Santa is bringing a Glock

Well, I agree with everything Jen has to say HERE on principle, but I’d like to offer a dad’s perspective...maybe my coffee had an extra sprinkle of ornery in it today…may.be.

I’m pretty sure that Santa is real. Hold on a minute! I’m being serious. I’ve seen him lots of times. I’ve seen art, movies, TV programs, and all sorts of advertisements offering empirical proof of his existence. Besides, I WANT to believe there is a Santa with elves and reindeer and metrosexual fur-topped boots and super-high levels of aggression towards misbehaving children (lump of coal—that’s c.o.l.d.)

I’m just gonna throw this out there and then run from it like softball-pitching a grenade into a small closet—the Santa conspiracy might not have influenced Christianity as much as Christians have inspired it’s nuanced form of our faith. Take away the red jacket, sleigh, and ridiculously frigid base of operations and you have a gray (or is it grey, I can never decide) bearded deity with minions of angels seeking to reward or punish at one specific time based upon external behavioral criteria (which seems to be situational at best) and you have discovered the fundamental belief structure of your “average” mainstream Christian. Take that for what it’s worth…

I want to talk about my dismay and (sometimes) outrage when we Christians decide to dress Santa up with a robe and sandals so that we can understand God. I want to talk about how inconsequential these conspiracies are in light of a robust faith focused on a God that transcends behavior, politics, sexual persuasions, economic status, et al.

I know that Santa exists. He exists as our God analogue. He exists as our watered-down version of I AM.

My 6 year old daughter has been asking me almost every day whether or not Santa is real.

I’ve told her that it’s up to each person to decide whether or not Santa is real. That it’s okay for one person to believe and another to disbelieve. That we respect the believers as well as the unbelievers.

Before you start throwing Bibles and Hymnals let me just say that what I’ve done with Santa in this situation is lump him with the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy as a nonstarter. In effect, I’m encouraging her to test out her own beliefs and discover those that bear-out under scrutiny. My belief is that someday we’ll be able to discuss how Santa failed her while Jesus did not. My hope is that instead of Santa being her God analogue, as he was to me, that together we’ll be able to ponder all the ways that Santa is the antithesis of God—that sovereignty cannot be usurped by consumerism, greed, or behavior modification.

I believe in Santa. I’m trying not to, but I’ve been programmed to relate to God the same way that I relate to Santa. It’s in my Christian DNA. I’m gonna keep modeling benevolence, gratitude, respect, and forgiveness in order to “earn jewels for my crown” (can’t even type that without a grimace on my face). I’m gonna keep the discussion open with my daughter about all of the fairies, ghosts, unicorns, and magic of the world. I’m not ready yet to share with her all of the ways that culture is waiting to mug her and steal her innocence and sense of security.

I AM ready to guide her through this maze of BS we’ve inherited instead of squawking at her via a bullhorn from the observational perch.

Now…I know that Jen Hatmaker is absolutely right. None of what I’ve said here is a contradiction or challenge of her blog post. I’ve only recently met Jen, but to meet her is to know that she is a FIERCE momma. And not just with her own kiddos, but with anyone that crosses her path. I find confidence in knowing that a radical like Jen is out there cutting the path for those of us trying to discover our own radical voices.

Maybe I felt a little convicted by her post. I must have felt something because it stuck with me since yesterday.

Call it a contradiction if you want or even hypocrisy if you like, but I’m writing this while sitting 12” from our Christmas tree across the room from our ornately decorated fireplace mantel and listening to Rat Pack Christmas songs via Pandora.

My point? I may have lost it. No, there it is…

I’m far more fearful of trying to define truth for my daughter as she grows up and being found wrong than I am of acting as her consigliere vis-à-vis truth.  

See, dads let the kid hammer nails into a board knowing that eventually there will be a thumb that gets in the way. We’re not evil. We’re just not Mom. And, “for Santa’s sake, don’t tell Mom I let you ride around the block on the back of the Harley or Christmas is cancelled this year and you’ll be WISHING you’d gotten a lump of coal.”

I’m hoping for additional cash this Christmas because I’ve been saving up for a new Glock. How do you even begin to explain THAT to a Jen Hatmaker? It’s impossible! I guess I’ll go back to being radical after the holidays. It’s been a rough year. Forgive me for letting my guard down at this time of year. I’m still trying to figure out why God looks like Santa in a robe to me with the voice of Dean Martin. It’s a very confusing and childlike time of year for me.

Oh, and I always visualize Indiana Jones as the “elf” sent to deliver the lumps of coal…what’s that about!!!

After The Event

Some people move into our lives and quickly go.

Some people stay for a while and move our souls to dance.

They awaken us to a new understanding, leaving their footprints in our hearts,

And we are never the same.

~ Author Unknown

These words were printed on the back of our shirts. As helpers at the event, we all wore red short sleeve t-shirts with gold lettering. On the front of the shirts was a banner design with the words—Sarah Fest, Family, Friends, and the phrase “Fajita Cookoff, Benefit, and Bike Show.”

I was there as a guest of my sister. She’d asked me to come up for the event to help enroll people in the bike show and be available for various “grunt work” that might need the expert handling of a “grunt work expert.”

Since I’m a sucker for anything my little Sis asks me to do a charitable cause, I agreed and decided to ride the Harley up to Lubbock for the event on Oct. 1, 2011.

I dig bike events. I’m a fajita connoisseur. And I’m always up for a fundraiser when a worthy cause is involved—this cause seemed uniquely worthy.

At the time of the fundraiser Sarah was 28 years old. She had two babies, ages 4 years and 8 months.

Sarah had been diagnosed with cervical cancer 6 days after marrying John Perez on October 9, 2010. By the time of Sarah Fest the cancer had moved to her right lung. Since that time it’s been found in her liver as well. Please read more here.

It doesn’t get any more worthy than that!

What really made this event special to me was the level of talent, dedication, planning, and respect that went into putting it together. This wasn’t an organized charitable organization with experienced volunteers. This wasn’t a local church rallying around the family. This wasn’t a group of civic leaders pulling together support from the community to honor these folks. This was an event initiated, sponsored, supported, and facilitated by an outlaw biker group known as The Bandidos.

However, Sarah Fest was specifically advertised as “open to all”. In other words, The Bandidos operated the event for Sarah and her family without labeling it as their event. They graciously stepped aside and pushed the Perez family out front as an offering of honor and support.

There was a bike show (My FXDL won first place in the “I Just Ride It” class). There was a dunking booth. There were grills cranking out delicious varieties of fajitas. There was an auction. There was an outdoor stage for the band. There was a raffle.

The food was donated. The shirts were donated. The venue was donated. The golf cart to carry Sarah around from one end of the event to the other was donated. It was all top-shelf and carried out with the fervency and enthusiasm of people taking direct ownership of this event. Every person I encountered working this event, cooking fajitas, being dunked in the booth, and overseeing each area seemed vested in the success of Sarah Fest.

More than a dozen area mc’s (motorcycle clubs) from as far as 200 miles away rode in to support Sarah and her family. Groups showed up with envelopes of money collected from those that couldn’t attend. Unknown motorcycle riders travelling down the highway nearby were waved in and asked to join the festivities. Music pumped out of the PA system. Kids threw balls at the target trying to dunk friends and family into the murky water of the big tank. Items donated for the auction were scoured over and hasty mental notes made about how much was going to be bid for specific items.

Folks bought entry into the bike show and then paid for each vote that they cast. Others paid money to name the person they wanted to have sit on the dunk tank seat while the targeted person was allowed to offer money to buy their way out of the tank. Raffle tickets were sold. Tickets for each fajita plate were sold. Tickets for beverages were sold.

All day long men and women in red and gold shirts directed incomers to available parking, hustled supplies, ran messages back and forth, administered complex events, and poured themselves into the event we called Sarah Fest.

But not one volunteer that entire day exhibited any noticeable tendency towards a selfish agenda. No one that I watched ever tried to share any of the spotlight. No one I was ever near seemed the least bit interested in listing all the ways in which they were giving of themselves to ensure the success of Sarah Fest. People just served—plain and simple—they just did what had to be done and reflected any appreciation people tried to give them toward Sarah and her family.

It was a day that defined BENEVOLENCE.

Respect, honor, loyalty, and love—you can say what you like about The Bandidos, but you cannot say that they don’t live these things out at a level outshining most of the folks who would never attend an event like Sarah Fest.

See, we get so caught up in the mechanics of the thing. We worry about the perception of others that might associate us with “those folks.” We forget that the ends to the means is to provide more than just money…it’s to provide a fleck of hope to a dying woman and her family. It’s the kind of hope that assures a dying mom that her children will be loved by a larger community of folks than she’d ever dreamed possible. The hope that her babies will grow up in an environment where the REAL things that matter will be modeled for them and that they will grow up knowing that to love means to serve and to serve means to be willing to die in place of even when the situation seems without any hope at all.

Through Sarah’s suffering she had given us all the opportunity to come together for a common cause. She has given us all one of those magically rare moments to experience each other’s appreciation for life, suffering, and resolute commitment. Sarah’s illness has given all of us the impeccable glimpse beyond one another’s tats, patches, political convictions, and social biases. Sarah gives US hope that we are not all as selfish as we pretend to be most of the time. Sarah reminds US of our respect, honor, loyalty, and love for one another. Sarah needed to remind us of these things because we are being left as caretakers of her babies. Sarah needed to make sure that we have our shit together before she trusts us to look after her family once she is gone.

Thanks, Sarah.

We won’t let you down.

We’ll look after your family.

We’ll look after our own families.

We’ll remember that the dunk tank is NOT what life is about.

We’ll remember that the music, food, laughter, and love of one another are what life is REALLY about.

---

Some people move into our lives and quickly go.

Some people stay for a while and move our souls to dance.

They awaken us to a new understanding, leaving their footprints in our hearts,

And we are never the same.

~ Author Unknown

If you are interested in supporting the Sarah Perez Memorial Fund, please let me know and I can get you the necessary information.

I'm not trying to redefine anyone's definition of "MISSIONS" with this post. I just wanted to show what the flip-side of the coin looks like to me. One side is the Alaskan Funk--the other is After The Event. If this isn't an example of a successful STMission effort...I don't know what is.

What do you think?

The Alaskan Funk—Short Term Mission Gone…Meh…

Last week I spent 5 days in Alaska on a mission trip. Our goal was to finish up a lengthy punch list of projects intended to get part of the hosting church’s building closer to an initial building inspection. Stairs/handrails brought up to code—electrical conduit run—drop ceilings installed in kitchen areas—vent-a-hoods and exhaust fans installed—all the stuff that city inspectors and fire marshals require in order to operate any type of commercial facility.

10 men ranging from ages 20 to mid-60’s from South Texas flew 4200 miles (one way) to donate our construction skills and time in an effort to “advance the kingdom.”

I don’t really know what “advance the kingdom” means, but it seems like a good fit.

So, we’re fed three hearty meals a day at the church. We’re separated into groups of two or three to stay at different church member’s homes. And we’re only asked to do inside jobs because, let’s face it, we’re all from South Texas and this is Alaska in November…those things aren’t even close to the same.

The hospitality was fantastic. The food was delicious. The homes that we stayed in made us all feel like we were part of their families.

So, this is the part of the tale where we metaphorically land on the carrier and announce “mission accomplished.” This is where I’m supposed to talk about the bonds that we formed within the workgroup and what a wonderful experience we had enjoying the magnanimous hospitality of these wonderful Alaskans. This is where I’m supposed to thank God for the ability to go—serve—interact with folks that I might not have ever had the opportunity to share life with had it not been for this short term missionary opportunity.

After 4 days of contemplation and analyzing this trip, I find myself increasingly disillusioned. I know we went there to meet a need. I know we went there to offer help. I know we went there to minister to the needs of this small congregation. I know that we went there with all the right motives. I know that the work needed to be done to further their project toward completion. I know that it was all seasoned with the best of intentions and that we exceeded their expectations.

Why do I feel so funky about all of this?

Oh, wait! I know why I’m jacked up over this trip. It’s probably because over $4000 was spent on airfare to get us all there and back.

It has something to do with the fact that the part of the building we were doing work on was 12 years old and had never been occupied because of a lack of completion.

I’m certain it has something to do with the observations that this all took place near downtown Anchorage (not out in the wilderness) where there were 5 churches within a 3 block radius.

And…you know…if I’d known that these folks were potentially competing with the mission across the street instead of partnering with them…Oooo…let’s not go there.

Call me naïve, cynical, overtly zealous, or just plain stupid if you like, but here’s my analysis of the funk:

·         You partner with other churches in the area, thereby, developing long-term relationships with your neighbors to collectively meet the unique needs of the community that you share.

o   You DO NOT ask a group to front the bill for airfare in order to get free labor from men that you’ll never see again. It’s the missional equivalent of a “one night stand” (the term missionary position should be worked in here, but I’m not that clever).

·         You analyze the needs of the community and weigh out whether or not the facility you’re trying to complete has any tangible value in relationship to those needs. If not, you leave it be (it’s set for 12 years—couldn’t be that critical to the overall mission of this particular church).

o   You DO NOT prioritize the completion of a building which has never been used simply because “we have to finish what someone else started” or because someone in the congregation offers a large sum of money to facilitate the completion of a portion of the project.

·         You determine what the direction of your church is and how God intends to use it BEFORE you engage in costly renovations without any concrete ideas about what you’re going to do with this structure once it’s completed.

o   You DO NOT repeat the mantra, “someday God’s gonna give us some direction” or “once this is complete our mandate from God will become self-evident.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There was a crazy homeless guy that was around the place quite a bit. He was allowed to sleep in the church’s van and camp out inside the building sometimes while we were there. He was obviously deranged and easily agitated. He was tolerated, but never welcome. Most of the members of the church avoided eye contact and relied heavily on one or two people to control / direct the crazy homeless guy.

No one engaged him.

No one made eye contact with him.

No one gave any indication that he was present.

Everyone tightened up a little with fear when he was present.

Would $4000 and the attention of 10 Texans have made a meaningful impact in this man’s life? Probably not.

Would an institution devoted to feeding homeless folks like this man every week have benefitted from $4000 and the effort of 10 volunteers for a week? Most definitely.

Will the money, effort, and time consigned to this Alaskan church’s building ever be justified through service to the community? Well, at last check, no one seemed to have much of an idea.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Can we just cut through the BS?

Anchorage has a huge homeless population. Why in the hell are we riding the non-committal fence of “praying that God will lead us to understand what our unique mission is in this community?” FEED THE HUNGRY—not feed the overweight Texans.

You’ve got 20,000 ft² that hasn’t been used for anything other than a 12 year draw for mission groups from the lower 48? LET THE HOMELESS IN OUT OF THE COLD—not let the Texans avoid the cold with inside-only projects.

Anchorage seems to have as many churches as any small city in the Bible Belt. Why aren’t these churches working together for any other reason than to eliminate the $4000 captured by Delta and forgotten like it was just spare change found between the cushions of the pews? BE GOOD STEWARDS OF OUR BENEVOLENCE FUNDS—don’t waste it on frivolous self-affirming travel agendas.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

All the men and women involved with this endeavor were good people. They had good intentions. They probably feel very good about how it all turned out and the means by which it was carried out. There were good things that resulted from the trip.

But there are far greater needs in this world than the fixing of stairs and the running of conduit. It’s an appeal to the lowest common denominator. It’s a lazy way to serve and it’s an inefficient use of time, energy, and money.

It’s leveraging a nice destination in order to gain free labor. It’s fun, it’s somewhat beneficial, and it generates a good feeling among the participants. We exceeded their expectations because their expectations were too low.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Final shot of Bruce Almighty is a gradual close-up of a dirty homeless guy holding a sign. As the shot grows closer the man’s face begins to morph into the face of Morgan Freeman (who plays God). The visual message is that God IS the least of these. God IS the crazy homeless guy with a short fuse and a mean disposition.

How dare we ignore the crazy homeless guy! How dare we avoid eye contact with the dirty disenfranchised! How dare we heat a building for 12 years while the homeless sleep on park benches throughout the Alaskan winter which lasts a really long time! How dare we complain about the length of the flight or the width of the seat on the plane or the lack of leg room as long as God is hungry, cold, weak, and lonely!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Last week I spent 5 days in Alaska on a “mission” trip. Our goal was to finish up a lengthy punch list of projects intended to get part of the hosting church’s building closer to an initial inspection. Stairs/handrails brought up to code—electrical conduit run—drop ceilings installed in kitchen areas—vent-a-hoods and exhaust fans installed—all the stuff that city inspectors and fire marshals require in order to operate any type of commercial facility."

I’m ashamed that I ignored the homeless guy in order to work on a building.

I’m ashamed that I ignored God.

I’m ashamed and confused about what to do next.

Are we really meeting needs or are we nurturing our self?

Where do we go from here?

The Walker

The Walker: An Anonymous Blur on the Horizon

via Red Letter Christians

by Morf Morford

"Even though virtually all of us have seen him as he wanders relentlessly, day and night, across and beyond his home town, few know his name. 

Those of us who know him call him the Walker. That’s what he does. He is well over fifty years old and has not had an established home for years. 

His mail is delivered at the local rescue mission (where I used to work). 

He walks."

[Full Article and Comments] 

System Dynamics (4)

Occupy Wall Street, the Church, and the Apocalypse

"It’s not so much that the 1st world church isn’t busy with the tasks before it, but rather, what is before it is its own personal care. The church has become chaplain to itself rather than chaplain to the world. And I mean, world, in the Christian sense. It’s nourishing itself rather than nourishing those who are outside its fold. It has ignored a missional call, exchanging it for self care. 

We are taking care of those in the 1st world church who are unhappy in spite of wealth, stuck at jobs where they feel like a cog, suffering from diseases that are the result of a fast-paced lifestyle filled with unhealthy foods, stress, and environmental toxins, with minds crippled by the parade of consumer goods and unrealistic lives we watch on television to calm ourselves after a day that leaves us strangely unsatisfied. 

And are we nourished? Are we yet strong enough to act in nonviolence as the hands and feet of Christ in this world? Or are our muscles atrophied from disuse?"

Full Article