same kind of different as me

Sameness. I think I hate it.

I used to have a habit when going to restaurants with large groups of people I would try to order something off the menu that no one else in the group had. I’ve always had the habit of falling in love with the most obvious girl in the room. I once had five earrings and blue hair.

I like being different. I value diversity. And more often than not, in the evangelical Christian circles I find myself in, it has caused me problems.

There are strands of evangelical Christianity that take great pleasure and expend great effort in silencing new ideas. As if opposition to motion can prevent the future from arriving. It’s Hoover Dam Christianity holding back a massive wall of water so that we can control what areas of land remain dry. In some ways, it has its place. There are reasons why we need to enforce our will on that water. It is powerful and not easy to manipulate and can easily overwhelm everything else.

But what if God is in that water? Do we want to hold Him back too?

Somewhere in the divide between Gen X and Gen Y, there came a point where a generation started to be willing to ask questions again. We wanted to challenge the assumptions that were made for us and undertake the task of rebuilding the foundation from which we will judge truth. It’s a predictable part of the evolution of every generation no doubt… as is the predictable response from the generation that comes before us. “We already know what’s true. You’re wasting your time. And worse than that, questioning what we have already established is dangerous.”

This generational shoving match plays out before us every day. It plays out in our politics, literature, fashion, technology, religion and all kinds of other ways. If we’re going to rebuild from the foundation already established, we’re going to have to knock out a wall here and there to do it.

Most recently, I’ve seen this struggle play out in the context of Rob Bell’s new book Love Wins. It’s “A Book About Heaven, Hell, and the Fate of Every Person Who Ever Lived.” It only came out today. I haven’t read it and I can neither defend the author not critique him.

What I have seen are at least a half dozen articles and blog posts calling Bell every name under the sun, slandering his work, and generally aiming to silence his message. He’s called everything from unscholarly to arrogant to heretical and accused of lying, manipulation, and blasphemy.

As a general rule, I assume anyone being opposed so strongly has something incredibly important to say.

But that’s just the thing with Bell. His general M.O. is to ask questions and employ the Socratic method to get his readers to explore a topic more deeply and study more thoroughly the scriptures that should inform a Christian’s opinion on the matter. Now whether Bell is a universalist (he says he’s not) or whether he sets out to create controversy (he says he doesn’t) is up for debate. I just don’t think those are the true reasons he is being opposed.

People hate it when you mess with the systems they have worked so hard to mold. You can’t question these things. They just are. They have always been.

My pastor even made a point this weekend of saying that “the gospel can be summed up in four words.” A four word systematic theology. Alright, so it can. But should it be? Is the gospel four words deep? Or it is it deeper than all the water we can hold back with the Hoover Dam? Do we create our little systems to better understand God or to better control Him?

Bell at one point deflects the criticism he expects by saying there is a reason that many evangelical Christians don’t appreciate good art or throw good parties. Those things require someone to accept new ideas, to come in contact with diversity, to be challenged, and to relish the opportunity for genuine conversation. We cannot live a full life without being confronted by these things and yet so many of us continue to avoid them.

As a Christian, I don’t find it acceptable to fear other people’s ideas. I can’t fear questions. We have birthed a generation of critics rather than creators. People who live off criticizing the ideas of others instead of creating their own. It’s ugly. It’s unoriginal. And it is devoid of grace. Not to mention that fearing a challenge to the things I say I believe only exposes my insecurity about the allegiance I truly hold to those beliefs.

You know how Jesus responded to questions? He answered them. I’m reading through the Gospel of Luke right now and one thing I have noticed is there are a lot of questions in this book.

How can this be, since I am a virgin?

Why is it that you were looking for me? Did you not know that I had to be in my Father’s house?

Why do you do what is not lawful on the Sabbath?

Who then is this, that He commands even the winds and the water, and they obey Him?

But who do you say that I am?

Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?

Jesus shatters our systems, our preconceptions, and our previous knowledge. He is the answer to many of our questions. But we must have the audacity to ask them.

i am still painting flowers for you

"When I wake up, the dream isn't done
I want to see your face and know I made it home
If nothing is true, what more can I do?

I am still painting flowers for you"  All Time Low

A boy who would be a shepherd in a field before it's known that he would be king.  This is how we meet the boy-king David in the first book of Samuel.  A boy who would be king in a temple before it's known that he would be a savior.  This is one of the scenes introducing us to Jesus in the gospels.

The parallels between the life of David and the life of Christ are exponential in scope but I hadn't really take the time to connect those dots until recently when our church began a study on the life of David.  All throughout this study, the pastors and elders of our church have been emphasizing that we should be looking to David as someone we should emulate directly but instead read his story as a foreshadowing of Christ and his life.  By doing that, we learn more about who Jesus is/was supposed to be and we stop placing the focus of bible stories primarily on ourselves.  After all, the books of the bible are written in histories, in letters, in proverbs, and in song.  But none of those books are primarily about us.  All of them are primarily about God. 

This past weekend, I had the opportunity to hear my friend and pastor Trevor preach about what discipleship means.  He was making the altogether true, but somewhat controversial point that discipleship does not happen in the Protestant-approved spiritual disciplines.  Reading your bible is not discipleship.  Singing worship songs is not discipleship.  Prayer is not discipleship.  Sitting across the table at a coffee shop from someone and talking about your feelings is not discipleship.  That's not to say those things aren't important to the Christian life or forming our character or that they aren't good spiritual practices.  But they are only preparations for discipleship.  Discipleship, after all, is following Christ.  That happens primarily when we suffer and when we struggle and when we fail.  Because discipleship is following Christ and Christ is going to a cross.  The question we face as His disciples is are we willing to follow Him even there?

As many similarities as there are between David and Christ, I am indebted to my friend Dan for pointing out to me a key difference.  David became king.  Yes, he spent much of his life running from Saul, hiding in caves, facing persecution, plots against his life, and real danger.  But he became king.  He enjoyed the spoils of wealth, of success, of power, of prestige, of significance, of military might, and of celebrity.  He became everything he could have ever dreamed to be and more and all of this was clearly done by God's own hand.

Jesus did not.

At least, not in the way we see in the life of David.  Jesus would become a spiritual king, the savior of Israel.  But he spend his life nomadic and homeless, hanging out with the scourges of society.  He had no real career or accomplishments to his name, certainly no prestige or celebrity.  He never wrote a book, never was even recognized as a proper teacher by the religious authorities of His day.  He was 30 years old, unmarried, with no property, and spending all his days with a bunch of uneducated fishermen.  It is safe to say that most people probably thought Jesus' life was a failure.  And then he went to a cross.  The only recognition of his kingly status was a sign reading "King of the Jews" hanging above his head adorned with a crown of thorns.

Now who do I really want to be like?  Do I want to be like David or do I want to be like Christ? 

Our pastor J.D. drew a comparison in his sermon this week between the pasture where David is tending sheep when they call for him so that Samuel can anoint him as the next king of Israel and the place we spend our lives as we prepare for whatever we think God is calling us to in the future.  I think this reads with a lot of twentysomethings like me who constantly feel like we are waiting for our real lives to begin and these preparation times to fade away to mere memories.  J.D.'s point was not waste this time.  God forms kings in the pasture.  That is where he makes ordinary, weak people into people who are capable of extraordinary things through His strength.

But what if God's calling for me isn't from a pasture to a throne?  What if while I wait and doubt and struggle what God is calling me toward is more suffering?  If following Christ means going to a cross then suffering is a permanent part of that equation.  I must be united to Him in His death if I am ever to access the healing that is found in His life.  Would I still worship Him if that is the case?  Am I enduring the pasture and the cave and the wilderness because of the promise of a throne or because I know that God is with me no matter where I am?  (I'm asking these questions because I honestly don't have the answers.)

If God's calling for me doesn't involve getting married to the woman of my dreams or having a moderately priced house in the suburbs or attaining financial stability or having the respect of my colleagues or the admiration of my friends, then am I still interested in pursuing the path which he has laid out before me?  And if I don't, then did I ever really have any faith or trust in Him at all? 

I think no one serves better as an example of someone who suffered well in scripture than Paul.  He encountered difficulties not when he was young but when he was older and knew enough to avoid strife and hardship.  He had status and prestige and power before he met Jesus on the road to Damascus.  That was where Paul lost everything.  He lists out the various things he has suffered in his second letter to the Corinthians. 

Five times I received from the Jews thirty-nine lashes. Three times I was beaten with rods, once I was stoned, three times I was shipwrecked, a night and a day I have spent in the deep. I have been on frequent journeys, in dangers from rivers, dangers from robbers, dangers from my countrymen, dangers from the Gentiles, dangers in the city, dangers in the wilderness, dangers on the sea, dangers among false brethren; I have been in labor and hardship, through many sleepless nights, in hunger and thirst, often without food, in cold and exposure.

And yet through it all, he sings hymns while in prison and converts his jailers.  He not only endures torment and hardship, he almost seems to prefer it or at least to expect it.  He goes around writing things like, "I count all things to be loss in view of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them but rubbish so that I may gain Christ.  And "I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."  And "I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want."  At the end of his life, he uses his allotted time to defend himself before his would be executioners to try to convert them to Christianity instead.

This is not to fall into the all-too-common traps of sanitizing the bible or of glorifying the saints.  Paul's suffering were real and painful and difficult.  I think his testimony suggests that he endured them faithfully but at the cost of great discomfort.  I just don't think Paul considered it to be suffering if it was what God planned for Him to do.  He welcomed God's plan no matter the outcome or affect on his life.  He didn't hold back his faith hoping to attain the things he wanted all along and then just slap the name of God on the side.  He was ready, he was eager to suffer if it meant joining God in His mission for the world.  I don't have Paul's faith.

Much like life, this blog post will remain unresolved.  But I do want to leave you with some encouragement.  There's no better way for me to do that this week than to introduce you to new music.  My friend Jonathan put out his debut album this week under the name Aftermath and it is called The Aftertaste of Abandonment.  Not only is the record an incredibly insightful reflection on what it sounds like and feels like to have faith in God in a world that often disappoints us, it's also just flat out good.  You should go download it immediately.  (It's only $7.92!)  And listen to track 5 entitled "Waters Rise."  No, this storm is not over.

only ashes

(Editor's note: I'm currently working on a couple things that are not ready for publication so I'm going to share with you a blog entry I wrote for Ash Wednesday last year. Also, I stole the title from this Something Corporate song that is awesome.)

Today is Ash Wednesday. I'm not sure that Baptists really recognize Ash Wednesday. I was baptized Catholic and once you get the holy water on you, you never really get it to completely come off. Even if you later become a Baptist. The point of the tradition is to mark a day of repentance before we transition into the season of Lent for the Christian calendar.

Christians celebrate Lent in different ways, but many of my friends and family choose to use these 46 days before Easter to either give up something or dedicate themselves anew to something. Think of it like a New Year's resolution but made to Jesus. Might be more fun, definitely more guilt involved. Anyway, so this year I decided to give up sweets for 2 reasons: a) I knew it would be hard for me to do with my massive sweet tooth and b) it doesn't hurt to live a healthier, more disciplined lifestyle. I am about 16 hours in at this point and I am gripping. I find myself equivocating on the commitment. Chocolate is obviously out but what about Pop Tarts? How sweet is peanut butter really? Can I put sugar in my coffee? Would Jesus be mad if I got all hyped up on Mountain Dew right now?

It occurs to me that I might be missing the point.

It reminds me of the story of the Transfiguration. Matthew tells the story this way is his gospel.

"Six days later Jesus took with Him Peter and James and John his brother, and led them up on a high mountain by themselves. And He was transfigured before them; and His face shone like the sun, and His garments became as white as light. And behold, Moses and Elijah appeared to them, talking with Him. Peter said to Jesus, 'Lord, it is good for us to be here; if You wish, I will make three tabernacles here, one for You, and one for Moses, and one for Elijah.' While he was still speaking, a bright cloud overshadowed them, and behold, a voice out of the cloud said, 'This is My beloved Son, with whom I am well-pleased; listen to Him!' When the disciples heard this, they fell face down to the ground and were terrified." Matthew 17:1-6

This is what it takes to get their attention finally. Really? All the healing and miracles and feeding of five thousands and raising people from the dead just didn't do the trick? God has to bring in the cameo appearances from Moses and Elijah and put the super glow effect on Jesus' face and clothes just to get them to listen!

That's me.

I'm that guy that has to go through every other option, to bargain, to cajole, and to doubt before I finally just stop and pay attention. It takes all that for me to realize that God really just wants to bring me close and teach me what it means to truly follow Him and become like Him. Yeah, it's supposed to be hard to give up something you love, even if just for a time. It drives you to prayer and reliance on Christ.

As we go through the Believe project together and as we progress through the season of Lent towards Easter, I hope we can let God show us again just how amazing and transformational is His mission to the world. I hope that when He asks us to make small sacrifices we realize that what we sacrifice today will be paid back tenfold in days to come. But most of all, I hope that when we doubt and when we wander and when we fall that we'll take the time to pray and to see Jesus for who He is once again.

Sacrilegious

Sunday mornin' wake up early,
Skip church service to find my Jesus.
I know it sounds so sacrilegious,
But I just don't belong in a place like that.

These words are not just the opening salvo from a track titled "Sacrilegious" on Never Shout Never's new album.  They seem to be the cry of a generation of would-be Christians.

My pastor tweeted an interesting rhetorical question today: "What has happened to student ministries in young, progressive churches? My denom baptized 140k teens in 1972; last yr only 75k."

It's not a question that can only be posed to a Southern Baptist reader but anyone who is part of a church.  My generation is bailing out of the church like never before.  It's enough to make me wonder: What is the disconnect?  Are we just a particularly Satanic and evil generation bent on disappointing our parents and forever disturbing culture as we have previously known it?  Somehow, I doubt it.

I think the more interesting answer resides in the chorus.

I love the cause but not the act.

I love a good cause.  The tragedy being felt in Haiti involves devastation I can never hope to comprehend or explain.  But the healing that has begun through a series of text messages, tweets, benefit concerts, basketball games brings me so much hope for this world.  It is hard to go anywhere and not see on display the endless signs of generosity and solidarity with the Haitian people.  The darkest nights are often pierced by the purest light.  It has been a lament to see so many lose their lives.  It has been a joy to see so many saved.

We may never be the "Greatest Generation."  But we may be the "Good Generation."  Our generation is generous, thoughful, soulful, and hopeful.  (It doesn't hurt that we provide such a stark contrast to our ne'er do well, careless Gen X brethren.  Time to face it.  We're pretty much the world's last best hope and that brings out the best in us every time.)

So why don't we believe in the church?

One reason is that we love the cause but not the act.  The Christian act of having it all figured out.  We know how you ought to live, where you should work, what music and art you should enjoy.  And above all, we know how you should experience God.

For a group of people who believe the kind of foolishness that has men raising from the dead, we sure do have it all figured out.  One time in my life, I'd like to be a part of church where screwed up people feel like they belong.

'Cause Jesus was a friend and not a judge.
He loved the sinners as much as he loved the little ones.
That man was love and not an act.

So if the first reason we're lost is the way we do church.  The second is the way we treat Jesus.

You may notice that I don't spend all of my posts on this blog or any of my various social networks solely laying out today's bit of theology.  I used to try to get to know God like that.  But at some point in my life I realized I'm probably not going to find God in a book.  Sure, I'll find Him in some.  But I'll also find God in art and music and sunsets.  And where I'm most likely to find God is wherever I am.  Because He's been pursuing me for a long time.

Now that's not a knock on educated people.  I am one.  But you have to know that you don't have a monopoly on God.  Neither do the artists or the musicians or the scientists or the missionaries.  We all know God in our own way and that is a perfectly natural occurence.

I really like my dad.  And I could tell you stories all day about things he has taught me or advice he's given me or mistakes he's kept me from making.  I could tell you what he does for a living or what he really gets excited about or what he is hoping for in the future.  But until I actually introduce you to him, you're not going to know who he is.  And even after I introduce you to him, you're still not going to know him like I do. 

Because he's the guy that taught me how to swing a baseball bat and how to win an argument and how to know when it's not worth the fight and how to know when it is.

I think knowing Jesus works about the same way.  You probably know Jesus a little differently than I do.  Because you've been through different things together and you've had different conversations than we've had.  You're not going to be able to introduce me to him by exposing me to systematic theology or outlining Thomas Aquinas' view of the trinity.  I'm not going to know him until I meet Him for myself and I'm not going to learn anything about Him until we have some experiences together.  That man was love and not an act.

I'll be the first to admit that treating Jesus as a person and not an idea is pretty difficult and might even have some uncomfortable theological implications.  But if He really is a person, that's probably one of the most important aspects of his personality.  And we're definitely never going to know him until we start treating him like one.

Happy Holidays

I have an idea for a short story. The main conceit involves a faceless, unnamed Christmas shopper who gets into an argument with Jesus about what is more proper to say during the yuletide season, "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas." I can just imagine so many generic, sincere, and earnest Christians getting into an argument about their level of support for Christmas with the guy whose birth we are celebrating. I'm not saying that Jesus isn't interested in protecting the "true meaning" of his birthday and all. It just seems that Christ is a lot more tolerant of those who refuse to acknowledge him than those who claim to want to be like him. I know this mostly because of the influx of my Facebook friends who became a fan of "I say Merry Christmas, not Happy Holidays" within the last three weeks. I am utterly convinced that joining that group is like unringing a bell. Every time you do, an angel loses his wings.

I didn't write that short story, though. Mostly because I wrote this essay instead and kind of stole my own thunder if that is something you can possibly do. (Maybe I will write it later and this essay will become a really cool prequel-type commentary on what I was trying to express.) Really, I decided to write an essay because I am better at that and the last time I wrote a short story I'm pretty sure I was in fifth grade and the main characters were a dog and a cat who talked and spoke English but couldn't spell all that well.

Chuck Klosterman concludes his book Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs with a discussion of the born-again worldview, a subject he feels educated enough to discuss based mostly on a recent reading of the Left Behind series.

There is no sophisticated reason for believing in anything supernatural, so it really comes down to believing you're right.  This is another example of how born agains are cool--you'd think they'd be humble, but they've got to be amazingly cocksure.  And once you've crossed over, you don't even have to try to be nice; according to the born again exemplar, your goodness will be a natural extension of your salvation.

This is ultimately what causes Klosterman to reject Christianity out of hand.  He can't believe that such a thing is possible.  That doing good would just be a natural outpouring of conversion.  Of course, no one believes this.  Not even Christians.  Otherwise, we wouldn't be constantly consciously trying to do so many "good" things.

I'm a sucker for a good cause.  Like. Honestly. Can't. Say. No.

Salvation Army guy at the front door of Walmart.  Hit you up on the way in and on the way out.  Dig wells in the bush?  Sure, I'll text SAVE to 56789 and give you $5.  I mean, how can I not?  I just spent $15 on iTunes because I was bored.  Am I really going to deny AIDS medication to destitute children in sub-Saharan Africa so I can download obscure EPs from Never Shout Never?  Buy books for kids who need to learn to read at the checkout at Barnes & Noble?  How could I live with myself if these kids didn't get to hear the same stories about big red dogs that I did (or their 2009 equivalents)?

Why am I this way?  Well, guilt mostly.  I still haven't figured out if this makes me a really good Christian or a really bad one.  Probably both ,but the point is that I am infected with the same virus as everyone else that causes a crying out from deep within my soul saying, "DO SOMETHING!"

While I am sure it is oversimplification, most of the infirmities of the human condition originate from two core diseases most economically labeled as rebellion and religion.  A quick definition of rebellion would be trying to do the wrong thing and a quick definition of religion would be trying to the right thing.  If the rebellion that has forever separated us from God is solved at the foot of the cross, then our problems with religion are solved in a manger.

Almost none of the Christians I know understand the "true meaning" of Christmas.  The reason for this is because instead of doing our job and just waiting on Jesus to be born, we are constantly trying to do stuff.  It is amazing how easy it is to be tempted to do the wrong thing when doing the right thing isn't leading to our preferred results.  H.L. Mencken put it this way, "Every normal man is tempted at some point to spit on his hands, raise the black flag, and begin slitting throats."  That is no way to live a life of patience, humility, and serenity.  Nor do I expect to soon read that quote scribbled into the bottom of a Christmas card under a colorful picture of a crèche.  Yet instead of pausing to reflect on the promised birth of Christ, we spend Christmas trying to get all militant and enforcing our spiritual beliefs on others.  We make our family and friends endure our awkward, is-everyone-down-with-this prayers and represent our piety by boycotting stores who would dare to say "Happy Holidays!" no matter how jovially.  We capitalize the "Christ" in "CHRISTmas" because that's what you do if you are truly holy and near to the promised infant. 

It's going to be pretty hard to get the Christ out of Christmas as long as we maintain the name and keep celebrating it on the date widely associated with his birth.  We make the commercialization of Christmas a tale of blasphemy and while surely a shameful development, commercialism is a poor adversary for the King of Kings.  Commercialism is a pretty powerful force in the modern world but it is still pretty hard to compete with virgin births and supernatural celestial events.  We've anointed Jared commercials as an enemy not because they are endlessly annoying (seriously, how is it possible to make even the expression of love so repugnant?) but because religion requires an enemy.

Wakey! Wakey! demonstrates religion's need to justify itself in the song "War Sweater."

Battle lines drawn if you wonder which side speaks the truth
then look closely to which speaks from pride
I love you. I swear it. I would never lie...
But I fear for our lives and I fear your closed eyes...

You wear your religion like a War Sweater.
You ask for the truth, but you know you could do so much better,
and you sat on your fences, you've screamed no retreat...
So now what will your legacy be?

Here we are at the dawn of advent awaiting the promised Prince of Peace and somehow we have made Christmas about declaring a petty American culture war.  We know the Christ child as the Lamb of God, comparatively docile among the types of farm animals, so what makes us so eager to take up arms?  If anyone is guilty of taking Christ out of Christmas, it is American Christians who would rather insert an angrier version of Jesus ready to win the culture on behalf of reformed theologians and then run for President.  It is staggering how much our version of what Jesus would do if he were here today differs from the life he actually lived while on the earth.  How did we get here to this place?

In the whole story of the birth of Christ, the only person who seems to truly understand the significance of the event is the mother, Mary.  Upon being visited by an angel, which had to be a pretty mystifying experience in itself, and then being told all manners of craziness mostly surrounding the fact that she would give birth though a virgin she simply responds, "I am the Lord's servant.  May it be to me as you have said."  Mary, of course, is also the one who will be jeopardizing her relationship, be mocked by society, and shunned by her family when she tries to repeat this ridiculous virgin birth nonsense to others.  Yet, she is the picture of serenity and patience.  That kind of faith helps you understand why some people venerate Mary to such a degree. 

The difference between waiting and acting is the difference between love and romance.  Love is quiet, patient, almost passive.  There might not be a greater beauty on earth than a still silence shared between lovers who desire nothing more than to be together.  Romance may have all the bells and whistles but the most hopeless of romantics only dreams to ultimately share those quiet moments.  If we could only learn to wait on the birth of Jesus, we might also learn to value the waiting moments as the sweetest time we would ever spend with God.

Jesus is Emo

My friend A.J. listens to songs on repeat... a lot. He will listen to a song about 300 times in a row. I have always thought this was rather pathetic and vaguely OCD. Seriously, bring some variety to your life. No song is that good.

But it turns out if you listen to a song long enough, you start to learn things that you never contemplated before. I know because I did it today. I was listening to Tenth Avenue North's "By Your Side" like ten times in a row and I just started thinking about how emo that band is. I mean for a bunch of guys who say they have peace that surpasses all understanding, it seems like they are really transfixed by some deep and spiritual longing. It's not like I am Mister Happy-Go-Lucky all the time by any means but Christian emo just seems to me to be a musical genre never before tried and somewhat uncomfortable to conceive.

Why are you looking for love
Why are you still searching as if I'm not enough
To where will you go child
Tell me where will you run
To where will you run

And I'll be by your side
Wherever you fall
In the dead of night
Whenever you call
And please don't fight
These hands that are holding you

And as I'm sitting there listening to this song and wondering whether I should be liking it as much as I do not knowing whether I like it because it is so emo or because it is about God.

That's when I realized that it was perfectly ok for Tenth Avenue North to be emo.

Because Jesus is emo.

Now hold on before you throw stones at me and scream, "Heretic!" because I called the savior of the world emo. Do people still do that? Southern Baptists probably still do.

But just think about it for a minute. The guy sweat blood in the Garden of Gethsemane, all his friends betrayed him, he spend most of his life saying things people couldn't understand, and he spent massive amounts of time alone in quiet places. That's emo.

I mean Jesus on the cross laments, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" All the teeny-bopper angst-ridden Twilight-reading sadness in the world cannot compare to the depths of loss expressed in that statement. Not even Edward Cullen could master the necessary brooding techniques to utter those words and explore the depths of the macabre like Christ.

And strangely, this makes me feel better about me. Because Jesus was emo for the same reason that every guy ever has been emo and for the same reason that I am emo.

He loves a woman. But she will not accept His love.

Now the woman he loves is more of a metaphor for the church, the world, and creation. But look at the gospels and again and again you see Jesus having to experience the kind of bone-crushing, sinking feeling loneliness that can only be associated with unrequited love.

This comforts me because it describes about 95 percent of all experiences I have had with love so I can understand a suffering Savior in this way.

But he doesn't love the "woman" because she is blonde or brunette or because of the quirks of her personality or because she laughs at his jokes. He loves her because he created her, he died for her, and purified her by allowing his love to wash over her. She is His. There is truly no where else for her to go other than to Him.

That's the breathtaking hopeless enduring love that every book and play and poem and song has been written about for all time. That's a kind of love I may never understand and only God is capable of and yet somehow it is the Love that holds the universe together and through which everything was created that has been created. It is this creative force of love that captivates the human mind and inspires us to live deeper, more meaningful existences. It's the kind of thing you just want to be near.

The idea that God has the kind of love for us that we cannot truly comprehend much less return is overwhelming.

Jesus is emo... for you.