying to an image that was generated by our brains any different than praying to the bronze cows generated by the Israelite’s hands? Is repeating phrases that sound right but mean nothing to us of any significance to God? Do you think God longs for flowery phrases or for our hearts? Do you think we are supposed to pray with our brains or our souls? Do you think we can possibly create an accurate image of the holy Yahweh? I’m going to have to say no. We can’t even agree what Jesus looked like and he physically walked the Earth for 33 years. Therefore how can we dare attempt to envision the Creator of the Universe, who according to the Bible has not been seen by man? The Answer is simple: we can’t. There are only two ways that we could. The first would be that we are imagining His appearance and thus by the very definition of the word are creating our own God. By its fundamental nature this idea is the cornerstone of idolatry. The second would be that God has chosen to reveal himself to us, which is not out of the realm of possibilities considering the Bible is riddled with such stories ( Moses and the burning bush, Elijah and the wind).

I want to apologize in advance if this latest edition seems scatter brained. Forgive me for it is late and I have very pressing issues on my mind. But my point for writing and I pray that this does not get lost in the almost stream of consciousness thought is that God, the true God, is not an image generated by mere man, nor is he one pleased by our structured, fake, robotic pleas. God is the loving, just, and generous author of life, who has given us the wonderful opportunity to reach him and establish a relationship with him via prayer and petition.

So I challenge those of you who are experiencing the same feelings of bitterness, rage, confusion, and isolation that I described earlier to reexamine your prayer life and ponder this question: Who is it your praying to?

Drowning in Discernment

Am I pretty enough?

Am I tall enough?

Is my hair the right color?

Am I skinny enough?

Are my grades good enough?

Am I good enough?

Do my parents love me enough?

Do I love my self enough?

Do I have the right clothes on?

Are my muscles big enough?

Can I run fast enough?

Can I lift enough?

Can I sing well?

Can I dance well?

Can I play sports well?

Can I play instruments well?

Do I have enough friends?

Do my friends love me enough?

Do I make them proud?

Do I make myself proud?

Am I better than others?

Am I worse than others?

Am I smarter than most?

Are my tragedies more tragic than theirs?

Are my good times better than theirs?

Do I read my Bible more than others?

Can I rattle of more Scripture than others?

Do I know more about the Bible than others?

Can I shout out more Biblical trivia than others?

Have I read more of the Bible than others?

Do I pray more than others?

Do I pray harder than others?

Does God love me enough to hear my prayers?

Have I gone on more mission trips than most?

Is my testimony better than theirs?

Can I woo the crowd more than they can?

Are my gifts and abilities better than theirs?

Does God love me more than them?

To be short and sweet, in this day and age we often find ourselves in a constant state of comparison. Whether it’s the split second skim over as that person passes by or the direct side by side contrast of our abilities and results, we continually try to affirm ourselves through others. If you don’t believe me see how many times a day you find yourself thinking about the aforementioned list. Now if I thought of that list in less than 5 minutes think about how extensive this list truly is. In this generation, with its continuous emphasis on products becoming faster, more durable, and higher quality, the accentuation of what products are the best have been translated and transposed unto our daily thought processes. It seems that I can no longer even look at a person anymore without first constructing an assessment of how they compare to me. Am I better looking? Am I smarter? Are they weaker than me? These and many more inquiries are all judgmental questions that flood my brain faster than I can blink. In a mere second I have already contrasted numerous qualities of theirs to mine without even first knowing their name. I have been accidently and subconsciously guilty of the first and most abhorred sin: pride.

You see pride at its very core is not just thinking that we are better than others nor that we are more supreme, but pride, true pride, is when begin to identify ourselves by our abilities, accomplishments, and acquaintances rather than by what we actually are. Pride itself is in my mind the worst sin because it creates an illusion that we are better than we actually are. When we start to dwell on how we compare to others then we begin to feel as if the World is our inheritance and that we are entitled to reign as kings. But is this an adequate and honest reflection of who we are? Are we truly as great as our minds have led us to believe, or have we become like the tall tale fish stories, in the sense that our egos and accomplishments have continually been overinflated? Is who we are and what were supposed to have become being revealed merely by what we have done and who we once were? Does how others look or how act brand us with a label of identity? If so, our priorities are out of line. If so, we are guilty of pride.

                If so, then our perceptions of our lives and of God’s are being strangled by our own selfish hands.

Honestly, and this may be a wakeup call for some of you, God loves us equally, even though he blesses us differently. God does not play favorites. He doesn’t love person A more so than person B because person A is taller, faster, smarter, prettier or etc. He doesn’t love person A more so than B, just because person A is walking more in tune with Christ’ footsteps or reading his Bible more.  He doesn’t love me more than you. He doesn’t love you more than me. Truth being told, it’s frivolous to compare ourselves to each other because we don’t have to perform for God. He isn’t impressed with our all A’s. He isn’t astonished by how well we sing or how curly our hair is. He isn’t taken aback by if we won homecoming queen or king, and is not flabbergasted over how tall we are. God doesn’t care how well we can write novels or how well we can catch a football.

                It’s not about what are talents are but we do with them that truly matters most.

My gifts, whatever they may be, were not given to me so I could run the Chris show. Whatever I have been fortunate enough to receive has been given to me for one purpose and one purpose only: to glorify God in all that I do. My life goals shouldn’t be to separate and achieve a higher echelon of success than others, but instead be to walk the path that God forged for me. My ambitions and aspirations shouldn’t be to compare and contrast myself to others but instead to love others. And lastly my identity should not stem from the world around me, but spring from the Life that dwells within me.

So my prayer for you as well as for myself, and the whole reason I wrote this spiel is that we begin the long and difficult process of rewiring our brains from thinking Am I’s to I am’s, from comparing ourselves to loving one another, and from living in a world of constant uncertainty to living for a God wrapped in solidity.

So I challenge you to take a dive into your own heart and distinguish from the murky waters of comparison what your gifts and abilities are actually intended for, and to stop thinking about how they compare to those possessed by the people swimming alongside of you.

Caution Against Precaution

Sunday morning should have been a normal day. By all means it should have been just like the other 51 Sundays. I should have woken up, read my Bible, and gone to Antioch, followed by a nice turkey sandwich and then homework. But that’s the funny thing. Life doesn’t revolve around should haves, would haves, could haves.

On this particular Sunday I found myself sitting at my desk listening to New Hope Church’s online service for the second time in a row. My allergies were acting up so bad that I coined the term “sneezures” and convinced myself that it would be better to not go to Antioch that morning. It was in the middle of the sermon when an all too familiar sound reached my ear. Eeerrrrrcckkkkkk. I instantly knew what had happened. My mind quickly reverted back to nearly four months ago when that same sound struck a chord in me while I was standing on the roof of a hotel in Haiti. My mind quickly played over the numerous scenarios that could have just unfolded. And My mind quickly assumed the worst. Completely forgetting the service, I jumped onto my bed and peered out the window. Searching for any signs of the potential devastation, my head scanned back and forth across the street like a water sprinkler. After what seemed like eternity but was probably mere seconds my eyes locked onto the wreck. There it was. There lay the source of the all too familiar sound of screeching tires and the collision of metal objects. I instantly ran outside expecting to see the worse, but instead the most bizarre scene unfolded before my eyes. To my right there was a black car in seemingly perfect condition parked on the side of the street. In front of me though, lay a blue Honda Accord completely sitting on top of the sidewalk. But it only gets weirder. Now sweetly nestled to the front of the Accords bumper was the side panel of my friend Cameron’s truck.  Nestled to the other side of his truck was a Chevy Equinox. You see I know it will be very hard for you to envision this without a physical picture, but Cameron’s F-150 was snuggly parked in a parking lot over 10 feet away from the street before the accident. Apparently the black car had sideswiped the Accord, causing it to careen out of control (the screeching of the tires I heard) and forced it up and over a curb where it then finally rested after making contact with Cameron’s rear door. The Honda had traveled so far off of the road that it laid squarely on the solid concrete and grass mixture of the sidewalk.  Cameron’s truck should never have been in danger of being hit. His truck was separated from the asphalt of the road by a curb and 10 feet of sidewalk. The laws of physics would argue that his car would have been safe from wrecks. There must have been no way that a car could have slammed into his. He had done everything short of surrounding his car in a sea of foam.  And yet… there I was gaining an eye witness account of this peculiar incident.

No matter how many cautionary steps you take in life, you can NOT expect the unexpected, plan the implausible, nor formulate the grand enigmas of life.

Many of us find ourselves possessing a 5 year plan, a 401 K, and a detailed agenda for the next 24 hours. Some of us even emerged ourselves in a lifestyle of organization, security, and structure.  (Now I’m not arguing that these are bad, but I do think that the mere thought of them, once reflected upon, has a tinge of irony.) We spend our lives preparing for a world 50 years down the road and yet were not even guaranteed to wake up tomorrow.  We can’t predict the future, we shan’t even be so presumptuous as to think that we even could, and yet we attempt to construe and endless web of possible outcomes for our lives. We say that if X happens, we will take path Y; if Y happens then we will travel down the road of Z. If we major in Biology we can go to med school, then obtain a residency, an internship and then voila we can become a doctor.

 But you see, the more we try to formulate and structure our own lives the more we squeeze out God.

                Please hear me out. Plans for our life are in NO way, shape, or form bad for us. I’m not arguing that we should abandon any and all dreams. I’m merely advocating that when these plans, goals, and dreams become so rigid, so detailed, and so ordered that we leave no room for flexibility and find ourselves without enough space for God to be God. Instead of allowing him to lead us, we attempt to pull the Holy Spirit around like a dog on a leash. Instead of leaving space for miracles, we attempt to equate God to the modern day genie, hoping that he would grant our every desire at the snap of our fingers. Instead of letting the power of God transform us, our carefully ordered lives constrain his awe-fullness into the size of a box. But I’ll let you in on a little secret, no brick wall plans of ours are ever too thick for God to penetrate. Cameron (and I’m merely using him for the sake of a point not to insinuate that he is guilty of any of these managing tendencies) had thought that never in a million years would his truck of been involved in a non parking lot accident when his car was stationary in a parking lot! I thought that never in a million years would I have become anything other than a doctor.  Cameron had strategically placed his car off of the road. I had carefully laid out the next 11 years of my life. Cameron fully expected to go out to his car, hop in, drive off to Acts Church, and then go to McAllister’s for lunch. I fully expected to go to Baylor, major in Biology, get accepted into med school, and become a doctor. But one of the few funny things in life is that our plans automatically give way to Gods. If God wanted Cameron to not fulfill his Sunday plans, then Cameron had no choice but to comply. If God wants me to become a pastor, as opposed to a doctor, then who am I to argue? Do I know all the secrets to life? Do I know all of the stars by name? Do I know all 248 muscles found in a caterpillars face? Do I know how to create life from dust? You get the idea.

                I write this blog to all of those whose worlds crumble when there “lives” collapse, to all of those who overstress at their future careers, to all of those who plan out the idea of buying a planner. If you don’t remember anything else that I have written, remember what I’m about to say. Never will your plans triumph over God’s, and never will God have room to work miracles, wonders, and revelations through your life if you continuously box him out like a center in the NBA. Know this, the best way to gain security and control of this life is to surrender it.

                “Whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”- Matthew 10:39

A Starry Sigh

"If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown! But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile."

                -Ralph Waldo Emerson from “Nature”

It was Sunday night when our car chugged along the highway, heading away from College Station and towards our home at Baylor. Engulfed by a blanket of stars, I found myself gradually drifting in and out of a sleepy slumber. Not even Hercules himself could alter my eyelids from their current course. With one last look at the night sky I slowly let out a long, deep sigh, and entered the state of mind when your logic collides with your imagination.

 Many believe that a picture says a thousand words, but I believe a sigh says it all. From a sigh you can gauge a person’s mood, their dopamine and serotonin levels, and their physical exhaustion. From a sigh you instantly know whether they are depressed, stressed, or a mess. From a sigh you can also see if they are relieved, have come to a conclusion worth the instant release of air, or have just sat down in their favorite sofa chair after a long day of work. For some a sigh can represent pain or anxiety; for others it can be just the thing that casts off their Atlas-like burdens.

 On this night I found myself sighing for reasons similar to the former. I sighed neither out of pain nor anxiety, but out of an overwhelming sorrow brought on by revelation. You see on this night, as the twinklings of the stars were slowly fading from my closing eyelids, I realized that we often neglect to acknowledge these “envoys of beauty”. Growing up in the era of electricity and electronics, it seems that we prefer the yellow glow of a lamp to the brilliant white shine of the moon and the stars. Many of us fail to even recognize their existence any more, and those that attempt to do so find their efforts thwarted by light pollution. Do you see the irony in that? We no longer can view the light of the stars from our back porch due to an overabundance of light.  I almost chuckle just thinking about this situation. Have we become so wrapped up in our comforts (yes electricity has brought us many comforts) that we have become hardened to what God initially created to soothe our weary minds?

For thousands of years people have used the stars to guide them, to comfort them, and illuminated their paths. Sailors and shepherds alike used stars to navigate their ships and flocks, respectively. David used stars to quell his fears when Saul sent thousands of men to pursue him. And everyone before the use of electricity relied on the glow of the stars and the moon to shed light in an otherwise dark world.

Ralph Waldo Emerson questioned in his famous “Nature” the effects our current culture has had on our perceptions of nature. If the stars only shone once in a thousand years, people would weep out of amazement. Talk about the true sublime. Halley’s Comet is visible from Earth only once in every 75 years and look at the effect it has on people. Once every 75 years is still recent enough to be viewed per generation and this event engrains a deep image of beauty onto those lucky enough to view it. Imagine if the stars only revealed their luster once in every thousand years. Those fortunate enough to witness this would have previously thought they were mere stories for children, myths, tall tales, and legends so to speak. They would be bragging about this to their neighbors who were sleeping for years. They would pass this story onto their children and their children’s children. To them, seeing the stars would be a life altering event. It would cause beauty to be defined and God to be reconsidered.

How far have we strayed from these perceptions?

How jaded have we become to God’s beautiful magnificence?

Speaking from my own experiences, I can personally admit that I am guilty of becoming hardened to God’s brilliance. I use to go days without acknowledging that Nature could be anything more than a pest, months ignoring the beauty that’s expressed through every blade of grass and tree leaf, and I would go years without ever acknowledging God’s hand in all of it. According to the opening chapters of the Bible, God created the Heavens and the Earth with just a mere breath. Through mere words God created the 343 quintillion gallons of water in the oceans, the 57 million square miles of land in the world, the 9 different planets in our galaxy, and the millions of Galaxies still waiting to be discovered. These entire things he created through the power of speech. What can your voice do? You see from the highest mountains to the deepest depths of the sea, God’s presence marks nature, and yet our world seems to ignore it. The reason I sighed on Sunday was because I realized that we take these signs- the wonders made for us to delight in and marvel at- for granted. We take God’s power for granted.  Would we notice if the stars failed to shine tonight as we sit indoors? Would the absence of the stars detract from the glow upon our faces caused by our computer screens?

So as I sit here and write this I encouraged you to enter a state of reflection and ponder over the last time you acknowledged the beauty of nature or the magnificence of God.

I challenge you to let out a starry sigh.

I'm sorry, Since when has American Christianity been found in the Bible?

Viewer discretion advised.

                The following message depicts the sad and scathing truth from the perspective of an 18 year old whose eyes have been forcefully opened to the pitiful irony of being an “American Christian”. If you are afraid of stepping out of your turtle shell of comfort, or dislike the times of change, I strongly encourage you to go cling, like Linus van Pelt, to your blanket of familiarity.

                I have come to a sorrowful conclusion today, a very sorrowful conclusion indeed. Now don’t get me wrong, it just didn’t dawn on me today; I always knew deep down somewhere that it was true, but then again I also always wished that maybe it was some giant myth to the same notoriety as Zeus. However, and it pains me deeply to say this, it seems that the pseudo-Christian transition is in full swing. Let me pause for a moment to explain what I mean by pseudo-Christianity before I continue onto how my bubble of naivety was popped by the cruel world.

                This term can be explained by exactly what it says; False-Christian. A pseudo-Christian is one who claims to be a follower of Christ, but could not be further from Him; someone who proclaims to know Jesus with their mouths but their actions speak far from it; and someone who believes that they believe they are Christian , but in fact are chasing after their own American forged idols in the dark. You see somewhere, somehow, someway it seems to me that American Christianity has put down their crosses, laid down their Bibles, cast away their Savior, and instead have used the umbrella term to hide themselves from the searing sun.

 A prime, fitting example, seeing as I’m writing under the Waco stars, would be David Koresh. For those of you who don’t know, in a very streamlined summary David Koresh was the leader of the Branch Davidian’s, a religious cult who under the name of Jesus Christ, committed the murders of others and themselves via burning in an inferno of flames. Basically David Koresh claimed to follow Christianity, and yet simultaneously claimed to be the final prophet, and the one who would father the Chosen One. However, a simple look into the majority of the books in the New Testament quickly testifies to his falsehood. Mr. Koresh masqueraded as a Christian, but yet his actions can be considered anti-Christ (not as in the Anti-Christ, but merely as someone who does things against the teachings of Christianity).

In a way, and I know this will stir up some disagreements, most modern day Christians are the David Koresh’s of our generation. Sure we may not form cults elevating ourselves to Christ, but do our actions, and I mean true actions, place us any closer to God than Koresh’s did?  

And my friends, this leads me back to my point.

As Christians, we have been given the titles of “hypocritical” and “judgmental” and truth being told we wear these crowns magnificently. You see instead of loving one another, we fiercely examine our brothers and sisters like they are ants under a magnifying glass. Our scorching eyes pierce all of their actions making them feel naked, exposed, and undignified. We are quick to scrutinize and critique every single flaw, every single mistake they make and yet all the while ignore the massive log of imperfections that blind our own eyes. We honor and “ follow” Jesus as long has what he says follows us. At the slightest notion of an inconvenience or an awkward situation we take off running faster than the roadrunner.

My experiences today confirmed these heart wrenching claims

It was almost exactly 12 hours ago that I pulled into the parking lot outside my Residence Hall; nearly 12 hours ago when I spotted a man that quickly caught my attention; and about 12 hours ago when my heart broke.

As I got out of my car I was confronted with a peculiar situation. Across the street from me there was this elderly gentleman dressed in a suit and tie combo. However what caught my attention was the way in which he was walking and acting. He walked with a cross between a gait, a limp, and baby steps. Inch by inch he inched forward, as if keeping rhythm with some unknown snare drum.  Even more unusual than his walking technique though was the way in which he nearly collapsed onto every object that he walked past. I promise, from my very own eyes, that it looked as if he could be blind, or at the least reminded me of a man nearly collapsing out of fatigue. Before I could traverse the busy intersection, nearly 20 people, ranging from runners to fellow recent church attendee’s, passed him  by without even so much as a glimpse back. To them he must have of been as invisible as Casper, because no one took enough time to stop and ask if he was ok. To my dismay the situation only became more depressing as I got within ear shot of the man, seeing as his wails resounded like a wounded animal. By the time I reached where he was attempting to walk, I could see tears gushing out from under his black sunglasses; the drool dabbling down his chin; and the extreme anguish that he was currently in. To keep a long story from being even longer, the man, named Ron, told me through choking sobs, that I was the only person in his 30 block walk to stop and ask what the matter was with him. 30 BLOCKS! For 30 blocks this man, who was well into his late 60’s limped along with a high ankle sprain (as I later found out), and out of his hour and a half walk I was the only one who stopped to offer assistance. There were over 20 people who passed him by in the time it took me to walk across an intersection. Think of how many must of stepped around, or should I say on him as he made his long and lonely 31 block walk. Ron only wanted to go return a book he borrowed from a member of his church and promised to give back. For crying out loud he just wanted to be a man of his word! Baylor is a Christian campus (and I know this does not insinuate that everyone on campus is a devout follower of Christ, but you would think that somewhere in our deep traditions of Christianity, we would have bred at least ONE Good Samaritan).

But alas my intervention with Ron, taught me that just because you claim to be a follower of Christ, does not make you a Godly individual. Jesus himself warns against those that claim Christianity with their tongues but deny him with their actions when he tells the story of the Good Samaritan, in which only the one viewed as lowly as a dog, stopped and tended a man who had been mugged.

In America it seems that the current Generation Me has been named for a reason. We spend our lives hanging out with friends who can serve us in some way; trying to aggrandize our wealth and horde the comforts that come with; and of course seeking the safety of personal security, whether it be professional, socioeconomic or personal. We spend our days working a 9-5, coming home, kicking off our shoes, and go into a vegetative state of TV watching, sleeping, and eating till it’s time to rinse, lather, repeat. This is how we spend our time; this is how we waste our lives. We spend more time sitting than we do standing, and more time lying down than we do running.

Bottom line is that we love our comfort and abhor anything that attempts to snatch that away from us.

But is this how we, who claim to be Christians, live?  Are we suppose to retreat from opportunities to reach out and help, love, and build relationships with each other? Have we become Hermit Crabs? No. Are we encouraged in any way throughout the Bible to ignore a man wailing and limping in the streets? No! And yet we do. How dare someone ask us to crawl out from under our comfort blankets? How dare someone else’s situations put our own plans on hold? How dare someone else require our assistance when we have our Football game to watch? This is what our faith has come to, this is American Christianity.

I did not forfeit my time to criticize or critique anyone. It was not my intentions to call anybody out. My intentions were simple, and yet I seriously doubt anyone will adhere. I simply wished to poke the bears with a stick, get you riled up, in the chances that maybe just maybe one of you will rise up, and become the selfless, caring, compassionate Christian that is found in many of your gold leafed paper weights.

So what say you; will you cast off the chains of American Christianity and take on a new mold, a mold modeled after the One who sacrificed not only his comfort zones but His life?

What say you?

Armed with a pen, a whim, and a desire to win

As I sat entranced by the screen and enveloped by the embrace of a red bean bag, I was reminded of one of my favorite quotes and reminded again why it was so prolific. Many of you know this quote, and almost as many can instantly tell me the movie that it was in, the actor that spoke it, and the exact time in the 155 minutes in which the scene took place. I myself have heard this quote a thousand times, and have loved it even more.

I do not wish to spend hours painting you a canvas of colors, setting the stage for why this quote was given. I do not desire to even attempt to, for I know that mere words cannot capture the essence of the scene. But I do long to help you experience the same fluttering of heart, the same swelling of pride, and the same overwhelming joy that I sensed as the thousands of pixels swirled and blended together revealing the image of Russell Crowe standing triumphantly inside the Coliseum.

                “My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius, commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions, loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius. Father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife. And I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next.”

Upon hearing these sentences fall defiantly off Russell Crowe’s lips my mind instantly went silent (and for anyone who knows me this is a task that even Hercules couldn’t conquer).  What was so powerful about this quote? What elements in it caused it to reverberate off the tongues of boys everywhere? What caused my mind to come crashing into a halt?

The answer is simple: this quote from the movie The Gladiator struck the very chord of human nature: Everybody is fighting for something.

You see the Gladiator is far more than fancy cinematography and action shots; far more than a series of battles and blood baths; and far more than the classic “hero saves the day” movie. No. In the midst of the battles lies the heart of the movie that no man could ever stop: reasons to fight. Inside the scenes of life and death beats the very heart that embodies the very quintessence of our being. Russell Crowe’s character is in a perpetual state of combat. Fighting for vengeance against the murderer of his beloved wife and son, and for this we love him; for we too find ourselves strapped into the same, worn out sandals as Maximus Meridius.

Sure, we may not find ourselves face to face outnumbered by Roman soldiers, but we do find ourselves fighting against an array of things ranging from declaring war on make-believe enemies to spearheading our first love. Truth is that even though we often don’t win, we love to fight. Our hearts crave combat. If you don’t believe me, or disagree, I challenge you to look into the last year of your life and name the most significant thing that occurred. Could it be the promotion you valiantly strived so hard to win? Is it the victory of a long, fought battle for your significant other’s heart manifested through your wedding vows? Or on a dreary note, was it the death of a lifelong friend who lost their fight against cancer? If you still don’t believe me, then look into the eyes of the untainted little boy, and watch as they speak volumes. Growing up my favorite past time was always discovering new adventures with my friends. Nothing could beat the thrill of diving headfirst into a land of imagination, and emerging at the end of the day as victoriously as men coming home from war. In a land devoid of adult constraints, our imaginations and our human nature can be unveiled, unfettered, and above all else understood. And in these lands of simple adolescence, we find our longing desires to fight. From our fist fights as children, to our wounds occurred through love as teenagers, to our struggle to keep our heads above the economic plight of 2010 as adults, we find ourselves eating, breathing, and sleeping combat.

However, the discovery that we all are in a constant state of battle was not as revealing to me as to why we love the thrill of warfare, and why we find ourselves so entranced by movies that portray this sense of conflict.

Simply put it’s what we are made for.

Whether you believe in the existence of a God (as I do), or you chose to believe in the science ordained way of Macroevolution and descent via modification, we were made to fight; we were made to be in the trenches as opposed to the folds of our couches.

  As theist, particularly Christians, we believe that when we’re born we are thrust into a spiritual battlefield where “the enemy prowls around like a roaring lion” waiting for the chance to devour us. Furthermore, we are called to arms to fight for the advancement of God’s Kingdom, and thus conquer our fears, failures, and closet skeletons that attempt to impede our freedom.

As proponents of macroevolutions you believe that the only reason we are here is because we have successfully out matched, out maneuvered, and out survived all other organisms, and now rule as kings of the urban jungles.

Whichever path you claim to follow, you cannot deny that there is something inherently alluring about the prospect of battle. That’s why our stories are fueled by conflicts and resolutions and our movies by heroic acts of defeating all odds. There is something intriguing about the way that the sun glints off swords and shields, something that sets our eyes ablaze. There is something grained deep inside of us that calls us, that demands us, to fight.

Which brings me to my last question: are you going to sit on the sidelines in the safety of your couch and only watch fictional displays of heroism, or will you gather your courage, discover your heart, and answer the call to join the front lines?

After all “what we do in this life echoes in all of eternity.”

Razed Hopes

You spend all of these hours hoping you made a change,

but then their actions expel your hopes,

and it begins to rain.

The light you provided slowly starts to fade.

Everything you created was never even made.

All that time invested quickly slips away,

through your fingers she falls

you thought she'd never sway.

But the winds of the world blew her far far away,

and now she is even worse than that very first day.

The very first day when time seemed to stand still

that encounter you had couldn't have been real.

Too magical, too spiritual, too great of a conversation,

she claimed to gladly forgo all of her former hesitation.

Recklessly she said she would plunge into God's love,

Signs were all right there must have been hands from above,

but in a flash, in an instant, it all disappeared,

leaving you hopeless, disappointed, and streaming down tears.

She had SO much potential. I wish that she could see,

but the things of the world mar her Divine beauty.

Christ is calling, crying, screaming out her name,

but she's been spiritually crippled,

and now she lays lame.