I'm driving home from the mountains tonight, floating on cloud 9 because of the wonderful day I had with Teach One to Lead One. This wonderful mood turned vocal as I began flipping through radio stations, bellowing out popular songs at the top of my lungs, usually 1/2 step off-key. As I continued to scroll through my top 5 presets (a combination of mix and country stations), I only heard commercials, most of which were political. Political ads put me in a bad mood. I didn't want to be in a bad mood. So I reluctantly flipped to preset #6: KLOVE.
Now anyone who knows me knows my issue with this horrendous example of Christian sub-culture. The only reason I have it as a preset is because I like David Crowder and a few other Christian songs, and if I just need a reason to be mad (especially during their pledge drives...another post for another day). Just as the DJ came on (and I was about to change it), they began talking about a new promotion they are running: having Michael W. Smith come to your church as the ultimate worship leader on a Sunday. After picking my jaw up from the floor mat (which is probably the only thing that prevented me from cussing), I began thinking two things: what is an ultimate worship leader, and why does Michael W. Smith put his middle letter in with his professional name? I should start doing that. Maybe I'll get a record deal.
Anyways, back to the ultimate worship leader thing. I have enough beef with most people thinking music and singing when they hear the word "worship," and that's probably why I hate this ridiculous stunt so much. I know the Bible talks a lot about worshipping and praising God through music, dance, loud noises, etc. But why has this become our primary method of worship? If anything, the Bible teaches more that worship is a lifestyle, not our song (Rom. 12.1, in case you needed proof).
If you really want the ultimate worship leader (if there even is such a thing), you should probably be looking for some nobody (societally speaking, that is) who is giving up their life to follow Jesus, struggling along the way.
By the way, if anyone from KLOVE reads this, please know that I love your intentions, but please choose your words carefully from here on out. Many churches are doing a bad enough job at discipleship; they don't need your help.
Sincerely,
Russel C. Dains
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Part of something bigger...
I started reading a short book tonight by John Eldridge entitled Epic. The premise behind the book, from what I can gather so far, is that we are all part of a bigger story. My question is, what story am I a part of?
As Eldrigde points out, a life created by accident and that ends by accident really doesn't inspire. What's the point? If there is no purpose in life, why do anything good? Of course, I don't believe that anyone is created by accident. Disagree with me if you want. Say I use God as a crutch; I don't care. We're all created with some purpose. We're all part of a bigger story. Life is not a math equation that we can predict. It's not a science experiment that is to be constantly dissected or analyzed. It's a drama with twists and turns, ups and downs. Not knowing what comes next is what makes life exciting (and freaking scary for that matter).
I've found myself asking, "What is my role in this story?" This doesn't simply rephrase the age-old question, "What is the meaning of life?" I know what that is. It doesn't have to do with our purpose either. It goes much deeper than both of these and speaks to the core of who we are. I used to think this could be summed up in another question: "What does God want of me?" I wrestled with this for a long time, thinking the answer was found in what I do. Does he want me working with teens, praying more, reading more, loving more, serving more, going to church more? Although I heard the answer several hundred times, I never believed it. It was too simple. Here it is: God doesn't want anything of me, he just wants me. I never swallowed this before because it was never real. Pastors teach this, but churches rarely follow it. We're too busy trying to look at people's works instead of loving them for who they are, like God does.
Sorry, kinda went on a tangent. After realizing this basic truth about God, it freed me up to pursue the question stated above about my role. To pose it another way: "What does God want to use me for?" I've thought for some time that God is going to use me for something big. I hope he does anyways. My problem has usually been that I have never been content enough to allow God enough time to do this. I suffer from a lack of patience that is usually fleshed out in the grass-is-greener syndrome. I'm always looking for something better, some bigger and more effective way to be used. How stupid. Where does God say that he calls us to be effective. I think he'd rather have us be faithful. Be faithful when things aren't working my way. Be faithful when the odds are stacked against you.
I was reminded of this today when I read Judges 7. This dude named Gideon was leading the Israelites into battle. At that time, the Israelite army was about 32,000 people and they were going to kick the crap out of the Mideonites. Before they did this, God told Gideon that the army was too big. If they were to conquer Mideon, they would think they did it on their own and disregard God's hand in things. To make a long story short, God whittled the army down to 300 soldiers, then went and attacked the Mideonites with torches and glass jars (I know, I don't get it either). The Mideonites were so scared, they began killing each other!
I wonder what my reaction would have been if I were Gideon. "God, we'll give you the credit. I promise. The statistics show that we would be more effective with a larger army. I don't know if choosing soldiers on how they drink water out of the river is the best way to do this." And the excuses go on and on.
This goes back to my role in God's story. I have no idea how God will use me in the future. Frankly, who cares. God is using me now to love on teens who most people don't care about. Is it effective? Maybe. I can share stories and stats that would say so. Even if I'm not, I'm doing what God told me to do: love people for who they are not what they do or don't do. This is my role. This will always be my role. It may take a number of different forms, but the basic premise will not change.
As Eldrigde points out, a life created by accident and that ends by accident really doesn't inspire. What's the point? If there is no purpose in life, why do anything good? Of course, I don't believe that anyone is created by accident. Disagree with me if you want. Say I use God as a crutch; I don't care. We're all created with some purpose. We're all part of a bigger story. Life is not a math equation that we can predict. It's not a science experiment that is to be constantly dissected or analyzed. It's a drama with twists and turns, ups and downs. Not knowing what comes next is what makes life exciting (and freaking scary for that matter).
I've found myself asking, "What is my role in this story?" This doesn't simply rephrase the age-old question, "What is the meaning of life?" I know what that is. It doesn't have to do with our purpose either. It goes much deeper than both of these and speaks to the core of who we are. I used to think this could be summed up in another question: "What does God want of me?" I wrestled with this for a long time, thinking the answer was found in what I do. Does he want me working with teens, praying more, reading more, loving more, serving more, going to church more? Although I heard the answer several hundred times, I never believed it. It was too simple. Here it is: God doesn't want anything of me, he just wants me. I never swallowed this before because it was never real. Pastors teach this, but churches rarely follow it. We're too busy trying to look at people's works instead of loving them for who they are, like God does.
Sorry, kinda went on a tangent. After realizing this basic truth about God, it freed me up to pursue the question stated above about my role. To pose it another way: "What does God want to use me for?" I've thought for some time that God is going to use me for something big. I hope he does anyways. My problem has usually been that I have never been content enough to allow God enough time to do this. I suffer from a lack of patience that is usually fleshed out in the grass-is-greener syndrome. I'm always looking for something better, some bigger and more effective way to be used. How stupid. Where does God say that he calls us to be effective. I think he'd rather have us be faithful. Be faithful when things aren't working my way. Be faithful when the odds are stacked against you.
I was reminded of this today when I read Judges 7. This dude named Gideon was leading the Israelites into battle. At that time, the Israelite army was about 32,000 people and they were going to kick the crap out of the Mideonites. Before they did this, God told Gideon that the army was too big. If they were to conquer Mideon, they would think they did it on their own and disregard God's hand in things. To make a long story short, God whittled the army down to 300 soldiers, then went and attacked the Mideonites with torches and glass jars (I know, I don't get it either). The Mideonites were so scared, they began killing each other!
I wonder what my reaction would have been if I were Gideon. "God, we'll give you the credit. I promise. The statistics show that we would be more effective with a larger army. I don't know if choosing soldiers on how they drink water out of the river is the best way to do this." And the excuses go on and on.
This goes back to my role in God's story. I have no idea how God will use me in the future. Frankly, who cares. God is using me now to love on teens who most people don't care about. Is it effective? Maybe. I can share stories and stats that would say so. Even if I'm not, I'm doing what God told me to do: love people for who they are not what they do or don't do. This is my role. This will always be my role. It may take a number of different forms, but the basic premise will not change.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Peaks and Cracks at Sunrise
Some friends and I went camping a couple weeks ago in the Indian Peaks Wilderness area, and I suggested we hike Mt. Audubon at (elev. 13,223 ft). Rather than doing a regular hike, however, I suggested we start at 3 am and summit by sunrise, which we made.
The hike itself was fairly strenuous. It was a different experience hiking at night. The moon was half full, so our headlamps were extinguished most of the hike. Watching the sunrise from the top was breathtaking. The pic above is me looking out over God's glory in all my glory (I blame it on the lack of sleep!).
Monday, September 1, 2008
Tour of Atlanta
I used to think I had a fairly good grasp on most of the crap that happens in this world. Working with teens combined with following God's call to help ease pain in the world has led me down some pretty crazy paths. An experience in Atlanta last month rocked me hard.
I was in Atl for work, which usually means sitting in a conference room for long hours learning how to better help the teens I work with. One night, our learning turned experiential. We headed downtown to walk the streets with "Pastor" Kurt, a man who has dedicated his life to serving the homeless population. Kurt regularly spends 1-2 nights on the street developing relationships with the homeless. Personally, I don't know how he does it. Homeless people tend to smell. I don't like bad smells. Anyway, Kurt has been doing this work in downtown Atlanta for about 12 years. He knows most of the homeless people down there, and his countless hours downtown has made him very familiar with the layout of the area.
We started off on top of a parking garage where he gave us a bird's eye view of the downtown area, along with some disturbing statistics, like the large number of homeless men who are raped each month, primarily by drunk college kids. Roughly 9 out of 10 rapes come from these college students. I know, I couldn't believe it either. He pointed out where the different groups hang out. Gays over here, lesbians over there, stay away from that area if you're white, etc. It was here I started freaking out a little bit, because we were supposed to walk the streets ourselves after our tour, which because of time, didn't end up happening (much to my relief).
After our introduction, our tour of downtown Atlanta began. A couple things immediately jumped out at me. First, if Kurt wasn't a pastor, I'm sure he could win several speed walking competitions. The dude never slowed down! I also noticed how he connected with the homeless. As we walked, countless homeless men shouted, "Hey Pastor Kurt!", followed by them running up to him and giving him hugs. I was glad they didn't hug me. I was proud of myself for working up enough courage to shake their hands, and even then I wondered if I would contract some disease that hasn't even been heard of yet.
Then the stories began. Kurt told story after story, all things that he had witnessed personally. We would stop and say, "Right here, so-and-so accepted Jesus. The next night, a car slammed into him and pinned him against this light pole." Then we'd rekindle the marathon speed walk. We stopped on a street corner, and he gave us a quick lesson on the law. According to federal law, it is illegal for anyone under the age of 18 to take their clothes off for money. I then learned of a loophole to this law. Apparently, it is kosher for a person under 18 to do this if they have parental permission and it is for artistic purposes.
It's funny how some people define art. A club in downtown Atlanta considers 12 and 13 year old girls dancing nude for older men artistic. The parents of these "models" do to, considering they gave their permission to do so, not to mention collect $100 an hour for their contribution to the artistic world. At least their is glass separating these girls from the connoisseurs.
If my emotions were not stirred up enough by this point, then came the pinnacle of the evening. We stopped at a freeway overpass, and Kurt pointed out a 15-20 story abandoned building. At first I thought, "So what? It's just a building." Then he pointed out the writing in large black letters across the top. They read, "WHITE POWER. KILL ALL THE BLACKS." Anger filled my heart and curiosity filled my mind. How could people get away with this? This is the 21st century! Gotta love the first amendment.
Kurt told us the story:
He then pointed to an abandoned parking lot across the freeway from this building. "Where we're heading is hallowed ground," he said. "In order for these men to become a part of this organization, they must hang a black man and set his body on fire. This parking lot is where it happens. They will film the entire act from the building as proof of their actions."
We walked by the parking lot, and rage filled my soul (and still does now a month later). At the edge of the parking lot was white-washed wall standing about 8 feet tall. Across the top of this wall was a horizontal pipe about 6-8 feet long where the noose was draped over. Below this pipe, charred black marks covered the white paint. We were twenty feet away from the spot where black men were hung and set aflame in the name of white power.
"Have you seen these bodies burning?" I asked Kurt.
"I wouldn't tell you anything I haven't witnessed," he replied.
"How can they get away with this?"
"I don't know. After they burn the bodies, they take them to an abandoned house and light it on fire, making it appear that a homeless person burned to death because they broke into an abandoned building looking for warmth. There has to be some higher up corruption if I can figure this out and it keeps happening."
Racism is alive and well. I knew this crap happened back in the 60's, but had no clue it still happens today. I pray that God destroys this building. I pray that some how, some way, these people who are so filled with hate will come around. My human side wants to pray that God will send them to the darkest and hottest parts of hell, along with those who exploit little girls and boys for sexual gratification (aka "art"). That's my human side. My actual prayer is that God will show his love to these people. They are jacked up. They need love.
I was in Atl for work, which usually means sitting in a conference room for long hours learning how to better help the teens I work with. One night, our learning turned experiential. We headed downtown to walk the streets with "Pastor" Kurt, a man who has dedicated his life to serving the homeless population. Kurt regularly spends 1-2 nights on the street developing relationships with the homeless. Personally, I don't know how he does it. Homeless people tend to smell. I don't like bad smells. Anyway, Kurt has been doing this work in downtown Atlanta for about 12 years. He knows most of the homeless people down there, and his countless hours downtown has made him very familiar with the layout of the area.
We started off on top of a parking garage where he gave us a bird's eye view of the downtown area, along with some disturbing statistics, like the large number of homeless men who are raped each month, primarily by drunk college kids. Roughly 9 out of 10 rapes come from these college students. I know, I couldn't believe it either. He pointed out where the different groups hang out. Gays over here, lesbians over there, stay away from that area if you're white, etc. It was here I started freaking out a little bit, because we were supposed to walk the streets ourselves after our tour, which because of time, didn't end up happening (much to my relief).
After our introduction, our tour of downtown Atlanta began. A couple things immediately jumped out at me. First, if Kurt wasn't a pastor, I'm sure he could win several speed walking competitions. The dude never slowed down! I also noticed how he connected with the homeless. As we walked, countless homeless men shouted, "Hey Pastor Kurt!", followed by them running up to him and giving him hugs. I was glad they didn't hug me. I was proud of myself for working up enough courage to shake their hands, and even then I wondered if I would contract some disease that hasn't even been heard of yet.
Then the stories began. Kurt told story after story, all things that he had witnessed personally. We would stop and say, "Right here, so-and-so accepted Jesus. The next night, a car slammed into him and pinned him against this light pole." Then we'd rekindle the marathon speed walk. We stopped on a street corner, and he gave us a quick lesson on the law. According to federal law, it is illegal for anyone under the age of 18 to take their clothes off for money. I then learned of a loophole to this law. Apparently, it is kosher for a person under 18 to do this if they have parental permission and it is for artistic purposes.
It's funny how some people define art. A club in downtown Atlanta considers 12 and 13 year old girls dancing nude for older men artistic. The parents of these "models" do to, considering they gave their permission to do so, not to mention collect $100 an hour for their contribution to the artistic world. At least their is glass separating these girls from the connoisseurs.
If my emotions were not stirred up enough by this point, then came the pinnacle of the evening. We stopped at a freeway overpass, and Kurt pointed out a 15-20 story abandoned building. At first I thought, "So what? It's just a building." Then he pointed out the writing in large black letters across the top. They read, "WHITE POWER. KILL ALL THE BLACKS." Anger filled my heart and curiosity filled my mind. How could people get away with this? This is the 21st century! Gotta love the first amendment.
Kurt told us the story:
"This building is owned by a white supremist in New York who is involved with a white supremacy organization. In order to become a member of this elite club, one must show their commitment to the cause by killing a black person. This building serves as the base for this act of initiation. About three times a year, we'll see a light on in the building or a fire burning inside, and we know a black homeless man will die within a week."
He then pointed to an abandoned parking lot across the freeway from this building. "Where we're heading is hallowed ground," he said. "In order for these men to become a part of this organization, they must hang a black man and set his body on fire. This parking lot is where it happens. They will film the entire act from the building as proof of their actions."
We walked by the parking lot, and rage filled my soul (and still does now a month later). At the edge of the parking lot was white-washed wall standing about 8 feet tall. Across the top of this wall was a horizontal pipe about 6-8 feet long where the noose was draped over. Below this pipe, charred black marks covered the white paint. We were twenty feet away from the spot where black men were hung and set aflame in the name of white power.
"Have you seen these bodies burning?" I asked Kurt.
"I wouldn't tell you anything I haven't witnessed," he replied.
"How can they get away with this?"
"I don't know. After they burn the bodies, they take them to an abandoned house and light it on fire, making it appear that a homeless person burned to death because they broke into an abandoned building looking for warmth. There has to be some higher up corruption if I can figure this out and it keeps happening."
Racism is alive and well. I knew this crap happened back in the 60's, but had no clue it still happens today. I pray that God destroys this building. I pray that some how, some way, these people who are so filled with hate will come around. My human side wants to pray that God will send them to the darkest and hottest parts of hell, along with those who exploit little girls and boys for sexual gratification (aka "art"). That's my human side. My actual prayer is that God will show his love to these people. They are jacked up. They need love.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Things I could have been arrested for growing up...
Growing up, I was your typical pain in the derriere. I was your typical mischievous middle and high schooler, enthralled with blowing things up, lighting things on fire, and destroying anything that would shatter. I got into a discussion with my wife a while ago about the my childhood, and I began listing off everything that I probably could have been arrested for growing up. Here's that list. Mom (and any future employers) I highly recommend NOT reading this...
-arson
-petty larsony
-grand larsony
-assault
-vandalism
-breaking and entering
-public drunkenness
-public nudity
-disturbing the peace
-underage drinking
-wreckless driving
-speeding
-underage smoking
-creating explosives
-assault with a weapon
-destruction of property
NOTE: most of these things happened PRIOR to the age of 18. For anyone who feels like trying to make me repent, don't. I WAS a hellian, which probably accounts for the fact that I relate better to teenagers than adults. For anyone who wants clarification on any of these things, keep reading the blog. I'm sure the stories will surface eventually.
-arson
-petty larsony
-grand larsony
-assault
-vandalism
-breaking and entering
-public drunkenness
-public nudity
-disturbing the peace
-underage drinking
-wreckless driving
-speeding
-underage smoking
-creating explosives
-assault with a weapon
-destruction of property
NOTE: most of these things happened PRIOR to the age of 18. For anyone who feels like trying to make me repent, don't. I WAS a hellian, which probably accounts for the fact that I relate better to teenagers than adults. For anyone who wants clarification on any of these things, keep reading the blog. I'm sure the stories will surface eventually.
Anger Hurts
When I was 17 years old, I wrecked my car. Not being able to afford another one (Wal-Mart doesn't pay that well), I purchased a mountain bike for my mode of transportation. After several weeks, my brother began "borrowing" my bike without my permission. Although this bugged me, it wasn't that big of deal, not until he began leaving out on the front lawn overnight. I asked him to put it away, but he never would. Finally, I gave him an ultimatum: put my bike away or I would kick the crap out of him. Sure enough, several nights later, I came home from hanging out with friends and my bike was out in the front lawn. Without giving him any warning, I opened my brother's door, jumped on top of him (while he was sleeping, of course), and proceeded to beat the tar out of him. After about 30 seconds of me wailing on him, I went into my room to get a pair of handcuffs. This, of course, made no sense. My thought process was I was going to handcuff him to the bed so I could really do some damage.
I came back in the room with handcuffs in hand, and tackled Jason football style back onto the bed. I quickly realized that the handcuffs were useless, so I threw them aside, and began punching him again. All of a sudden, there was blood everywhere. I thought to myself, "This is what he gets." Soon enough, however, I realized the blood was not coming from below, but from above. The blood was not Jason's; it was mine! Apparently, when I had left the room to get my handcuffs, Jason had grabbed a clothes iron and was hiding it behind his back. When I came back and tackled him, he swung and caught me square on the back of the head. I went into the bathroom and ran my head under the bathtub faucet. While I was drying, I heard Jason crying and puking into a plastic grocery bag.
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