Someone Is Singing

Over the course of my lifetime (as brief as that may be, comparatively) I've witnessed countless debates concerning which "style" of worship is “better,” about which genre-like praise wins.

Is it "contemporary" worship? Should we set up a drum kit, plug in an electric guitar and a soundboard? Or maybe "traditional" music truly reigns supreme over the rest—it became a "tradition" because those who raised us (even those who raised the ones who raised them) decided that it did the best job, right?

As I've gotten older, though, I’m beginning to think that praise actually is not a competition. I simply cannot bring myself to believe that the human pursuit of glorifying our God is some sort of competition or contest, where the winning team gets more love or gratitude from God after the curtain finally goes down. 

First of all, God owes thanks to no one, much less in varying degrees. And His already-perfect love for each of us doesn't fluctuate depending on the songs we sing, just like it isn’t dependent on anything we do (or don't do). Thank the Lord for that, though, because each and every one of us would be forever condemned if we were left to our lone devices.

Instead, I’ve begun to think of worship, of sincere glorification of our God, as an art (maybe even the art).

One of art's most defining characteristics is that different human beings can relate to it. If a work of art is heartfelt and passionate then it will be relevant and meaningful to the artist. Moreover, when something like art is truly relevant to a soul, then other similar souls will respond alike. To me, that’s what it means when a work of art is truthfully “artful.”

That said, will every single form of art be considered “artful” by everyone? No, of course not— but those distinctions, those differing tastes (and the communities that evolve from them), make the realm of art that much more beautiful, bringing complement and contrast to the arrangement of flowers that we collectively offer to God.

                Who am I to think that I have perfected the art of praise? It is arrogant for me to claim, or even think, that a particular style of music is the penultimate end in the growth of human worship. It just seems wrong for me to sing along with my favorite praise songs and make the decision that the humane worship of the divine Creator has reached its personal zenith, that there is no room left for change or development.

I'm not trying to say that churches should exclusively play either traditional hymns or rock music. I mean, our Biblical forefathers didn’t have electric guitars or microphones— just like they didn’t have organs or choir tiers. 

It just sounds off to me, to tell someone that they ought to imitate my art, that their form of art isn’t “good” enough— especially when no human being (with only one exception) will ever be good enough.

 

Maybe how the songs are being sung doesn’t matter as much as we think.

Maybe what actually matters is that someone is singing them.


 

Check-Out Counter Candy

It's amazing how the smallest occurrences, the briefest of experiences or situations, can clearly illustrate truth in a way that we would never have thought of on our own...

I was standing at the check-out line in a thoroughly non-local grocery store (AKA: Wal-Mart). Everyone can relate to this. There was a woman and her two small children at the front of the line, and (you guessed it) they were making "the scene."

The smallest child tugged insistently at his mother's skirt, pointing with his quiet eyes and loud mouth at the rows of gleaming candy bars lining the customary check-out altar to sugar and sweets. His screams were awkward and piercing, the kind of notes where my adrenaline starts to edge in, because it sounds like there's violence being committed nearby.

Meanwhile, the poor woman's other child was being far too quiet, as he began not-so-subtly snagging candy bars from the lower shelves. I thought his efforts were pretty humorous (as did some of the other people waiting in the line); but his mother didn't agree with us at all, as she yanked each and every one of the prizes from her child's reluctant fingers. However, her conversation was primarily directed at the first child, as his demonstrations were far more... boisterous.

"Jerry... Sweetie, it isn't healthy for you to eat candy all the time... Jerry, you cannot have that. Jerry, stop yelling... Jerry, please quit screaming... Ralph! I can physically see you taking those!"

I was tremendously impressed, though, because the mother kept her voice and demeanor calm, her manner controlled, her head level, despite how frustrating the situation understandably was for her. I don't really expect to see that from parents in public who have a child locked in the throes of a truly epic tantrum war.

After it had finally dissolved (both children disappointed), I started to mull over what had just happened. I finally checked out with my items and exited the store. Then, as I took my first steps across the parking lot, I noticed the same mother, now kneeling beside the smaller (louder) child. The kid's cheeks were a ruddy red- instead of more protests, though, I heard (even at that distance) his tiny voice tearfully apologizing to his "mommy."

I felt a kinship with that child, immediately, as a very difficult and all too obvious truth struck me upside my temple:

I am the screaming kid at the check-out counter.

Not literally, obviously (that'd be awkward)- I mean on a bigger scale than that of a particular moment or experience. Throughout my life, I have constantly berated God for not being "good" to me, for not truly having my interests at His heart, for not knowing what was actually best for me. Like a child, screaming for a candy bar from the check-out counter, I have begged for "good" things to happen to me, demanded that my circumstances suddenly improve, forever feeling that all of my suffering and pain would dissolve away if I could just get that candy bar. I've even tried subterfuge, attempting to steal the candy when it isn't given to me- but it always seems that He keeps me from doing that, as well.

If I am the child, then God is the parent- but He isn't losing His head over my immature protests, and He doesn't concern Himself with what others around us might be thinking about the situation. Instead, He wisely takes every one of the candies that I'm trying to shove in my pockets and puts them back on the shelf, calmly telling me that it isn't healthy to have a diet of only chocolate and sweets. He's perfectly right, too. My poor little teeth would have rotted straight out if He'd given me every sweet I've begged for over the years- I would be far beyond spoiled, naive and ignorant of the truth in this life that I've been given.

That isn't to say that I've learned my lesson, though... But I think I'm beginning to realize that I never will, that I never even can. I'll probably always think that I know what's "best" for me, just like that kid saw no reason that he shouldn't be eating candy all the time. But his mother knew better than him, and God knows better than me... That said, though, the gap between a parent and small child is nothing when compared to the unimaginable chasm laying between the humane and the divine (in terms of respective wisdom, knowledge, and experience).

All I can do is apologize to Him, the tears chasing down my cheeks, when I finally realize (and will actually admit) that I was wrong.

Time and time and time and time and time again.

But I can feel my heart cringe, maybe even break, every time I do repent of my nature. Even as I utter the words- no matter how earnest my apologies, no matter how fervent my tears, no matter how convicted my heart- I know that I will find myself at another candy counter, sooner or later...

And one of the most tragic truths that I have had to learn is this:


I will do it again.

Modern Man from Africa? Or Israel?

For some time now, "modern science"/evolution has claimed that our particular race (Homo sapiens/humanity) originated in Africa. Their reasoning has thus far been based on the discovery of the "oldest" human remains in the region of east Africa (roughly "200,000 years old"- although, the margin of error is typically substantial in such figures).

But it looks like they might have been wrong.

Israeli archeologists have discovered eight human teeth "dating from 400,000 years ago" in a prehistoric cave (called the "Qesem Cave") lying east of Tel Aviv (Granted, I don't believe the teeth are actually that old- or even close to that number- but I think the comparative age difference might still be accurate). Israeli archeologists Avi Gopher and Ran Barkai say the cul­ture of those who dwelt in the Qe­sem Ca­ve in­clud­ed (reg­u­lar) use of fire, hunt­ing, cut­ting, shar­ing of food, and min­ing raw ma­te­ri­als to make flint blades. They also added that these findings encourage the belief that (400,000 years ago) there was pioneered and innovative be­hav­ior that may cor­re­spond with the ap­pear­ance of our own "mod­ern ma­n."

Almost as if humans were created this competent, from the beginning?

However, I must mention this disclaimer- the claims have not been proved to their fullest possible extent. Although, the archeologists at the dig site claim to be "confident" about soon uncovering further supporting evidence (skulls, other bones, items, tools, etc.).

If these claims become accepted (widely enough), the implications are enormous.

This could be tangible evidence (more importantly, evidence accepted by the "World") that humanity did not originate in Africa, but that our earliest ancestors actually lived closer to Israel... Which is what the majority of Christians already believe/claim.

"Garden of Eden," anyone? Middle East? Iraq? All of that's pretty close together, if I remember my geography correctly.

I don't even feel like I need to try and exhaust all of the different facts (and the various rumors) of the situation for you; I encourage you to explore the matter and form your own unique opinions and reflections. I really just wanted to share this novel bit of information. So now, I will leave you to read the "information" that I've highlighted (so to speak).

What you think about what you find is wholly up to you, from hereon.

(... Although, that is always true.)

Links to press articles regarding this news:

Time Magazine

NPR

AFP

MSNBC

World Science

[Feel free to do further research on Google (or whichever search site you've chosen as your personal "cup o' tea")- I'm not saying their claims are true (I mean, I'm not even tempted to believe that the teeth are remotely close to 400,000 years old- that's just me.), but they could be very indicative of some already-established Truths, at this point. I guess we'll just all have to wait and see what else develops in the situation.]

Merry Me, Christmas

It's snowing right now, at this very moment.

I've never had a "White Christmas" before, but it looks like this year I'll finally get one (albeit a tad later in the day than one would typically hope for). What's really neat is that my newest little sister has never had a Christmas before (Her name is Caelyn, 7 years old- we adopted her from China just earlier this year, in January), and God decides to have it snow on her very first!

That is just too cool.

Caelyn has been so excited about today. For the past couple of weeks, she's been perpetually reminding the rest of the family that "Jesus' birthday, soon." It's been invigorating to watch her zeal for the season. And yeah, I know she doesn't actually grasp the concept of the thing (at all)- but that doesn't mean God can't use her to energize and encourage my own faith, and the faith of the rest of my family.

However, as endearing and well-meaning as Caelyn's declarations are, some of them are technically inaccurate. There are a myriad of myths in existence about Christmas (its traditions, about the season, about Jesus, etc.).

Let's take a look at a few of them, shall we?

Myth I: "Jesus was born on Christmas Day."
      Most people are already aware of this myth's existence (and invalidity), but I thought I would address it, nonetheless. The actual date of Jesus' birth is unknown (although many claim it to be in mid-to-late September); it is not recorded in the Bible. Ultimately, December 25th was chosen by the church, maybe even as early as 273 AD, as the day for the celebration. By the year 336 AD, we at least know, the Roman church calender shows record of a nativity celebration by Western Christians on the 25th of December.

Myth II: "The abbreviation 'X-mas' is a secular way to take 'Christ' out of 'Christmas.'"
     The word "Christ," which means "Messiah" or "Anointed One," is a Greek term. "X" actually stands for the Greek letter "chi"- equivalent to the first two letters in the English word "Christ." And it's been that way for many hundreds of years. Even Webster’s dictionary recognizes that the abbreviation "X" was commonly accepted for "X-mas", as well as "X-ian", by the middle of the sixteenth century. This tradition even originated in the heritage of the Church.

Myth III: "'Christmas' is a tradition with secular roots- therefore, Christians should not celebrate it."
     This is a more personal/subjective "myth," I think. But the fact remains that, no matter the ancient roots or reasons for the decision upon December 25th, we celebrate the birth of our Lord, Jesus Christ, during this time. That is a celebration that is present, not past. Moreover, the apostle Paul quoted popular Greek poets in the New Testament (Acts 17:28; I Corinthians 15:33; Titus 1:12)- why can we not also utilize that which is secular for that which is holy? (This goes for the entire tradition of the "Christmas Tree," as well.)

Myth IV: "There are more suicides during the holidays."
      Between late 1999 and early 2006, more than 40% of newspaper stories reporting on suicide (during the holidays) reinforced the myth that the holiday season led to a rise in the suicide rate. But, according to the National Center for Health Statistics, suicides are not more prevalent during the winter months. Their data actually reports that the overall number of suicides drops during the winter, and peaks during the spring and summer. See "this" NPR report for more information. (Different days of the week are actually shown to have more variation between them than any seasons do- with Monday as the most common day, and Saturday as the least common.)

Myth V:  "Three wise men visited newborn Jesus, bearing gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh."
     The Bible never states that there were "three" wise men. In Matthew 2, "wise men from the east" are mentioned, but their actual number is not described. The gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, however, are mentioned, in Matt. 2:11. The reason so many people assume there were three wise men (and put three wise men in their nativity scenes- which doesn't even fit chronologically in the first place) is because there are three gifts mentioned. But we do not know the actual number of wise men in attendance.

Myth VI: "St. Nicholas lives at the North Pole."
     Actually, he does not. St. Nicholas lived in Myna, Turkey. And he died there too, a very long time ago. And guess what? There isn't a single record (historic or otherwise) of him breaking into houses and leaving surprises wrapped in festive paper for the members of the residing families... Who would have thought? Apparently, "Santa Clause" is just imaginary- like the "friends" that young and lonely children make up for themselves, to play with. (Hey, I was one of those kids, I can say that.)

Myth VII: "Jesus Christ came to bring peace on earth." 
     This is the biggest one of them all. Okay, let me explain what I mean before anyone spits at their computer screen. Did Jesus come to Earth so that He could enable us to commune with God, to save us from our inescapable sin, to establish true peace between Christians and His Father? Yes, absolutely- I would never contest those truths. But did He come to bring "peace" between those of humanity? I do not believe so. However, rather than try and defend that to you, I'm just going to quote Jesus' own words, found in the gospel of Matthew (10:34):

"Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword."

Or, elsewhere (also stated by Jesus), in Luke 12:51-53:

"Do you suppose that I came to give peace on earth? I tell you, not at all, but rather division. For from now on five in one house will be divided: three against two, and two against three. Father will be divided against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother..."

What do you make of that? Even in the first sentence- Jesus outright denies that He has come to give "peace on earth". ("I tell you, not at all...")

"Peace on earth"?

Is it not indicative of something that one of the most popular slogans of the Christmas season (for Christians and non-Christians, alike) is that same, exact phrase- the phrase that Jesus denies as His reason for coming to earth and, thereby, denies as the motive for His birth? (The very thing that "Christmas" is supposed to celebrate?)

... I don't know the answer to that, to be perfectly honest. I can't level such sweeping allegations against a culture and mindset that I am myself guilty of, that I have so long taken stock in.

But I do know this:

I believe (now) that Christmas is not a time to celebrate (or advocate) "peace on earth"- but peace between man and God, instead.

Christmas is (or should be) one of the most intense and vital battles of the whole year, in this "war" (not in aggression/violence, but in intensity/struggle) that we will be waging for the rest of our years here on this earth- the war against sin, the war against ignorance, the effort to reflect God's Truth and glory to the rest of the world, and, perhaps most importantly (for our age), the war against indifference.

I believe that, not because it is popular, but because I feel convicted that it is true.

What you believe is not up to me, at all.

It's up to you.

The Common Question of Mankind

Like every other human being on the face of this Earth, I have very often wrestled (desperately) with the question that haunts each of us with its hounding force:

"Who am I?"

Every person here can relate to that query- no matter their faith, creed, race, preferences, history, age, knowledge, values, experience, or any other matter of differentiation. What follows is my perspective, my personal "take" on the matter. But I'm not trying to "push" my beliefs or opinions; I'm just trying to be as genuine and sincere as I can be, true to my own convicted heart.

We are human, all, and this nagging question of identity seems to be perpetually stuck with that existence.

But, even if I'm not able to perfectly define who I am, can I at least define who I am not?...

Who I am is not what I do- I don't think it's even a decision that I need to make, either today or on a day in the far-off future. It's not a lifestyle, and it isn't the emotions that I struggle with. It's not the adrenalined fear I feel when another car starts to cross blindly into my lane, nor the hopelessness that threatens to swallow my heart at the end of a particularly terrible day. My emotions are the clothing my soul adorns- they change to the season. They can be representative of me, or a point in time, and they can reflect my values, history, vanities, or preferences- but they are not who I am.

Who I am is not whether I say "please" or "thank you." It's not something that can be improved upon by a hearty spritz of cologne and a good pair of starched khaki pants. It's not found in my home's equity or in how much money any given year yields for me. It is neither a grade of A+ nor F-. It's not how many people actually read my blog (Thank God!). It's not the number of "friends" I have on Facebook, or the number of posts on my wall.

Who I am is not others' opinions of me- good or bad.

Who I am is not something that will happen to me on a mythical "someday" in my later years. It's something that has already happened for me. It is an intricate mystery, beyond human comprehension or mathematical equations- something that no one will ever completely "figure out."

However, "who I am" does exist, and I can choose to glimpse it, describe it, utilize it, or share it with those around me...


Who I am is the face buried beneath the streaked layers of primitive war paint, the eyes that peep out when the defenses are all the way down, the constant truth I so often hide with crafted masks, of my own or others' designs.


I am (all in all) a beautiful mess, an intriguing complexity, a radiant and unknown truth...


And so are you.