A repurposed Parable

Sarah, allow me to build upon your words.

Not long before I left Portland I found myself reading a small book in Powell�s dubbed Flight of the Hummingbird: A Parable for the Environment, a fun little book. After the parable it contained insights and advice from the Dalai Lama and Wangari Maathai, an environmental activist and leader from Kenya.

I don�t remember all that the Dalai Lama and Wangari Maathai had to say (don�t get me wrong, it was charming and to the point), but I do remember, almost verbatim, the parable about the hummingbird and the environment. Parables are funny little creatures sometimes. They stick to you like ticks stick to socks after a walk in the woods.

I got excited when I found the parable in video form. I, like Sarah, want to inspire change and not merely guilt. Here is the repurposed parable:

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Posted in: Earth,Eric Allen,Parable,recycling

repurposed

In the home goods section of most department stores, you can find generic plaques with inspirational words like, �Family�Love�Memories� written in fancy scroll.

The other day I was walking through a Target in Portland when I saw one of these cream-colored plaques with black cursive writing. Except instead of �Family�Love�Memories,� it said, �Reduce. Reuse. Recycle.�

Only in Portland does the word �Recycle� make it into artwork, I thought.

The plaque makes for a tacky decoration, but I appreciate the thoughtfulness behind it, especially since I�ve been thinking recently about a Christian�s response to consumerism. Living in Portland where values like stewardship, conservation, and frugality are widely practiced makes this endeavor easier.

When I first began thinking about the implications of my spending habits, my initial response was guilt. I felt very, very guilty about where I shopped, what I bought, and the wages that people were paid to produce these goods. And that�s where my response started and stopped. Just feeling guilty, about most things, most of the time.

And then I began to feel guilty about feeling guilty and it got really ugly.

I think guilt is a common response, especially for people who have been brought up in a punitive religious culture where feeling guilty seems to be the actual chief end of man.

The problem is that feeling guilty is not a helpful response to anything. If it doesn�t change your heart or your actions, what does it matter?

But then there�s conviction, which is the healthy alternative to guilt. Conviction recognizes that a behavior or an action has caused someone grief or harm, and this knowledge becomes the driving force for change.

Instead of being paralyzed by guilt, I�m trying to respond in practical ways to genuine conviction.

My best friend studied home economics in college, and she has been a great resource. She has useful insights into what it could look like to live out the concept that, �Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.�

We talked about clothes shopping, and she suggested that instead of getting brand new clothes from the store, I go to thrift stores and consignment shops to get things second-hand.

I bought a townhouse earlier this year, and we spent a long time brainstorming about the most responsible way to furnish my new home.

She suggested that I start furniture shopping at garage sales, thrift shops, or even antique stores. This practice is essentially recycling old furniture, which is environmentally responsible. And getting used furniture also means I�m not directly increasing the demand for new goods from stores who get their labor from cheap international factories.

We even had a conversation about the best way to dress the windows in my new place. �It�s smart to use curtains rather than blinds,� she said, �Because you can repurpose the fabric when you don�t need the curtains anymore.�

I�ve been trying to apply these principles over the past few months. And when I become convicted about another area of my life that could be more intentional, I call my friend and we brainstorm some more.

I think in our online community, the brainstorming needs to continue as we �spur one another on towards love and good deeds.�

And soon we may discover that it�s not just our curtains or our furniture or our clothes that are repurposed, but our minds and our hearts and our souls.

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Posted in: consumerism,recycling,stewardship

Please Don't Make Us Sing This Song

Hurricane Katrina, four years later. Video by The Work of the People. The music is from Songs from the Voice, Volume 1.

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Posted in: Hurricane Katrina,John Pattison,Waterdeep

Evangelical Myths

A couple months ago I started watching the television show �Northern Exposure� on DVD. �Northern Exposure,� which ran for six seasons on CBS starting in 1990, is set in the fictional town of Cicely, Alaska. One of the most fascinating themes of this quirky, funny, and sometimes deeply moving series is the way Cicely�s white and Indian residents co-exist in community. One of my favorite episodes in Season Four depicts the Thanksgiving celebration, which in Cicely has taken on elements of El D�a de los Muertos. Indians ambush whites on the street, pelting them with tomatoes � and then they hug, friends. The holiday culminates with a parade down main street with the Indians dressed as skeletons and spirits. Then everybody gathers at The Brick tavern for a community feast.

I�m in Season Five now, and an episode I watched yesterday corresponds nicely with something I�ve been struggling with re: "On the Narrow Road", my upcoming "evangelical pilgrimage" across the country. A recurring character in the show�s later seasons is a local shaman (he prefers the job description �healer� to �medicine man�) named Leonard. Since he is taking on more white patients, Leonard decides to do some research. He sets up a table in the community center and invites whites to come in and tell him their legends. One white man tells Leonard the story of Paul Bunyan. �How often do you think about that story?� Leonard asks (I�m paraphrasing). The man replies, �Oh, I haven�t thought about that story in years.� Other whites tell him campfire stories like the one about the man with the hook. But these stories aren�t what Leonard had in mind. Toward the end of the episode, Leonard is talking with the white DJ of the local radio station. �I�ve failed, Chris,� Leonard says with a defeated sigh. �I�ve failed to locate the white collective unconscious.�

I laughed out loud.

I read somewhere recently that many pilgrims will prepare for their journey by studying the stories, legends, songs, and myths of the land and people they plan to visit. This is one way I want to prepare for my own pilgrimage through evangelical America. But I feel a little like Leonard in that episode of �Northern Exposure.� I have failed so far to locate American evangelicalism�s collective unconscious.

What are the guiding myths, so to speak, of American evangelicals? Do we look to stories of the Puritans and the Piligrims (speaking of Thanksgiving), or to a particular interpretation of America�s founding? Does the Left Behind series qualify? Those stories do act as a symbolic representation of a meaning system � the beliefs, assumptions, and organizing principles � of a great many people in this country. What about �The Purpose Driven Life� or books by James Dobson? My sociologist friend Matt suggested I may have to approach these questions from a regional perspective � reading Jerry Falwell, for example, to better understand evangelicals in Virginia.

None of these are particularly satisfying, and I am starting to wonder if I am looking for something that doesn�t exist. Is American evangelicalism so individualistic that the only guiding myth that matters to the average evangelical is his or her own testimony (conversion story)? If this is true, what are the consequences for the movement? What does it mean that we don�t have stories to bind us together?

What do you think? Do American evangelicals have guiding myths? Does the shortage of these stories (if in fact there is a shortage) say something about the individualistic nature of evangelicalism? or about its regional and denominational complexity? I�m lost in a morass of questions.

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Posted in: Evangelicals,John Pattison,Northern Exposure,On the Narrow Road

The Image of God in Ted...

I remember, about a decade ago, interviewing for a ministry position and getting into a doctrinal discussion about the image of God in man, particularly debating the question of what extent the image of God resides in fallen humans. "None" was the right answer, according to the team across the table from me, steeped as they were in a strong reformed theology and doctrine of depravity. "Humanity lost any capacity at all to display the character of God when Adam aligned with Satan."
There it is. Simple. "Cut and dried" as they say. They quote some passages from Romans 3 that talk about none who do good, and how our righteousness is as filthy rags. Yes. I understand. I went to seminary.

The problem with this, it seems to me, is that it fails to take into account the profound respect that God has for all humanity in Genesis 9 where God says that human life is valuable precisely because we are made "in His image" - all of us. Fallen? Yes, tragically so, as each of our lives testifies in various ways. Yet, it's so often the case that, right there in the midst of our fallenness, we rise up for moments and align ourselves with God. Isn't Mozart's Requiem something that displays God's image, in spite of the drinking, gambling, and womenizing that characterized the composer? To declare that no unregenerate person displays the image of God in the face of evidence to the contrary seems tantamount to offering a mathematical explanation regarding why it's not raining while standing in the middle of a downpour; evidence to the contrary is everywhere, if we'll just pay attention.

All of this is the backdrop for my contention that, among politicians, Edward Kennedy displayed the glory of God's image more gloriously, and the tragedy of man's falleness more tragically, than most politicians who've graced the pages of history with their exploits.

The tragedy is easy to see. Chappaquiddick stands at the top of a sizable list of improprieties, leaving us with, at the very least, severe question marks regarding judgement and moral character. Christians will excoriate him for his treatment of Justice Bjork and his views on abortion. All this is true.

But there's another side to the man. In 1964 he was instrumental in passing the critical Civil Rights Act which has helped turn the ship of American history away from blatent racism towards egalitarianism. Kennedy's Immigration Act of 1965 sought to give non Europeans some sense of reality for the words that are inscribed at Ellis Island: Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breath free. If you're a woman and you played high school sports, it's because you had an advocate in Ted Kennedy. If you're disabled, and you have access to major buildings and sidewalks in your city, it's because of the efforts of Kennedy. If you're a senior citizen living on fixed income and thus receiving "Meals on Wheels", it's because Kennedy went to bat for you.

A constant advocate for the downtrodden, marginalized, and weak, I can't help but think of James definition of true religion when I think of Kennedy, which has to do with caring for widows and orphans in their distress.

You can argue the politics if you like, declaring the government shouldn't care about racism, or gender equality, or health care, that the extent of their 'intrusion' should be to pave our roads and provide an army, leaving us to fend for ourselves with the rest of life. You can point to his failures. But what you can't do is declare that he didn't "give a damn" about the least of these. As the church has, in recent years awakened to her calling to care for those who can't care for themselves, we've been reminded that caring for those on the margins is our calling precisely because such acts of mercy make the character of Christ visible.

Ted cared for the "least of these" and in so doing, displayed something of the image of God. This is not only a blessing, but a challenge. The challenge lies in our propensity to put black or white hats on everyone, presuming the unfallen to display only the character of Satan,and painting the saved in white because, as we like to say, we're "clothed in Christ".

It's all a bit too convenient. Reality forces us to wrestle with the truths that Samaritans, homosexuals, and political liberals, all manifest compassion, sometimes more visibly than the "saved". Maybe it's time for a little humility on our part, and a little gratitude, and a little openness to the possibility that there are those in this world who've not yet been born again who, nonetheless, display Christ's character at times. May we learn from them by their acts, and honor them.

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Portland Wins yet another Beer Game

I�m not a beer snob by any stretch of the imagination. The word �connoisseur� would get me laughed out of most circles. And get this, I wasn�t even allowed to drink in college. I attended a Bible college in the Midwest (it's a great school). But I love beer. And I'm finished with school so occasionally I enjoy a good one (okay, �occasionally� was a bad word choice).

I almost titled this �Portland Ruins yet another Mid-Western Beer Drinker.� And I very well could have because that�s what it did. The greatest city in the Northwest ruined me. And I'm here tell about it. It�s a tragic tale. It really is.

I recently moved from Portland back home to Missouri. A drastic and brave move if you ask me. This place is a real bore sometimes. Not much is shaking in the Midwest. Portland looms large in my heart. But this is home and I�ll embrace it nonetheless (at least for a few more weeks�I�m leaving for China very soon if all the paper work goes through). But this place is special to me. It holds all the familiar quirks and smells that I�m used to. I can�t abandon it just yet.

Out on the town I leaned in and asked the hearty blonde haired waitress with exaggerated curls and spritz perfume what she had on her beer menu and she replied most mysteriously, �Bud Light, Budweiser, Miller Lite, Miller High Life, Miller Genuine Draft, Busch, Busch Light, Coors, Coors Light, Pabst etc� I scratched my head and asked, �Corona?� She shook her head and said, �No.�

I don�t remember what I drank that night, and no not because I drank too much, but because it was awful. I am baffled. I really am. How did frat-boy light-beer win the Midwest beer game? I don't like it.

I am beginning to understand why most Christians in the Midwest demonize beer. Chalk it up, it's a taboo 'round them here parts. But it can't be because beer is evil. No, that�s foolishness. Drunkenness is evil. I believe we've ostracized beer in the Midwest because the only names that are known around here sound so much like Bud Light and Coors Light. If this is the case then I don�t blame you (Midwest) for your beer hating. I mean, you don�t know the other names. The better names. Here are a few . . . take notes: Deschutes, Widmer�s, BridgePort, McMenamins, Rogue, Full Sail, Henry Weinhard's.

And I haven�t even scratched the surface. I told you I wasn�t a snob. Somebody else please fill-in the blanks. But I promise you won�t hate beer anymore. Or at least you�ll hate the right beer for the right reasons. Proper hate is good. I'll let you hate Busch Light if you like Deschutes Black Butte Porter.

I cannot go back. I can�t possibly nurse a Miller Lite. And like that . . . Portland wins again.

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Posted in: Beer,Eric Allen,Midwest,Portland

back to school

Last night the air in Portland was crisp and cool, and this morning it rained. As I was sloshing to work in the rain, I realized that summer is almost over, which means that school is just about to begin. Which means, of course, that back to school shopping is in full swing.

I have never been a fan of back to school shopping. I have always thought of it as one of those contrived holidays meant to entice shoppers to flock to stores to spend their money on things they don�t need. Like shady salesmen who exhort you to celebrate President�s Day by buying a new king-sized mattress. It just hits me wrong.

Most shopping hits me wrong these days, actually. The emphasis on quantity rather than quality, the constant message that there�s something better than what you have, the idea that this purse or these shoes or this cologne is the missing piece that will make you feel complete�it�s all very empty.

I�ve been doing some thinking and reading and praying about consumerism lately. As part of this self-imposed research project, I watched a documentary called �What Would Jesus Buy?� It was produced by Morgan Spurlock, the guy who starred in �Supersize Me.�

�What Would Jesus Buy� was another, cheesier way of asking the questions I was wondering: What should my response be to consumerism? Where is my treasure? Where is my heart?

I bribed one of my friends with ice cream, and he agreed to watch the movie with me. The movie featured a man named Reverend Billy, who looks a lot like a blonde Elvis impersonator, and his back-up singers called the Church of Stop Shopping Gospel Choir.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, Reverend Billy and his choir toured the U.S. in a charter bus, stopping to proclaim on street corners and in churches that America should stop shopping so much.

If you think this sounds like the plot of a good movie, you�d be wrong. At one point, The Rev tries to get an audience at Wal-Mart�s headquarters, but the security guards won�t let him in. So in a fit of passion, he does a spread eagle onto the shrubs in front of the Wal-Mart sign. Nothing gets executives to think seriously about the implications of their business decisions like a lunatic jumping into their bushes.

So anyway, about half way through the movie I decided I would rather poke my eye out with a stick than keep watching it. I was about to turn it off when the producers turned the cameras off of The Rev and his antics, and onto a man who was an advocate for employees of overseas manufacturing companies.

The man was standing in his office with his arm around a slight adolescent Asian girl who, when asked what her life was like, looked blankly into the camera and replied through the translator, �I feel like I�m dying.�

I feel like I�m dying.

I looked at the clothes I was wearing, the furniture I was sitting on, the dishes I was eating from. Was it possible that my purchases had contributed to the outsourcing of labor to Asian children who felt like they were dying?

If money talks, what was mine saying? That instead of getting an education that would enable them to improve their earning potential and their quality of life, these children should be earning pennies a day in sweat shops so I can have my clothes a little cheaper?

Of course, this is a bigger problem than you or I can solve on our own. But maybe we could start with changing the way we approach clothes shopping this fall.

American kids aren�t the only ones who should be getting back to school.

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Posted in: child labor,consumerism,shopping

Colored Men

The speaker was Robert Bly. The evening was titled "Red, White, and Black." The topic was specific to men; there are some similarities to women, but maybe that's for another day. Here's the Reader's Digest version:

In their late teens, 20s, and early 30s, men should have a sense of "red" about them - a.k.a., blood. Whether they're feeling their oats or behaving full of piss and vinegar, this is knowing that if a fist fight is awaiting you, it's best to get the first hit. Most mothers hate to see their sons in "red."

In their mid30s up to around 60, men move into the "white." They've settled down a little and are very much a champion of "community." They'll organize groups to clean up the parks, serve on the school board, take the cub scouts fly-fishing, go to Father-Daughter balls, etc., etc. It can be a very productive season.

Past 60 and beyond, a man goes "black" - think Eastwood in Gran Torino; the old curmudgeon who growls and tell the neighbor kids, "Hey, punks, get the hell out of my azaleas!" He'll stand up in health care reform town hall meetings and get rowdy. He'll also tell the young emerging preacher to tuck his shirt in and nobody gives a whipple-eyed dingleberry about the monastics.

Bly held fast to these colors; he supported his beliefs with the weight of man-history. There was obviously much elaboration; one point I'll mention. Bly spoke directly to men who considered themselves Christian: "You skip the red and go straight to white because that's who you think Jesus wants you to be and then wonder why you're so mad in your late 30s/early 40s...it's so unfair; everybody expects you to be white as snow from beginning to end. The 'red' doesn't go away; it has to be honored somehow, someway, sometime."

Bly's not God; he'd be the first to tell you that. And yes, these colors could be seen as limiting, possibly even constricting because 50 is the new 30, blah, blah, pa, ma. And if you should go looking for scriptural chapters and verses that speak of the red, white, and black, well, let me go ahead and tell you you'll be disappointed; oh, I believe they're there, but you can't find them via Bible Gateway. But I also believe the old poet said much that is true, especially about "red."

Men, you may not agree with this, but something deep inside tells me you may believe it.

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Posted in: Anger,Men's Issues,Robert Bly

Church Hopping: Monastery of St. Ephraim of Mount Amomon

As I write this, the worse fires to ravage Greece since 2007 are blazing through the northern suburbs of Athens. I�ve been following developments closely. This is more than a morbid curiosity. My brother goes to college in Athens. From the news reports, I�ve gathered that although the fires rage on, they haven�t reached the city proper. They have, however, forced at least one monastery in Attica, the region that contains Athens, to be evacuated, according to this story from the AP:

A Greek monastery clanged its bells in warning Monday as an out-of-control wildfire raced down a mountainside, elderly nuns were evacuated from its threatened convent and the remains of Saint Ephrem were removed to a safer location.

At the Saint Ephrem* Monastery near Nea Makri, north of Athens, buildings were silhouetted against a red sky lit up by the glow of nearby wildfires. Workers shoveled sand and sprayed areas with limp garden hoses in apparently fruitless attempts to battle the inferno.

"The flames were 30 meters (100 feet) high," said one of the dozen nuns evacuated, wearing a black habit and a surgical mask to ward off the smoke and grit. "Thankfully they came and rescued us."

This story piqued my interest. While mopeds, taxis, and subway trains whiz through Athens, much of the rest of the country, with its small, antiquated villages, seems to have remained untouched by the hustle-and-bustle of modern-day life. If one ever needed a retreat from civilization, Greece would be an ideal place to escape to. Tiny monasteries dot the mountainous landscape of the Orthodox country.

One such hermetic abode is the Monastery of St. Ephraim* of Mount Amomon. The closest city to the monastery is Nea Makri, which is one of the areas the famous Marathon race passes through. Just northeast of Athens, Nea Makri is considered prime property, which is why many are blaming the current crop of fires on arsonists who want to free up the land for development. Nestled near the forests of the Panteli Mountains, at Mount Ammon, and in a dry area akin to California, it�s no wonder the fires are rapidly spreading.

The Monastery of St. Ephraim of Mount Amomon is reportedly one of the oldest in Attica. It used to be a place where priests and religious followers could come and pray. Although the Turkish Empire, which practiced shamanism and then followed the Muslim religion, was generally thought to be tolerant of Greek Orthodoxy, during the Ottoman rule, a group of barbarians attacked the monastery.

One of the people said to have been killed at the monastery was St. Ephraim. He was born on September 14, 1384, in Trikala, Thessalia, as Konstantionos Morphes. He moved to the monastery in Attica, taking on the name Ephraim. He survived one attack on the monastery, but in September 1425 was captured and tortured for eight months. He was hanged on a mulberry tree outside the monastery on May 5, 1426. These exact details come to us through Makeria Desipri, a nun who dreamed them in 1950. A body believed to be his was consequently found on Mount Amomon, and kept as a relic. The Synod of the Orthodox Church in Greece declared him a saint, but since there are no historical sources to verify the account dreamt by the nun, Ephraim�s saint status is controversial. It has yet to be approved by the Patriarch of Constantinople.

His remains, however, are still considered holy and were transported to safety during the fires that are currently ablaze.

[Photo of remains of Ephraim via Orthodox Wiki]

If you are looking for Ephraim in art, note that he is remembered through iconography as having a black beard and wearing a black robe.

[Image of St. Ephraim, donning blue instead of his customary black, via Uncut Mountain Supply]

The monastery was destroyed during the Ottoman Empire, but has since been re-erected. Today, many Orthodox believers pilgrimage to the site. (For information on tours, visit Premier Taxi or VIP Taxi.) Prior to the fires, the monastery was most recently in the news in 2005 when the bishop of Attica and the nuns of the monastery accused each other of embezzling pilgrim's donations.

[Photo of monastery via Premier Taxi]

Unlike houses of worship, which are built to inspire awe of God, St. Ephraim Monastery is humbly made, probably as a means to promote the nuns� efforts to live modestly and without distraction. The monastery is built of rough stone. It reminds us that none of us, not even nuns, are perfect. We are coarse and jagged, but God allows us to come as we are, and uses us despite our imperfections. That no two stones are alike also reminds us that no two people are alike. Each of us, even if we dress uniformly in a habit, are unique. Still, we come together, like these stones, to build up the body of the church.

[Photo of monastery via VIP Taxi]

Typical of Greek Orthodox cathedrals, the monastery features a domed roof. This architectural feature is designed to make God feel close, as it encircles the viewer.

There is much shrubbery around the monastery. The mulberry tree on which Ephraim was believed to have been hanged is on view within the confines of the monastery.

[Photo of mulberry tree via Orthodox Wiki]

*The reports indicate that the monastery is question is affiliated with Saint Ephrem, however the only monastery in Nea Makri I could find is affiliated with Saint Ephraim. Ephrem the Syrian was a hymn writer who died of natural causes in Edessa. The biography of Ephraim differs and is given above. If I have reported inaccurately which monastery was evacuated, please let me know.

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Posted in: Architecture,Art,Church Hopping,controversy,Saints,Stephanie Nikolopoulos

Meditations: Remembering Who We Are

The 1980�s spy thriller, The Bourne Identity opens with a mysterious man being plucked from the Mediterranean ocean by a fishing boat. He�s suffered several bullet wounds and a head trauma. The man is an amnesiac and doesn�t know his name or his history. He struggles to learn his identity, sifts through the evidence and concludes that he was an assassin. Over the course of three novels, Bourne faces countless dangers only to discover things were not what they seemed. He was not an assassin, but a government agent who had assumed a secret identity in order to hunt an assassin.

Bourne�s accident caused him to lose touch with who he really was and the results were costly.

I identify with Bourne�s character. I�m not a killing machine, or a spy, or particularly heroic. In recent months, I have lost touch with who I am�and like Bourne� I�ve paid a price. Let me explain.

A handful of weeks ago, my boss took me out to lunch and asked me if I was ready for a �small shift� in my job description. The last time my job �shifted� I took on the supervision of the youth and college ministries in addition to the children�s ministry. This time, Derek asked me to take on Sunday morning adult education. The ministry, in a plain speech, is in a state of disrepair: There are few teachers, no job descriptions, no policies, no training materials�and oh, just a handful of weeks before the Fall launch. Gratefully, Derek had already recruited a brilliant high capacity volunteer leader to be the point person for the ministry. Diane and I have been meeting weekly, racing against the clock so we could have a respectable Fall launch.

Supervising the youth ministry has taken more time than normal this Summer. And we�re migrating to a new database this Fall which meant extra training hours and prep time.

This Summer I�ve been doing children�s ministry on the back stroke. And if I�m going to be perfectly honest, it�s shown. Not having adequate time to recruit, we�ve gone into most weekends a few volunteers shy of a full complement. My �coaches� have borne the brunt of the burden and have spent too much time putting out fires.

And this week, it caught up with me. I began to wake up feeling high levels of anxiety. I found myself waking up on the edge of tears and fearful. A few evenings ago, Amy and I were having a disagreement and I completely over reacted. My anxiety levels were simply too high to work through a low grade conflict with any measure of emotional intelligence.

My blow up was enough to motivate me to call a college friend of mine who makes a living as a life coach. Lee asked me what the source of my fear was. I responded that I feared disappointing my coworkers and volunteers.

Lee probed deeper. Why did I fear that?

My answer surprised me. I�m afraid that apart from my performance that I have no value to my teams.

As soon as the words escaped my mouth I knew what my problem was. I had forgotten who I was. For a number of reasons, some healthy, some not, I�m a competitive, performance oriented person. It wasn�t until my college years that the light bulb clicked and I realized that my religious achievement didn�t impress God. God loved me� because he loved me. Grace is a tough concept for a type-A knucklehead to embrace.

And recently, in all my busyness, I forgot�again�who I was. I am not acceptable to God, and my community, because of my ability to perform as a good worker bee. My worth comes from being God�s creation and his child.

I�m immediately took a few action steps. I stopped by a coworker�s office and laid out all my cards on the table, even though I hate being weak. I did the same thing over lunch with one of my best friends and key volunteers. I also sat down in front of my calendar and protected key hours to be with God.

Immediately the fear and anxiety levels lowered. Sure, the Fall is still bearing down on me and I�m behind. But the fear of failure has lost some of its power.



I�m learning that the best Christian leaders, at their core, know who they are. They are children, God�s children. This knowledge drains much of the fear out of leadership. When I anchor my identify to my performance, I�ll actually play things a little safer. I can�t take real ministry risks because if I fall short, I lose (in my warped mind) personal value).

A �child leader� actually has the freedom to risk more. A leader who remembers that he or she is a child of God has the freedom to take real risk�Their Heavenly Father will catch them when they fall. Their peers love this leader, not for the achievement, but for whom God made them to be.

My prayer for you, and I, whether we are leading our own lives, or others, is to remember our identity in Christ, and to have the freedom to serve without fear.

"Our Father, Who art in Heaven..."

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Posted in: Fear

The Idiot Box: Sometimes You Wanna Go...To NOSTALGIA!

My love of opening credit sequences, especially at HBO, is well-documented (by me), but last night I was reminded of the greatest opening sequence of all-time.



Seriously, I defy you to find one better. Even "Wonder Years" falls short. I mean, isn't this nostalgia at its finest? The imagery captures the show's essence so purely, recalling how each character has, in a sense, always existed. It's difficult to watch, and hear those doo-wops, without a big fat grin breaking out.

(Even without Shelly Long, I feel this rendition is the best, primarily because it includes Frasier, yet still closes with .)

I'm open to other suggestions, though. Paste Magazine has a few, and seems to agree with me.

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Posted in: Jordan,Television,The Idiot Box