Dear Young Women

Dear Young Women of God,

     Let me tell you a story of sorts.

     Fashionable. Attractive. Personality. Modest. Comfortable. Cute. Maybe these words describe some imaginary, "perfect" outfit. For me those words have often meant war. In the past, I struggled to find which facets of my identity to dress. On top of that, I was taller than average with big hips. In my mind, I looked like a Frankenstein assortment of body parts. On top of that, I wanted to know, even if I was not interested in "pulling" guys, that guys would in fact find some interest in me. On top of that, I wanted to appear at least somewhat on scale with the trends other cute girls wore--trends they wore seemingly without a care in the world. On top of that, I wanted to be comfortable! I played sports! And I didn't want anyone to think I really cared about any of this stuff at all. The battle of who could care less is often a popular competition. On top of all of that, my school, my God, and my family also required a little something called modesty. Really? I had so much to worry about. These were no small worries. The battle for defining my identity was not easily won. I settled for a T-shirt and jeans more often than not. Nothing really wrong with that. But the fact is, I didn't want to fight the battle. I gave up caring. I wanted to be able to say "I couldn't care less" and actually mean it. So I intentionally stopped caring. And like a plant that gets no love from sun or water, I shriveled. My lack of care turned to hate. I hated everything that made me frustrated with myself. Shopping was just painful. Often I knew what I wanted to look like and how I wanted to present myself, but the challenges of ever making that happen were mounted in the back of my mind, without my realizing exactly what was going on. Something like modesty was not even a thought anymore. How could I think of presenting myself modestly, which requires a respect for the person God made me to be, if I could not care about the person He made me to be?

     Years later, God continues to work on me in new and surprising ways. But the real miracle He revealed to me was that I am in fact His work of art. Imperfect? Yes. But His! And my worst imperfections only serve to bring Him glory.

     Oh how easy it is to hear that statement and miss its power. My IMPERFECTIONS serve to bring HIM glory.

     Many times when we go to pick an outfit, we ask "Does this make me look pretty?" or "Does this make me look fat?" or "Does this make me look attractive?" We try to find out if our outfits are telling the story we want the world to know about us. Wait. The story we want the world to know about us? Here's the problem. In all my hurt and fear and frustration, I couldn't look up to the heavens and see God through the clouds of my own self-hate. The story the world should know about us is that we are saved and redeemed! The story the world should know about us is that once we were lost and now we are found. The story I should be telling with my clothes is that God is God is God and I am His child. Wow. Well what would an outfit like that look like?

     Start with the personality He gave you--creative or thoughtful or fun or quiet or loud. Maybe all of these characteristics at different times. And then look to the actual physical body He gave you as well. Appreciate it. Appreciate it! Be grateful for every curve and straight line and wrinkle and freckle. See yourself as His creation. Be cautious of how you adorn your curves, so that you aren't bringing glory to yourself. Rather glorify Him in the juxtaposition of strength and softness with each curve. Maybe you're not curvy at all. Maybe you've been given that dubious body title boy shape, a term that is complete non-sense to me. But, see the beauty of each lean line and humble contour. Dress wisely, again, glorifying God for so seamlessly combining grace and structure in one form. Then through all the steps come back to that big notion of modesty. If you've already seriously gone through the steps of seeking your personality in Him and also appreciating the body He gave you to dwell in, then modesty will be in its perfect place. But consider it further all the same. Is anything you are wearing going to make your brother stumble? Are you starving yourself, whether hurting your person-hood literally or figuratively, to adorn yourself in something that is not true to God's calling over you? Are you fulfilling the standards in place for you?

     G.K. Chesterton said that his favorite part of every painting was its frame. What does that mean? He was appreciating a remarkable facet of all true art. A work of art, when still a blank canvas, has the potential to express all the beauty of all the world and every world. It can tell the glories of an infinite number of possibilities, and yet it ends right at the edge. All the potential power and beauty of creation is contained with just a handful of precious limits. These limits cause the artist to create more miraculously than compared to a piece without limits. These artists are made more creative by their limits. Young women, please see modesty as a tool of strength not weakness. Modesty isn't easy. If it were, we could all wear the styles of the most fashionable nuns and not think anything of it. But we are all called to very different portrayals of God when we dress. Don't give up. Don't stop caring, and please don't pretend you do not care. Care about the story your clothes are telling. Make sure that it's God's story. Live intentionally. And remember unquestionably, you are beautifully and wonderfully made.

Your sister in Christ,

Kala Ellis

The Greatest is Yet to Come

 Watch video for "Dream", starring Yasiin Bey and the words of Muhammed Ali.

Muhammed Ali isn't the most prideful person in existence. He was just the most honest about his pride. We are all full of that pride, and modern culture tells us to glorify it. But there's a truth wrapped up in the lie of pride that actually is pretty beautiful. I think this video shows a hint of that truth. Dream. It's wistful and anxious. It asks for more. It makes you smile with anticipation. Draw the line there. Realize your best is a reflection of God's workmanship in you. Glorify Him, not yourself. Then you don't just win in some ring. You win understanding and peace beyond that same understanding. You win hope and renewal. You win contentment and rest. You may also win trophies and financial gain, but that won't be what brings you the most pleasure. You win relationships. When you forfeit yourself, you win everything. When you make it about yourself, regardless of what the world sees, you only gain enough satisfaction to last you til the next battle. When you look up and look out, you win on every level.

 

My Epiphany from Last Night

The language of numbers was most likely given to us before Hebrew, or any other language for that matter. Scholars strive to learn Hebrew to better know their God in the language He first revealed Himself. Yet through creation, He first revealed Himself through the language of math, not Hebrew, with it's rules like any language, to communicate physical and ephemeral realities. So-to-speak, the rocks and stones are actually crying out now in this very moment (Luke 19:40; Hab 2:11), but we don't speak the language. However, God is quite fluent. So why not turn water to wine? Why not heal the sick and raise the dead? Why shouldn't the winds and waves obey Him? We will never and probably should never gain total fluency in this language--for the power too great, and our grasps too small. But to refuse ourselves the intrigue of such a language is to deny a form of communication unlike any other. In turn we lose our sense of place and give rise to potential pride, an assumptious pride that says we don't need to know math too deeply, for it's not needed in Christian Bible study topics or what-have-you until discussion of making biblically frugal budgets or learning time management. All that other math is a science for someone else. Is it perhaps prideful to think we can really communicate with God on deeper and meatier levels if we're continuously choosing to deny the biggest and most blatant form of communication He has afforded us through the natural world and then also through predecessors who have done much of the dirty work in uncovering the rules to the language? Not to say we're all made to be mathematicians, but wait, that's not right. Because if we're being honest that's actually exactly what we've all been made for. We may have different focuses and goals assigned to us, but just as "politics should be the part-time pastime of every citizen", math, science, and reflectively the arts--in any medium, should be the part-time pastime of every Christian and scholar wanting to know God more.

Extremes of Revival vs Tradition in the Church

(Just a humorous picture of tradition, not necessarily tied to this piece. Found on despair.com)


A Conversation on Revival vs. Tradition

"Revival! Revival!"  That's all we need.  Collectively.  That's all the church needs.  That's all our families need. That's all our singles need.  That's all our children need.  That's all the world needs.

At least that's what I'm told.

This "revival" seems to call for certain necessary results.  "Revival" may be seen through rising church attendance, miraculous healings, unprecedented abundance of funds, renewal of emotional connections, rebirth of repentance, uncontrollable actions motivated by waves of either desperate joy or desperate sadness, unexplainable demonstrations of non-restraint, etc.

Then there's another side.  This side avoids revolution, and more.  This side avoids change of any kind.  The battle cry belonging to this side screams "Tradition! Tradition!"  That's all we need.  Collectively.  That's all the church needs.  That's all our families need. That's all our singles need.  That's all our children need.  That's all the world needs.

Or so I've heard.

This "tradition" seems to beg for certain required consequences.  "Tradition" may be seen in dedicated members, recurring prayers, comfortable means, old and familiar connections, steady conviction, controlled action motivated by histories and facts, explainable demonstrations of restraint, etc.

Both revival and tradition have been painted as extremes within the church.  Yet unfortunately, these extreme definitions of revival and tradition have been poorly assigned to their terms.  In fact, whether or not it's always identified as the culprit, I feel confidant in supposing that a great deal of church splits occur as a result of these flawed definitions.  If he who defines the terms defines the debate, then we need to reevaluate our terms and see if and where we need correction.   The overarching point forthcoming asserts that revival cannot truly exist without tradition just as tradition cannot be effective without revival.  However, before delving into how true revival and tradition need one another; we must first pinpoint the misconceptions concerning each of these terms apart from the other.  We must examine possible problems within the specific fields of these notions before we can jump to the general truths associated with the partners, revival and tradition.

Who am I?

First off, before looking at the terms cohesively and even before examining any theory or philosophy, I hope you have already questioned, who I am.  Who am I to even speak upon this matter as if I had some authority in defining what God's magnificent and even mysterious truth is?  Well, I am nobody.  I could be considered educated to a degree, but I am hardly confident in my personal knowledge.  I am not of vast intellect.  I have a hard time communicating the great things I feel a calling toward.  And the amount of facts, ideas, revelations, and inspirations I have to learn far surpasses what I may ever be able to know.  However, I am a learner.  I am an observer.  And I have attended and observed and recalled and questioned and examined and partaken in a large host of denominations and "non-denominations," as the case may be.  This does not give me authority in the sense that I consider myself an authority figure.  However it gives me opportunity in the sense that I consider myself challenged and called to assert that which I have come to understand.  And with such calling, I find that I am also willing to defend and discuss my beliefs so that God’s truth may be more deeply revealed.  If I am wrong, then let my errors come to the surface, so that His truth may increase and the half-truths, which we’ve deemed acceptable, may be identified and obliterated.  I would simply like to create a discussion on the ideas at hand. This topic has grown in me over the past five or six years, and I feel now this matter has grown in popular culture among Christian authors like Don Miller and controversial discussions in Bible study groups all over. I would be remiss if I didn't throw in on such an interesting and intangible subject matter. Now on to identifying the truths and misconceptions behind the terms “revival” and “tradition.”

Revival

Revival has been associated with revolution.  The two facets of modern revival that I have come across most are one connecting prosperity with revival and one connecting behavioral extroversion with revival.
As for the former type of revival, in many modern churches people have assumed that revival is directly related to church attendance and the expansion of the churches’ coffers.  If the sanctuary is not filled to maximum capacity then surely we’re doing something wrong.  Right?  Perhaps there are not enough activities.  Perhaps the building is not appealing enough.  Perhaps the ministries available are too few or too boring or too immaterial for the masses.  Perhaps the pastor is too mainstream or not mainstream enough.  Perhaps the music is too slow or too fast.  Perhaps the message isn’t comforting.  Perhaps the message does too much comforting.  Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

Or just maybe, perhaps, the filling of seats is not the issue we were meant to worry about.  In fact, I would suggest that the number of people in the church is the last issue we would have need to worry over.  Rather, let’s look at the hearts of those already in attendance.  Let us look at our own hearts.  You see, revival should not be about something new.  Revival is about something old, very old.  Revival is the renewing of an old thing.  Revival is not the sparking of a new fire, but the rekindling of a dwindling flame.  And this challenge is one that must manifest itself in the hearts of the dedicated, the tried, the tired.  Not necessarily a general incoming mass of new believers.  The incoming of new believers can only be an effect, an afterthought, a consequence of revived believers.  Revival in the heart of one Christian should inspire another until the church finds itself full of convicted, motivated, and steadfast believers out to make a difference in their sphere of influence.  New believers cannot appear unless this revival begins at the home level or covenantal level, this meaning the binding of lives between one or more people and God. 

Now most pastors and churches understand this idea, the idea that the revival starts small then ought to move out to the public.  Most understand that an eventual result of revival should be higher attendance due to the spreading and dispersing of a revived gospel.  So up until this point, I am not saying anything too surprising.  But here’s the issue.  While most church leaders recognize the connection between revival starting small in the homes of its members and moving out to the public, many churches have a problem with skipping steps.  They cry, “Revival!  Revival!  Revival!” But they forget to work on the whole discipleship part.  Many churches forget to name and identify the path to true revival.  The result is an emotional charge of agreement and excitement and readiness.  Yet when you skip steps, you end up in places you were not aiming for.  In fact you lose footing and often fall right back to the starting point.  
From this point, we can see the second type of modern revival take shape. Members feel this emotional rush and recognize the longing in their hearts to fulfill their calling in reaching a lost world, but after the service, after the prayer, after the worship, after the thrill, a silence overtakes them.  An emptiness of resolve washes over their hopes.  They feel the need, but they cannot locate the understanding.  They feel the passion, but they cannot grasp the tenacity.  They feel the hope, but they cannot shake the hopelessness.  The tools for personally and consciously grasping truth are just out of reach. This mindset can leave individuals thinking that they must not be truly "worshiping" if they aren't raising their hands or dancing in aisles or speaking in tongues. You must not be doing it right if others can't see blatant expressions of your resolve. And while I do adhere to the idea that a living tree will bare fruit that matches, said fruit may not look like the fruit on our neighbors tree. Therefore, comparing fruit--ways of worshiping, gifts of the Spirit, capacity of sacrifices--can be a wasted or even deadly pastime. This constant striving without change can result in a constant feeling of guilt. They might always feel like they're in the wrong, but they cannot grasp what to change. They feel the struggle between their humanity and their desire to please God, but they can't see the path to recovery. They speak the language of repentance, but know not the life of repentance. Every week, they hear the message of grace and are reminded of their own sins. Every week, they feel the ache from the consequences of their sins and the hurt it must cause their God. And every week, they return to their own acknowledgement of all they lack. This weekly ritual would be profitable if only every week also connected with some real change. The revival church leaders want to lean on seems to be that ever-present guilt. Grace covers them in the moment. It lends peace for the moment. But throughout the rest of the week, grace is tainted and used more as justification for personal appeasement. Then that guilt weighs back in like a torment rising up from the depths.

This process leads to Christians speaking fluent "christian-ese," but carrying an unfortunate lack of knowledge when it comes to backing up their own beliefs. Individuals who take "revival" to the extreme of its parameters can say phrases which beg of others not to "speak lies into one's life" or on the other side to "speak truth into one's life" or to "stay on the straight and narrow" or to "let the Spirit move" or to "let go, and let God" or to "lay hands" or to "be a spiritual warrior" and the list goes on. None of these phrases are wrong. None of these notions are in-it-of-themselves misguided. But they can be misguiding. If not rooted in knowledge of the truth, they are just empty phrases that help us wade through the tides of life. But they won't help carry us out past the shore.
My favorite quote that brings some clarity to this reality is from The History of Rasselas when the astronomer states, "Integrity without knowledge is weak and useless, and knowledge without integrity is dangerous and dreadful" (Johnson 129).

Many churches have this strong desire to improve the integrity of their church, but focus on their attendance to do so. The integrity of their "revival" is based on how loud the church praises and the amount of money they pull in when it's time to take offering. But the integrity is a false front because it has no source of knowledge. Scriptures are taken out of context. The "movement of the Spirit" is only used to justify a means to an end. And accordingly, the language developed in a church that is full of false integrity is one void of meaning. The result is dreadful and dangerous, weak and useless.

If a church can get back to the heart of what is important, if it can reveal truth and simply let it speak for itself rather than dressing it up in attractions, if it can avoid the seduction of a quickly built up and even more quickly torn down revolution, if it can understand that revival is not the start of something new but the spurring on of something very old, if it can be patient in building up disciples rather than stealing for peaking attendance charts…

If God became the focus of church, revival may become real.  Revival may retrieve its great power and result.

Tradition 

Tradition. Ah, tradition. It is hard for me to speak on this topic long without wanting to break into a chorus from Fiddler on the Roof. But this topic is steeped in numerous layers of value, beauty, grandeur, and meaning. Just the word tradition brings warmth to my heart because of its connections to the past and the future. It is a link into the past. It gives meaning and life to the majority of our actions, both religious and non. Without tradition, we would be a wandering world. Every culture, tribe, and tongue would be without nationality, expression, history, and in turn, without rhyme or reason. Not every tradition we support as individuals or as a culture is supported by reason, but the use of every tradition does provide a form of reason for every individual or culture. The basis of a tradition teaches its partakers the history of their people. It shows what a culture or family values. It is the quickest way cut through the fat and get to the heart of a person's identity within their own world. And respecting these traditions is a vital instrument in discovering the lessons that past generations have already come across. So in short, traditions should be considered invaluable to any church.

The difficulty arises when tradition replaces God. This dilemma has resulted in YouTube hits like:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1IAhDGYlpqY

People have come to assume that "tradition" and "religion" are synonymous. This assumption can be rather damning in application. Religion is simply anyone's belief system. A devout atheist can be very religious. Their religious code may not include a higher authority or a need to attend a local church, but they do find an authority figure to answer to and they do develop a circle of friends or support. Any belief system is a religion. So first of all, you can't "hate" religion in that sense. That notion would be the equivalent to hating free thinking, belief, or identity. It doesn't make sense. Rather, specifically the individual in this video seems to hate tradition. While it saddens me that tradition could be cast in such a disparaging light, I can concur with the fact that traditions can be performed with a separation from life. In the Christian church this deadness in tradition is despicable. At best, it's lip service. At worst, it's sacrilegious. When we begin to numbly follow tradition void of the life in which those traditions were born, we are killing off the church. We are killing off our spirits. We are the lifeless, breathless, uninspired children of a lost cause. The point of communion is lost on us. The beauty of sacrifice is spoiled. The notion of giving becomes utterly selfish in nature. Our history is dead, lessons unlearned, and past un-lived. Tradition is meant to be rooted in life, wonder, marvel, and most of all, story-telling! We have the great gift, in this age of information, to have access to limitless libraries of stories, but we are content, for example, to pay our tithes and condemn those who don't, without understanding of what it means to truly give--not just of our wallets, but of our lives. With just the smallest amount of research, we have access to some of the most beautiful stories of giving that one could ever conceive possible. Each encounter that our children have with a past tradition should leave us over-joyed at the opportunity to open up the dusty pages of someone's life--a life lived by a saint or sinner who came to face God in such a triumphant manner that it impressed a change in our culture's way of living. Yet the modern church has come to know "tradition" as a sort of death to revival. Many churches use tradition as a bat made specifically for dead horses. They cry, "Tradition! Tradition! Tradition!" But they know not where their traditions come from. They know nothing of the beautiful tapestry into which they were born or adopted. They deny their own glory by marring a notion like tradition with a lack of interest in the unfolding of their belief systems. And then they do the unthinkable, they use tradition as a big boulder to hide behind when they feel God's gaze come their direction. The deny the newness of growth and change because it doesn't fit in their repertoire of "the known ways God moves." They force the grandness of God into a little box that meets their immediate needs. It works like a track their ancestors dug feet deep into the ground. They claim that the track only moves forward and backward, so there's no need to seek God outside of that track even though He may be calling us from all angles. We are only comfortable with the track we are in already. They refuse the great challenge of their own history which begs of them to apply the lesson of their traditions in new and uncharted territory. What else can be expected but that traditions exist in a dead zone, when we refuse the opportunity to be rejuvenated in the movement of the Spirit. How sad that such a precious tool for light and life could be used in such a negative and even detrimental way. If God became the focus of church, tradition may become real.  Tradition may retrieve its great power and result.

In summary, may we cling to tradition with a fervor for life, and may we seek revival with a tenacity for the daily grind that is change. May we learn the lessons of our past and praise God through the traditions that highlight His glory. May we understand that revival is not just a mantra we claim in the church building. And may we praise God through a desire to daily transform ourselves by the renewing of our minds.

Look Up, Look Out

I see so much aggression and hurt and frustration. All around. All the time. I see these emotions on people as if they were sporting unsightly, unmistakable battle scars. We’re all trying so hard, lacking the capacity to see the simple—the simple that could save our hearts’ aching and striving. We look at each other every day and ask, “Why can’t you see me? Why do you look over there and in that place? I’m here. My heart is here. My hurts are here. My voice is here. I hurt too! You hear me? You see me?” But our friends and family are looking right back at us with the same inquires pounding away in their heads. These thoughts overwhelm us, especially when we get busy with the “tyranny of the urgent” (as my teacher phrased it). Day to day life can suck you dry. The more that wicked tyrant of time and energy takes hold, the louder our inner cry becomes, “See me, see this, don’t turn from it!” When I remember this, I remember to breath, look up, and see… you. It is easy to become selfish and forget everyone else’s need to be seen, everyone else’s hurt, everyone else’s drive to have someone hear them.

I can’t seem to get the tyrant of time off my back these days. He doesn’t let up, and the greater my responsibilities in life become, the meaner that fierce jerk behaves. So as I cower to his demands, I am training my eyes to see beyond myself. We all have that tyrant to deal with. All of us have to struggle with the demands of daily life. But as we fight this battle, have we settled with this tunnel vision that keeps us from looking out and extending a hand to our friends? Have I turned a blind eye to the hurt of a close one simply because I’m tired of my hurts being ignored? If I’m struggling to stretch myself for those closest to me, how can I even begin to help those tired strangers who need a quick and painless shot of encouragement and truth from a perfectly capable source?

About a week ago, I had the opportunity to remind myself of the need to look up and look out. I work as a waitress at Cracker Barrel. I was serving a lovely older lady. She was my first table of the evening. She was perfectly dressed, very prim but coordinated and fashionable. She spoke softly and her words had a genuine sweetness to them. Our conversation was short and simple and plain. I went through my required routine, with a syrupy happiness to my tone, “Hi, how are you? My name is Kala and I’ll be your server today…” I sold her the special. (It’s so funny to me how, when your life suddenly takes this new shape, you start concerning yourself with new, silly little things you never have cared about before, like the special on any given day at Cracker Barrel.) I brought everything I ought have. And she said thank you. And as routine dictates, I asked if everything was okay. She responded hesitantly, “Uh well, yes. This looks good. Thank you.” Here for the first time, I noticed a distance in her speech. Had it been there from the start? I wondered if I had done something wrong in my service to her. My mind was already back in the kitchen, thinking about the fact that I needed to retrieve more biscuits for the front bread pan and suspecting this table would be the beginning of a long, arduous night. Naturally, upon her response, I inquired, “Are you sure?” With a smile and a hope she wouldn’t catch offence, I said, “You don’t look like everything’s alright.” She wrenched out a quirky smile and sputtered, “Oh, I’m okay… It’s just…” Her lower lip quivered. I felt my heart get heavy. The resonance of whatever her damage was had caught me up quick. “Today was my husband’s burial service… he passed away last week.” The shock of her own words out loud seemed to force her eyes to well up with tears. My mind raced back to me from the kitchen, but everything felt as if it had slowed. “Aw, I’m so sorry.” My words felt silly, trite, and so insincere as I stood there with my “Rising Star” apron on and my tray in hand. She tried to gather herself back together. I could feel her worry creeping in, concerning onlookers from the surrounding tables. I stood awkwardly for a moment, then reached out and pet her shoulder. As I waited there, half frozen, watching her gather her little napkin about her dripping eyes, I wondered if her tears would stop. They weren’t big, weepy tears. But they were the steady ones that you can’t quiet. I know I’ve cried like that before, just wishing I could stop up all the water somehow, wishing I were too dehydrated for the tears to come anymore. I stroked her shoulder a few moments more, hoping I could shield her a bit from unavoidably feeling embarrassed. Then, after repeating “I’m sorry” surely at least two more times, I asked her if I could pray with her. She had a hard time answering; but once I heard what seemed to be her consent, I took her hand and prayed. Aloud, I thanked God for her obvious strength. I prayed she could have continued strength unknown to her. I thanked God for having put her husband in her life. And then I chocked up. My words became soggy and her grip tight. I mumbled through a few more repeated phrases of please’s and thank you’s and spat out an “amen.” I held her hand a second more until she relinquished her grip. Then we both patted our eyes dry. We smiled and I told her that if there was anything she needed of me, just to let me know. After that, the dining room became a bit more awkward. I gave her the ticket for her meal and let her know I would pray for her. She thanked me and hugged me before she left.

Surely, this is what we are called to as Christians, getting rid of the tunnel vision and training ourselves to spot other’s battle scars. Because, more often than not, the battle scars will not be as apparent as what I had met with that day. Our discernment needs to be on point. We have to get our eyes off of ourselves. We have to look up then look out.