Being a Type B Christian in a Type A Christian World

Let me try to paint a picture for you.  There's a guy on an ultra-modern, hip looking stage.  It may have some nice LCD displays.  There's probably a stool and a bottle of water somewhere.

The guy is dressed casually, but looks pretty sharp.  A v-neck is probably involved in some fashion.  His hairstyle is funky in a non-threatening way and he may be wearing hipsterish glasses.  Most of all, he is earnest and sincere.  There's a whole vibe of "We're cool, you're cool, let's all be cool together". 

Sound familiar to anyone?

Everything seems to be designed in such a way as to maximize my ability to connect with the guy on the stage and the message he's sharing.  There's humor, bullet points, profound stories, etc.  But here's the problem . . .

I don't connect.  At all.

It's not because there's anything wrong with this cool dude up on the stage.  It's not necessarily theological differences.  I just don't connect and lately I've been wondering why.

I think it's because there are certain assumptions being made.  One assumption is that I have a goal, want a goal, or need a goal.  Another assumption is that I'm looking for principles and tools to reach this goal. 

But what if that's not really how I'm wired?  There doesn't seem to be any room for that.  I begin to infer that the problem must be on my end if I'm not connecting with what's being shared.  But lately I've been questioning that.

Based on a cursory reading of a Wikipedia article, the Type A and Type B Personality Theory is somewhat controversial and far from proven.  But nevertheless, let me share the the definitions of each from the article:

Type A

"The theory describes a Type A individual as ambitious, rigidly organized, highly status conscious, can be sensitive, care for other people, are truthful, impatient, always try to help others, take on more than they can handle, want other people to get to the point, proactive, and obsessed with time management. People with Type A personalities are often high-achieving "workaholics" who multi-task, push themselves with deadlines, and hate both delays and ambivalence."

 Type B

"The theory describes Type B individuals as a contrast to those with Type A personalities. People with Type B personality by definition generally live at a lower stress level and typically work steadily, enjoying achievement but not becoming stressed when they are not achieved. When faced with competition, they do not mind losing and either enjoy the game or back down. They may be creative and enjoy exploring ideas and concepts. They are often reflective, thinking about the outer and inner worlds. Furthermore, Type B personalities may have a poor sense of time schedule and can be predominately right brained thinkers."

I certainly don't fit perfectly into a Type B mold, and I'm sure many pastors and speakers aren't prototypical Type A's.  However, I think this may explain some of the disconnect I feel.  One phrase from the Type A description really jumped out at me - "want other people to get to the point".

This isn't a bad thing.  I know there are certainly times at work when I really want people just to get to the freaking point already.  But when it comes to sharing life and talking about God and all that fun stuff, I'm not very interested in just getting to the point.  The journey, not the destination, is what I'm interested in.  I don't want tools and principles to get me from point A to point F.  I'm just loving being at point C and if I take a detour to point L, that's fine with me.

Some people really want to get to the conclusion or figure out the answer.  I'd rather have a conversation and discuss all the questions.  And I think there's room for both in the body.  I think it's a good thing we're wired differently and everyone has something unique that they bring to the table. 

And this has been healthy for me.  Too often I dismiss what others are saying because they're not wired like me and I feel somewhat condemned for not fitting that mold.  I'm hoping to get better at listening to what a person's heart is sharing instead of getting hung up on all the terminology.  It's easy to dissect a sermon and discard what I don't agree with.  It's harder to remain humble and to be open to being taught by someone outside my comfort zone.  I'm not advocating forsaking discernment, but I can be a more gracious listener.

Just don't expect to see me on a stage sharing 3 steps or 4 principles to be a better Christian.  Ain't nobody got time for that.

You Just Need To Have Faith

I'm sure just about everyone at some point has heard the familiar refrain of "You just need to have faith".  This generally occurs when someone is struggling with a difficult question or inner conflict.  While this phrase may seem like encouragement on the surface, I think often it is simply a cop out from having to address an uncomfortable question.

Telling someone to have more faith often infers that they need to stop asking their difficult questions and rocking everyone else's boats. 

"Why is there so much pain in this world?"

"You just need to have faith."

"If grace is really free, why do people have to say or do anything to be saved?"

"You just need to have faith."

"What about people who never hear the real gospel, do they still go to hell?"

"You just need to have faith."

Is that really good advice?  Does telling someone to have faith do anything to address their quandary?  Does it endear them to Father?  Sometimes I think it's just an impulse answer, something we toss out when people start asking things that make us nervous.  We feel the need to protect our gift-wrapped, spoon-fed theologies at all costs, even if that means giving superficial encouragement to others.  We worry that if our comfortable ideologies are examined under too harsh a light, we may be confronted with some ugly truths.

But does it need to be that way?  Do we need to pressure other people to accept trite answers just so our own reality can remain unexamined? 

And let me make something clear - I am not opposed to faith.  Actually, I think encouragement to grow in faith is a wonderful thing.  But simply lobbing that answer at someone is, in my opinion, actually counterproductive to developing faith.

Let's say I was driving around the frozen tundra of Upstate New York, down one of our many poorly plowed roads.  Then, all of a sudden, I see a pair of eyes staring at me out of the dark, my headlights illuminating an idiot deer standing there motionless.  A quick swerve, a patch of ice, and I'm suddenly 50 feet into some guy's snow covered corn field.  And just my luck, my AAA coverage ran out 2 days prior and I didn't renew yet 'cause I'm strapped from the holidays.

So I call my good friend Matt, or maybe one of the Ryan's or Josh's.  They promise they'll be there in 30 minutes to drag my sorry ass out of trouble.  And y'know what?  I believe them.  I have faith in them. 

Why?

Because I know them.  I know they're people who keep their word, I've experienced their friendship and they have absolutely earned my trust.  Knowing comes before trusting.

So I think we're doing a disservice to people when we urge them to simply have faith.  I don't really think faith is necessarily something a person can drum up on their own.  I think real faith is a byproduct of knowing . . .

Knowing Father's love.

Knowing Father's faithfulness.

Knowing Father's wisdom.

Knowing Father.  Period.

So instead of trying to silence someone's question by implying that they should just shut up and trust God, maybe we'd do better to point people toward Father.  Maybe we should validate their questions instead of giving pat answers.  Maybe we should encourage them to take that question to the God who is not afraid of questions, the God who is not threatened by doubts.

Maybe it's actually in the midst of those uncomfortable struggles that we get to know Father better.  What if by urging someone to drop their question, we're actually keeping them from engaging with God in a very special way?  What if Father is more interested in the journey than the destination?  What if he enjoys walking with us through doubts and frustrations?

I wonder if struggling with questions and doubts, instead of being a sign that we're lacking faith, is actually the beginning of a journey to grow our faith by engaging Father in the midst of our turmoil. 

I keep thinking of that scene from the Christmas Carol with the Ghost of Christmas Present.  His entreaty to Scrooge is, "Come in! And know me better man!"

Maybe that's the same invitation being extended to us as we wrestle with difficult questions.  I don't think Father is saying, "Stop asking questions and just have faith."  I think he's saying, "Come and know me better, child."

Re-Imagining Success

So I was working out the other day (stop laughing) and I was listening to some Eminem (I said stop laughing!).  Anyway, the following lyrics jumped out at me:

So tell me, what the hell is a fella to do?
For every million I make, another relative sues
Family fightin' and fussin' over who wants to invite me to supper
All the sudden, I got ninety-some cousins 

A half-brother and sister who never seen me
Or even bothered to call me until they saw me on TV
Now everybody's so happy and proud
I'm finally allowed to step foot in my girlfriend's house

I think Mr. Mathers makes a rather astute observation here.  As much as he's often reviled and demonized for his lyrical content, as soon as he became successful everyone wanted to be his friend.  And that got me to thinking. 

I feel like we often refer to material wealth as being the god of America.  But maybe that's not quite right.  Maybe we don't worship at the altar of greed and consumerism.  Maybe these things are just symptoms of a deeper reality.

I think what we really worship here in America (and probably around much of the world) is Success.  That is what we orient our lives around.  We structure everything to give ourselves the best chance of becoming successful.

We tell children to work hard and get good grades in school so they can go to a good college.  Then we tell them to work hard there so they can go to a good grad school or get a good job.  Then more working hard, more late hours, more meetings and more deadlines and more, more, more . . .

Then, if we're lucky, if we've worked hard enough, we earn the label of Success.  Our parents speak proudly of us to their friends, our peers look up to us, the mayor gives us the key to the city and throws a ticker tape parade . . . okay, maybe not, but it sure feels that way.

The big house, the nice cars, all the fancy gadgets?  I think those are just ways we broadcast our status of Success.  They let other people know that we've made it. 

And the church is not immune from worshiping at the altar of Success.  It may measure it in other ways: congregation size, number of services, quality of the worship team, the pastor's prestige, how nice the building is, how many programs are offered, etc.  But the goal is the same - to be successful.  It's all about which Christian author is selling the most books, which blogger is getting the most hits, which contempervant semi-worship soft rock band is getting the most plays on K-Love.

I started to wonder how Jesus' ministry would be defined using our standards of success? 

Well, he did very little of note for about 90% of his life.  That's generally frowned upon.

He did stir up quite a bit of buzz when he was in his early 30's, that's a plus.  However, much of it was negative.  And most of the negative stuff came from the most respected religious leaders of the day.  Big minus.

After feeding 5,000 men (plus maybe women and children) with some bread and fish, he acquired a large following of people.  Of course, then he told them to eat his flesh and drink his blood and they all left him.  It's almost like Jesus didn't realize the point was to have as many followers as possible.

He was called demon possessed and that never helps your ministry.  Also was called a glutton and a drunkard (if you're a baptist, that's even worse than being called demon possessed).  He was known to hang out with the wrong kind of people, especially some women of a certain profession that were sure to damage your reputation.  He was run out of town, people wanted to throw rocks at him, a crowd shouted for his death.

He was prosecuted as a criminal, abandoned by even his closest friends.

He died.  Alone.

And yet, what was Jesus' ministry if not the single greatest success in the history of the world?  That all of mankind was reconciled to God because of him.  That people saw Love walk before them, they spoke with Grace personified.

Jesus stated at least a couple times that he did whatever he saw his Father doing.  He didn't fail because he never pastored a large church or wrote a best-selling book or made an appearance on whatever the Christian version of Oprah is.  He succeeded because he walked in step with Father.

So I guess that brings us to an interesting question or two.  If our definition of success doesn't match God's definition, what are we trying to achieve?  If our pursuit of becoming successful is wildly different than a simple walk alongside our loving Father, where are we headed?  Is it possible that we find life and joy with Father in the midst of glorious failure?  Is it even possible that we've had it backwards all along, that it's actually in ceasing this crazy race to become successful that we find the freedom to move in rhythm with God's heart?

I know I'm not immune to the siren call of Success.  I often catch myself looking at my life and wondering what the hell I'm doing.  But for me, part of this journey has been letting go of defining success in terms of prestige, notoriety, wealth, or praise.  Instead, I'm slowly (very, very slowly) learning to see God working in the world around me, loving ordinary, beautiful, frustrating, wonderful people, and inviting me to join him.

I'm starting to think that sounds much better than being a success.

Porsches and Principles

I feel like I start a lot of these with "So lately I've been thinking . . . ."

So, um, recently I've been . . . musing . . . on some stuff.  In particular, I've been thinking about the role of principles in spirituality.

Principles can be useful tools.  They can help us understand how things work, or how best to achieve a desired outcome.  They can assist in revealing truth to us.

However, I believe there is a danger in becoming too reliant on principles to guide us through life.  I understand why, principles help us have an illusion of control.  If we master these three principles, or follow those four steps, we will end up exactly where we're aiming.  And if we find ourselves off track, we just need to go back and see which principle we're failing to correctly apply.

And I do think it's possible to read the words of Jesus, or of Paul or John, and come away with a set of instructions on how to live life.  But I'm pretty sure that misses the point.  Jesus kept saying he came to bring life, he didn't say much about handing out rules.  Jesus invited a lot of people to follow him, he didn't hand out many pamphlets with six easy steps to becoming a better Christian. 

Even wonderful things like grace or freedom can be reduced to a set or pinciples.  But that seems to diminish them in some way.

It's like having a Porsche in your driveway with no engine.  You can wash and wax that sucker 'til you can use the reflection to check your teeth, but it's not going anywhere with no engine.  And a car that doesn't go anywhere really isn't much of a car.  It's missing a vital piece, lacking it's main function.

We can pretty up our lives with a bunch of nice sounding principles.  We can even talk about love and grace and all that good stuff, but as long as it's just intellectual assent to some ideas, it's probably not going to change our lives.

I think the engine, the real agent of motion and change, that which really causes transformation and enlightenment, is not an idea.  I think it's a Person.  I think it's when we engage Jesus himself that we begin to come alive.  Jesus offered us something much better than a set of principles to live by.  He offers us life with Him.  It was said that he would be called Immanuel, God with us. 

Even Jesus didn't live by a set of principles.  He said that he only did what he saw his Father do.  The life Jesus modeled was not one of mastering rules and regulations, it is simply one that is constantly engaged with Father. 

And I know it's kind of scary to let go of explicit instructions for living life.  I know it's uncomfortable to set aside principles that promise to always have an answer for our questions.

Trying to simply engage Father in the midst of life can be a messy process.  We might hear things wrong.  We might make mistakes.  But I'm starting to believe that those are very beautiful mistakes.  I think a misstep when journeying with Father is so much better than jumping through hoops without him.

And maybe it's in that mess and confusion that we finally start to really see how good he is.  I generally don't have the first clue what I'm doing.  I often feel foolish, stumbling around like a drunk toddler.  But I am being won by his goodness.  I am being won by his love.  I'm learning that as I begin to walk with him, even tripping over my feet leads to a wonderful destination.

It leads straight into his loving arms.

Looking for Sunshine

It's amazing what a little unexpected nice weather can do.  I was driving into work this morning enjoying the 60-something degree temperature, the sun shining warmly, with The National providing the soundtrack.  It was enough to make me feel optimistic about beginning yet another week at a job that is stifling and unfulfilling.

It was nice because October/November is generally when I'm really hunkering down in preparation for six months of gloomy gray skies, biting winds, and having the sun set before I leave work.  Let's face it, Syracuse is a very depressing place for much of the year.  I'm not sure whether it's because of how I'm wired anyway, but I generally find it very difficult to combat the depression that accompanies our overlong winters.

And the really sad part is that I even have a hard time enjoying the little nice weather we get because the approach of winter is always in the back of my mind.  Actually, it's like that for more than just nice weather.  It seems that anytime something good happens, I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I have this idea that I always have to be prepared for the oncoming winter, whatever that may entail.  I keep myself from enjoying positive experiences in life because I'm convinced that as soon as I relax and don't stay vigilant, some catastrophe is going to sneak up on me.

I think I miss some wonderful opportunities to engage in the present because I'm so concerned with figuring out the future.  I miss a lot of sunshine because I'm too busy scanning the horizons for clouds.

I'm not sure how this is going to work out, but I think I'm going to try to be more intentional in simply engaging the present things that God is doing around me.  I want to focus more on people than on plans.  I fear that I will wake up one morning finding that much of my life has simply passed by because I was too distracted by "what if?" scenarios to actually live my life. 

For a while I've been trying to lose my agendas.  I want to learn to enjoy the journey instead of being so focused on the destination.  I've tried to have my conversations revolve more around the people involved than looking for an angle to insert my "message".

So this winter I'm going to make a conscious effort to look for the sunshine.  Instead of missing the good because I'm distracted or worried, I'm going to look for what God is doing in the midst of every situation.  At least, that's the goal.  I feel like this won't be a quick transition, but I feel it's important for me.  Instead of being beaten down by the gray, cold winter, I'm going to search for and enjoy every ray of sunshine I can find.

Now that I've written this post, watch this be the worst winter ever.

Crap, I'm doing it again.

D'oh! 
 

I Said Relax

There's a lot of pressure to have it all together.  To have all the answers.  To be able to anticipate questions and arguments and have a well-reasoned response all thought out.

This seems doubly so for Christians.  It seems you're labeled as a second-rate Christian if you don't have all your theological ducks in a row.  You better be able to whip out some Greek at a moment's notice if you want to persuade others that they should believe the same things you do.

There's a lot of people out there with books and soapboxes who are all too eager to tell you that they have all the answers and you just need to go along with everything they're telling you.  They've figured it out so you don't have to.  They have degrees and titles that should prove that they are much more qualified to decide what is true than you will ever be.

Christianity has become a race to have all the answers.  He who can quote some obscure 9th century theologian has the last word.  If you can't prove your point with at least 37 verses to back you up, you probably shouldn't say anything at all.

But it's kind of funny.  You see, there were a whole bunch of guys who knew a ton of theology when Jesus was around.  They knew so much about God that when God himself showed up in front of them . . . they didn't recognize him at all.  Actually, his identity was so foreign that they hated him.

How is that?  How is it that those people who knew so much stuff about God could be so wrong about who he was?  Is it possible that we can get so focused on having all the answers, on memorizing all the rules, on being able to argue everyone else under the table, that we miss God himself in the midst of it?

What was Jesus's invitation again?  Was it, "Come and study me?"  Was it "Learn my teachings so you can teach others?"  He invited people to follow him.  He gathered a group of disciples around him to walk with him through life.

Do you ever stop to think why Jesus had disciples?  If it was just so his message would be spread, why not just write a book?  If knowledge was the point, that seems like the logical step.

But he surrounded himself with plain, ordinary people.  And he told them that because they saw him, they saw the Father.  He didn't come to reveal theology, he came to reveal God.  Those who knew a lot about God missed him because they missed the point.  It was never knowing about him.  It was always about knowing him

And if having all the answers and getting everyone to agree with you was so important, what the heck was Jesus doing?  People would ask him questions and he would give them answers that were carefully crafted to confound them.  He spoke in parables that people didn't understand.  He said things that caused the crowds to say "This is a hard teaching" and then leave him.

Jesus didn't find his value in proving to others that he knew a lot.  In fact, he didn't find his value in anything he did or said.  John the Baptist baptized Jesus before he had done anything we would call "ministry".  Yet his Father could not resist proclaiming “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.”

So what does that all mean?  I think it means we get to relax.  We get to stop stressing and just enjoy the unfolding of Father's affection and grace.  We can sink into the reality of who God is, our eyes opening up to a greater revelation of him.  We no longer have to be governed by the pressure of knowing everything, we are simply invited to know the One who loves us more than anything we can imagine.

The Insufficiency of Law

This being election season and all, I've been thinking a bit about the divisiveness and power struggles that accompany this whole event.  Obviously there are a lot of reasons for this, but I wonder if one of the underlying issues is the expectation that the enactment of certain laws can transform society.  We vote for certain people to issue (or retract) laws that will in turn (we think) change people's behaviors so we can live in our ideal society.

But why this reliance on law?  Why this belief that if we can get people to act a certain way (under threat of punishment), all of our problems will be solved?

The Old Testament is full of stories of Israel straying from God, returning to Him, then straying again.  I'll admit that I used to judge them a bit for their unfaithfulness.  It seemed incredible to me that a nation could have their God intervene so strongly on their behalf, even erecting monuments in remembrance, then seemingly forgetting all about it just a generation or two later.

Courtesy of http://www.bartcop.com/2895.htm

The book of Hosea has always captured me.  In it, God instructs the prophet Hosea to marry a whore to illustrate His relationship with Israel.  He shows how He has pursued Israel even though they were unfaithful to Him, refusing to repent even as He tried to show them His love.

I wondered how that could be possible.  How could they forget so quickly what God had done for them?

Lately I've been wondering if maybe one of the lessons we can learn from the Old Testament is that the law was never sufficient for lasting change.  That a people could not be won for good by a set of external rules and commands.

In fact, even in the Old Testament, God was promising that one day He would take away their hearts of stone and replace them with hearts of flesh.  He promised that the law would in fact be written on their hearts, that their very DNA would be rewritten.  It seemed that a transition was needed from a system of external restraints to a brand new inward reality.

And then when God came Himself to accomplish all that was needed for the complete transformation of reality, those who were best versed in the law didn't know Him.  Doesn't that seem incredible?  And maybe shouldn't that be a clue that the Law was never enough?  When God came, the same God who gave them the Law they loved so much, they didn't even recognize Him.  In fact, they hated Him.

Why did they hate the Lawgiver?  Well, it may be because their power over others derived from their command of the law.  When the Lawgiver came to fulfill the law in its entirety, He was undermining their control.  No longer would teachers of the law be needed as each and every person could be transformed so that they would naturally live out God's law of love.

And then a funny (not really) thing happened. We've spent 2,000 years trying to turn it back into a system of law.  We disguise it as "Principles" or "5 Easy Steps", but it's all the same.  We don't trust the work of God within a person to replace their heart and transform them from the inside, so we try to manipulate people to behave in a certain way so that they can be pleasing or somehow closer to God.

Maybe this is a sign we're still operating out of a fear and shame based reality.  Maybe this should alert us that our view of Father is clouded with misinformation about who He really is.  I know that I want to move away from trying to control my environment with rules and laws, and instead trust Father to work in myself and others to bring us in line with our new inward reality.

Fear coerces.  Shame manipulates.  Love transforms.  Grace renews.  Which reality am I living in?