The lyrics of a well written, passionately performed song can move me to a frenzy. The words of a well crafted novel can bring me to tears. Recently, I sat in a book store and wept over pictures of Annie Liebovitz’ family and life. Her pictures were so real, so extraordinary. There’s a passion there that captivated my mind.

Gerald asked me a week ago if I felt a Christian could lose his passion. I assured him that, not only did I feel it would be theoretically possible, but that I have routinely lost my passion. I let him know that it is not only okay to lose passion but a part of the Christian life.

I see no passion in stained glass. There is nothing real about the crystallized Jesus stoically staring down his nose at the heathen in the pew. There is something real and passionate about the pictures in Annie’s book. The pictures of her life partner, Susan, being diagnosed with cancer were more real than stock paintings of Jesus praying in the garden. Annie allowed me to view the slow demise of the woman she loved and the births of her three daughters. Most Christians won’t let anyone see them without makeup. There’s little passion in our lives.

Few Christian bands move beyond superficial lyrics. (How many words can we find that rhyme with God, Jesus, love, or heart.) There are exceptions … they are rare and I support them. I shudder to think of the dribble that most Christian authors put out. Christian movies are horribly corny. What is it about being in love with the risen Savior that makes us incapable of producing media above mediocrity?

Gerald went to the City Commissioners meeting last week. He asked them to be more lenient – to show grace – to those who couldn’t afford to pay their water bill on time. He asked them to give more second chances to the poor in our town. He asked the mayor if he had ever experienced true poverty. Gerald has … he came from there. - … - … - … The newspaper mocked Gerald mercilessly. The writer mocked Gerald’s style of speech, uneducated manner, and the way he was received by the educated commissioners. The paper’s author made it the top priority to point out each of Gerald’s blunders.

Gerald had passion, though. He passionately believed that our town was committing an injustice. He believed that it was wrong for a Christian society to ignore the poor. (If a person is late with a payment, their water is immediately shut off. There is a large fee to have water turned back on.) I’m glad that there are still Christians left with passion.

I long for a passionate church. It is hard to show passion in a 100 million dollar “Christian” film while people in America don’t have money enough to eat. It’s difficult to realize we are spending millions of dollars to entertain ourselves while people go hungry.

I hope for passion – I believe it is a possibility

Influenced

The three of us were shopping at the Outlet Malls when the truth came out. We still dress as if our parents dressed us. Inexplicably the fashion choices we make are aligned completely with the clothes our parents dressed us in.

I was dressed in hand-me-downs as a child and today I wear Goodwill and Salvation Army clothes almost exclusively. John was a label whore since childhood. His parents dressed him in Oshkosh –B’gosh (I take pride in the fact that I have no idea how to spell that). On the day we were shopping he was wearing AE and J-Crew. He ALWAYS wears name-brand clothes. Rachel’s parents dressed her in vintage clothes. She was shopping in a green frock with buttons too large for usefulness and brown leggings. All three of us still prescribe to the clothing choices of our parents.

It’s such a simple thing. We never really break free from our influences. Our religion is largely decided by our families, our perception of ourselves is determined by those of whom we love, our favorite foods will always be cooked by mom, and ultimately our career paths will be narrowed by what is socially acceptable.

How can we possible escape? It’s such a defeatist view … we are destined to become our parents. The simplest things will echo throughout our lives.

My mom brushes her teeth three times a day while I’ve never seen my father brush his teeth. I brush mine once a day.


I don’t think we can ever escape the influences of our childhood. I don’t think we can ever get away from them. Maybe we are destined to repeat the mistakes of our parents and grandparents until our lineage is either too messed up to breed any longer or it “normals out.” I’m not holding out too much hope.

The youth pastor did my second least favorite thing last night. After his sermon he asked for "everyone who wants to do great things for God to stand up!" After everyone was standing, he said "if you don't really want to do great things for God and give everything over to Him, go ahead and sit down."

Like any shy, insecure middle schooler would ever sit down and face the onslaught of condemnation from his or her peers. I wish I had sat down. It's not that I don't want to do great things for God ... I do. It's that I'm not sure I can give everything up right now. Part of me feels that I won't ever be able to give everything up. I believe that God still takes me as I am. I'm sure he's not jubilant about the sin that remains, but he still loves me and will change my heart in His time. So ... who's up for Mediocrity 4 Jesus?

I've lost my passion. It's a desert place - a valley. I'm okay with it. Valleys happen. It doesn't mean that I'm a bad person or a bad Christian. It doesn't mean that I hate Jesus. I still love Jesus - I just have trouble showing it right now. I don't need expectations. I don't need hyper happy Jesus Freaks to tell me that they are "praying for me." I don't need condemnation. I need people to be honest with me and to love me without abandonment. It's what everyone needs.

I'm not alone. There are probably dozens of kids who wish they had sat back down last night. There are probably a lot of kids who feel like a failure for lying to God in front of people they love. It happens.

Sometimes I think that all Christians should be moderate. Sometimes I think that no Christian should ever be so dispassionate to stoop to the level of moderate.

The Breakfast Club for six year olds

We had some down time today in my Kindergarten classroom. We let them work on puzzles, and, upon completion of forementioned puzzles, talk. They just sat around and talked about nothing. They discussed literature. (I must concurr that "The Red Ripe Strawberry" is more enjoyable than"Chica Chica Boom Boom.") They discussed politics (Ricky is the coolest by a majority vote, but that could have been called on day one.)They chatted about current events (Summer school is winding down, even the decorations are being removed.) They talked about life.

We don't do that enough. We don't take enough time to sit and talk. We argue a good bit, yes; but I find that when we do that we don't listen. It's not a discussion. It's so rare to just sit and talk with a person. To say something, listen to his or her response, and reply in kind. It's an oddity. I thinkour churches should have lots of time to just sit and talk. I visited Alma, a friend from my older adult sunday school class, and we talked about our grandmothers for an hour. I'll never answer a Jeopardy question because of what I learned, it won't improve my grades, and I won't win a talent contest as a result of that time - but I grew as a person. I learned a little bit more from where my friend of great faith came.

It's rare for six year olds to be given the chance to just talk during the school day. It's even rarer for adults to choose to make time for the pursuit. It's something I learned from my mother, she made time every Fridayto talk with Althea and Betty. I went along with her every week and listened to their conversations. They talked about everything and nothing. It's so rare - and I think that rarity is reason enough to begin investing. Wanna talk?

For some unknown reason, my desire to change the world is overpowered by my desire channel surf. All of my discussions on eradicating poverty are eviscerated by my own desire for a newer car. I fiercely believe all that I teach, but I find it almost impossible to live it out. Love ax-murderers, child molestors, and crack addicts? Is this even attainable? Can't I just try not to cuss too much, God?