the mayward blog

Fantasy vs. Imagination

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Wed, 22 May 2013 14:45:00 +0000

Photo Credit: Dave Dugdale (Creative Commons)

For the longest time as a kid, I imagined that I would become a superhero. In my mind, I had fantasies about being randomly chosen by a government agency for some sort of genetic experiment that inevitably backfired and went horribly wrong, but still gave me superhuman powers to bend time and space at will, turn invisible, and make girls like me.

Deep down, the heart behind this imaginative fantasy world was this: I wanted to help people and feel confident about myself. Superheroes don't have enough time to be insecure and weak, with all the saving and heroics and whatnot. The fantasy I had constructed wasn't based in reality, but there was something there that was core to my identity formation. The only problem: being a genetically-modified superhero wasn't real. It wasn't going to happen. I was reaching for the clouds, and they were vapor in my grasp.

There is a difference between constructing an imaginary future and living with an imaginative vision.

The former is living in a self-made fantasy world. People do this all the time. They believe something about themselves, others, God, or their purpose that simply isn't true or real. It's the idea of "if I can become/obtain/earn/get this job/romance/role/status/achievement, then everything will be great." Living with a fantasized idea of the future based in falsehood only leads to disappointment and isolation.

The alternative is to live with a hope-filled vision of the future as we submit our imaginations to the Spirit of God.

Richard Dunn and Jana Sundene write the following in their fantastic book on discipling young adults, Shaping the Journey of Emerging Adults:

"God calls us to live with expectancy--to trust that he is at work and will continue to write his story through our lives. To live with expectancy (instead of self-created expectations) creates hopeful vision."

As the Holy Spirit guides us into truth, the reality we experience becomes far greater than any imaginary future we create. Listening for his voice, guided by his Word, careful to rely on the wisdom found in community, and willing to take risky steps of faith allows us to experience the imagination of the Spirit at work in our immediate circumstances.

Live with Spirit-created expectancy, not self-created expectations.

I didn't end up a superhero. Instead, God led me to be a husband and father and pastor and writer. It's a reality I never could have imagined on my own. I think it's better that way. I'm beyond the clouds, living in the solid truth that God loves me, He created me for a purpose, and He is telling a great story in my life.

What self-created fantasies do you need to submit to the imagination of the Holy Spirit? Where might the Spirit be guiding you in your journey?

Iron Man 3 and Star Trek Into Darkness

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Tue, 21 May 2013 11:00:00 +0000

Here is a modest comparison of the two biggest summer blockbusters to be released in the past month:

Both choose explosions and cliche action sequences over character development or plot. Jon Favreau's Iron Man and J.J. Abrams' Star Trek were movies filled with characters. They grew and developed and suffered and fought and cried and laughed, and we loved the film for it. Yes, there were plenty of action sequences and dazzling effects (particularly in Star Trek). But those explosions never overshadowed the heart behind each story as a boastful and arrogant protagonist (Tony Stark and James Kirk) are humbled and stretched in profound and affecting ways. While both sequels do their best to create an atmosphere of pathos in key scenes, this usually falls short because it doesn't feel earned. These are just big popcorn explosion movies, cobbled scenes of cliche action sequences intended to make us ooh and aah at all the right moments.

Both feature genetically-modified self-healing villains with a motive of personal vengeance against a large technological corporation and its leadership, and both villains have a secret "twist" identity intended to surprise and/or delight the movie audience. I'll just let that sentence speak for itself. The parallels are uncanny.

Both tried to go "dark." After Christopher Nolan's incredibly successful run with the Batman trilogy, superhero movies are doing their best to be gritty, grim, and gloomy. Just see the Iron Man 3 and Star Trek Into Darkness poster mashup above--falling out of the skies in flames against a grey, cloudy background. The only problem: it's rather difficult to have a glum Tony Stark or a morose James T. Kirk. It's akin to having a peppy and zestful Bruce Wayne.

Both revel in vengeance. Iron Man 3 boasts in Tony Stark's "you hurt my friend, so I'm gonna kill you" morality. (Spoilers for STID): John Harrison, aka Khan, is getting revenge for being awoken from cryogenic sleep and kills Captain Pike, which leads Kirk to seek revenge on Khan for the death of Pike, which leads Spock to get revenge for the "death" of Kirk. It's like watching a Tarantino script.

Both have glaring plot holes: Iron Man 3 has more, but Star Trek Into Darkness has a number of its own. A few plot inconsistencies or frustrations, with spoilers:

Why does Tony Stark create nearly four dozen working Iron Man suits and not use them until the final battle sequence? During any of the fight sequences throughout the prior two hours of violence and death, why didn't he just...you know...press a button and make them show up? Like, maybe when the helicopters show up at Tony's house in the first place, since they're all just sitting right there?
If Tony Stark's suits require an eye-scan identification to work--like they do for Pepper Potts when she receives Tony's message via his helmet--then how do the bad guys reconfigure the Iron Patriot suit to use for their own schemes?
Tony Stark has the arc reactor and shrapnel removed from his chest via surgery, supposedly as a moment of closure. If all it took was a simple surgery, why didn't he get that sooner? And we know he's not really done being Iron Man; they've still gotta make The Avengers 2, after all.
Speaking of them, during all the attacks and fighting and kidnapping of the president, etc: where are the other Avengers? And where is S.H.I.E.L.D.?
Why does Spock needlessly fight Khan in order to get his super-blood in order to heal and resurrect Kirk, when there are 72 other sleeping super-blood folks easily at hand?
Speaking of Khan--why the alias? Why go by John Harrison at all? Matt Singer asks the same question, and comes up with this answer: it's because J.J. Abrams thrives on mystery and toying with an audience. Abrams calls it his mystery box, and he employs it often. There is no real need for Benedict Cumberbatch to be John Harrison at all, except to make it all the more mysterious for us movie-goers and further Abrams' desire to keep our curiosity piqued. You can bet there will be TONS of mystery box moments when the new Abrams-directed Star Wars films arrive in a few years. (This isn't necessarily a bad thing, by the way. I love me some mystery and intrigue. I'm simply stating that Khan could simply be Khan, and Khan alone; there was no need for the Harrison alias to make the character intriguing.)

Both feature unnecessary scenes with main characters emerging from a bed containing two women. Just saying. Not exactly family-friendly. Speaking of unnecessary characters...

Both have unnecessary characters: The kid Tony Stark encounters in in Tennessee and Carol March are each used for their particular cuteness to reveal the "sensitive" side of their heroes (Stark and Kirk, respectively). Neither are real characters with heart and purpose. The kid is just there to give Tony Stark a father-figure moment; Carol's primary role in Star Trek Into Darkness appears be the brief scene featuring her in her underwear. They have maybe a dozen lines each and have little to add to the narrative arc (though both are used to save the hero from the villain). Yet even as I wrote this last sentence, it reveals the vapidity of both characters--they're used, like objects, plot points in a story rather than an actual person. A challenge: I'll give you huge props if you can remember the name of the kid in Iron Man 3 without looking it up.

Both will make loads of money. As of this writing, in the United States alone, Iron Man 3 has made $338 million in three weeks. Star Trek Into Darkness has made $83.7 million in less than two weeks. I'm willing to bet that Iron Man 3 will be the highest-grossing summer movie of the year.

Both were disappointing. I wish I liked these movies more than I did. I loved Iron Man. I loved Star Trek. So I was frustrated and disheartened that both of these films left me wishing I hadn't dished out the cash for the 3D or IMAX tickets.

What did you think of Iron Man 3 and Star Trek Into Darkness? Am I just being too cynical and critical, or were you disappointed too?

12-3-1 Discipleship

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Wed, 15 May 2013 14:15:00 +0000

Discipleship is absolutely essential in youth ministry. In a blog series on discipleship entitled Following Jesus, I answered the question: what is discipleship?

In the simplest sense, it is the title of this blog series--following Jesus. The first disciples could literally engage in this activity by walking the same paths and streets as the incarnate God. This invitation from Jesus required a response of movement, engagement, and the laying down of one's life and agenda in order to submit to the One they followed.

To be a disciple is never a program, a curriculum, or a study. As each of the other responders indicate, discipleship is a way of life. I would contend that following Jesus is theonly real way to live; all other lifestyles are artificial and incomplete substitutes for the true life that Jesus offers. To follow Jesus is to live. He bids us to come and die, to find resurrected life in him.

Thus, making disciples is inviting another to follow Jesus with me. It is inherently relational, reflecting the Trinitarian nature of the God we follow. Throughout the Gospel of John, Jesus repeatedly points out that he does nothing without the authority and guidance of the Father. Upon his resurrection, Jesus breathes upon his disciples and gives them this charge: as the Father has sent me, so I am sending you.

To be a disciple is not only to embrace a way of life; it is a radical transforming of one's identity around the person of Jesus. The disciples are no longer fishermen; they are fishers of men. They are no longer ordinary individuals; they are salt, light, sent ones, ambassadors for the kingdom of God. Jesus looks at Simon and names him "Peter." In discipleship, we are inviting others to be given a new name, a new identity, a new way of being in the world.

If following Jesus is mission-critical in youth ministry, then how do we do it? What are the practical ways to invite another to follow Jesus with me? How can we create structure and pursue intentionality without become static or programmatic in our discipleship methods?

Here's an idea I'm toying with in my ministry context. I'm calling it 12-3-1 Discipleship. It's based on the life and ministry of Jesus and his twelve disciples. Here's how it looks:

The Twelve: Jesus chose 12 disciples to follow him, to walk alongside him, sharing life and ministry (Matt 10:1-4). This small group of peers were equipped and guided into the ways of the kingdom of God, and given ministry responsibility from Jesus. Our youth ministry's Life Groups are our twelve. As adult leaders, we have a familiarity and connection with each of the students in this small group; we know their names and genuinely care about them. We are their advocates and guides, having some communication with each of them once a week, and praying for them regularly. The goal for the twelve is a connection with each student.

The Three: Out of the twelve, Jesus had three particular disciples—Peter, James, and John—who experienced a deeper intimacy and relationship, present with Jesus at the Transfiguration (Matt 17:1-3) and in the Garden of Gethsemane (Matt 26:36-46). The three is a smaller group of students whom the Spirit has directed us to share in a deeper relationship. We know these students’ stories, friends, families, and have a trust and openness. We would meet with the three regularly outside of Sunday and Friday programs at least once a month, and go deeper with them both spiritually and relationally. These aren't the spiritually elite in the twelve; these are three young people at a variety of maturities and competencies that the Spirit has led us to disciple. The goal for the three is a relationship with each student.

The One: Out of the three, one relationship with Jesus stands out as particularly close—John, the disciple whom Jesus loved (John 21:20-24). Jesus also had an intimate relationship with Peter and James (particularly Peter), yet John’s gospel comes across as a description of an intimate friend and brother. The one is a particular student that the Spirit has led us to intentionally mentor. We are deeply part of this student’s life, meeting with them on a weekly basis and guiding them in every facet of their life—emotional, relational, mentally, and spiritual—as a place-sharer. The goal for the one is mentorship.

All students in our ministry should have at least one relationship with an adult, and multiple connections with adult leaders. The difference between a relationship and a connection is important, as I think we do volunteer leaders and students a disservice when we proclaim our ministry is "all about relationships" without defining and clarifying the differing levels of relational intimacy. If Jesus's chosen relational capacity is maxed out at twelve, we can't expect each of our volunteers to have uber-intimate relationships with more than that. A place-sharer is a person who is willing to stand in the place of another, acting fully on his or her behalf, refusing to run when times get dark or messy, suffering with them and offering hope and unconditional grace. (You can read more about place-sharing in Andy Root's fantastic youth ministry book, Relationships Unfiltered.)

No ministry model or structure is without flaws, but I'm hoping this paints a clearer picture of what success in discipleship can look like for our volunteer leaders. What do you think of the model? I'd love your feedback and input!

Book Review: Criticism Bites

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Tue, 14 May 2013 11:00:00 +0000

"The issue of criticism is not something you solve. It's something you manage. You will always have your critics."

This statement is found in the introduction to Brian Berry's book Criticism Bites: Dealing With, Responding To, and Learning From Your Critics, a wonderfully practical and wisdom-rich treatise on dealing with criticism as a leader in the church. If you're a leader, you'll be criticized. Period. Instead of avoiding criticism, Brian invites leaders to dig deep at understanding the heart issues behind why criticism can hurt so much, as well as offer tools to equip leaders to handle critiques and attacks in the future.

The first section of the book deals with the why behind the sting of criticism. Let's face it--no one genuinely enjoys criticism. Tolerate it, appreciate it in small doses, but enjoy it? Not so much. Brian invites the reader to ask the question, "why do I dislike criticism so much?" Even deeper, "why is criticism so painful?" Identity issues, comparison games, and even finances all play a role. For me, the deep pain of criticism surfaces most clearly due to an insecurity about a lack of self-awareness. I think I know myself fairly well, so when someone questions my identity or abilities, it bites deeper than expected. I wonder, "are they right? Did I miss something about myself? What if I've always been like this, and never knew it?" In fact, the harshest criticism I ever received came from a leader who frankly told me during an evaluation that something I had done "lacked self-awareness." It tore me up for weeks. Brian navigates these deeper heart issues with grace and wisdom, pointing out where the wounds of criticism can grow and fester if left open and unhealed.

Perhaps the best wisdom in the book comes from Brian's exhortation to keep the main thing the main thing. We're called to please God, not people (one of my personal values), which allows us to make mistakes and fail without losing our sense of self-worth or succumb to others' expectations:

As one of my friends says, "Anything worth doing is worth doing poorly." He's simply saying that if we're called to do it, then we can take some criticism and do it badly--because the point is not how well we did that thing, that we kept the main thing the main thing and we're in process on it. That's better than being people who quit because we couldn't do it well enough to get the loudest applause. If we take criticism as the final word on us, we won't be able to deflect, accept, or hear any critical commentary without it crushing us.

Success is not a goal we worship; it is a process we embrace.

The last section of the book addresses practical tools and wisdom for handling criticism well, including the value of good communication, giving grace to critics, and remembering that discouragement doesn't come from God. This latter bit of wisdom is so deeply important to remember, not only when receiving discouraging criticism, but before I share my own critiques or feedback with someone else. "Discouragement" is not listed as a fruit of the Spirit. When I need to admonish or exhort someone, it has to be done with a tone of grace, compassion, and the desire to build up, not tear down.

Brian is a ministry friend I first encountered in the YMCP cohort. Since then, he's become a source of wisdom and encouragement for me as we spur one another on in our respective ministries. His wisdom comes from years of youth ministry and a deep desire to encourage and support fellow youth workers and church leaders, and I'd highly recommend both this book and his previous book, As For Me and My Crazy House.

Get Criticism Bites at Amazon, Simply Youth Ministry, and The Youth Cartel. Share in the comments: what's the harshest criticism you've ever received?

The Great Gatsby

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Mon, 13 May 2013 13:33:00 +0000

“Can’t repeat the past?…Why of course you can!”

The Great Gatsby is one of my all-time favorite novels. This is not an exaggeration; it is a book that sits prominently on my bookshelf at home, worn from repeated readings. So I was filled with mixed emotion upon hearing of the new Baz Luhrmann production of F. Scott Fitzgerald's masterpiece, churning with an internal wrestling between enthusiasm and hesitation, hope and despair. The book had been adapted to film once before, unsuccessfully, in my opinion. Would this new film repeat the past failures of adaptation, or manage to capture the essence of the novel in all its American-dream-damning glory?

I'm happy to report, The Great Gatsby falls into the latter. The film captures the story of Nick Carraway's summer in New York, being drawn into the tumultuous romances and affairs of his wealthy cousins, Daisy and Tom, and his enigmatic and idealistic neighbor, Jay Gatsby.

Gatsby is lavish, excessive, over-the-top, and vibrant. This is not a subtle film. (Nor is the book. Fitzgerald is quite straightforward when it comes to his symbolism and imagery, e.g. the eyes of T.J. Eckleberg representing the eyes of God.) Luhrmann's bombastic images of Gatsby's parties, the mansions of East and West Egg, and the bustling metropolis of 1920s New York are wonderfully lush. This is not surprising; Luhrmann's past filmography (Moulin Rouge, Romeo + Juliet, Australia) reveals his tendency towards the dramatic and extravagant. Yet he has also taken care to remain close to the source material, using much of the novel's exact dialogue and using narration directly from Fitzgerald's pen. The costumes and production design are detailed and marvelous. Gatsby's suits and Daisy's dresses are each a wonder of 1920s sartorial elegance.

Leonardo DiCaprio's portrayal of the titular character is the best on-screen version I've seen yet. He looks the part, and exudes both an outer charm and inner brooding. He is at once pleasant proper, while also being inauthentic and aloof. The scene where Gatsby and Daisy are first reunited in Nick's home dances the line between humorous and affecting, all bound up in DiCaprio's performance. This Gatsby fits Daisy's description and confession: he always looks so cool. When he does get flustered, it is a pent-up passion that arises from years of obsession and idealism, the pursuit of a dream bound up in an already-married fool of a girl. The other main performances--Carey Mulligan as Daisy, Joel Edgerton as Tom, and Tobey Maguire as Nick--are also compelling, particularly Mulligan as the sweet and naively destructive Daisy.

“There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired.”

Allow me to defend the soundtrack. I know that having a 1920s-era story filled with Jay-Z, Lana Del Rey, and Florence + The Machine can seem a bit anachronistic. Yet Gatsby is such a fantastic and timeless tale because it's exactly that: timeless. The story of a rags-to-riches man obsessed with an idealized romance fits squarely in the current cultural narrative of North America. Let's look at the United States of the 1920s and the 2000s. Excessive wealth; stocks rising and falling in rapid succession; the hook-up hyped-up sex culture and ubiquity of alcohol and drugs in the party scene; materialism, consumerism, and whateverism. A soundtrack full of hip-hop and thumping dance beats captures the heart of this world of excess and instant gratification.

Gatsby is just as much a part of the millennial generation as the jazz age. He is a young man who literally creates his own identity from thin air, compromising any sense of morals for a singular dream of romance with an idealized woman. Material wealth and marriage vows; they are all temporary to Gatsby just so long as he can be happy and fulfilled. Nick describes Gatsby as the most hopeful man he'd ever encountered, and this is true--Gatsby is brimming with hope in a false ideal, a belief in the green light at the end of Daisy's dock, a constant "go" as he chases after a ghostly dream. The American mantras of "believe in yourself" and "follow your heart" are mottos Gatsby would frame on the walls of his mansion, just so long as Daisy liked them too.

At their core, when we unearth their values and ethos, the Roaring '20s and the 21st century aren't so very different. The Great Gatsby is great because Gatsby never truly left us. The American dream is alive and well.

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

On Self-Esteem

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Fri, 10 May 2013 17:00:00 +0000

A few weeks ago, I stepped out of my car at a Starbucks parking lot and stopped. Something in the car adjacent to me caught my eye. A large piece of paper was firmly taped to the dashboard, just above the glove box, with something typed up in a bold font. A quick glance in the passenger window revealed that there were five or six similar pieces of paper taped to various locations around the car--above the radio, near the speedometer, and squarely in the center of the steering wheel. Written on each piece of paper was a concise and somewhat frank motivational statement. Here's what the dashboard read:

Right now, today, you have lived the worst day of your life financially. This is the brokest you will ever be and the most difficult your business will ever be to build.

Here's the steering wheel:

Who got up this morning? The Winner or The Loser?

It reminded me of Stuart Smalley from Saturday Night Live:

"I'm good enough. I'm smart enough. And doggone it, people like me."

I honestly don't think these statements boost one's confidence or self-esteem. I think they sadly remind the reader of how deeply insecure they truly are. The thing about identity and self-worth is that it can't be entirely self-generated. As human beings designed by the trinitarian God, our very selves are more clearly defined in the context of relationships with others. I wrote about this in Leading Up:

When a leader’s identity is completely founded in who they are in Christ, someone is completely defined. Christianity is unique in that our identity is a gift that is graced upon us, not an effort of our own existential exertion.

At his baptism, before Jesus did any miracles or teachings or rose from the dead, the Father made an identity declaration: "this is my son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased." The beauty of the gospel is that I don't have to stare into a mirror or read aloud self-motivational statements to define myself. I simply have to give up my pursuit of self-actualization and self-esteem, and allow the Father who designed me to call me His child.

This is Water - A Lesson on Awareness

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Thu, 09 May 2013 13:56:00 +0000

This 9-minute short film is based from a 2005 commencement speech given by author David Foster Wallace, in which he exhorts the graduating class to view the mundane and boring moments of life as opportunities for awareness, choosing how to think, and seeing the world with a vision of grace instead of self-centereredness. Wallace is a compelling and witty wordsmith, and while he subscribed to a differing worldview than myself, it's beautiful to see people stumble upon Truth (capital "T").

Money quote: "But if you really learned how to think, how to pay attention, then you will know you have other options. It will actually be within your power to experience a crowded, hot, slow, consumer-hell type situation as not only meaningful, but sacred, on fire with the same force that lit the stars: love, fellowship, the mystical oneness of all things."

Watch the video, then share what you think in a comment!

(ht to 22 words)

Stones of Remembrance

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Thu, 09 May 2013 12:00:00 +0000

Rites of passage are a dying practice in our culture.

Think about it: when does a person become an adult?

Is it an arbitrary age? I remember a professor in an adolescent psychology class going through the various ages in the United States to be considered adults:

At 13, you lose the discount at movie theaters and theme parks for being a "child." At 16, you can drive a car and get a job. At 17, you can see an R-rated movie by yourself. At 18, you can smoke, vote, and join the military. At 21, you can purchase and drink alcohol. And finally, at 25, you can rent a vehicle without financial penalty, as well as receive car insurance discounts.

Car rental is our ultimate cultural marker for adulthood?

Last weekend, eighteen young adults from my church took a ferry to Vancouver Island for a weekend adventure. This "grad trip" for the graduating high school class was full: camping and shopping in Coombs and looking for the goats on the roof; surfing, sunbathing, and exploring the beautiful beaches of Tofino; rafting the Stamp River; laughter and conversation and prayers.

Whether they want to or not, they're growing up. They're moving past childhood and journeying into the world of emerging adulthood. I had each of their adult leaders share words of wisdom and grace with them. Stacey shared about being rooted in their identity. Deb pointed them to the hope found in Christ alone. Mattias reminded them that the Gospel must be lived out and practiced, that belief is revealed in actions. Kyle admitted that doubts and questions are a healthy piece of one's faith journey, and to invite Christ into their questioning. I just wanted them to cling to the simple-yet-profound truth that God really loves them.

I want them to remember. Remember Christ. Remember grace. Remember mistakes. Remember victories. Remember their own journeys of faith. Remember the people who were valuable voices and advocates along the way.

In the Hebrew Scriptures, whenever a significant event occurred in the journeys of the Israelite people, they had a funny habit: they would make a pile of rocks. From hills of stones to altars to an ebenezer, they created a physical reminder of who God was and what He did for them in that moment.

So during our final rafting run down the river, I waded into the frigid water and pulled out eighteen stones from the riverbed. Upon these stones, we wrote the words "Grad Trip 2013."

Nothing fancy. Just some rocks with Sharpie marker on it.

I hope they become stones of remembrance.

Maybe the students will put the stone in a drawer somewhere. Maybe it'll sit on a shelf. Maybe it'll be lost under a bed or in a closet. Whatever the case, I hope they see it again some day and remember the God who gave them life and is lovingly leading them into adulthood.

Even if they'll have to wait until 25 to rent a car.

Grad Trip Jumping Pic.

Filtered Relationships: Why Relational Boundaries Matter

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Tue, 07 May 2013 11:00:00 +0000

Photo Credit: tonx (Creative Commons)

I'm learning to filter the relationships in my life. Like my coffee pot in the morning, I'm learning to allow the best things to pass through a filter of relational discernment while keeping the "grounds" at a healthy distance.

On the one hand, I wholly embrace a posture of relationships unfiltered--relationships characterized by openness, authenticity, and the sharing of one's heart. This is built on a foundation of trust, knowing the other person is with me and for me, and I for them.

On the other hand, I don't believe it's healthy to expose my whole heart with just anyone and everyone. Boundaries are necessary for healthy relationships, even relationships unfiltered. Without boundaries, the two selves in a relationship begin to lose shape and continuity, blending together in codependency and identity confusion.

We can take on the same posture with relationships as with media consumption: like sponges, funnels, and sieves.

Sponges soak up every relationship, opening themselves to anybody and everybody around them. But they quickly become waterlogged with relational weight, carrying the burdens of relationship on themselves and having spent their whole hearts on others. They answer every text message, say "yes" to every invitation, and allow the needs and desires of others to define them. Because of the lack of boundaries, they becoming relationally engorged, bogged down by a mile of friendships that are each an inch deep.

Funnels, on the other hand, allow every relationship to pass them by. Perhaps relational wounds and hidden shame or pain prevent them from sharing their hearts, so they allow potential friendships and connections to slip past. They keep up invisible walls in order to keep themselves safe, sometimes tacitly and unknowingly. Their relationships lack risk, which means they also lack depth.

Sieves have a sense of self-differentiation; they have a healthy identity in themselves, which allows them to open their heart to others. Author Edwin Friedman describes differentiation as "the capacity to be one's own integrated aggregate-of-cells person while still belonging to, or being able to relate to, a larger colony." Sieves filter their relationships through a process of prayerful discernment, asking the Lord to guide and direct the depth and interconnectedness between two people.

Donald Miller talks about this filtering process and healthy boundaries in this insightful post:

One of the best pieces of advice I’ve received was given to me by my friend Ben. We were taking a break from a writing project, sitting out on my deck when I brought up some trouble I was having with a friend. I’d grown a little tired of this friend using me and I was losing trust.

Ben said something I’d never forget, he said You know, Don, there are givers and takers in this life, I got rid of the takers years ago and I’ve had it for the better. I’d recommend you do the same. To be sure, this was reductionistic but Ben was making a general point.

The point is this: Some people aren’t trustworthy. He’s right. And if we don’t believe that, I think we’re being naive.

I took Ben’s advice. I let the friend go and I’ve hardly talked to him since. I simply lost trust in him. There were too many lies, too many victim speeches, too much manipulation.

It’s remarkable to me how some people can’t learn and can’t change. He’d had a track record of building communities only to hurt people, play the victim and then walk away and build another.

To me, though, letting my friend go doesn’t contradict being accepting and forgiving. In fact, it was much easier to forgive my friend after I created a strong boundary against his schemes. I have no ill will against him, in fact, I’m grateful, my friend taught me what an untrustworthy person looks like and I am no longer naive.

Miller goes on to say this:

All of this may sound calloused, but as we get older, we realize there are people in the world who refuse to mature. Maturity means we are honest, safe and transparent. A mature person understands their faults and admits to them. An immature person is looking for power in some kind of game.

If you want to be mature, surround yourself by mature people.

Am I being unkind, leaving people behind? Perhaps. But being left behind was their decision. If a person wants to lie, make fun of others or not deal with their own depravity, they need to spend some time alone until they can learn to grow up.

I know it can sound unkind or unloving to set boundaries between oneself and another person. Shouldn't we embrace everyone? Shouldn't we love and accept all people? If there is a relational rift, can't it be mended by the reconciling power of Jesus? Absolutely. Yet Christ himself chose to spend more time with some people and less time with others. He was in close proximity with repentant sinners and his ragamuffin band of disciples. Yet he would not placate to the games of the religious leaders around him or allow his identity to be wrapped up in their lies. He often went to lonely places by himself, intentionally giving himself space to be renewed by the Father.

I love the response of the father in the parable of the prodigal son. He doesn't run after the younger son who leaves, dragging at his ankles or holding his hand while he rushes into sin (sponge). Neither does he reject the son with a "never come back!" and a change of the locks on the doors (funnel). He allows himself to grieve the loss of his son--and his son is lost--but eagerly waits with open arms for the son's return so that reconciliation might happen.

The father has the same posture with the older son, the one who stays outside during the celebration for his brother's return. He goes out to speak with him (a decidedly non-funnel approach), but doesn't drag him indoors to celebrate or stand around pleading with him (sponge). He lovingly invites him into a realm of trust and grace, one where lost sons are welcomed home, no matter the nature of their disorientation. This isn't conditional love; this is allowing others to have their self-created distance instead of forcing relationship upon them.

I'm advocating for using love-soaked and Spirit-led discernment in the relationships I keep. It requires the self-awareness to make sure I'm not setting a boundary against the speck I see in someone else' eye while a log resides in my own. It also requires a desire to please God over pleasing people; sometimes obedience and faithfulness to the Lord will lead to a relational fallout. Trusting the Lord with the future and outcome of a seemingly-broken relationship is an act of faith. I want to always have a posture like the father of the prodigal--open arms, graciously waiting, eager to forgive, anticipating celebration and reconciliation.

What do you think? What relationships need filtering in your life? Are you a relational sponge, funnel, or sieve?

Let the Right Film In - A Theology of Horror (part 5)

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Fri, 03 May 2013 14:53:00 +0000

In part one of this blog series, I asked the question, what is a Christian theology of horror movies? In part two, I argued that horror films offer a clear morality in a relativistic culture. In part three, I claimed that horror films emphasize the spiritual realm in an empirical culture. In part four, I said that the horror genre clearly points to human depravity in a humanistic culture. Please use caution and discernment when choosing to watch any film, and particularly with horror films; not all of these films will be beneficial to all people.

So can Christians embrace horror films? Not without caution and discernment. Certainly not wholeheartedly. Many horror films contain graphic and disturbing content, ranging from violence and gore to explicit nudity and sexuality. These images aren't lovely or praiseworthy or noble, and will only detract from one's pursuit of Christlikeness. The ubiquitous nature of such images in popular horror films is due, in part, to the average horror audience's mediocre and consumeristic expectations. Aesthetic beauty, intelligent story-telling, and compelling performances are often sacrificed for the sake of, to put it crassly, more blood and more breasts. Filmmakers Drew Goddard and Joss Whedon poke fun at horror audiences' vapid desires through their "meta" horror flick, The Cabin in the Woods. Using nearly every horror cliche they can muster, the filmmakers begin to break down audience expectations, scene by scene, until the final nihilistic moment where the entire world is destroyed by the monstrous "gods" (the audience) who have failed to be satisfied.

Perhaps this contemplation of a theology of horror requires a deeper heart examination, one that transcends the genre and calls us to analyze all our media consumption. Why do we watch what we watch? Why are the images on our screens so captivating? Why do the Saw films continue to get made, with the Paranormal Activity films going the same route? Because people will pay to watch them. Quality and morality aren't as important as entertainment and thrills to the audience. Like the gods of Cabin, many horror audiences are only satiated with a fast-food combo of wanton violence with a side of sex, missing out on the various feasts the film world has to offer. The Cabin in the Woods points out our voyeuristic tendencies, which extend beyond the horror genre to other films and especially television programs. We are a culture that likes to watch. And when we don't get what we want, we're upset that our expectations weren't met. Horror films reveal the depravity of humanity not only on-screen; it's also often revealed in the audience it attracts.

Perhaps the most beautiful and truth-filled horror story is found in the Gospel itself. Scott Derrickson, director of The Exorcism of Emily Rose and a Christian successfully working within the world of film, said this about the cross of Christ in an interview with film critic Jeffrey Overstreet:

I find the cross to be the ultimate merging of beauty and terror. It’s a vision out of a horror film. A man…nailed to a plank. The blood imagery. At the same time, it is transformed by its meaning—and by its artistic representations through history—to become something profoundly beautiful. The great potential of the horror genre is [in] that combination of aesthetic richness and meaningful subject matter…and spiritual significance.

The cross of Christ has been transformed from an instrument of death and torture to a symbol of salvation and grace. Creative and thoughtful horror films also offer glimpses of God’s grace and truth, like a dark contrast to the Light of the world. Regarding Paul’s exhortation to the Philippians, a well-made horror movie may not be “lovely,” but it certainly can be “excellent,” “admirable,” and (maybe most importantly), “true.”

What do you think? After reading this series of blog posts, what is your theological view of the horror genre?

Let the Right Film In - A Theology of Horror (part 4)

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Thu, 02 May 2013 12:00:00 +0000

Furthermore, just as they did not think it worthwhile to retain the knowledge of God, so God gave them over to a depraved mind, so that they do what ought not to be done.They have become filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, greed and depravity. They are full of envy, murder, strife, deceit and malice. They are gossips,slanderers, God-haters, insolent, arrogant and boastful; they invent ways of doing evil; they disobey their parents; they have no understanding, no fidelity, no love, no mercy.Although they know God’s righteous decree that those who do such things deserve death, they not only continue to do these very things but also approve of those who practice them. (Romans 1:28-32 NIV)

(Side note: isn't it interesting that included with "God-haters" and "inventors of evil" is this indictment: "they disobey their parents." Right up there with greed, strife, and murder.)

Horror films are filled with depraved human beings as villains. Films like Psycho, Seven, Misery, and The Silence of the Lambs all feature evil humans as antagonists. In all of these examples, these are human beings as the monsters, broken and disturbed people, but people nonetheless. In Apocalypse Now, a corrupt and insane American colonel in the Vietnam war creates his own utopia in the jungle, a sort of self-made heaven. This "heaven" is littered with corpses of his enemies, strung up on trees or impaled on poles. He ultimately dies a violent death, uttering the words “the horror…the horror,” as his empire collapses around him, proving that his own heaven was a self-made hell.

In Danny Boyle's 28 Days Later, a virus leaves the entire population of the United Kingdom as either dead or ravaging zombie-like creatures, filled with a bloodlust. While the infected are terrifying, the deeper horror is found in the actions and motivations of the human beings unaffected by the virus. The protagonist, Jim, finds himself betrayed by the band of soldiers he thought would protect him and his fellow survivors. Instead of sanctuary, they find manipulation and animalistic tendencies, like a zombie-motivated Lord of the Flies society.

Humanity lives in the tension of being both inherently good and inherently evil. We are good because we bear the image of God and are His highest creation, the delight of His heart. We are evil, because that image is distorted and broken by sin and can only be restored through grace and Christ's salvific work. This is perfectly embodied in the story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; there are classic film versions of this story, ranging from 1920, 1931, and 1941. Our hearts apart from Christ do not lead to self-salvation, but to self-deluded destruction at our own hands. Horror films dare to point out that there is a sinful monster in all of us, capable of great evil if left unchecked by the Divine. To quote the Sufjan Stevens song about serial killer John Wayne Gacy, Jr:

"And in my best behavior, I am really just like him. / Look beneath the floorboards for the secrets I have hid."

Part five: the Gospel and the horror genre.

What do you think: should film open our eyes to the depravity of humanity, or is there enough non-filmic depravity out there already?

Let the Right Film In - A Theology of Horror (part 3)

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Wed, 01 May 2013 12:00:00 +0000

In part one of this blog series, I asked the question, what is a Christian theology of horror movies? In part two, I argued that horror films offer a clear morality in a relativistic culture. Please use caution and discernment when choosing to watch any film, and particularly with horror films; not all of these films will be beneficial to all people.

Horror films emphasize the spiritual realm in an empirical culture. In past eras, most of our metaphysical and existential questions could be answered in spiritual terms. How was the universe created? What is really real or true? Where does meaning come from? We used to answer those questions with a single word: God. Since the onset of the Enlightenment and the rapid expansion of scientific authority, we have increasingly become a culture that can answer every query with science. God is no longer the only option, and the empirical ethos of a science-driven culture has placed much of the spiritual realm on the backburner. Angels and demons are the equivalent of a religious Santa Claus or Tooth Fairy--they're myths, and nothing more. Even in theological circles, the nature and reality of hell has been strongly debated in recent years, with popular writers and pastors questioning the validity of such a dark spiritual reality.

Yet the Scriptures seem to point to a decidedly spiritual reality, one where angels, demons, spiritual powers and authorities all dwell amongst the soul-bearing creatures known as human beings. In the beginning of the Story of Scripture, the Holy Spirit hovers above the waters of creation. At the end of the Story, there will be a great battle between two spiritual realms, and one kingdom will be cast into a lake of fire while another will establish a holy city in the midst of a redeemed world. In the middle of the Story, followers of Jesus are exhorted to put on the whole armor of God:

...that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil.For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. (Ephesians 6:11-12 ESV)

This is a spiritual realm, an invisible reality that has immediate impact on our daily lives. Horror films are not only willing to recognize this unseen world; they wholeheartedly embrace it.

In Scott Derrickson's The Exorcism of Emily Rose, a priest is put on trial for the death of a teenage girl who perished in the midst of an exorcism ceremony. The question arises—were the girl’s troubles psychological or spiritual? Was she tormented by biological demons that required medication and therapy, or spiritual demons that required only the authority of Christ? Could it be a combination of both? A worldview allowing only what can be experienced and studied through the five senses is limited to explaining any and all psychological conditions as just that--psychology, brain chemistry and nothing more. But what if there's more?

Similarly, in The Exorcist, doctors and scientists unsuccessfully treat a young girl for her bizarre and erratic behavior. From medical treatments and physical exams, to psychological analysis using the latest techniques, nothing helps her. Her downward spiral seems unstoppable; her very life is almost certain to be overthrown by this force. She finally finds salvation in the form of two brave priests who confront the devil inside her with the power of Jesus. “The power of Christ compels you!” is the salvific phrase that ultimately sets the girl free from her spiritual bondage. Who is the hero of this story? The Christ, the one who saves us from sin and Satan and death.

Stanley Kubrick's horror masterpiece, The Shining, follows the story of a down-and-out writer who takes his family to live in an isolated hotel, where evil spiritual forces begin to take hold and drive the family to the brink of insanity. What makes this film so frightening and exemplary is not only the art direction, editing, and cinematography (not to mention the effectively terrifying performance from Jack Nicholson) but the near-perfect analysis of evil and sin. Sin is both inside and outside of us, stemming from exterior spiritual forces and interior selfish motives that drive people to evil and violent actions. The spiritual realm not only surrounds us; it also dwells in us. Jack doesn't enter the hotel a spotless and pure man. He has inner demons driving him into isolation. The outer evil simply awakens those demons further until he's gone completely insane, turning on his own family as he succumbs to the dark realm the hotel represents. Isolation from community perpetuates sin, removing accountability and the external salvation that people desperately need. We see this occur when people harbour secrets, lead double-lives, or choose to embrace self-gratification as a primary value for their lifestyle. The Shining shows us where sin ultimately leads: death.

While spirituality is publicly attacked from the scientific and agnostic world, these films provide important reminders about the truth of the spiritual realm without heavy-handed or manipulative messages. Yes, the spiritual world is quite real, thank you very much. There are dark forces and spiritual powers at work in our world. Gratefully, the God who created our world reigns above it all, and Christ the king is stronger than all rulers, powers, principalities, and spirits. He has transferred his people from the dominion of darkness into the kingdom of light.

Part four: Horror films reveal the depravity of humanity in a humanistic culture.

What do you think? Do you acknowledge the reality of the spiritual realm, or do you tend towards a scientific/empirical worldview? Share in the comments!

Let the Right Film In - A Theology of Horror (part 2)

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 12:00:00 +0000

In part one of this blog series, I asked the question, what is a Christian theology of horror movies? I'll unpack my answer in three parts. Please use caution and discernment when choosing to watch any film, and particularly with horror films; not all of these films will be beneficial to all people.

Horror films offer clear morality in a relativistic culture. In a postmodern era (or post-postmodern, whichever you prefer), where the lines of right and wrong have become increasingly blurred, horror films have clearly marked boundaries of good and evil. In the science-fiction horror classic, Alien, a malevolent alien form has invaded a mining spaceship, slowly stalking and killing each of the crew members. A scientist who betrays the crew in order to keep the alien alive comments that it is the “perfect organism,” admiring its evolutionary prowess and ability to kill. The audience knows that this soulless creature is not perfect or pure, but an embodiment of evil. The human crew has inherent value and beauty, are capable of courage and love, and when they are killed for the sake of science or financial gain, the audience unanimously agrees—there is clear right and wrong, and this action falls in the latter category. To side with the scientist or the alien is simply to be on the wrong side of morality and justice.

In the teenage vampire love story, (no, not the one you’re thinking about) Let the Right One In, a vampire befriends a lonely adolescent boy who is being constantly bullied, ultimately saving him from death at the hands of his tormentors. While still a vampire, she is clearly the hero, embodying biblical truths of love and self-sacrifice in the context of an aesthetically creative film. The adults in the boy's life are oblivious to his plight, she alone defends the defenseless against the bullies. She is taking up the cause of the orphan when no one else will.

The horror genre can often be prophetic in nature, offering an artistic call to justice in a morally-blind society. George Romero's zombie classic Night of the Living Dead is an indictment on racism, a particularly poignant subject in late-1968 America, only months after the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. and in the tensions of both the Vietnam War and the Civil Rights movement. Romero cast an African-American protagonist, Ben (played by Duane Jones), who is the resourceful leader of a small band of survivors trapped in a farmhouse while the reanimated dead try to devour them. The tragic tale ends with Ben as the lone survivor of the night, only to be dispatched by a band of roving gunmen who mistake him for the undead. Ten years later, Romero's grisly sequel, Dawn of the Dead, expands on the cultural commentary as a group of survivors hides out in a suburban shopping mall from the horde of zombies outside. The critique of consumerism isn't particularly subtle; nor is the gore and guts (this is certainly not a film for the faint-of-heart). Romero's zombie masses look surprisingly similar to the materialistic crowds storming malls on Black Friday; maddening, frantic, and willing to devour anything they can grab.

Canadian filmmaker David Cronenberg also makes horror movies with a cultural critique embedded in their bizarre and violent images. The Brood is about custody battles in marriages; The Fly is about the AIDS crisis of the 1980s; Videodrome is about Western culture's addiction to television and media. The images in Cronenberg's film are graphic, violent, and disturbing, but perhaps he believes it requires such explicit imagery to awaken a society to its sins. Certainly the Biblical writers did.

Prophets in the Old Testament used similar graphic imagery to convey God's justice. As one example, Ezekiel sees visions of a valley of bones that come to life, a cup of wrath overflowing with horror, and abominations in the Temple of Israel of "creeping things" and smoke, not to mention plenty of violent language about how God will punish the idolators, and the wonderful image of Israel "playing the whore" with pagan nations and idols. It's grim, gruesome, and lurid, but such extreme language is used to describe the moral depravity of sin in stark contrast with holy purity of the Divine. God's goodness is really that good, and our sin is really that bad.

In a society where moral boundaries are often unclear or unknown, many horror films drive us to seek an understanding of ethics and justice. Of course, not all horror movies have a positive or correct sense of morality and ethics; many have a quite bleak in their portrayal of humanity. But one thing is quite black-and-white in horror movies: there is a definite good and evil that transcends personal preference or cultural conditioning. Yes, it is wrong to kill, main, torture, and destroy. Yes, it is right to defend the defenseless, to stop terror, to seek ways to promote peace and reconciliation. Right and wrong, truth and falsehood, good and evil. Perhaps in the darkness that horror films embody, the true light of goodness most clearly shines through.

Part 3: horror films emphasize the spiritual realm in an empirical culture.

What do you think about the morality portrayed in horror films? Share in the comments!

Let the Right Film In - A Theology of Horror (part 1)

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Mon, 29 Apr 2013 14:46:00 +0000

We kept the lights on. It was the only way I could handle the tension in my living room as we pressed play on my Blu-Ray player. I knew The Exorcist had been labeled as the “scariest film of all time,” and I had my pillow ready to put over my eyes, ready to be terrified into a sleepless night. The film began, and we cowered together on the couch, huddling close for comfort.

No, I wasn't watching The Exorcist with my wife.

You’d think a group of college-aged guys would have more courage.

Compared to more contemporary horror movies, The Exorcist is a slow-burn masterpiece of terror, with an actual story arc, memorably powerful performances, and quality direction, winning two Academy Awards for its writing and sound. As the college guys’ movie night came to a close, we were confronted with two revelations:

1. The Exorcist was not only scary; it was a genuinely great film.

2. The Exorcist contained compelling spiritual truth that required our engagement.

What does it mean to be Christian and enjoy a horror film? Do these two worlds even mix? Is it possible to engage in the horror genre and remain faithful to the ways of Jesus and His kingdom? What is our theology of horror movies?

Many Christians recoil at the very idea of horror movies, wondering if it is even healthy to engage in such an activity involving devils and brutality. There is merit to this critique, especially as the genre often revels in both wanton violence and sexuality. To knowingly expose my mind and heart to the images of savagery and sensuality appears to ignore the Pauline exhortation to think about things that are lovely and pure and noble (Philippians 4:13).

Beyond the onscreen horrors, many horror films are used as mindless entertainment for financial gain. Think of the Saw and Paranormal Activity franchises. You can expect a new uninspired sequel to release this October as filmgoers prepare to empty their wallets for some Halloween thrills. There is little in the way of artful beauty or spiritual truth in these films; they're intended only to make a quick dollar at the expense of the audience.

Yet in spite of horror films’ graphic nature and the myriad of mediocre films in the genre, there is still spiritual value to be found. In his fantastic book on theology and film, Through a Screen Darkly, author and movie critic Jeffrey Overstreet writes this:

If we stop to consider why the monsters scare us, what it was that made them or what the creature’s victims have in common, we might be surprised at the insight we can gain. We may begin to understand the nature of the menace and learn to recognize monsters growing within our own chests.

What if horror films have something of value to offer the disciple of Jesus? What if the brightness of heavenly hope is best seen in the contrasting darkness of depravity? In this blog series, I'll unpack three ways horror films can point us to the Divine truth and the hope of the cross of Christ.

Part 2: how horror films offer clear morality in a relativistic culture.

What is your opinion of the horror genre, and do you watch or enjoy horror films? Share in the comments!

Flocks and Harvests

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Thu, 25 Apr 2013 13:58:00 +0000

Jesus went throughout all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom and healing every disease and every affliction. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few;therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.” (Matthew 9:35-38 ESV)

There are two images here: a flock of sheep, and a full harvest.

Jesus's response to the brokenness of the people around Him was compassion and prayer.

Not a program.

Not a strategy.

Not a campaign or event.

Just proclaiming good news with a prayerful heart of compassion.

When it comes to harvests, I often drift into the programmatic way of ministry. I try to come up with a plan and strategy for reaping the harvest before I pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest. But Jesus responds with prayer, seeking and listening for the Father before He makes a move. He's relying upon God for the fruit of the harvest.

I also can get annoyed and frustrated with the flock. Why are they wandering away from what is best for them? Why to they continue to believe those lies about themselves/others/God? Why are they so lazy, so impulsive, so foolish? Not Jesus. He responds with compassion and grace. Sure, He would get angry at times too, but the anger was out of a heart of love for lost people. He cared about healing people's broken hearts. He's a good shepherd like that.

Compassion and prayer both require patience. When I want to rush in to fix and plan and strategize, I need to slow down and remember that love is patient. I never want to outrun the Lord as He moves and guides and transforms hearts.

When we're tempted to start a program, stop and pray. When we're tempted towards exasperation, remember the compassion of Christ.

Upstream Color

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Mon, 22 Apr 2013 12:00:00 +0000

In 2004, Shane Carruth debuted his first film, Primer, at the Sundance Film Festival. It was a mind-bending science fiction masterpiece made on a meager budget, and made Carruth a filmmaker to watch. Since then, he consulted on the time-traveling narrative of Looper, but hadn't made a feature film until now. Upstream Color is here, and it's another masterpiece. Imagine if Terrence Malick made a film based on a Hayao Miyazaki story, and you have a glimpse into Carruth's approach. Hypnotic and wandering cinematography, utilizing images over dialogue (showing over telling), and the integration of imaginative and mystical elements that must be taken at face value as part of the tale.

While the complex narrative looping of Primer is still confusing to me, Upstream Color has a fairly straightforward narrative arc, if one is able to accept its fantastic (as in, fantasy) moments. A young woman, Kris, is the victim of a Thief. She is violated holistically--not sexually, per se, but invaded from the inside out. Her identity is stolen, her sense of safety is gone, and her concept of herself is lost. The Thief has stolen everything from her, leaving Kris terribly broken and alone. After her ordeal, a young man, Jeff, notices Kris on a subway train. He feels drawn to her, and despite her initial hesitation and resistance, he continues to patiently pursue a quiet romance with her. He harbors secrets and pain of his own; he too has lost everything and is slowly rebuilding his life. Together, their stories become intertwined as they embark on a journey of healing and the pursuit of wholeness.

Did I mention the pig farm? And the parasitic worms? And the strange blue color that seems to be a living organism that creates mysterious spiritual connections between beings? If you thought Upstream Color was a simple romance story between two people as they heal from past wounds, you're right. It is. It is also a meditative fantasy film peering into our perception of identity and the invisible connections we have to other persons.

The Thief who stole Kris's identity is somehow connected to the Sampler, a man who operates a pig farm out in the middle of nowhere. The Thief and Sampler connect through a long and complex cycle--the mysterious blue color comes from the Thief and his plants, goes into the worms, goes into the human victims (Kris, Jeff, and others), goes into the pigs via the Sampler, goes into the stream of water through the death of a pig, moves into the orchid plants, and back to the Thief. The Thief gets money out of this scheme, but what does the Sampler gain? A sense of control over others. He has the ability to interact with the people around him that he perhaps can't connect with in real life. As evidence of this, his only face-to-face interaction with a human being is with a veterinarian checking on a pregnant pig; the Sampler is awkward and aloof, not even making eye contact. He is "watching" the people through their respective pigs, not interacting or engaging with human beings in real life.

The pigs are avatars. They are connected to reality, and their experience affects the people who are connected to them, but they are not fully "real" in the same way that we are real. The Sampler uses these avatars to watch and observe people, but this is not the same curious observation like the angels in Wings of Desire. This is more akin to the relational connections often found in social media; the pig avatars are like our Twitter and Facebook accounts, and the Sampler can only interact with human beings through this controlling and filtered relationship. It feels like a relational connection, but if the only interaction is through the avatar--pig or social media--then the connection is incomplete at best and fallacious at worst. We are not fully known through avatars in the same way that Kris and Jeff know each other when they embrace. The I and Thou interaction is run through a filter. Identities blend and mold together, both between the pigs and the people, and between Kris and Jeff (their arguments over whose memory is whose is at once amusing and alarming). The interaction and intertwining between I and Thou is important here. These are people interacting with people, not objects or things. The Thief and the Sampler only use and observe, detached and abusive; Jeff chooses to wrap himself up with Kris, quite literally in the above pictured scene set in a bathtub.

The romance and relationship between Kris and Jeff is a deeply affecting portrayal of the messiness of unconditional love. He is present with her in her pain and brokenness. He doesn't run from her, doesn't commit her to a psych ward or send her away to "get fixed." He wants to be a part of her healing. He serves her, does anything he can to help her. Even when their identities are beginning to become intertwined, it never feels like an unhealthy codependency. Unlike romances like the one in Silver Linings Playbook, where two people build their relationship upon the shallow foundation of their romantic emotions, the relationship of Kris and Jeff is built around both a romantic attraction and a sense of fidelity in the midst of brokenness. Jeff will not leave Kris, and Kris will not leave Jeff, and it is a deeply healing realization for both of them.

Upstream Color is filled with wonderfully affecting scenes: Kris and Jeff coiled up in the bathtub together out of fear; the pool scene with Henry David Thoreau's Walden, where Jeff chooses to sit and write what Kris says; when Kris holds the pig and smiles. Visually, Carruth is an expert cinematographer and editor, but Upstream Color is far more than its striking visuals. This is an auditory film--the visuals are impressive and the script is phenomenal, but the sounds! Pulses and movements and hums and whistles. Sound is critical in Upstream Color, and it washes over the audience like a wave, baptizing them into the experience of Kris and Jeff. (The film won a Special Jury Prize at Sundance for "Sound Design." They called it "a film that we thought had absorbing use of sound and incredible aural inventiveness.")

At its core, Upstream Color is a film about healing. Karl Barth and other theologians make the claim that we are only human persons in the context of relationship; we can only know our identity through the interaction and connection with other beings made in the image of God. When identity is shattered and relationships are distorted, it is a long and arduous process we go through to heal our wounds. Kris and Jeff have found the Thou to their respective I, the person in their life who is simply that--a person, not an object or an avatar or a figure of dominance and control. Their journey towards healing is traveled together, beautifully wrapped in each others arms as they break free from the bondage of isolation and control.

Is God in Upstream Color? Implicitly, I believe He is. I feel Him in the sounds, in the water, in the sunlight, in the relationships. I think He watches and heals and brings about the mysterious connection between Kris and Jeff. He is the God who makes people whole, and if Upstream Color is about the healing of the brokenhearted, then God is certainly present.

He heals the brokenhearted
and binds up their wounds. (Psalm 147:3)

Books I'm Digesting

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 13:45:00 +0000

I love to read. One of my personal core values is to be a lifelong learner, and reading plays a big role in that ongoing education. Here are brief synopses and reflections of the books I'm currently digesting:

The Open Secret: An Introduction to the Theology of Mission (Lesslie Newbigin). Lesslie Newbigin was a missionary, pastor, and theologian who lived in both the UK and India. Newbigin was writing about the missional church way back in 1978, and The Open Secret is a fantastic theological overview of what it means to be a church on mission with God. Newbigin uses a trinitarian approach, showing how the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are on mission in the world and invite the church community into the virtues of faith, hope, and love as signposts for the kingdom of God. I've underlined so much in this book, and had to sit back after each chapter just to breathe and worship.

Delivering Happiness: A Path to Profits, Passion, and Purpose (Tony Hsieh). The CEO of Zappos and a self-made millionaire by the age of 24, Tony Hsieh's book is all about creating a company based around culture and core values, as opposed to financial gain and strategies. I read this as part of discussion for the YMCP around core values. The first third of the book is Tony's personal story; the last two sections are more about creating a core values culture and implementing into an organization. Tony is (self-admittedly) not the strongest writer, but the book has some compelling ideas around core values, and any leader in a church or organization wanting to create their own set of core values would benefit from Tony's wisdom.

The Icarus Deception: How High Will You Fly? (Seth Godin). Godin's latest book is all about creating art and overcoming fear. That's it. That's the extent of the book's content. Create your art and overcome your fear. Great concept, but Godin offers very little practical wisdom beyond repeatedly saying this phrase in various ways. For 250 pages, Godin rambles and rants, writing pithy pop culture axioms in a sporadic structure. I love Godin's blog and loved his book Tribes, but instead of feeling inspired while reading The Icarus Deception, I honestly felt a bit duped. I have to hand it to Godin: he's a marketing genius, and got me to buy a copy of his book, so he's certainly effective. I just expected more from the guy. Godin, if you're reading this: I love and appreciate your writing, so give us something with more depth and practicality next time!

What have you been reading lately? Share in the comments!

On the Brink of Disaster

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Thu, 18 Apr 2013 16:21:00 +0000

Photo Credit: Dennis Maitland

Abraham moves to a new country and waits for decades for the promises of God to be fulfilled. Joseph is sold into slavery and wrongfully put in prison. Moses finds himself standing on the edge of the Red Sea with an army chasing him; wandering through the wilderness for forty years with a stubborn and obstinate nation likely wasn't enjoyable. David is on the run for his life from Saul; later, he's on the run for his life from his own son, Absalom. Nehemiah faces rejection, conspiracy, and possible death when trying to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem. Jesus is crucified.

In these moments, it looks like God's plan has resulted in disaster. Everything is falling apart. The promises don't seem to be fulfilled. The strategy isn't working. The opposition is far too overwhelming.

I was recently corresponding via email with Bob Fox, the amazing lead pastor of my former church in Arizona. I was sharing about some of the difficulties of moving to a new country and starting over. He wrote this brilliant piece of wisdom in response:

In fact, the nature of ministry is such that you never get completely past the feeling that you're on the brink of disaster. And I guess the reality is, you're not, unless you're in an institutionalized church. They tend to go on forever in a very predictable way. But then you have a greater problem. A healthy ministry is always on the brink.

If you want the illusion of safety and security and comfort, stick with institutionalized ministry and spirituality. Embrace the guaranteed strategies. Follow the formulas. Model the mechanistic. Give the pat answers. Play it safe.

If you want the abundant life that Jesus promised, follow the Lion of Judah. It isn't safe or formulaic. But it is guaranteed and secure in an eternal kingdom-of-God I-will-never-leave-or-forsake-you sort of way. It's walking along the edge of a cliff, knowing that if I fall, the God who saves will rescue me. It's a life of impracticality, and a life defined by God's command to "fear not." It's not that we're unafraid; it's just that we've invited Jesus into that fear and continue to obey Him, even when it feels like impending disaster is upon us.

Following Jesus should be both absolutely terrifying and completely life-giving. That's called faith.

Man of Steel Trailer

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 14:05:00 +0000

Check out the latest trailer for Man of Steel, the new Superman film directed by Zack Snyder, produced by Christopher Nolan, and starring Henry Cavill, Russell Crowe, Amy Adams, and Michael Shannon:

The Christological themes in the trailer alone are fantastic.

A father sends his son to Earth in order to show to save the world, to show them a better way of life.

"He'll be an outcast. They'll kill him." "How? He'll be a god to them."

Kevin Costner's "you are my son" is nearly the same phrase the Father speaks at the baptism of Jesus.

Michael Shannon's demand for power and that Superman kneel before him resonates of the temptation of Jesus in the wilderness.

The image of a lone man willing to be rejected by the world, only to save the world from its own violence and depravity.

This is gonna be a great movie about Jesus. (Except it's about an alien superhero who can fly and has a sweet red cape.)

Being Good News Beyond the Church Building

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Tue, 16 Apr 2013 14:30:00 +0000

I was driving home a bit early from our Sunday morning services (my wife was at a womens' retreat, so I had the kiddos myself for a Sunday. Single-parenting pastoring is a tough balance), and I noticed something peculiar:

People.

Riding bikes. Jogging. Walking on paths. Pushing strollers. Sitting at cafes, conversing over a cup of coffee. Active and alive and real.

Perhaps they had already been to a church service that morning? Maybe, but probably not. These weren't the sleep-in-on-Sundays types either. They seemed quite awake and engaged with whatever activity they were doing.

Ordinary people living ordinary life, with seemingly little knowledge or desire to join in the various church services occurring in nearby buildings.

How can the church be good news to the people in the neighbourhood nearest its building?

I know what the answer isn't: just get 'em in the building.

They don't need to be in the church building to experience the good news of Jesus. If they wanted to be in the church building more than they wanted to be riding a bike or drinking coffee or interacting with people, they would have chosen to do so. No, the Jesus-following people gathered in the building need to be with the people who need to know Jesus, right where they're at.

It's what Jesus did.

The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighbourhood. We saw the glory with our own eyes, the one-of-a-kind glory, like Father, like Son, generous inside and out, true from start to finish.

Sure, it'd be great to have people come into the church building in order to be loved and served and hear the gospel. I'm not anti-church buildings. But how can we be on mission with God, loving and serving and sharing the gospel outside of that building? You know, where the people are?

Here are three action steps to consider:

1. Pray. Sharing good news begins with asking the Lord for guidance and strength. Jesus looked out at the lost people of his city and said this:

Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few;therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.” (Matthew 9:37-38 ESV)

He didn't say "come up with a strategic plan of action." Nor did he say "hire a pastor in order to work the harvest." It began with prayer and a willingness to be obedient to the Lord's voice. And if we're willing to be obedient, God will be faithful to move us to compassionate action.

2. See. Our high school students are going through Adam McLane and Jon Huckins' excellent curriculum, Good News in the Neighborhood. (Though it's "neighbourhood" up here in Canada. Contextualization, you know.) Part of the series involves a series of experiments to really begin to see the people around us in our community. These are the people we walk by all the time in our grocery stores, our schools, our community centres, our malls, our coffee shops. Here's a picture I snapped of the results of our latest experiment focusing on what's happening in our community:

The youth are learning to truly see, to be present to the people around them and view them as God does--with love and compassion and grace. Do we actually see the people living around us? Do we recognize that they have stories, hopes, dreams, fears, passions, and brokenness?

3. Act. Praying and seeing will ultimately lead to obedient action. This is likely an uncomfortable and unforeseen step of a faith--a newly formed friendship with that young adult we always see in the coffee shop; a desire to begin serving weekly in the nearby retirement facility; the passion for adoption through the foster care system; a Spirit-given compulsion to go up and ask a stranger if they need prayer.

The mustard seed of the kingdom of God can't stay planted in the confines of a church building. It needs to spread, growing and expanding so that the people around us living in lost and broken ways can experience healing, restoration, and the abundant life that Jesus offers.

How can you begin to pray, see, and act in your neighbourhood as a bearer of the good news?

The Place Beyond the Pines

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Mon, 15 Apr 2013 22:47:00 +0000

The opening scene in The Place Beyond the Pines is a long, uncut shot following the movements of a young, heavily-tattooed motorcycle stuntman as he prepares and undertakes his stunt. It's a gripping scene that sets the tone for Derek Cianfrance's film, a story of legacy told in three acts that follow the actions and consequences of broken men and their sons. After his act is over, the stuntman, Luke (Ryan Gosling), sees a local girl waiting for him. Romina (Eva Mendes) and Luke had a brief fling once, and she is quietly waiting for him again, seemingly to tell him something. He takes her home, she says goodnight, and he leaves town. Upon his return a year later, he looks for Romina at home, only to find her mother, a fair-haired child in her arms. "He's yours," she says.

A small but significant choice--a brief sexual encounter--changes the trajectory of this story.

Luke decides to quit his stuntman job and stick around for his son, in spite of Romina's protests. He wants to be present for the kid's upbringing, unlike his own absentee father. After an idea is planted in his mind to use his motorcycle skills to a rob bank and give the money for his son, Luke turns to a life of crime. Aided by his pal Robin (Ben Mendelsohn), Luke gets more and more aggressive, robbing another bank, then another, culminating in a police chase that will lead to violence and death.

A small but significant choice--the robbery of a bank--changes the trajectory of this story.

The second act of the film focuses on Avery (Bradley Cooper), one of the policemen in the chase after Luke. A rookie cop with a wife and a young son of his own, Avery is the pinnacle of justice and morality. When Luke and Avery's worlds collide, their stories become intertwined. After their encounter, Avery finds himself caught in the middle of police politics and the blurred ethics of the American justice system. Using the system to his advantage, Avery climbs the political ladder while holding a weight of guilt in his heart.

A small but significant choice--the pulling of a trigger--changes the trajectory of this story.

The third act takes place fifteen years later, with Avery's son moving back in with his father during his senior year of high school. The rebellious and angst-ridden AJ (Emory Cohen) befriends the quietly dour Jason (Dane DeHaan). They get high together. They go to a party. They struggle with their sense of worth and meaning, particularly in relation to their fathers. Both AJ and Jason are learning to find themselves and understand their own identity as they learn the truth about their respective fathers, culminating in another violent confrontation that will reshape the story once again.

The Place Beyond the Pines is about legacy, the passing of the baton from one generation to the next, and the significance of small choices. A friendship, a fling, a party, a bullet--they are all small in themselves, but have strong ripple effects when they enter into a life's narrative. Cianfrance has crafted a slow-burn epic tale about fathers and sons, and the decisions that define them. There aren't really heroes and villains in these stories; there are only decisions and consequences. Gosling and Cooper give powerful portrayals of the central figures, but the best performances are the ones from people you probably haven't heard of--Dane DeHaan and Ben Mendelsohn create affecting and memorable characters. It's difficult to have a continual story arc with three distinct-yet-intertwining acts, so Cianfrance's experimental narrative structure requires a bit of a paradigm shift for moviegoers' expectations. It worked for me; I can see how it wouldn't work for others, and could become an exercise in tedium. For me, the particularly affecting scenes involve fathers holding infant sons, feeling their weight in their arms.

Do sons bear the consequences for the sins of their fathers? Do our parents' decisions set us on a trajectory in life? Are we able to change the direction of that trajectory? To all questions: yes. Parents and children have intertwining stories, and while individuals make individual choices, we are nonetheless connected to our past through familial ties. Yet the trajectory isn't set in stone; the inherited legacy we've been dealt can be shifted, altered, healed. The wounds of the past don't have to define the stories of the future; there will be scars for us to see and remember, but scars are the evidence of pain's passing. Small but significant choices--to stay in the marriage, to apply for grad school, to hug our child, to say "I forgive you"--can change our narratives (and our legacies) for the better.

What Others are Saying about "Leading Up"

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Fri, 12 Apr 2013 14:46:00 +0000

It's been over four months since Leading Up: Finding Influence in the Church Beyond Role and Experience was released by The Youth Cartel. Since then, I've received so much positive and encouraging feedback from friends and youth ministry folks who have been deeply encouraged and blessed by the book. From interns, volunteers, and pastors, it's humbling to see God use a little book to equip and encourage leaders, both in the youth ministry tribe and beyond to the greater church world.

Here are a few reviews and blog posts highlighting what others are saying about Leading Up:

I did a 5 question interview with Josh Griffin at MoreThanDodgeball.com:

Leading up can be so difficult because we’re stuck in the middle as youth workers. What is one key thing to avoid to make sure our leadership is not overlooked?Being “stuck in the middle” sounds more gloomy than the reality of our role–we are key members of the body of Christ, called by the Spirit of God and equipped to lovingly build up the whole church while focusing our time and energy on teenagers. It all comes back to recognizing my identity and calling in Christ; I’m not just a “youth worker,” I’m a beloved child of God, uniquely gifted and strengthened by the Holy Spirit. Leading up is far more empowering when I realize that it’s not about me, it’s about the vision and calling Christ has given me. Leadership is a gift, not an entitlement or obligation.

Kara Powell at the Fuller Youth Institute wrote a great positive review:

The title immediately got my attention because “Leading Up” has been a major focus of our Sticky Faith work. We’ve found that as we present our research, leaders fairly quickly understand what needs to change. The bigger—and harder—question is how do we bring about those changes? How do we help our supervisors understand and embrace the new direction we think God wants us to head?

Rachel Blom at Youth Leaders Academy was surprised to find herself enjoying the story in the leadership fable:

Usually I’m not a big fan of books that start with fictional stories. Andy Stanley’s Communicating for a Change for instance was superb because of the last part, the story at the start didn’t do much for me. It was the same with other books, like Ken Blanchard’s The One Minute Manager for instance. The reason is that I love stories, I love fiction, but it’s not meant to get a lot of information across. In writer’s terms that’s known as infodumping and it pulls the reader out of the story.

But I have to admit that the story in Leading Up starts with about junior high pastor Logan and his struggles to get his vision across in his church was helpful. I think a lot of youth ministry pastors will recognize elements of his story and journey.

If you wrote a review or a post about Leading Up, let me know by sharing in a comment or shoot me an email! I'd love to hear how Leading Up is shaping your leadership in your church!

You can buy Leading Up at Amazon, The Youth Cartel, and Simply Youth Ministry.

Fearless

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Mon, 08 Apr 2013 09:00:00 +0000

What would life be like without fear?

My initial thought: fantastic. There are so many situations and people and spiders to draw out fear in us. Fear can be deeply crippling, holistic in its ability for incapacitation. Our hearts race, our palms sweat, our stomachs turn, our heads feel dizzy, and our souls fidget inside us. A world without fear seems like it would be a relief from all the anxiety and stress of being afraid.

What could bring about such a reality? Perhaps an experience so fearful and shocking, it could cause a sort of numbness to any fear afterwards. A moment standing in the doorway of death, staring fear in the face, then turning back into the ordinary world. It would transformative, to say the least. This is the sort of situation that Max Klein (Jeff Bridges) experiences in Peter Weir's film, Fearless. The survivor of a horrific plane crash, Max now walks through life as in a sort of trance, taking in the world around him with a renewed sense of wonder. The feel of spit in the dust; the sense of the desert wind flowing over one's face; the sweet taste and texture of a strawberry. All are worth exploring anew.

Yet this newfound wonder also brings about a strange detachment, an aloofness from those around him who have not gone through the same experience. He spends more time with a boy who survived the crash than his own son; he is drawn to another survivor, Carla (Rosie Perez), a distraught and heartbroken mother who lost her infant son when she could not keep him held in her lap through the chaos. He spends more and more time with Carla, trying to heal her, to save her, to show her the life without pain and fear he has found.

Bridges creates such an interesting protagonist in Max, one that feels both heroic and destructive all at once. He loves and cares for Carla and the other survivors, yet is coldly aloof with his own family. It's difficult to discern whether he's spiritually-enlightened or experiencing unique PTSD symptoms. Many of his tactics and actions could be interpreted as misguided at best and dangerous at worst. An example: there is a car crash scene, where Max wants to demonstrate in the most vivid way possible that Carla could not have saved her little boy, so he drives both of them headlong into a concrete wall. Watching this unfold was like those TV medical dramas where the doctor decides to use a controversial or untried medical procedure in order to save the dying patient. The scene doesn't seem to condone Max's actions; it simply shows that this is how Max feels he needs to help Carla, and, like it or not, it actually sorta works.

Is Max actually fearless? There are moments where he does seem afraid: he is afraid of losing his fearlessness. He has to do something extreme--walk across traffic, stand on the edge of a building, crash a car--in order to stash that fear away and reignite his boldness. It raises the question again: is complete fearlessness a good thing? It seems like something we'd certainly desire; no one likes to be afraid or anxious. Yet if the lifestyle of Max embodies a life without fear, I'm not sure I want it. A healthy fear of traffic or the edge of tall buildings or the loss of a loved one might be a healthy thing, as long as that fear doesn't overwhelm our motivation for love and compassion and grace.

As a pastor, I've encountered a form of Max in the church: it's the savior complex. Seemingly spiritually-enlightened and self-sacrificing, but often operating out of fear and insecurity, a person with such a motivation takes on the cases of the needy and emotionally-broken in order to "save" them, doing anything they can to bring about emotional healing and wholeness. The Max-and-Carla relationship, including its undertones of infidelity and codependency, are sadly all too common in the context of ministry. I'm not sure Weir was intending this interpretation, but that's where my pastoral paradigm went. This savior complex is the sort of relationship we need to be...well...afraid of.

Fear not. It is the most common command found in the Scriptures, the one that God continues to reiterate to His frightened and anxious children. You don't need to be afraid any more; you are loved, and that love is stronger than fear. When Adam and Eve first sinned, their initial reaction was one of fear--they hid themselves from God, running away from their Creator. When Christ is raised from the dead in the gospel of Mark, the women at the tomb run away "trembling and bewildered." Fear catches us in the best and worst moments, both in the banishment from the first garden and the resurrection in a new garden. Fear can suck the hope out of anyone. That's why the Gospel is so critical in every single situation we may encounter. N.T. Wright puts it this way:

...that the message of the gospel, the message that the true God is the God who raises the dead, can and does go that deep; and that wherever you may be, and whenever you may hit that rock-bottom sense of despair, the gospel can you reach you there too. Indeed, that is where it specializes in reaching people. It is when we are weak that we can be strong.

When we are taken to the end of ourselves, to the point where all else has failed and death seems imminent, it is in these moments that faith offers new life and hope, that we can remember we are deeply loved by a good Father, that perfect love casts out fear, and that the God who raises the dead can handle all fears and worries. A life truly without fear is a life in the kingdom of God.

Why Saying "Just Wait" Isn't Enough for Sexual Purity

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Wed, 03 Apr 2013 10:00:00 +0000

Photo Credit: CmdrFire (Creative Commons)

The following is an excerpt from mine and Marko's book, A Parent's Guide to Understanding Sex and Dating: Beyond the Birds and the Bees. You can buy the book from The Youth Cartel, Simply Youth Ministry, or Amazon. If you live in Canada, email me here about buying the book for a discounted rate!

From purity banquets to sex-and-dating teaching series in youth groups, the message of “just wait until marriage” is everywhere in the church world. I remember going through a purity ceremony in my Baptist youth group, where I received my own purity ring to place on my left hand, supposedly until the day I got married. Both the ring and the ceremony were uncomfortable. Something just didn’t fit. I didn’t understand why. Why wait? If two people are truly in love, why delay the expression of that love? Why did this seem to be such a big deal in the Christian subculture? If “just wait” is the message, then what’s the reasoning behind it? (By the way, some research and lots and lots of anecdotal observations seem to reveal that purity pledges don’t actually make a significant difference in sexual behavior. They might postpone intercourse a bit, but there’s some indication that they also might increase other sexual experiences.)

We think our language about “just wait” needs to change. The reality is that most folks sharing the message don’t know why they’re sharing it. It’s just the Christian thing to say, right? But that message simply doesn’t work in the heat of the moment. While the statistics cited earlier reveal that less than half of teenagers are engaged in sexual intercourse, a recent study conducted by The National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy revealed that 88 percent of unmarried young adults (ages 18-29) are having sex. Of those surveyed who self-identified as “evangelical,” 80 percent said they have had sex. Even if the purity banquets worked at age 16, they simply aren’t very convincing at age 26.

Instead of sharing the negative message of “don’t have sex or else you’re sinning,” the message needs to become “chastity is a discipline of the gospel life.”

Spiritual disciplines are actions that we do in order to orient our heart, soul, mind, and strength in the ways of Jesus and his gospel. This isn’t salvation by works; it’s a disciplined response to align our thoughts, emotions, and actions within the will of God. Chastity is one of these spiritual disciplines. Lauren Winner writes, “It is not the mere absence of sex but an active conforming of one’s body to the arc of the gospel.” Chastity is not only for single people prior to marriage; it encompasses both abstinence before marriage and fidelity within marriage.

Here the discipline of sex is twofold. Fidelity is a discipline; just as most single people want to have sex, period, so married people (even really happily married people) find themselves wanting to have sex with someone other than their spouse. And restraining those impulses is itself a discipline. (Indeed, it is worth pointing out that practicing chastity before you are married trains you well for chastity after you are married; it stands to reason that those who are promiscuous before marriage may be more likely to cheat on their spouses once married.)

-Lauren Winner, Real Sex: The Naked Truth about Chastity.

Talking about chastity in this way changes it from a frustrating religious rule to a life-giving spiritual practice. It recognizes that this is really difficult, that God is asking us to do something that goes against both our cultural expectations and our inner impulses. Disciplines are not meant to be easy, but they are meant to make us better people and provide us a more full life. Chastity is, in essence, a sexual form of fasting. It is not allowing our impulses and desires—good, God-given ones, like hunger, thirst, and sexual desire—to ultimately define our actions and lifestyle.

The goal of chastity is to be more like Jesus, to tap into the kingdom life that he has revealed to us. Practicing chastity is essential because it is a reflection of the good news that Jesus is faithful to us.

What do you think? How should we change our "just wait" language for teens and young adults?

The Touch-Screen Generation

noreply@blogger.com (Joel Mayward) — Tue, 02 Apr 2013 14:04:00 +0000

photo credit: demandaj (Creative Commons)

Check out this article at The Atlantic about the development of apps and games for toddlers, and how the very developers--who are also parents--responded to the idea of allowing their own children to use their iPads and smart phones:

In 2011, the American Academy of Pediatrics updated its policy on very young children and media. In 1999, the group had discouraged television viewing for children younger than 2, citing research on brain development that showed this age group’s critical need for “direct interactions with parents and other significant care givers.” The updated report began by acknowledging that things had changed significantly since then. In 2006, 90 percent of parents said that their children younger than 2 consumed some form of electronic media. Nonetheless, the group took largely the same approach it did in 1999, uniformly discouraging passive media use, on any type of screen, for these kids. (For older children, the academy noted, “high-quality programs” could have “educational benefits.”) The 2011 report mentioned “smart cell phone” and “new screen” technologies, but did not address interactive apps. Nor did it broach the possibility that has likely occurred to those 90 percent of American parents, queasy though they might be: that some good might come from those little swiping fingers.

I had come to the developers’ conference partly because I hoped that this particular set of parents, enthusiastic as they were about interactive media, might help me out of this conundrum, that they might offer some guiding principle for American parents who are clearly never going to meet the academy’s ideals, and at some level do not want to. Perhaps this group would be able to articulate some benefits of the new technology that the more cautious pediatricians weren’t ready to address.

--

She was a former Montessori teacher and a mother of four. I myself have three children who are all fans of the touch screen. What games did her kids like to play?, I asked, hoping for suggestions I could take home.

“They don’t play all that much.”

Really? Why not?

“Because I don’t allow it. We have a rule of no screen time during the week,” unless it’s clearly educational.

No screen time? None at all? That seems at the outer edge of restrictive, even by the standards of my overcontrolling parenting set.

“On the weekends, they can play. I give them a limit of half an hour and then stop. Enough. It can be too addictive, too stimulating for the brain.

During the James Bay missions trip two weeks ago, I asked our high school students to not bring their cell phones or iPods. This was initially met with outrage and frustration, a how DARE you?! paradigm when it came to the restriction of their technology use. Of course, they not only survived for five days without Facebook or Instragram--they thrived without it.

They noticed one another. They prayed for each other. They laughed and cried and hugged and rejoiced. They used ordinary pieces of paper to write sacred words of encouragement and grace to fellow team members.

Yet they are also going to be the generation that likely loses the art of writing with a pen or picking up a hardcover book, trading those in for a touch screen that fits in the palm of their hand.

The touch-screen generation is here. Instead of becoming luddites, are we teaching young people how to think about the way they use and engage with technology?

The article goes on to point out that avoiding or ignoring technology and touch-screens isn't very beneficial for our children. Instead, parents need to learn how to model and foster healthy habits with technology use:

Do you think the content is appropriate? Is screen time a “relatively small part of your child’s interaction with you and the real world?”—and suggests tailoring your rules to the answers, child by child. One of the most interesting points Guernsey makes is about the importance of parents’ attitudes toward media. If they treat screen time like junk food, or “like a magazine at the hair salon”—good for passing the time in a frivolous way but nothing more—then the child will fully absorb that attitude, and the neurosis will be passed to the next generation.
--
“We live in a screen age, and to say to a kid, ‘I’d love for you to look at a book but I hate it when you look at the screen’ is just bizarre. It reflects our own prejudices and comfort zone. It’s nothing but fear of change, of being left out.”

Prensky’s worldview really stuck with me. Are books always, in every situation, inherently better than screens? My daughter, after all, often uses books as a way to avoid social interaction, while my son uses the Wii to bond with friends.

To hold a view that "books = good, screen = bad" is both limiting and unrealistic. Engaging with technology is a spiritual and theological exercise; how we view the gifts of screens and WiFi and Instagram and Facebook and XBox reflect our values and critical thinking skills. Let's help young people learn how to think about touch-screens, lest they mindlessly soak up everything they encounter like a sponge.

Parents: my friends, Adam and Marko, wrote an excellent little book on teens and social media, A Parent's Guide to Understanding Social Media.

How do we equip and train our children how to think about and engage with technology in healthy ways? Share your own wisdom or ideas in the comments!