Caroline Ferdinandsen

The Public as High Priest: Who Has the Power to Forgive Sins?

Caroline Ferdinandsen — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 15:38:16 -0800

This week Daniel Radcliffe and Demi Moore--with personal demons to spare--have again shown how celebrity confessions redefine redemption for a public community. I always believed forgiveness was an act of God wherein a man’s spirit is made right again through divine mercy. Yet the new faith for a secular world has made public opinion the modern high priest: we allow you to do bad things--and then forgive you for it--as long as a self-effacing confession comes with it.

It’s Public Relations 101: If You Judge Yourself, We Won’t. High profile confessors fare much better than high profile defenders. If you cop to your sins quickly in this country, you’re beloved. Radcliffe, who recounts struggling with alcohol as a young actor in the spotlight, humbly admits his faults this week and suddenly the public swoons over his maturity. Moore, who openly confesses a life of self-destruction and narcissism, is surrounded by supporters who wish her a safe passage.

But Charlie Sheen or Bill Clinton, whose self-delusions made them fit for public floggings, didn’t fare so well. Men and women who don’t own their sins are rarely given any grace from a judgmental public. You see, others’ faults give us plenty of steps on which to climb, until we feel morally higher than the rest. Who wants to give mercy to a sinner who has manufactured plenty of it in his own mind first? If you play the victim, you’re doomed.

This public system of redemption and punishment is certainly not Jesus’ way. When he teaches, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness,” it is not a public relations reaction. It is a deeply spiritual and private repentance wherein we gain access to a divine Savior’s compassion and justice. The enormity of Jesus’ sin-trade is sobering; it’s a gift beyond comprehension. A man who has fallen--and understands his brokenness under the sway of the Holy Spirit--is a man who needs no public redemption; he only needs God’s. The repentant man seeks only to be reclaimed by his Lord and Savior. Sometimes his reputation is rehabilitated, but sometimes it is not. God’s forgiveness is enough.

When Isaiah cries out Woe to me! . . . I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the Lord Almighty, he agrees with two truths: one, that he is depraved, and two, that God’s holiness stands in contrast to that depravity. I might even go so far to say that he only realizes his depravity because he has “seen the King Almighty.” In a secular society, where reputations are often our paychecks, we might admit the first but only in isolation of the second. Fixing our depravity usually means we are seeking restoration of our public image--an effort as familiar as the Pharisees’ chronic public relations stunts among their Jewish peers.

In a secular society it makes perfect sense that we create our own kingdoms of righted wrongs. The wrongs are whatever strikes the public as icky at the time, and we right them by addressing the public with transparent confessions. Rehab, quite simply, isn’t the same as redemption. Neither is willpower, counseling, or public contrition. I make no judgment on the sincerity of Radcliffe, Moore, or any public persona for I do not know them. But for me, until I’m able to say, like Isaiah, that my eyes have seen the King, my admissions of guilt will only lead me back to myself.

Around The World in Five Minutes: Seeing God, Big and Small

Caroline Ferdinandsen — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 20:14:52 -0800

Kien Lam understands big and small.

For one year, over 17 countries, he photographed his travel adventures, creating time lapse video of the 6,000 pictures he brought home. To watch it is to experience the incongruity of big and small, to see the breadth of the globe and the tiny human stories within it. It is a montage of God’s vast, breathtaking creation mixed with the microcosms of human life.

I love Lam’s vision. For some reason, the juxtaposition of big and small reminds me of the world God has given to me. On some days God asks me to meditate on his cosmos, and on other days he wants me mop the church floor at some extraordinarily precise coordinates in Clovis, California. I have no doubt God asks me to think big and small.

Why Big?

Without a time lapse view of God’s world, I would be lost in my microscopic self. The narrative of God’s story from creation to salvation and back again keeps God in the eternal. Timothy refers to God as “the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God.” As Psalm 50 asserts: God's glory is on tour in the skies, God-craft on exhibit across the horizon . . . That's how God's Word vaults across the skies from sunrise to sunset.

My camera lens had better back way up, and when the panoramic view reaches its limit, I let the Word of God and my worshipping heart take over. It expands the view even more until I can no longer grasp it, so big is his divine nature.

Why Small?

God has revealed to me the grandeur of his infinite universe, yes, but I am also living in a physical territory that he has carved out for me at this place and time. It is made up of other small people in my community--all precious to him--that are in need of fellowship, touch, food, heavy lifting, shared tears. This is God in his smallest form, the body of Christ moving in tiny microcosms of love.

Lam’s pictures capture human life sharing tiny pieces of the globe. We see a caravan, clusters of families in changing light, urban movement from one task to another. Life is commerce, leisure, curiosity, meditation, and exploration. And God is in every miniature tableau.

Why Does it Matter?

Like most things in perpetual balance, the concept of big and small illustrate a profound paradox. That the divine Creator of the universe has come to know and love a woman named Caroline at the corner of Cole and First in a city among thousands, in a country among hundreds, is astonishing to me.

When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, The moon and the stars, which You have ordained; what is man that you take thought of him, and the son of man that You care for him? --Psalm 8

Christian Time Machines and Internet Memes

Caroline Ferdinandsen — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 15:40:38 -0800

Note: This post is completely indulgent and it could be totally stupid (my teenage kids tell me it’s probably fifty-fifty). Furthermore, unless you’re in your forties, lived in Texas as a teenager, love Jesus, and have been trolling the internet since its inception, you might not understand a word of it. Feel free to leave now, especially if you’ve enjoyed anything else I’ve written.

Like some of you, I’m a strange hybrid of old and young. My formative years spent in the pre-tech 1980s have now collided with my maturing years spent in the tech-saturated new millennium. I was a Bible Belt native not too long ago: big hair, big churches, big shoulder pads, and big regrets in the 90s. With perspective, I can now see what was terribly wrong with us, and yet I haven’t lost my faith in Jesus nor his Church.

But it does make me wonder: what would it have been like if the 1980s Bible Belt had access to this generation’s internet memes? So in the spirit of silliness, here are ten ways my teen years would have been different if Al Gore had invented the internet ten years earlier.

1. Charismatics--not Double Rainbow Guy--getting attention for wild, spiritual epiphanies.

No disrespect to my Assembly of God brothers and sisters but somebody, somewhere would have surely videotaped themselves under the influence of the Spirit and been christened late night talk show guest-of-the-month.

2. WINNING! Charlie Sheen meets Jim Bakker.

In case you didn’t know, a guy named Jim Bakker, disgraced televangelist, was the center of tabloid fodder long before Sheen. It’s a shameful history, but the circus atmosphere prompted by some good old-fashioned narcissism was eerily similar.

3. LOLCats.

I’ve got nothing insightful here. “I Can Has Cheezburger?” would have been stupid in any generation.

4. Rick Astley Getting Rickrolled?

In the weirdest meta-moment ever, can you imagine Rick Astley of the song “Never Gonna Give You Up” himself being Rickrolled in the year 1987? Mind. Blown.

5. The Downfall movie (2004) dubbed with HItler’s reaction to“backward masking” found embedded in Satanic rock music.

There are over a thousand “Hitler Responds” videos floating out there. But I’m certain I could write the best subtitles ever if given the chance. It could be the most self-aware bit of irony ever.

6. Prince Charles and Princess Diana dance unselfconsciously down the royal wedding aisle to Chris Brown’s “Forever.”

Okay, if you’ve ever seen Prince Charles you know this is pure speculation.

7. Jimmy Swaggart’s televised “I have sinned” confession goes viral, gets autotuned.

Nothing else to say about this.

8. All thirty-six seniors at Glad Tidings Academy decide to Lip Dub Stryper’s “To Hell With the Devil,” and then get suspended.

This really happened in 1986. Just without YouTube.

9. Chernobyl shows up on Fail Blog.

. . . prompting Christians to actually pray for the Soviets in a stunning reversal of USSR angst.

10. The Feminist Ryan Gosling meme gets a Christian makeover.

Imagine Kirk Cameron in a chic, metro photo: “Hey Girl. Let’s revisit Ephesians 5. Despite its orthodox theology, I still think you’re the cutest weaker vessel ever.”

I used to have no sense of humor until I took an arrow to the knee, but there you have it: a time machine mash-up that maybe a few of you might appreciate. I’ll be back to my familiar posts before long, but thanks for letting me be completely ridiculous.

How to Beat the January Blues? Don't.

Caroline Ferdinandsen — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 14:00:17 -0800

Sadness comes in all sizes. Sometimes it’s huge and powerful, a villain worthy of a heroic, medical take-down, and other times it’s just a quiet lump in the throat. Sadness can come on gradually or flash like winter lightning. It sets us up for failure, affecting both the body and spirit. It can surely be contagious.

And sometimes sadness is exactly the right thing.

Americans might believe that sadness is the negative detour that keeps us from the unrelenting prosperity and happiness we deserve. We are ashamed of it as though it reveals some weakness, and we attempt to cure it as quickly as it comes. Yet what if the role of sadness firmly belongs in the natural order of things?

So as a tribute to the month that is colder and darker than the rest, I offer some considerations:

Sadness can clear a path to God.

I wish it weren’t so, but grand, happy celebrations can drown out the quiet voice of God. In the darker hours, I listen for him because I need him desperately. Skeptics try to call it a weird psychological crutch, but children of God accept their desperation--and God’s faithful response.

Sadness is truthful.

Every person will grieve in his lifetime. Without it, we are not authentically human. Divorce, death, sickness, and sin--these not only allow for grief, but they require it. Across human history, the story of man includes his honest rituals of grief and despair. Self-medicating cannot bypass the natural order of grief; it merely postpones it.

Sadness is a paradox; it counterbalances joy.

Joy and sorrow are twins. Lebanese writer Kahil Gibran says that “joy and sorrow are inseparable. When one sits alone with you, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.” Like most opposites, we might not even grasp one without the other. Anyone who has experienced great joy has done so only with sorrow’s help. Surely God allows for both as part of our human experience.

Sadness, when it arises from our sin patterns, is appropriate.

If I screw up, fail miserably, embrace evil, violate the law, or offend my Creator, I pray that I would suffer. Sadness that washes over me because of my stupidity should be expected; without it, I might be taught a lie about truth and consequences. Before I feel sorry for myself in the Valley, I should take inventory of such things.

Sadness awakens compassion.

I recently sat with a woman in great despair who added this footnote to her sadness. “If I ever meet someone who has gone through this,” she vowed, “I will come alongside and wrap them up in my arms. I now understand it.” Unlike pain that comes from sin, some suffering allows us in the months and years to come to bear one another’s burdens. Show me someone whose life is a chronic party, and I’ll show you someone who cannot hoist his brother’s burden. He might not even notice, or worse--if he does, he might not even care.

So, January, do your bluesy, cold, foggy best to bring me down. I’m ready for it.

Hating December--or Loving it? It Probably Depends on You

Caroline Ferdinandsen — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 19:13:10 -0800

December is unlike any other month. It is the only month that has no immutable identity of its own, but dresses in whatever costume someone chooses for it.

For children, December is a giddy mess of sparkly things, overly generous adults, and neon molded plastic parts, most of them made in China. The younger the child, the more visceral the holiday. It is a month of touching things, seeing things, tasting things. And when it comes to a retail high, children and grandparents together smoke December like crack.

For young adults sans kids, December is a messed-up, caffeinated, overwrought season that only pretends to nurture. Twenty-somethings don’t wrap things for each other; they slip gift cards in envelopes--or just walk around at parties with a red plastic cup. College-aged kids see December as earned intermission between two halves, wanting to sleep, troll the internet, eat mom’s food, and smell fabric softener on their sweatshirts for a change.

Thirty-something parents, of course, are what keep the whole charade going. Women are fluffing pillows, curling ribbon, and trying to light candles in the hopes that their homes resemble the other fluffed, curled, and candlelit places they see in magazines. The men are cranking out money as fast as they can, building swing sets or moving furniture for the company, while stepping around all those pillows and candles. Families are taking faux pictures of themselves looking three times nicer than real life.

Teenagers don’t know what to do with December. Their world is post-innocence, pre-nostalgia. Teenagers swing between complete inertia and spurts of crazy with very little in between. They’ve built up immunity to plastic toys, now needing adult-sized retail thrills. December is still beautiful (there’s no school, you know) but it’s no longer a fantasy.

The sunset crowd might be the only ones who know the truth: real December perspective, if you will. The end of the year lets thoughts incubate and faith flourish. The idea that Jesus came to join humanity (Immanuel = God With Us) has time to sink in when the nights are cold and prayers grow longer. The older faithful among us have seen December’s different costumes and can now declare with certainty that Jesus’s birth transcends it all.

Come to think of it, Jesus Christ is nothing like December. He has an immutable identity, one that doesn’t shift with my personal season or stage. He is not subject to my agenda, nor is he waiting for me to put out the nativity set--the one with the chipped box of frankincense--before he shows up. His salvation calls to each one, and not just in December. It’s one of the reasons I like getting older. It’s one of the reasons I love my Savior.

So I’m choosing to see this twelfth month, not as a tug-of-war between consumerism and faith, or between nostalgia and cynicism, but as a month of joy. I guess in the end, December doesn’t depend on me after all, thanks be to God.

America and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

Caroline Ferdinandsen — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 16:20:38 -0800

It’s no secret that journalism thrives on nasty bacteria more than life-giving oxygen. But this week’s relentless coverage of Very Bad People is making me want to wash my hands every five minutes.

Kim Kardashian’s faux-marriage reminds me that, at least in Celebrity-America, marriage equals marketing. Justin Bieber and Herman Cain, whom I would never place in the same sentence at any other time in history, both face sordid charges of power-groping. Conrad Murray (Michael Jackson’s unprincipled physician and convict-of-the-week) showed us all that the Hippocratic Oath means about as much as Kardashian’s Oath. And finally, the entire Penn State football program appears ready to implode over horrific charges of a pedophilia cover-up.

Just when I’m about to take up drinking, I realize that these are only the national stories. My hometown (and yours) has little celebrity symbolism but all of the same stories: the trivialization of marriage, the misuse of power, the abuse of innocent children. The two-dimensional news stories have real people behind them--people whose sins infect the entire world.

How does a follower of Jesus Christ find light and hope in the midst of such sorrow?

My answer is so surprisingly simple that you might never want to read another of my essays again. It’s an antidote to darkness so effective that we miss it entirely. It’s a push-back that keeps me from losing my freaking mind in the middle of all the teeth-gnashing. It’s the cheesiest answer on the planet.

What’s the answer?

Love.

No way, you might say. Love sounds too easy, too obvious, too wussy. You’d rather I call for righteous anger and butt-kicking justice. You’d rather I rally everyone to political anger or legislative action or vague national outrage. You might rather I drop hate into internet comment threads and let the infection spread. But I will suggest that none of these have ever changed a heart or healed a victim.

I am encouraged by the mind-bending truth of my Bible: And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. (Colossians 3:14) Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins (I Peter 4:8) This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. (I John 3:16) Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth (I John 3:18) Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. (I John 4:8)

What does love look like for me today? First of all, vague Christian love will not counteract vague national outrage. Love takes care of a community’s children and supports lifelong marriages in daily, relentless consistency. It works its way into small conversations about God and man. It resists corruption by following the principles of Jesus Christ at our jobs and in our churches. You and I are the million news stories that are made of flesh and blood, the bigger story that contradicts America’s ugly front page.

When I write, I like to be smart and current and edgy. I like to make people think of things they haven’t considered before. But today, in the middle of a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week, I have nothing clever to say, nothing rhetorical that can heal a marriage or restore a life. I can only offer what Jesus Christ tells me is the single most important antidote to sin and hopelessness.

For every life-sapping, spirit-draining thing you read this week, push back with Jesus Christ’s love. Meditate on it. Dwell on the hope of salvation. Tell your children that Jesus’ love is more powerful than man’s despair.

Salacious journalism might seem to have the edge, but children of God can spread a viral hope faster than any news story. That said, I think I’m ready for my Wonderful, Beautiful, All Good, Very-God Day.

Can God Use an Internet Dating Website to Find You a Spouse?

Caroline Ferdinandsen — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 16:34:28 -0700

Dumb question.

If the God of creation--the great Hebrew Yahweh who transcends time and eternity--can redeem my immortal soul from sin, I’m sure he can arrange for you to find a mate from the privacy of your own bedroom while you’re dressed in your 1996 sweat pants.

Surely he can.

But does He?

In order to find out, I might need to examine the issue a bit more. If I were to follow the injudicious punctuation of actual Christian dating sites (It’s fast, fun, and FREE! . . . God’s will is waiting!!! . . . At Christian Date we believe in love before money!), I would surely discover that the ratio of members to actual hook-ups corresponds to the number of exclamation marks in their marketing campaigns. But I don’t think God cares much about punctuation.

I also know that with names like Big Church, Christian Soulmates, and Singles of Faith, these sites are expanding faster than Cupid’s quiver. Nearly everyone I know has had some connection to a couple who met online: a family member, close friend, a widow, a divorced colleague--you name it. The stages of internet dating are well-documented by now and they move something like this:

1. Internet dating is for losers. There’s no way I’ll ever sign up.

2. But just out of curiosity, I’ll Google the words: Christian. Dating. Internet.

3. Who ARE these people? This is the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen (return to Stage #1).

4. I read that 21% of all couples who married in 2010 met online. Let me try again.

5. Six profiles pique my interest (plus, I cried all weekend). All right. I’m getting out my credit card.

Before you know it, you and legions of others are finding love (and other things) across denominational barriers, and sometimes across state lines. Long phone conversations, both philosophical and flirty, are taking place, followed by new haircuts and awkward meetings, until somehow “God’s will” has occurred, culminating in a serious relationship.

In between kissing, one might wonder “Did God have something to do with this, or did I force this to this happen with the help of Satan’s agent, the internet?”

I have lived long enough to realize two things with great certainty, one of which is clearly supported from the Biblical record: First, God is ultimately in charge. Second, I have no idea how he does it.

So if you want to speculate about how and why things happen, you can unravel the yarn of your knitted life as long as you want and you will never figure out how God’s sovereign will has designed the scarf. He has used camels, chance meetings, sailing ships, pushy mothers, and Adam’s rib to create love connections. It doesn’t much matter the method. But what you can examine, however, is whether your own decisions are wise and judicious, and whether you, as a follower of Jesus Christ, pursue the principles of love, holiness, purity, and faith in your dealings with others.

In light of this, rather than answer my title question as though I know for sure, here are a few things I might offer instead:

1. We are not to lie about ourselves in order to create an aura of desirability that might not exist for some partners. Dishonesty may be natural but it is not God-honoring. Two people who misrepresent themselves will, at some point, be discovered.

2. Loneliness by itself is not a mandate to find a spouse. Our culture’s default cure for being lonely is hooking up. God’s way of addressing our deepest need is much more multi-layered, much more satisfying, but it requires obedience and humility and whole lot of time, especially if we are healing from a previous betrayal.

3. One’s sexuality exists apart from having a spouse. Christian teaching is notoriously bad in this regard: Hey, you’re not a sexual person until you’re lucky enough to get a wedding night! Human sexuality is not limited by sexual acts themselves. You may go years without a romantic partner, but your masculine (or feminine) traits that God created are part of your very identity. Don’t suppress this.

4. Internet romances often exist in strange bubbles of time and space. For a relationship to thrive, it must breathe the same air as your ordinary life. A romantic alliance that takes place apart from your other friendships, family loyalties, and church body is one that is more imaginary than real. God-sanctioned relationships don’t operate well in secret places.

5. Whatever method God uses to bring one’s relationship to life is not necessarily the method that God will use for someone else. Ignore the rantings of other people who insist they know God’s mind for you. And while you’re at it, don’t judge others’ successes and failures through the lens of your own experience. No relationship bends to the expectations of best friends, grandmothers, sisters, and romantic comedies. God weaves his grace into our lives with often mysterious timing.

Does God use the internet to negotiate our marriages? I have no doubt. But rather than praying for ten eligible profiles, we would do better to ask for discernment and spiritual maturity. These will serve us far better.

Is the Bible the Only Book I Need?

Caroline Ferdinandsen — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 19:57:46 -0700

If Christianity asks for supreme fidelity to the God-man Jesus Christ, then what loyalty do I also pay to his divine book? With mega-publishers, mainline bloggers, trendy theologians, and my local pastor all begging for a slice of my reading time, where does the Bible fit into my library?

In fact, you’re spending a few of your precious minutes reading some California girl’s opinion on the matter. Shouldn’t you be hunkered down in your prayer closet re-reading Paul’s epistles instead--or even better, reading through the red text in your Bible?

Maybe I’m better off reading nothing but the Holy Scriptures--a modern monk-girl practicing Lectio Divina. But should I also savor the insights and writing talents of God’s children? Can God also speak through the ideas of my contemporaries--or even more shocking, can he speak directly to my spirit? I wish I were the first one to bring this to the table, but I’m one of many who have questioned if the Biblical text is enough. Enough for my intellect. Enough for my spirit. Enough for my faith.

And that’s when I realize that I’m making the wrong comparison, like asking if blood is the only fluid I need. Hey, listen up. I think I’m going to switch it out with Gatorade for awhile! Blood has no other substitutes, no other competitors. The Bible is not merely a book that Christians like to read. Under the sway of the Holy Spirit, it becomes the essential blood running through my faith’s veins, not just the nicest book in my crowded library.

When Lindsell wrote Battle for the Bible in 1978, he was the voice for the modern inerrancy movement, one that eventually pitted the Biblical literalists against the seminarians who questioned its complete accuracy. Of course, it’s the extremists on both sides who always stoke our fires: it’s easier to say the dogmatic literalists are just whack, and the people who think it’s just an avenue to spiritual enlightenment are even wackier.

I think, like most things, the answer lies somewhere between. First, the Bible is absolutely all we need with regard to our salvation, the gospel, and the larger narrative of God’s work here on earth. 1 Thessalonians 2:13: "And we also thank God constantly for this, that when you received the word of God which you heard from us, you accepted it not as the word of men, but as what it really is, the word of God." God used mankind’s linguistic sophistication to speak to his human need, giving us the Savior’s human story from start to finish. It is laid out in the Holy Scriptures with nothing to spare. You might not believe this, but I do. This non-negotiable belief gives context to my conviction.

But the Bible also gives us some extra stuff to chew on, like old Mosaic laws, genealogies, Middle Eastern minutiae, and figurative descriptions of the apocalypse. Not all of these are essential, doctrinal reference points. To suggest that one needs to grasp 66 books of divine revelation in order to fully see one’s sin nature and the redemptive work of Jesus Christ is to condemn the majority of humankind who have neither the education nor the access to a Tim Keller Bible study.

I’m learning to come to terms with the scope and scale of the Holy Bible, the whispers of the Holy Spirit and shouts of God almighty. It contains Jesus’s bullseye accuracy, striking our sin with his death on the cross, but it also speaks of cultural complexity, first-century rituals, confusing prophetic proclamations, and a host of other things that, despite my education, sometimes baffles me. This kind of honesty does not weaken the Bible at all, but it does suggest that it is complex enough for a lifetime of study.

All of this leads me back to my original question: Is the Bible the only book I need? I will answer with an unequivocal yes. It is a transcendent text that explains Caroline’s original sin and her spotless Savior. It’s the reference point for marriage, government, church community, social justice, and personal holiness. It is not an itemized answer book for all my specific questions (Which presidential candidate should I vote for?), but the more I meditate and study the Bible’s truths, the better I can discern and interpret life’s complexity. In this sense, it is the only book I need.

But it is not the only book I read.

Others may have something to say, and I would be wise to listen. Through the words of others, I might learn about my Christian brothers’ journey of faith, a sister’s doubts, and even the arguments of heretics. I might listen to my enemies’ grievances, and in so doing, testify to God’s mercy at work in my own heart. I might wrestle with ancient philosophers or be instructed through the exegesis of my local pastor. I might also be encouraged by the testimonies of men and women around the world. None of these, of course, compete with the pre-eminence of the Bible; they simply illuminate, wrestle with, and explore further our human experience.

I love exploring the ideas of man, old and new. I love a Dillard novel, a Rolling Stone article, a Richard Wilbur poem, or a Stephen Marche review. I’ll read Martin Luther and Chesterton. I’ll grapple with Donald Miller and John Piper. They’ve all given me words.

Really cool words.

But the Bible? Instead of the plural, I’ll put it in the singular.

Word.

Teenagers and the Persecution Narrative: The Fastest Way to Sell a Product

Caroline Ferdinandsen — Mon, 05 Sep 2011 09:51:31 -0700

When I grew up, persecution was a dark and powerful force--the frightening oppression of a group of people whose origins, race, class system, or religion were systematically abused by those in power.

But today if you’re an American teenager, you can easily own a share of such suffering.

We know that the narrative of suffering is one of literature’s most enduring archetypes. Nearly every fairy tale or legend has at its core an element of persecution. Whether it’s Cinderella herself, rapper Eminem, or the narrator in Dave Pelzer’s bestseller A Child Called It, the suffering narrative speaks to teenagers in particular because, by comparison, they probably feel relieved to know that their own lives are not as lousy they thought.

Lately, however, the suffering narrative has become a slick marketing campaign for everything from LGBT power to a cheaply made T-shirt. Apparently, whatever you want to sell to teenagers, especially an ideology, is best sold when it’s shrink wrapped in persecution.

I have three teenagers in my own house, and I hang out with 150 more every day. As I’ve come to know, the intensity of their transition from child to adult allows them to feel more deeply than the average adult. Their lives are a rotating pattern of love-fear-hope (that, quite frankly, often depends upon how they answer the question: “Who’s your daddy?”)The teenagers I know are suspicious of over-achievers, jealous of the beautiful, scared of total losers, but sympathetic toward the marginalized. We want you to be popular, but not too much; if you don’t suffer like we do, we might not like you anymore.

Marketers have seized this opportunity and some of them aren’t selling products, but ideas. Shows like Glee create entire campaigns around persecution (think Slushie in the face). The idea that we should love and accept everyone is an unarguable narrative, so producers are keen to the idea of bundling their own ideology with softer products. To feel compassion for the plight of a paraplegic must be the same as showing compassion for a drag queen, right? Aren’t they all the same?

The nuances of life are lost on some teenagers. Sad things out of their control (divorced parents, a health crisis, poverty) get bundled together with sad things in their control (sexual irresponsibility, self-destruction, rebellion) until pretty soon all victims are identical, all choices given a “You go, girl” fist bump. We seem to be afraid to tell our children that some persecution is indulgent--just a cheap way to legitimize our choices. Lady Gaga knows the secret formula. She has made millions from her fans (“Little Monsters” she calls them) by becoming a power symbol for “self-professed freaks of the universe” (her words). When she sings “I was born this way,” she’s not just championing her sexual orientation, but creating an entire industry that elevates suffering over wholeness. When kids hear break-up songs like “Jar of Hearts,” they rally around each other’s pain, but rarely reconsider the stupidity that might have led them to sleeping with a loser in the first place. When my low-achieving students show me their trump card (“You don’t get it--my life sucks”), should I write a celebration song for them? Or should I instead give them tools to get out from under the persecution?

There are a few variations of the theme. Disney teen star Demi Lovato has recently faced a personal crisis in her own life. Rather than dealing with her eating disorders in privacy and retreat, her handlers rushed to produce a beautiful-but-premature single entitled “Skyscraper” which tells girls everywhere that it is only others’ abuse that makes her fragile; inside she’s really just a “skyscraper” ready to rise to the sky in defiance.

The restoration narrative is a good one, for Lovato is deserving of beauty and compassion. But how does a girl become a “skyscraper”? Does she do it by rising above her circumstances with raw self-esteem and magical powers? Does she do it by giving the finger to all her detractors? Does she do it by using her fame-money to pay for the best therapy? The goosebumps an average girl feels when she hears the song might be real, but the emotion has nowhere to land.

As a believer in the life-changing power of Jesus Christ, I want to tell my children that our weaknesses, not our strengths, are precisely what God redeems. If I’m already a skyscraper, what do I need of you? What do I need of God?

If you know a teenager, remind him that persecution itself is not what gives way to strength. The competition for “most-persecuted” might sell a lot of products--and a lot of ideas--but by itself suffering does not make something good. Faith, hope, and love drive our Savior’s redemption. He is looking to restore his children to health and wholeness, not celebrate their persecution. And guess what? It won’t even cost them their allowance.

So . . . You're Spiritual but not Religious?

Caroline Ferdinandsen — Sun, 28 Aug 2011 10:58:00 -0700

So you’ve got problems with Church—the one with the capital C?

You grew up sitting in various pews, but after getting a dose of higher education, you’re not really into anything that smacks of organized religion. After studying the Crusades, learning what jihad really means, and reading ten bloggers rant about the Pope’s pedophile cover-up, you figure that all of these manmade institutions aren’t credible. The Church—any church—is just a nasty, manmade construct designed to give uneducated, needy people some scaffolding.

On the other hand, you also think that God probably exists, and Jesus and the Buddha and Mother Teresa were onto something good. You don’t want to adopt the atheist’s combative edge or the agnostic’s arrogant philosophizing, so you snuggle down into the cozy netherworld of Spiritual Living. It’s a one-size-fits-all accommodating worldview fed by books like Eat, Pray, Love and The Secret. Spiritual Living lets you pray for wisdom or wear cool T-shirts or even go to silent retreats where you can stare at the ocean for a long time. It’s tapas-style dining where you order tasty little samples of religion’s best ideas—without the prix fixe risk. Come to think of it, if you don’t trust the chef to choose for you, it might be better to pick a different restaurant altogether.

To the complete rejecters of the spiritual life, I applaud you, at the very least, for not being lukewarm on faith, a stance that Jesus couldn’t tolerate. You run your bathwater icy cold, and you bear the discomfort with a certain measure of pride. But to those who love constantly fiddling with the temperature, let me give you a few reasons why historical, orthodox Christianity is worth a second look.

Showing up at a local church is healthier than staying at home.

When you tell me you can pray, worship, serve, and grow nearer to God in your own way and on your own time, does it really happen? Do men and women, who are designed for fraternal loyalty and the fellowship of others, really have the self-discipline and encouragement to pursue faith in isolation?

The style of church, meeting times, and congregation may seem unorthodox, but that is not the point. You don’t have to attend a traditional, wear-a-dress, Sunday-morning congregation. But an authentic Christian believer doesn’t go for too long without craving the mutual encouragement and accountability of others in the faith. You are sure to tell me about an example or two—maybe even in your own life—when faith was sustained without community, but I will probably be skeptical. Tiny fringe groups who aren’t tethered to the historical faith are doomed to drift here and there, vulnerable both to error and narcissism.

As long as people are in charge, the Church will mess up. Get over it.

If you’re waiting for the Church’s track record to get better before you sign up, don’t bother. If you recognize that God uses the Church in spite of its members’ faults, you’ll step inside, thankful that your own jackass tendencies won’t disqualify you either. The Christian church throughout history has let everyone through its doors—the sick, lonely, rich, educated, ghetto-dwelling, insane, arrogant, beautiful, and homely. If you weren’t welcome at your last church, then try again. That particular congregation had it wrong and will figure out their mistake before long. Another congregation might be further along, so don’t give up so easily.

The Church is a hospital where you get to be both a doctor and a patient.

When you join with what the Bible calls “the Body of Christ,” you have access to a radically different kind of HMO (Hope Maintenance Organization). On your healthiest days, God calls you to restore and love; on your sickest days, you have others tending to your bedside. People who ditch the church have cancelled their spiritual healthcare plan.

The Bible is precise in its instruction to the Christian churches. Its members love and restore, offer correction and spiritual rehabilitation, care and are cared for—all in a tightly interconnected (and even mysterious) web of love. The Church becomes the hands and feet of Jesus Christ himself. Those who have made spirituality a one-man show can neither love or be loved by any person besides themselves.

Orthodox Christianity changes people from the inside out, not the other way around.

Every other major religion, including the Judaism from which Christianity was born, requires external obligations of perfection and discipline: be, do, obey, perform. The gospel of Jesus Christ offers us something entirely different: a supernatural grace that carries us from death to life. This transformation causes our spirit to crave obedience and good works in a way that makes little sense to the rest of the world.

Participating in random, spiritual acts like focused breathing, charitable acts, or positive thinking relies on either willpower or manipulating biology—precisely why people like it so much. It produces a veneer of good will and well being that we are likely to find among secular humanists and do-gooders. It’s the solution that takes us only half way, by giving us a semblance of peace in this life, but with little power to affect the human soul or eternity.

The Kingdom of God is bigger than your individual needs.

In the giant narrative that is God’s story, God is the main character. Our attraction to Spiritual Living is borne out of our fascination with having the leading role, writing our lines every morning depending on our mood and personal whims. In another essay, I wrote that we must let God write the script and cast his own play—that having seven billion screenwriters is a bad idea. (“If we had it our way, I can only imagine the freakish movies full of nothing but leads. Wedding scenes with a hundred brides and no guests, funerals with nothing but corpses.”)

Smart people like to be in control, and submitting to a God that Christians frequently call Lord might feel like ancient feudalism. At some point, however, you will be broken beyond belief, unable to fix yourself. It will eventually happen when your own desires lead you to spiritual desperation. And if you still don’t believe me, then you haven’t reached the end of your life yet when everyone succumbs to the universal fate we call death. Death cannot be fixed. It’s one plot line you can’t write out of your play.

So, these five reasons may seem paradoxically selfish. On one hand, becoming part of orthodox Christianity asks you to give it all away while, on the other hand, it gives you everything back. I suppose that’s one of the great mysteries of my Christian faith, where its doctrine includes crazy reversals like how King Jesus was actually a humble servant and when I die, I live.

If you decide to simply be spiritual—and you do reject orthodox Christianity—at least keep your eyes wide open while you’re wandering the roads. They lead to nowhere in particular toward nothing specific for reasons not too clear. But don’t panic: Jesus and his Church won’t be far if ever you should change your mind.