what i’m looking for

Sun, 3 Jan 2010 08:52:31 -0800

I’ve been reading a book by Soong-Chan Rah, called of all things, “The Next Evangelicalism.” Now that’s not generally a title that leaps off the shelf and grabs you by the collar, huh?. At least not for me. By contrast, some of the audiobooks I’ve listened to of late have been things like “Open,” Andre Agassi’s poignant autobiography ,or Malcolm Gladwell’s fascinating study, “What the Dog Saw and Other Adventures.” Truthfully, Rah’s book is part of the assigned reading for a doctoral class I am taking. Yippee!

But this book has turned out to be a real sleeper. A true dark horse. One of those, “Hey, don’t judge a book by its cover…err…title.” A much better name for Soong-Chan Rah’s writings would have been, “What Really Sucks About the White American Church.” I’m sure it would have sold a bunch more copies. Wouldn’t you agree that’s a whole lot sexier than “The Next Evangelicalism?”

Here’s why it’s been so hard for me to put this one down. It’s a very direct ‘no-holds barred’ commentary of American church culture and just how jacked up it’s become. Rah speaks of all the white folks that have fled to the suburbs the past twenty years to huddle in their safe, homogeneous mega- churches, where everyone looks like them and they are spoon-fed a steady diet of ‘it’s all about my needs’ theology.

Thankfully, the book also looks at what needs to change to move on into the future. If you haven’t noticed, much of the culture around us is rapidly changing, and as a nation, we are becoming less and less Caucasian. In fact, by the year 2050, it is predicted that white folks will be in the minority in America. Rah’s premise is that the American church needs to figure that out ASAP or suffer extinction.

One of the most fascinating concepts in Rah’s book is his distinction between the two types of culture – primary and secondary. Primary culture could be defined by such things as personal face to face interaction, lasting relationships with a smaller number of people involved and the intimacy that comes from interacting with each other. Primary culture is more often found in tribal cultures where most needs are predominately met through closer interpersonal relationships such as extended family and community. People in primary cultures tend to see their identity closely bound to the common life of the community they belong to. These then, become the most important circles of relationships in life. In fact, close interpersonal relationships are such a high priority in a primary culture because it’s actually the stuff that gives birth to true community. And what it brings with it much of the time is a great deal of security and certainty about the world around you. Things don’t change quickly in primary culture and that feels pretty dang good. People know who they are because a stable community helps to solidify their own identity. So ironically, primary culture, rather than having an individual focus, actually produces a much more stable person based upon the value of community.

By contrast, secondary culture is much the opposite – it finds its roots in the industrialized world, where most needs are attempted to be met by structures, institutions and organizations. Relationships shift from knowing someone closely to a kind of transactional exchange where we deal with people we rarely know, who supply us with the goods and services we desire. In other words, we go to the drive-through at Taco Bell. We talk to a machine. We tell it what we want. We drive to a window where there is a brief exchange. And off we go with our 12-layer burrito. We have what we want. It doesn’t matter to us that we’re not blood-brothers with the person who just took our money. We’ve got our burrito and that’s all that matters!

Welcome to the land of the secondary culture.
The place where we begin to view people for what they can do for us.
People become a means to an end. Things turn highly individualistic like, ‘What’s best for me, or my immediate family?’ Consequently, in American church culture, we see this running rampant. It’s like we have created a white, middle-class, suburban Frankenstein! Accordingly, people quickly move from church to church, not in search of a strong, primary community, but instead based upon their immediate desires or perceived needs. Like the person that says, ‘Sorry, we’re going to another church across town because they offer a discount for school tuition for families that attend their church.’ Really? What they are essentially saying is that the goods and services of this organization is of greater value at the present time than the desire or need for community. In other words, ‘I’m getting a better bang for my buck!’ Along those same lines, may God bless all those American Christians in their endless search for the cooler worship band, the deeper bible teacher, the more cutting-edge youth group, the better Disney-esque children’s ministry or the church across town with all the hot single chicks.

I’m sure you can see where this leads. Immediate gratification over long-term commitments kept usually never turns very pretty. What usually happens looks much like the child with rotted-out teeth who has consistently feasted on a sugar-heavy diet instead of simply eating what’s good for them.
The spiritual image of this would be akin to Jesus’ metaphor in the parable of the sower, specifically the shallow soil. A lot of excitement in the beginning but not a whole lot of fruit in the end. Because the trouble with living in a secondary culture is what happens over the long haul.

Isolation.

We become separated from the people we actually need the most in life, our community. The dilemma is that we’ve burned that primary bridge in search of trying to get our immediate needs met. It’s like the person that sacrifices everything long-term for that short-term fix. The sobering truth is that when we view people (or structures) as what we can gain from them, eventually we will run out of coupons.

All this to say that for me, Rah’s book has helped solidify my own personal value for community over consumption. Primary over secondary. Security and sustainability over goods and services. Intimacy over independence. At this point in my life, I know what I long for. I’m looking for something that’s not all about me.

Grace.

eight is enough!

Fri, 25 Dec 2009 11:15:17 -0800

Merry Christmas from the Diamonds and all the Christmas puppies!

Jesus Junk - sung to the tune of $4.6 Billion

Sat, 19 Dec 2009 14:19:48 -0800

Check out the USA Today article “Some in $4.6B Christian industry copy designs, logos”
http://www.usatoday.com/news/religion/2009-12-18-christian-copyright_N.htm

While much of this article is focused on copyright infringement of popular cultural icons, the thing that grabbed my attention was that Christians in our culture spend $4.6 billion dollars on what one person calls appropriately, “Jesus junk!”

Huh? Seriously?

Now, before I pick up my own stones, I can somewhat relate. When I first became a Christian way back in the 70’s, I loved to travel down to SoCal to one of the first mega-Christian bookstores, a place called ‘Maranatha Village.’ Later, my friends would lovingly refer to it as ‘Maranatha Pillage!’

Back then, we would buy up all kinds of Christian paraphernalia – t-shirts, bumper stickers (in those days, people would put their theology on the back of their cars), patches, bibles, books, pencils and an assortment of other goodies. It was the ultimate in Christian consumption. A kind of Toys-R-Us for Christians like us.
But honestly, it was no match for what 21st century, pseudo-Christian consumptive merchandise machine has to offer. Of course, that was long before the can’t live without, breath-freshening ‘Testamints’ would be offered at the local Christian bookstore. Wow, breath mints for believers! Who would have thunk it?

Eventually, I grew out of it. I stopped putting my entire theology on the bumper of my beat-up Ford Pinto. I stopped wearing Jesus t-shirts and writing with scripture pencils. I stopped wearing socks with scriptures on them. I quit eating Christian breakfast cereal. The truth is, I just got sick and tired of the way I saw faith in Christ being exploited for the sake of cash. I began to see the whole industry as very thin and shallow. As one person described it, it felt like a bunch of believers lined up at a spiritual 7-11 store waiting to refill their Christian Big Gulp with the latest flavor.

It reminds me of a few years back, when our team at Legacy was at a national leadership conference in Atlanta. Inside the large auditorium were over 10,000 of the faithful listening to speakers like Shane Claiborne.
Shane, who makes his own clothes, was extolling the value of living a life of simplicity. However, outside in the large circular exhibit area, were well over 200 Christian retailers hawking just about everything you can imagine, all stamped with some vague semblance of faith. It was ironic to me that as we stepped from Shane’s talk into the outer convention hall, people were lined up in droves jumping up and down, eager to catch free t-shirts being tossed into the crowd. I thought to myself, ‘Wait, what is wrong with this picture?’

The truth is that, bottom line – the Christian merchandizing industry has become mega-big business. It goes without saying something that cranks out $4.6 billion in yearly revenue is nothing to sneeze at. When we dig a bit deeper, we find that many of these large ‘Christian’ businesses have somewhere along the line have been bought up by secular companies who could give a rip about anything more than making a buck in Jesus’ name.

Personally, I’m not good with that.

I don’t shop at ‘Christian’ bookstores.

I boycott them.

I’m not saying anyone else should do this, but in my conscience, I am so judgmental when I go into one of those stores that it’s really not good for my own spiritual health. I cynically say things out loud to Denise at the register like, ‘Oh look honey, a Jesus teddy bear for only $24.99! Can we get one?’

Frankly, I hate when my wife gives me the death glare.

The question I have to ask myself is, ‘Isn’t there a better way to use our money to do good?’ Maybe a better question would be, ‘What do you buy for the American Christian that already has everything?’

Answer – nothing, nothing at all. You don’t buy them anything.

Here’s another - Do we really need to buy all this ‘Christian’ stuff? This Jesus junk?

Instead, as the scriptures declare, you ‘use your money to do good.’ The best way to live out our faith is to let our actions do our talking, not our Christian clothing or breath mints. It seems to have a much better impact on the culture we live in and will actually outlast that cheap t-shirt. I honestly don’t hear Jesus saying, ‘ I was hungry and thirsty, I was naked and lonely, and you spent $4.6 billion at Christian bookstores.’ Just a thought.

Grace.

Jesus in Disguise

Sat, 12 Dec 2009 09:49:29 -0800

Why does it seem like when God wants to do something new in our lives,
it always feels like he flies under the radar?

It’s as Isaiah spoke about, “Truly you are a God who hides himself.”

Mother Teresa once referred to it as ‘Jesus in disguise.’

God just seems to sneak up on us when we least expect it. And certainly in costumes that defy recognition.

He seems to play cat and mouse with us as the Scriptures describe his mysterious behavior,
“Look, I am doing a brand new thing; look it springs up, don’t you perceive it?”

In other words, when God wants to do something brand new in our lives, it is highly possible to miss it. For it to fly under our radar undetected.

For Jesus to walk in front of us completely in disguise.

Of course, at this time of year during the holiday season, a number of examples can come to mind, but one of the most obvious is the introduction of the Son of God into the world dressed up as a little baby, born to a unmarried pregnant teenager and her fiancé to be, who claims he isn’t really the baby daddy.

Adorned in the best God disguises, they are both poor, powerless and disregarded to the point that their infant son is delivered in a barn, complete with animal droppings and the wonderful earthly smells that accompany them. Most of us aren’t able to claim the same regal distinction when it comes to our own birth.

Christ the Savior is born – pretty much completely undetected to the civilized world around him. Except for a multitude of angels singing glory to God in the highest, a host of demons trying to kill the child and a few lowly shepherds, one of the greatest event in the history of the world went by with barely a whimper to the important big, bad world around it.

Jesus in disguise. One of God’s most effective and favorite tricks.

As I look back over this past year in my own life, it has been a year of watching God flying undetected under the radar. Of Jesus in disguise. It’s been kind of one of those ‘it just so happened’ things we see so much of in the scriptures. Do you know what I mean? Like it ‘just so happened’ that God put this one person here. And ‘it just so happened’ that this other person arrived at the same time. And ‘it just so happened’ that God had this hidden agenda that was working out according to his big plan…and presto change-o!

Going on a road trip to Tecate, Mexico last Spring with some of my guy pals is one example. We were there to look at the proposed site for an orphanage we were going to help construct. Bumping into a couple, who ‘it just so happened’ were about to donate a large amount of money to buy that land was one of those veiled venues for me this past year. This eventually led to a fundraiser in SoCal by this couple, that resulted in a check being presented to me for a quarter of a million dollars to be help build this orphanage.

Jesus in disguise.

The other masquerade moment has to be one of our terrific block parties we threw for refugees in May at the Royal Crest Apartments. We were just looking forward to another great time of bar-b-quing, giving out clothes and household items, handing out some snow cones in the early summer heat. What I was not expecting was for two young men to walk up and introduce themselves as refugees from Bhutan, arriving in our country just two weeks prior.
My brilliant response was, “Where’s Bhutan?” I know what you’re thinking – ‘Wow, Barry, you always have something profound to say at times like this!’

They began to unpack their amazing journey for me beginning with the fact that they had lived almost their entire lives in a refugee camp in Nepal. Welcome to fabulous Las Vegas! I’m sure it feels a lot like your previous home…

Little did I know that as we look back over this past year, we are now reaching out to almost 100 refugees and their families. We are laughing and loving and eating and sharing with our lives with them. And we are much richer for the experience. In fact, in my own spiritual journey, this has been one of the most fulfilling aspects of my entire adult life. It is real. It is genuine. It is tangible. It is life-giving. And it feels very much like the heart of God. It feels like if Jesus were here, this is where he would be. In the words of that great theologian and rock star Pink, “Who knew?”

I just love when he does stuff like that.

When he sneaks up on us, barely recognizable.
When he disguises himself.
When he flies under the radar.
When he hides himself

Jesus in disguise.

May we all look for God in the places we think we are most unlikely to find him.
Because, as we may discover, there he is, all dressed in the most unlikely of costume,
simply waiting for us to respond.

Grace.

Never trust your vet

Thu, 3 Dec 2009 13:41:34 -0800

‘I guess he ain’t shootin’ blanks!’ exclaimed our veterinarian,
as she examined Roxy a few weeks ago, our very pregnant chocolate Labrador Retriever.

In fact, the good doctor was really surprised that Samson, our yellow Lab and the alleged baby daddy, was able to get his game on at the sage old doggy age of 11.

‘I’d be surprised if the litter was any more than about six’, she continued, again bringing us back to the reality of the epoch of the proud father.

Because planning is everything, I devised a flawless strategy of tandem teamwork. Without a doubt, my wife Denise would deliver the pups. She was much more qualified, of course, being a seasoned trauma nurse for fifteen years. I knew I had nothing to worry about. And sacrificially, I would also do my part, being the information maven and the cheerleader, going online and downloading a ton of relevant canine info. In the process, I found out I needed to build a ‘whelping box,’ which I promptly did.

So there you have it. I had offered my contribution to the big event. Denise would be the midwife in charge, the Deliverer of the doggies. I would pace somewhere else in another room, and try not to get in the way. No sweat. Piece of cake.
Almost.
Except for a few minor details…

The trouble began when Roxy missed her Thanksgiving Day due date. Strangely enough, Denise was scheduled to go out of town the following week to visit an ailing relative. So you guessed it, Roxy promptly decided to have her litter a few hours after Denise’s plane left the ground. Somehow, I think they got together and planned all this. I mean they both are females. I’m even thinking about seeing if my wife really does have a sick relative in California named Uncle Bob.

So at approximately 1:30 in the morning, a time I am generally sleeping, Roxy decided to let the games begin. She started by doing a little doggie dance, clawing at the carpet and circling round and round, simultaneously running under the bed and panting. Even though this was my first litter, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was about to ensue. ‘I think this is it!’ I nervously said to myself.

So there I sat for the next couple of hours, watching Roxy go through her puppy prancing, thinking the time was eminent. At one point, she jumped up on the oversized green easy chair where I was patiently waiting, and parked her bulging 100-pound wide-body there. Then she jumped down and began her canine ritual again.

But this time, something was different. I thought I heard a faint little squeak. I looked over on the ottoman next to me and there lay something that resembled a little, wet, fresh out of the oven, newborn puppy! Oh my gosh! This is not how it’s supposed to happen! You’re supposed to be having them in the whelping box I specifically built for you. Don’t you know anything?! Haven’t you ever gone online and read up on this?!

Cursing Denise under my breath and only mildly freaking out, I gingerly took the puppy and placed it in the blanketed whelping box. Then I ran to my son Ryan’s room, flung open the door, flipped on his lights and calmly shouted, ‘Ryan, I need your help!’

And so the fun began. For the next several hours, about 6 to be exact, Ryan and I watched and mildly helped, as Roxy popped out one puppy after another. She was a freakin’ puppy factory! One, then another, then four in a row!

‘Okay, Roxy girl, there you have it. Remember, the vet said to stop at six? Good girl.’

For whatever reason, Roxy totally ignored me and the vet, and over the course of another few hours popped out a small puppy army. Ten to be exact.
What do vets know anyway?

You may be asking at this point, ‘So, how did you do?’
Well, I have to say, that after the first few were born, or maybe 5 or 6, I began to find myself becoming calmer and calmer. Maybe it was Ryan telling me repeatedly, ‘Dad, would you just relax!?’ Ok, so I’m not a trauma nurse. But I do know how to build a pretty mean whelping box.

So after a long night or a very early morning, around 9 am, the last of the litter came into the new world. Boy, was I exhausted. I felt like I had given birth ten times! This seemed even more stressful than having my own three kids, though my memory may have blocked that out because it was so many moons ago.

‘I guess he ain’t shootin’ blanks!’?

Uh no, not by a long shot.

But it was all worth it,
even though I’m still working through unforgiveness towards my wife.

And why?
Because Lab puppies are the cutest things in the whole world,
and I’ve got a whole litter of them.

Welcome home, Denise!