There has been much ado about a recent issue of Newsweek which pronounced the decline of American Christianity.  Conservative Christian media outlets and bloggers have taken to chastising editor Jon Meacham, dismissing the Episcopalian’s editorial treatment of a study by the American Religious Identification Survey, which cited a 10 percent drop in Americans who claim to be Christians.  Rather than damning Mr. Meacham to that old Christian woodshed somewhere below the earth’s crust, why not consider the subject of the study?  Though lopping off the ear of the messenger is temporarily enjoyable it is rarely fruitful.  If a man has one hundred sheep and ten of them go missing, the good shepherd asks why.

Now I’d rather crank up my iPod listening to a band that sounds like Modest Mouse with positive lyrics and pretend that someone just found the LORD through a Christian t-shirt I was wearing.  Avoidance is a helpful tool.  The cultural version of American Christianity has been visibly suffering for two decades.  Signs are everywhere.  If your local Christian bookstore still exists, for example, congratulations.  Pick up a pack of “Testa-mints” from the checkout area and mail them to me.  For the rest of us: let’s list the why’s…

6 reasons why cultural Christianity is declining

1. Cultural Christianity has easily definable enemies. The reason the Bible is so darn long, has something to do with the fact that it is an ongoing story about a God who loves his creation.  Much of it deals with how followers of Christ are to treat their enemies.  People who oppose school prayer.  People who are pro-choice.  People who are gay.  People who were born in the Middle East.  People who believe in evolution.  Clearly enemies, right?  Clearly bound for judgment and destruction, right?  Love those that hate you.  Bless them that curse you.  Pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you.  Romans speaks of God’s kindness drawing all of us to repentance; even those of us who assume we’ve sinned a great deal less than the next guy.  How does anyone learn that God is kind in a world of constant brokenness?  Through grace demonstrated by others.  Be slow in choosing your enemies.
2. Cultural Christianity hopes for judgment. When you have a list of enemies, you must have an intended purpose for them.  The book of Amos says: “Woe to you who desire the day of the LORD!  Why would you have the day of the LORD?  It is darkness, and not light.”  God does intend to judge the righteous and the wicked.  Those desiring judgment to fall quickly may find themselves in the latter group.  The target audience of the Hebrew prophets was God’s chosen people, Israel.  It was their culture that God detested and rejected.  When the prophets of scripture spoke against Israel’s enemies, it was done in passing.  “Babylon will get theirs, don’t worry about them.  Vengeance belongs to someone else.  What about you?”  Israel was promised liberation, not victory.
3. Cultural Christianity embraces escapism. Rapture theology allows Christians to say, “we”re outta here!”  This theological idea is less than 200 years old and is a peculiar position in light of Jesus teaching his followers to pray that God’s kingdom would be experienced on earth.  Cultural Christians live with the idea that they won’t be here for long.  The bible of course tells us the exact opposite.  We will be here on the earth forever as God redeems his creation and establishes a holy city on the earth.  Vastly different than being given wings of ignorance and a harpsichord.  Imagine eternity spent in the exact same location where you refused to love your neighbor.  Not a very heavenly feeling, is it?  Because Christians believe in a kingdom not built with hands that extends for eternity, we should embrace every opportunity to demonstrate that belief.
4. Cultural Christianity is too political. Theologian and pop singer John Mayer asks, “Is there anyone who can remember changing their mind from some paint on a sign… or someone yelled real loud one time?”  I have a friend who lives near a Planned Parenthood.  When I meet up with him for morning coffee there is a group of people standing outside holding protest signs.  I wonder if anyone has driven by and thought, “Gee, I guess abortion is wrong.  I just changed my mind.”  If anything this has an opposite effect, further strengthening the belief that Christians only care about winning a cultural battle for conservatism.  Perhaps you’ve noticed that the pendulum has swung in the opposite direction recently.  It’s not uncommon to hear Christians with a liberal bent berating those who are more politically conservative.  “Good morning” to believers who must attach a political adjective to your Christianity, you’re actions are exactly as offensive to the other side as the actions of the other sideare to you!  The tactics are the same, only the sound bites are different.  The false dichotomy of American politics is being exposed, hence the tension in our country.  Followers of Jesus embrace the sanctity of life, all of life, from unborn to the feudalist peasant, to the  minority, to women, to the dying elderly.  They recognize all injustice and work to lovingly correct it, regardless of which party claims the injustice as “their issue.”
   

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5. Cultural Christianity has a graven image problem. According to the book, unChristian, by Dave Kinnaman, the negative effects of Christian marketing are up to ten times greater than positive outcomes.  If a mass mailing produces one new Christian there are ten people who have been moved further from faith in Christ.  If you’re a pastor, I know what you’re thinking: “Those marketers don’t have my graphics guy!  They don’t have my clever phrasing.”  I know this because that’s what we all think.  Mass marketing of Christianity through mailings produces one half of one percent return.  20 thousand fliers = 100 people who might check out the Jesus you’re selling.  Potentially 1000 people who will decide to permanently ignore your message.  Save your money.  Forget your image.  Sit down and pray with someone instead.  Christians should consider prayer their greatest marketing tool.  Jesus doesn’t need to be cooler.  He just needs to be seen.
6. Cultural Christianity “sees that hand.”I remember listening to an evangelist’s sermon when I was a kid.  It ended typically, “You don’t know when the last trump will sound.  With every head bowed and every eye closed… (then there was a dramatic pause)… (still pausing)…”  With the church keyboard turned up to 11, the trump did sound, thanks to the keyboard player.  Hearts all across the auditorium stopped beating.  Old people died.  Many of us were audibly impaired for about a week.  Additionally there was a certain odor coming from the hind section of people’s Sunday Bests.  Becoming a disciple has very little to do with a repeat-after-me-prayer.  Loving one another as believers is the absolute best form of evangelism, or so taught Jesus.  When Christians care for other Christians everyone notices.  When we work together to make ourselves and one another look more like Christ, we’ll “see a lot more hands” in a figurative sense of course.

Within the Christian subculture opinions are flying like ravens sent from an ark.  According to subculture pundits, some churches have been preaching a false gospel, some don’t talk about sin enough, some are too stuffy, some aren’t relevant, some have signs with cute slogans and some don’t.  Some believe that the Newsweek article is leftist propaganda to undo Christianity.  Some believe it’s a call to arms.  Maybe we should say, “It is what it is.”  Maybe we should notice that the article says very little about authentic Christianity; it is largely about the subculture of Christianity and its unraveling. 

Missionaries take their message to the culture into which they have been called.  That is, they strip themselves of the culture they know in order to present a greater message to a culture they must learn.

Grace.

Part 2 Friday: “Responding to the Eulogy.”

Flash Fiction: short stories under a thousand words.  I woke up grumpy and pounded this out before I had to do some real work.  I don’t have a title.  You can give it one in the comment section, if you’d like.  Its not really spiritual, but then again it kind of is, I don’t know.  So, here’s the story.  I hope you laugh at it…

The Daily Sun showed up just before the daily sun.  It always happened this way.  A roll of newspaper slaps the door and then daybreak.  I laid my slippers at the front door to step outside onto the doormat to retrieve the paper in my bare feet.  It is a bristly bathmat in the mornings, soaked in the night’s showers.  I have hot feet.  This is so soothing.  Fortunately I have not yet invested in one of those mattresses whose foam adjusts according to heat; there’d be two sweaty craters at the end of my bed.  On the days I wear black socks into the office, I can sometimes smell my feet wafting up from under my desk.

I bet the neighbor’s feet smell too.  He’s a fat guy with a desk job who doesn’t even push his own lawn mower.  So lazy.  “Probably doesn’t even own a lawnmower,”  I say to myself, one-upping him.  Until his wife pulls out of the driveway in an opulent new Toyota, the boxy SUV that belongs on a florescent yellow African safari.  It’s very yellow.  I still maintain that I have a better lawn mower, and I bet his feet are probably sweatier than mine.  I wave at his wife as she leaves for her AM workout.  She shakes a bottle of water at me in return.  The water bottle is a mutated human appendage.  We smile at each other through the smoky car-window glass and across a comfortable span of distance too great for telepathy.

I have a garage for my toaster in case it rains in the kitchen.  My wife likes the toaster to be out of sight.  She finds toasters particularly offensive.  Every morning I waltz the toaster around the kitchen, squeezing her body into mine while I confidently extend her cord in my right hand.  My hands aren’t hot like my feet.

The paper is all adverts and opinions.  I saw a commercial last night that you can buy a LandRover for $800 a month.  I better leave a little early for work.  I’m sure there are thousands of people clogging up the interstate near the LandRover exit.  Peculiarly the Sports Page is filled with ads for Japanese massage.  I attribute this to the increase in Asian players in Major League Baseball.  Sushi would be a nice breakfast today.  Bet my mowerless neighbor with the expedition vehicle – that plebe -  is having oatmeal.  “Dragon roll for me, please.  With toast.”

Jets surround my bath tub.  Somehow they got broken, but we didn’t use them anyways.  The wife tells me to get them fixed once a week.  I offer to build a garage for the tub instead.  I am offended by bathtubs.  My feet are sufficiently scrubbed.  This takes some time.  I hate it when you bend over in the shower and the water fills up your nostrils.  I’m going to buy a set of nose plugs the next time I drive past the scuba diving store.

Women invented the half-Windsor knot.  While cinching up my $70 noose, I wish I could meet this Windsor and his missus for a little set-to, a tete-a-tete or a cage fight.  Once I tried to count the layers of fabric I tightened around my neck to intentionally stop the flow of blood to my brain.  I gave up.  “More than most,” was my conclusion.  The shoes are loafers, real masculine.  Nothing deserves to have my sweaty feet in them more than these embarrassing foot-skirts.  They have tassels and a fringe, and were made by someone named Cole, first name Ken.  The neighbor has a similar pair.  Dummy.  Not a suit today, its sport-coat day.  They call pants and coats made of different fabric “separates.”  Jones made my coat.  Jones is a pimp in New York.  $350.  Ellis made the slacks.  Ellis is an island in New York, so the whole ensemble kind of works.  $98 for the pants.

I look credible as I walk through the door of my office in Acquisitions.  The neighbor works down the street 2 blocks  a few floors higher than me in Marketing.  We each drive the same 22 miles separately, taking turns following one another into the city.  When he gets to work he approves the final color swatches for fast food restaurants and retail stores.  Me, I’m a well-dressed pirate.  The board of my company believes we need more things and the shareholders agree.  I rob from the rich and give to the also rich.  Who is better, me or him?  Color guru or Robinhood.  Got to go with Robinhood, right?

Text message in the middle of the day said my kid needs an Earth Day t-shirt for school.  I’ll buy one made in Malaysia by someone his own age.  $3.  You can ship a t-shirt from Malaysia for three bucks?  Costs me $4.95 to mail paperwork to the other side of town.  Who cares.

Commuting home, I am reminded that NPR is an ad for the government.  Talk radio is an ad for the militia.  Country music is written by high-school kids with pimples.  Pop music is an ad for itself, and it just sucks.  The rock station makes me angry.  Nothing feeds my obvious superiority so I settle for making fun of Country music.  Clips of a comedian with a mustache break up the songs and commercials.  Real funny.

The kid is at soccer when I get home.  The wife is driving around.  The picture of us, all of us shining, is hung above my fake fireplace.  The neighbor has the same picture above his fake fireplace, though his photo is of his own family.  Mine is better.  Mine is better.  Mine is… the leather of my sofa is warming around my fancy slacks, around my hot feet.  My eyelids close… better.  I dream about the movie, The Ten Commandments.  I’m pretty sure if it was updated it would be a lot better.  My feet smell terrible.

Give me History Channel documentaries, baseball, football and Hell’s Kitchen, (and this thermos – name that movie) and that’s all I need.  At least as far as TV goes.  My wife has been DVR-ing the Biggest Loser this season, and by-and-by, I am getting sucked into the show like back-fat into a lypo wand.  Not completely, I usually am asleep by the time they measure the contestants’ progress.

Sleepiness aside, there is something important that happens on this show.  I cannot speak for every season as this is the only one to which I have paid any sort of attention.  So far, most of the votes have been cast to keep the contestant “who needs to be here the most.”  Call it: survival of the fattest, the anti-Darwin.

A few years back I read (listened to on my iPod) a book that suggested the first step towards greatness was getting the right people on the bus.  This absolutely makes sense from a motivational and leadership perspective.  This leaves us with an increasing amount of the “wrong people” (go Darwinian Theory!), while we search out the “right people.”  No one wants to sit on a proverbial bus next to the real Biggest Loser, the lazy guy with cheese sauce smeared across his belly and a notebook filled with gripes.  I get it.  I think we all do.

The idea goes: in order to get the right people on the bus, you have to create a seat for them by getting the wrong people off the bus.  This begs the question, “Is the bus moving when its riders are forcibly expelled?”  I guess, “Who cares,” is the correct answer, at least according to the book about buses.  The dead-weight is gone.  “I’m sorry; you’re not the Biggest Loser.”  Now, for you TV execs who will read this blog, and there are many of you, I’m not suggesting you create a reality TV called Slowest Metabolism, an attempt to bulk up the morbidly thin, starring Torii Spelling and Lionel Richie’s daughter – what’s-her-name.

Life is about survival of the fittest.  Cultures have always stuck the right people on the bus and gotten rid of the wrong people, though they’ve not always written books about the process.  Nature’s food-chain has never ceased to demonstrate this reality, not even for one day.  Not even at your local, ultra-humane zoo.  Lions are still fed lesser animals.

On the Biggest Loser you see a group of society’s outcasts voting in favor of the worst of their kind.  Fattism is very acceptable in our culture.  I’ll confess.  When I think of how great I am because I am not a racist, and that some of my friends are gay, poor, type ‘b’, some of them are even from Wisconsin, I am confronted with the reality that on this particular issue, I, too frequently, would cast my vote to eliminate the fat guy.  Confession is good for the soul!  I feel better already.

Imagine a society that kept the wrong people on the bus, provided they wanted to stay on the bus.  This bus is large enough for all who would choose to ride it.  The bus conductor boots only those who don’t want to be on the bus, and of course, those who enter the bus with the knowledge that they are the “right people” to turn this bus around.  The riders of this bus acknowledge their own need and are enveloped in a community who acknowledge it too.  It’s not a co-dependent bus; “You’re not fat, you’re just big boned!  Lots of fat people live long, healthy lives!” No, this bus is filled with riders who KNOW they all have a similar set of problems.  They know they are not the fittest and therefore they probably won’t survive.

Instead of discharging the biggest loser, they provide safety and community.  His or her growth (pun unintentional) becomes the reason the bus exists.  The Fat Bus.  The Addicted Bus.  The Rejected Bus.  The Bus filled with victims of sex crimes.  The Bus filled with Perpetrators.  The Klepto Bus (without seats and a radio, of course).  The Disabled Bus.  The Bus with a Collection of People who should be on other Buses.  The Bus filled with people who formerly wanted to control every bus on the city streets.

The Kingdom of Heaven is like a bus whose conductor begs one question: “Who needs to be here the most?”  Thanks Biggest Loser!  Now someone tell me who got voted off last night.  I was sleeping.

(or, What I’ve learned while blogging for daily bread.)

What was it Little Orphan Annie said, “It’s a hard-knock life?”  Or was that Jay-Z?  Whomever gets the credit: they were right.  I didn’t even know that they blogged.  Here was my erroneous thought process as I launched ReamofPaper: 1) I’m a pretty decent writer.  2) I have some friends who will form an automatic audience.  3) I have read a bunch of blogs about blogging, even a book (though it was not a book labeled specifically “for dummies,” which may be my problem).

Turns out that many of the most profitable blogs are about blogging.  This is like watching a movie that is about a movie, and not the acting, plot etc.  Blogs about blogging are movies about the Best Boy and the Grip and the Make-up Artist and the Best Boy’s Make-up Artist narcissisticly doing their jobs, though they are oddly helpful.  Seriously, I love problogger.net and the dedicated professional bloggers who help us little people.  It’s the copy-cat blogs that drive me nuts.

While the Ream audience has been a dedicated lot (thank you for this), we’re small, like an indie film about the importance of plankton.  While I tirelessly plod along hoping to add some spiritual meaning to your life, let me tell you future and fellow bloggers what I’ve learned since launching Ream of Paper 4 months ago.  I’ve compiled 7 blogging tips, I’ll call them Rabbits, you know, the things magicians yank out of top hats.  These 7 rabbits are the things some bloggers tell other bloggers to do in order to build a blogging empire.   Blogger: refresh thyself with a moment of levity!

Rabbit Number 1 – Use Great Titles For Your Posts.

I’ve found that the best titles are ones that mimic titles of famous books written by bald, Mormon guys.  You’re reading one right now.  How to Spin Heads of Important People is another fine suggestion.  (Feel free to suggest more titles in the comment section.)  Titles should make your readers feel as if they have no other option but to read your work.  A good example might be, Octomom is Angelina’s Orphaned Sister.  While this is not true, you’d read it wouldn’t you?  Lie a little.  It has worked for the magazines in the check out aisles.  Credibility?  Just watch TMZ and you’ll learn exactly how little credibility counts anymore!

Rabbit Number 2 – Blog In Lists.

Because life often happens in numerical order.  Lists really get to the heart of the matter, don’t they?  That’s why those Chicken Soup for the Soul books have done so well; their wonderful lists!  Nothing warms my innards like reading the board that hangs on my refrigerator.  Milk, bread, cheese, eggs… I feel better already.  Lists help your readers systematize their lives.  This is a very nice idea for those without children or spouses or any other living relatives or friends.

Rabbit Number 3 – Choose a Niche

So far this has been my biggest mistake.  I have been writing primarily about things of a spiritual nature using everyday examples.  For future bloggers, might I suggest writing about your best experience with batteries or reviewing the menu at Taco Bell or your lawn tractor.  What color is it?  What are the measurements of the belts?  What is the proper inflation of the tires?  What is the tightest turn you have ever made with your CubCadet, and were you drinking beer at the time of said turn?

You get the idea.  Don’t blog about life.  Or God. Those topics are too broad.  Seriously, no one likes to think about God.  What are you, a philosopher?

Rabbit Number 4 – Set a Schedule and use keywords

There is no telling which schedule will work for your niche.  You’ll have to experiment.  If you do not heed my advice and choose to blog about the big things like life and God; don’t post too frequently.  Twice a week – on days when no one is busy voting for their favorite American Idol.  If you’re comparing Duracells to Energizers, go ahead and post away.  The more times you say “Duracell,” and the more times you highlight “Duracell,” is the most Energizer – ing way to drive Duracell traffic to your Duracell site.  The traffic will leave you feeling Energizer – ed.

Rabbit Number 5 – Use Humor

What kind of humor?  I’ve found that slapstick doesn’t play in blogging-Peoria, so stick with irony.  The irony about using irony is that people who have discovered your wonderful list about lawn tractors will inevitably miss your stabs at humor,  probably accusing you of Mowing While Intoxicated.  This is especially common if one has accidentally blogged about God in some fashion.  I suggest using humor sparingly.  After all, information is inherently non-funny.  “Two Irishmen were sitting at a bar…”  Of course they were!  See.

Rabbit Number 6 – Shorter is Better

This is true.  Think “bumper sticker.”  No one likes to have to tailgate to read the wisdom posted on the back of your Oldsmobile.  Make it pop.  “Ron Paul for President.”  Enough said, I know you already.  Why is it that you “brake for garage sales”?  We don’t really care, but when we see your brake lights, we’ll assume you need a glued-together Hummel figurine or used mauve drapes.  You’ve stated your case with brevity, and now we all know you!

Rabbit Number 7 – Have Fun

Welcome to the only Rabbit of blogging where I consistently succeed.  There is nothing quite as gratifying as posting a humorous, short, well-titled list about my lawn tractor which hopefully sneaks in the backdoor and registers as something spiritual.  I imagine readers: tears streaming down their faces, keyboards smoking from the collection of saltwater puddles, saying, “I thought this was supposed to be about lawn tractors or Octomom’s estranged relationship with Angelina, and somehow it’s not.  It’s subtly about my soul and my life.  Thank God for you Ream of Paper.  Thank God for you!”

Thank God for you as well, dear reader.  My tear-stained image of you keeps me blogging.  Love to you all.

ReamofPaper

Tomorrow’s post: Carmen Electra Uses Duracells to Power her CubCadet Tractor (while mowing Octomom’s lawn).

Easter blooms each morning.

A day does not pass, when it does not try to force its way up.

Up through yesterday’s soot.

Up, just taller than expected.

A medicine to salve the wounds.

“I’ll take one of these

and I’ll call you in the morning.”

Springing up without permission,

Without so much as a query toward my needs.

It recesses in the men given charge

to make sure it doesn’t happen.

It happens and it happens.

Night lights are set as reminders

that Easter blooms each morning.

click image to order

I was talking to some friends about this great book.   It’s a bit of a heavy read, but well worth the time.  Surprised by Hope by N.T. Wright is one of the most important books I have ever read.

Let’s not forget that Holy Week – from the passion, to the death, to the glorious resurrection – is what we’re all about. The twin mysteries of the incarnation and the pasch define the transcending meaning of Christianity. We’re so used to this message that it is easy for us to forget just how incredibly radical this idea is.

The Holy Cross itself is a sign of contradiction. A horrible means of torture and death becomes the ultimate symbol of love. It is a stumbling block for the Jews, foolishness for the Gentiles (1 Cor 1:23). But even this we try to normalize, file it away in the background of life. The Utah Highway Patrol argued in the Utah courts that the crosses they erected on the side of Utah highways to memorialize fallen state troopers were a nondescript, generic symbol of death, and not a religious symbol. How sad if this were true! How sad that there are those who believe it!

Let’s take a moment and remember just how amazing this idea is. That Christ would even come to earth as a human being, flesh and blood, is itself a wondrous start. Human ideas of God are almost always lofty, separated, set apart on a higher, untouchable plain. But here we have God-become-man walking among us, living among the poor and simple people. Then add to this the idea that he would DIE, the sacrificial lamb willingly led to the slaughter out of love to save a people who so willingly turn their backs on him. This is LOVE. All the hymns suddenly make more sense than ever. Amazing grace. What wondrous love is this?

We celebrate Easter because it changed our lives. Christ conquered death. Our sinfulness died with him, we are raised with him. We have hope at last!

By the Lord has this been done. It is a marvel in our eyes! (Ps 118:23)

You have preserved my life from the pit of destruction,

When you cast behind your back all my sins. (Is 39:18)

The Lord is our savior;

we shall sing to stringed instruments

In the house of the Lord

all the days of our life. (Is 39:20)

This Easter, pause to revel in the wonder, awe, and love that is Christ’s paschal mystery.