Jon Acuff's Blog, page 168

The other day, I realized something surprising about myself. Driving home from work, a single, captivating thought blossomed in my mind like an unexpected flower.

I would go to a Travis Tritt concert.

I wasn't thinking about Travis Tritt at the time. The song, "Here's a quarter, call someone who cares," wasn't on. I wasn't even listening to Third Day, who's singer I used to think was Travis Tritt after some sort of miraculous country music style conversion inevitably involving a slide guitar.

I think I was pondering the wonders of Travis Tritt last week because I was nervous about going to the Catalyst Conference. If you've never been, Catalyst is like if a U2 concert and the Super Bowl had a baby and dedicated it to the service of the Lord. It's huge, but at the same time, surprisingly intimate. The worship is amazing, the speakers are great, the whole thing is unbelievable.

And I was speaking.

Two years ago, I held a meet and greet for fans of Stuff Christians Like. I honestly thought that around 100 people would show up to hang out. I brought pounds of Skittles and 1,000 stickers. And after waiting in the room for 90 minutes, only 1 person came. (This is a photo of that moment.)[image error]

As I prepared for Catalyst this year, I was afraid of something similar happening. I knew more than 1 person would show up to the lab I was leading on Wednesday, but other than that I didn't know what to expect.

So it was with a great degree of sweatiness that I stood by the door waiting for my lab or breakout to start.

What happened? How did it go? How was it?

We hit fire code.

Within a matter of minutes there was standing room only. We exceeded fire code for the room and then had to bar the doors. Dozens of people got turned away. If one person left for the bathroom, one more person could come in. It was crazy, and that was only the beginning.

Catalyst sold out of the Stuff Christians Like book.

Random people went out of their way to be kind to me. Pastor Andy Stanley told me his kids bought the book with their own money. Perry Noble told me how true Stuff Christians Like was. Out of nowhere, one of the best selling Christian authors of all time emailed me to ask I had someone to write the foreword for my next book.

Wave after wave of good things hit me. I was feeling overwhelmed in a good way as I stood in the dark tunnel that led out to the stadium. The move to Nashville two months ago. The site having over 160,000 readers in September alone. Writing two books. There were so many big, bright, honestly very good things going on and in that moment I heard a whisper.

I always feel kind of like a snake handler when I talk about feeling as if God speaks into my heart, but there it is. In the loudness of that day, like a firecracker going off under water, muffled by the noise of the moment, I felt like God jumped in. And he told me,

"This is small.

This is small.

This is small, compared to my love. The happiness of today, the wildness, the unfettered shine of it all is beautiful, but it is small. My love for who you are, who I made you to be, who I will reveal you to be, that is so much bigger than all of this. I am bigger. I am biggest! Nothing will compare to my love for you. Not today, not ever.

My love eclipses the greatest happiness this world can offer like the ocean crashing down on a single raindrop. This is small compared to how much I love you."

That is what I heard and then 30 seconds later I watched John Mark McMillan play an acoustic version of his song, "How he loves." And then I started to cry in the tunnel, because it was true.

Sometimes I fear that Serious Wednesday posts stray into the melancholy. I struggle with fear and depression. I write sometimes like lyrics from the Cure or a long acoustic version of the Counting Crows "Round Here."

But today will be different. Today, like Abraham stacking a pile of rocks in a place God showed up as a reminder for generations to come, I just want to write of love. I want these words to be rocks and I want the reminder to be simple.

God loves you.

God loves you.

God loves you.

I don't have a witty insight or a clever twist to leave you thinking about. I just have those three words and I hope they sink in today. I hope in meetings and the grocery store and waiting in the car pick up line at your kid's school, you will hear that whisper too. And you will know.

God loves you.

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[image error]Despite being an early adopter of both Gavin DeGraw and Salt & Vinegar Pringles, people rarely call me a "visionary." (Both of those things should be more famous by the way.)

No one looks at me as a shaper of culture, as a predictor of fads, as a trendsetter if you will. Until today. A few weeks ago I hinted at something that came to be. I joked about something that actually came to pass. I hate to exaggerate, but I kind of predicted the future.

How?

In a post I wrote on August 23, I asked the shoe company TOMS, if they would be OK if I "started a handkerchief company called, SMOT?"

I found the idea of starting a company so obviously inspired by TOMS to be humorous, dare I say rife with mirth. And I laughed, oh I laughed, until I saw the new shoe by Skechers. At first I thought they were teasing or pulling my leg or even joshing a little bit. But they are not. They recently developed a new shoe called "BOBS."

Here is a photo of the BOBS:

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Here is a photo of TOMS:

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Not only do they look alike, but they have the same program of giving a pair of shoes to someone in need every time you buy one, just like TOMS does.

Now clearly, this raises some questions:

1. Would it have been worse, or better if Skechers had named them the "TIMS," and only changed one letter?

2. If changing TOMS to BOBS becomes a trend, would it be odd if I became a Christian musician named, "Chris Boblin," instead of Chris Tomlin? My first song will be titled, "How Greater is our God."

3. For some reason, "TOMS" sounds like a playful kid you went to elementary school with, and "BOBS" sounds like a gentleman who owns an Astrovan and has a thick mustache. The name Bob doesn't sound that way to me, but making it plural is weird, am I wrong?

4. Is it wrong to want to make an Office Space joke right here?

5. Is this an "ends justify the means," conversation? Is the bigger issue that kids are getting shoes they need and what's originality anyway? Nothing is original.

6. Should someone who ripped off the Stuff White People Like site to create this one really be poking someone else for lack of originality?

7. Is it weird that I'm happy that for once, pop culture is copying Christianity? All our years of turning "Got Milk?," into "Got God?" or "Got Destiny?" have been absolved.

8. Is it possible that TOMS gave Skechers permission? Soles4Souls is the one running the program and I've heard good things about those dudes. Is this possibly all on the up and up?

9. If I made a running shoe called, "NOKES," would Nike get all upset?

What's your take? Huge flattery or imitation gone too far?

You in Team TOMS or Team BOBS?

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As the nights turn cold and the days grow long, I can't help but think of one thing. As leaves burst with color and wood fire places light across the Tennessee hills I find myself in, there is one thought that I can't shake. As the season and sunsets turn into a kind of Thomas Kinkade/Yankee Candle mashup worthy of Double Rainbow strength awe and wonder, one thought is bursting across the landscape of my heart and soul …

It's almost time to break out Mariah Carey's Merry Christmas album.

Easily the greatest Christmas album of all time, Merry Christmas is a steady jam of the best holiday songs ever. From the ridiculously awesome "All I want for Christmas is you," to the gospel choir backed, "Jesus, Oh What a Wonderful Child," the whole album is a mistletoe flavored cotton candy explosion of perfection. And there's a part two being released this year. (She should title it either, "Merry Christmas II, the revenge," or "Son of Merry Christmas." You can have those for free Mariah!)

But when I tweeted about the album recently I was surprised how the responses only came in two varieties.

Some people loved it.

Some people hated it.

There was absolutely no middle ground. No one "kind of liked" it. You either passionately recognized it as the gift to humanity it is or you blindly missed how wonderful it is.

And the same thing is happening with Christians and the show "Glee."

If you've never seen it, heard about it, been shamed by a friend who is mad you're not watching it or "Modern Family," then let me quickly describe it. Glee is a comedy/drama/musical centered on a glee club at a high school. Despite leaning heavily on "theme episodes," they often tackle tough social issues in some surprising ways. It's blown up in the last year. So much so, that bands who initially refused to let them use their music have come around. When I tweeted that Coldplay said no to Glee, people told me that was because Coldplay had too much "integrity." Then the ratings exploded and Coldplay apologized to Glee and asked them to use their music.

But what I keep noticing is that there are two popular Christian reactions to Glee:

1. You've got to watch it!

In church on Sunday a friend described to me some of the Christian undertones and discussion that often peppers the script of Glee. Then someone else tweeted me and implored me to not only watch it, but write about it. "It's awesome! You would be crazy not to be watching it!" That's what some people tell me.

2. I can only assume that satan is the executive producer of Glee.

Worst show ever. In addition to butchering Journey songs, they're pushing a really horrible agenda on us. It's garbage. I would sooner slow dance with the Golden Compass or share a sleeping bag with a bunch of Harry Potter books. I hate that show and all Christians should.

There's no middle ground. You hate it or you love it. Or so it would appear. I've not watched a whole season and don't have a firm opinion on Glee. (I don't love it as much as I love the new music from Mumford and Sons for instance or Alpha Rev.)

How about you though?

Do you watch Glee?

What's your take?

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Last year, we raised $30,000 in 18 hours to build a kindergarten in Vietnam.

This Friday we're going to do it again. Only, it's going to be a little different.

I'll give you more details all week, but make sure you follow me on Twitter and join the Facebook page to get the inside scoop in the coming days.

In the meantime, please enjoy a video of people breakdancing in the rain. Why? Because it's Monday and I find that the best weeks tend to begin with breakdancing.

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It would be difficult for me to love this video more. Tripp Crosby and Tyler Stanton created this masterpiece, alongside singer Chris Tomlin. This is hilarious and perfect for a Sunday afternoon. Check it out after the jump.

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What's your blog?

What's your cause? What's your band? What's your book?

What's the link you want people to see more than anything else?

I hereby declare this "Shameless Saturday."

Post a link to whatever it is you're all about with no shame or apologizing or feeling like you're making a comment on a post you really don't care about but are instead secretly trying to pimp your own blog. (I've done that myself many times. The best way to do it is to say, "That's an interesting post. It reminds me of something I wrote recently on my blog …." Sometimes when people do that it's actually a good link to something they wrote that is similar to what was written on another post. But when I was coming up, on 8 mile, just trying to rock the mic at any chance I was given, that was definitely one of the techniques I employed.)

Please, use the comments this weekend to let us know about your blog or your cause or your band or your whatever. The Internets are so big it's hard to find everything cool. (I try to do Shameless Saturday once a season, so please consider this the Winter edition.)

Tell us what's up with a link.

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(I've spent the last few days with one of the funniest people I know, Bryan Allain. You've seen his work here before, he's going to have a book eventually and I think you'll dig today's guest post. Enjoy!)

Leaving a church, 2.0

Oh technology, how you have enriched our lives.

Years ago when I wanted to know who won last night's game I watched CNN headline news for "sports on the sevens". These days I've got live sporting events on my High-Def pocket phone.

Years ago if I wanted to know how a radio worked, I made up crazy theories about a band of miniature musicians who lived in each device that could play every song known to man. These days, I can go online and learn how to build my own radio out of binder clips and Neosporin. (Though I'm still partial to the mini-musicians idea, which I believe was heavily influenced by the technological revelations on the Flintstones.)

Years ago when I wanted to know if there was any Cracker Barrel extra sharp cheese in the fridge I'd have to get up and go see for myself. These days I can just open the iFridge app on my iPhone and not only check how many slices are left, but have them beamed right to my spot on the couch. (I'm dreaming here people, work with me.)

It seems technology has made the good things better and the bad things worse.

Take leaving a church, for example. Twenty years ago if you decided to take your bible and go home, there were only so many grenades you could drop on the way out. A theatrical outburst at the mid-week prayer meeting, a few gossip-riddled conversations at the pharmacy, and a phone call or two to poison your branch of the prayer-chain were the extent of the damage you could do.

But these days with the help of technology, you can burn so many bridges leaving a church that George Jetson would be able to see the flames while flying home from a Spacely Sprockets. (And with that I've used up my quota of Hanna-Barbera references for this decade.)

Don't believe me that leaving church can be much more disastrous than ever in 2010? Think I'm exaggerating the devious options that Web 2.0 has opened up for disgruntled Christians? Planning on closing this article if I ask one more question? Have I got a 7-Step program for you.

Leaving a Church 2.0* (a 7-Step Program)

Step 1 – Use Facebook.

a. Passive Aggressive Facebook Updates. Before you un-friend everyone in your church, fling a little poo. Start with a status update that says,"looking for a 'real' church, any suggestions?" When folks ask you what happened, tell them the wound is too fresh to go into detail.

b. Comment on Status Updates. Whenever anyone from your church says something nice about a recent church service or ministry event, leave a comment that says "this is when i wish Facebook had a 'dislike' button".

c. Mass Un-Friending. Finally, un-friend everyone who goes to your church. They won't realize right away that you've done it, but eventually people will catch on. Turning down their requests when they try to friend you back will be the gift that keeps on giving for the next 3 months.

Step 2 – Write Negative Reviews.

Find your church's podcast in iTunes and spend an entire day posting scathing reviews. Do the same for any clips on YouTube and Vimeo. And if you're lucky enough that your pastor is an author, by all means turn the review section of his book's Amazon page into the web equivalent of a Comedy Central roast.

Step 3 – Page Not Loading.

Hire a hacker to organize a massive denial-of-service attack on the church website the week before the launch of their biggest series of the year. Make sure all their promotional material has been mailed out and the story in the local paper has already run. Chances are no one at the church will be web-savvy enough to figure out what's going on.

Step 4 – Get Your Blog On.

Start a new blog, IhateFreedomSpringRiverChurch.wordpress.com, and link to it from all of your social networking sites. Be sure to populate the blog with a few posts before you launch it. Some great starter posts include "The Top 10 Fakest People at Freedom Spring River", "R-Rated Movies other than Braveheart that I'm pretty sure Pastor Rick has watched", "People who Put $1 Bills in the Offering Bag", and "The Least Talented People in the Worship Ministry".

Step 5 – The RickRoll.

Still have that hacker on Speed Dial? Hire him one more time to redirect everyone who goes to your church's website to get RickRolled. Just make sure you send them to the worst Rick Astley video ever. No, not "Never Gonna Give You Up", send them to his new one, "Lights Out". (i mean seriously Rick, what is up with the hand motions?)

Step 6 – Wreak Twitter Havoc.

First, change your Twitter bio to "Christ Follower, FORMER member of Freedom Spring River Church." Next create a public Twitter List called "Hypocrites" and populate it with everyone who goes to your church, including the pastors. Finally, re-tweet every spiritual tweet they post with snarky comments. Examples:

RT @PastorRickFSRC "Seek Ye First The Kingdom of God and all these things will be added to you" // like your new Turbo Audi, pastor moneybags???

RT @PaulReedSmitty77 Great worship practice tonight. Felt the presence of God there. // Sure it wasn't just the key changes, you musical pharisee?

RT @MaryBeth_Simmons So thankful for my small group. Needed their support tonight. // They all hate you.

Step 7 – Go into the Vault.

Remember that time "the laughers" cackled during the entire 11am service like the Holy Spirit was tickling them with a feather from Lady Gaga's peacock outfit? Find that video and sent it to Mathew Paul Turner to highlight on jesusneedsnewpr.net. In fact, any video that involves laughing, barking, or people laying on the sanctuary floor covered in modesty cloths can be edited to look terrible, so crack open iMovie and get to it.

And with that, take a deep breath and roast some marshmallows over those burning bridges.

—

Joking aside, putting this list together got me thinking of the time my parents left the church we were going to when I was in high school, and it made me wonder how many of you all have been through a similar experience.

Have you ever left a church, either as a kid with your parents or as an adult? Was the experience uneventful or more like a train wreck?

*And for the record, if you're REALLY going to leave a church I hope you do the exact opposite of what's on this list. I hope you move on leaving a trail of grace and humility behind you.

Bryan Allain writes daily doses of nonsense and inspiration at his blog BryanAllain.com and on Twitter @bryanallain.

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When my wife and I first got married, I thought that when she told me her problems, she wanted me to instantly solve them with my awesome ideas. I thought that what she desired, what she wanted most, was not that I listen to her problems. A large house cat or domesticated ferret can listen to you. What she needed from me were solutions.

And the faster I could get them out the better.

And if I could actually cut her off in the middle of telling me a story about her day, she'd be OK with that.

Apparently, I was mistaken.

Though I tried to instantly fix her issues, she never really seemed to take me up on my wicked awesome ideas. In fact most times, it just made her mad.

People don't like that. Being cut off was not in fact one of her love languages. (I keep hoping that the game "Words with Friends" counts as a love language.) She wasn't happy with me when I did that in our marriage, but I think there's something even worse. I think there is someone even more annoying and infuriating than I was. I'm talking about …

The guy who tries to fix when your problems when you make a prayer request.

You might have experienced this individual. You might not be familiar with his moves and maneuvers. But please allow me to give you a few warning signs so that you know what to do the next time he rears his head:

4 signs you're about to be "prayer fixed."

1. The phrase "why don't you just?"

This is the signature phrase of prayer fixers the world over. Having problems at your job? "Why don't you get a new job?" Don't like your landlord? "Why don't you just move?" Boyfriend being a jerk? "Why don't you just dump him?" Keep an open hear for this handy phrase.

2. The solution is always stupid obvious.

The prayer fixer doesn't really have any deep insight, but instead usually just blurts out a solution the average organgutan would have figured out. If you're house burned down, the prayer fixer will tell you that you should really be more careful around fire. If a squirrel got inside your attic and had what one can only assume is a well attended "squirrel dance off," they'll tell you, "You should keep squirrels out of your house.

3. It always happens more than once.

Everyone gets one free "prayer fix." Even your best friends are going to pipe up when they hear you constantly complaining about a boyfriend who is a jerk. That doesn't mean they're a prayer fixer, it might just mean they love you. Listen for a repeat offender, someone who can't help constantly trying to fix your problems in the middle of your prayer request.

4. If cornered, they will claim they have the "gift of discernment."

Be forewarned, prayer fixers are slippery like river otters. If you confront them, even in Christian love, they will often tell you that they're not judging your problems or trying to fix them. They've been blessed with the gift of discernment. Don't believe them. Tell them you've been blessed with the gift of "water balloons" and then hit them with one.

Am I advocating a water balloon fight in the middle of a prayer circle? I suppose I am, I suppose I am.

But have you ever experienced a "prayer fixer?"

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If it were up to me, you'd be allowed to board an airplane based on how fast you took your shoes off in the security line. Clock a good time? You're on the plane first! Slowly unlace waist high boots? You'll board last.

It would be like the Olympics of airport security. And it would be awesome.

These are the kind of things I think about when I fly. If you follow me on twitter, and you really should, you know all of this. You know that last Saturday I tweeted about the four year old next to me who shook his sippy cup like he had just won the NBA Championship. Milk flew on my book and my face. It was a scene man, a real scene.

Eventually the flight attendant stepped in when the kid made a play for the fire extinguisher and the bullhorn. Party time!

But that kid wasn't even the most interesting thing that happened on that flight. There was an officer in the army sitting on the other side of me. He was flying back to Afghanistan and said something that really surprised me. I asked him what was one of the biggest misconceptions about Afghanistan and here's what he told me:

"We statistically lose more 18-25 year old soldiers when they go home for R&R than we do in combat in the field."

That surprised me. If you asked me which was more dangerous, being in the middle of an armed conflict in Afghanistan or going home for a few weeks of rest and relaxation, I'd pick the first option. But the more the army officer explained it, the more it made sense.

"What sometimes happens is that you have folks that go back home after being out of the country for months at a time. They're flush with cash, haven't been in a lot of social situations lately and think they're out of danger."

They buy motorcycles and crash them. They make crazy financial situations that wreck them. They get in DUIs. In a million different ways they make the kind of mistakes that can ruin you. All at home. All on vacation.

The more I listened to him, the more the story started to sound familiar. In fact, I think we do a similar thing with our faith sometimes.

We all know the "neon sins" we're not supposed to do. We all know the big things we should avoid like the plague. Adultery, murder, money laundering, robbing banks, chances are if I suggested we shouldn't do those things you'd agree. There's nothing groundbreaking about that. But sometimes we play the "at least game."

My friend reminded me of this a few years ago. I told him I felt like I was struggling with some lust issues. I told him I was feeling pretty wrecked by some decisions I was making. In the middle of our conversation he said,

"Yeah, but at least you're not sleeping with hookers."

That's true, I wasn't sleeping with hookers. I was avoiding some neon sins in my life. I wasn't involved in prostitution. I was staying away from the combat zone types of sins, the at war in Afghanistan type of dangers. I was escaping the trenches in my life on the battlefield of my heart.

But I was dying on vacation.

I might not have been sleeping with hookers, but I was slowly wearing myself away with lust and pornography. My death might not have been dramatic or extreme, like a rocket-propelled grenade from an enemy, but it was happening nonetheless. My faith had grown weak and comfortable. I wasn't growing, I wasn't being renewed, I was a adrift. And I don't want that.

I don't want "at least" faith.

I don't want to find somebody who is worse off than me in order to feel better about me.

I don't want to prepare and train and fight hard against the big enemies of my life, only to die in the middle of an ordinary weekday, during an ordinary vacation.

The battlefield is a scary place. We're constantly reminded of that as pastors and friends alike give in to big terrifying foes. But in our desire to prepare for the battlefield bruises, in our focus on the big, loud, neon sins in our lives, let's not lose sight of the little things.

Let's let go of "at least" faith.

Let's not die on vacation.

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There are two types of people in the world, those who will sit in a seat that's not there's at an event and those who won't.

I am in the "won't" category. If I have tickets for the nosebleed section at a concert, that's where I sit. I can't sneak down front and sit in better seats without constantly thinking the rightful owner of that seat is about to show up at any moment. And he's probably an Ultimate Fighter with his concealed weapon permit.

Plus, when you get caught you have to pretend you didn't know you're $10 tickets didn't permit you to sit on the front row. "Wait a second, this is row #1? Let me look at my ticket. Oh, would you look at that! I'm in row #1,000. Simple mistake on my part. Whoops!"

I can't do it. I can't be that guy, which is why I like the seating arrangement at most churches. No one has a ticket. Each Sunday morning is a seat free for all. And it all comes to a head when the pastor says one thing:

"Please scoot to the middle so people who just got here can squeeze in."

But every time I hear that phrase three things go through my head:

1. The scoot rewards bad behavior.

I got here early. I've got the end of the aisle on lockdown. If I scoot, people who come late are going to be rewarded for their late behavior. Like a hamster receiving a delicious nut when it presses a lever, they'll associate lateness with primo end of aisle seating. That's perpetuating bad behavior.

2. Can we all vote on a better word than "scoot?"

"Scoot" sounds like a cartoon, make em up word from Ponyville, the home of My Little Pony. That's a word I want Papa Smurf saying, not my pastor. I say we change scoot, to "slide." That sounds cool and almost like a hip hop move or a wedding dance that your crazy Aunt always does at the reception.

3. Is this a Boundaries moment?

In the book, "Boundaries," Cloud and Townsend detail healthy boundaries we all need to draw in our lives when it comes to personal relationships and the way we let people treat us. Is there anyway that when someone comes to my aisle and tries to get me to slide, I can just say, "Sorry dude, boundaries?"

4. This is the only place on the planet where the scoot works.

Try to get someone to scoot at a high school football game. Or in a Starbucks. With your coffee and a smile, just walk up to a hip couch and say to a stranger, "Will you please scoot to the middle?" That probably won't be awkward.

5. Can I rescoot if no one comes?

If I do scoot and no one comes, can I rescoot or descoot and claim my previously surrender seat territory? Does that make someone I scooted next to in the middle feel smelly? It's not that they're smelly, they might be wearing coolwater cologne for all I know, but I like I little space between me and the next guy, a "Baptist buffer" if you will. Can I rescoot?

Fortunately, you are not like me. You will not think these things in church. You do not spend moments of your life thinking about the consequences of "scooting." I'm proud of you, I really am.

But be honest, do you scoot when called upon to scoot?

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