WWYouD not WWJD

I (finally) did my laundry today. I went to what seemed to an average, run-of-the-mill laundry facility down Berry. What I saw there was both sadly ordinary and extraordinary.

Today's sermon in "big church" was about seeing God where God meets you everyday. It isn't every day that you meet God on the "mountain top" though of course you meet God there. God appeared to Moses in the desert wasteland at the bottom of Horeb not the top.

Religious literature and conversations are full of this analogy of one's life journey as one large or several mini ventures and struggles with the mountain top. It seems many of us are always reaching and desperately grasping for the top of the mountain. I think the Buddha would explain that you must indeed come down from the mountain, just as you ascended.

The laundromat. She was hunched over her laundry basket which appeared to be full of crumpled up brown paper sacks, some looking empty and others half-empty with who knows what. She picked one up in slow motion, opened it, and stared into it but not seeing. She was clothed in layers of dirty torn-up gray and had some sort of wrap around her head like half a t-shirt. Old, emaciated, and completely unengaged in the world that she was barely surviving in.

No one spoke to her including myself. People scooted around her if they had to get by. She started shuffling towards the bathroom. It took her a while to get there. She stood in the doorway for a bit and if she were more conscious of what she was doing she may have mustered a look of confusion. It's hard to tell what her face was reflecting besides suffering and lackluster.

I'm not sure that she was in pain, though it's likely she was at least starving. Intervention is always tricky. What does she need? What can I provide for her that would give her a better life? Some, many, people wouldn't even bother to question. The homeless and hungry are sometimes just grouped into one rapidly increasing number that the weekly newscasters throw in the mix "things to talk about".

One of the things I have been conditioned to ask myself the last year or so is, "Where is God?" in everyday situations. Here, the bottom of the mountain, the desert wasteland, the Berry Street laundromat on a sweltering hot Sunday afternoon, in the face of this woman... "Where is God?"

I think of God as with us always. That there is the Divine in everyone. For some it is locked up in the box of their soul and difficult to perceive it's presence. For others it gushes out without boundaries. And for the rest of us- well, we have our moments of Grace and our moments of... not-Grace.

I didn't see Grace flowing out of this woman. I saw Suffering. Just as God Jesus suffered on the cross, I saw God Jesus suffering in this woman. What flowed out of her was the suffering. What I saw in her was the Divine as portrayed on the Cross.

In the story of Jesus's crucifixion... how did Jesus get to the cross? The soldiers put him there. What about this woman? If this woman is Jesus Suffering, who is putting her there?

We are all apart of this crazy complex system. We put Jesus on the cross every day and half the time don't realize it. The inevitable sphere of influence is never ending and not comprehensible. We get nailed to the cross, just as we nail others. God is with us as grace and suffering. That's probably why we are commanded to seek justice and love one another, so that we can all experience a little piece of the pie. I still do not know the answer for this woman. What would you have done if you been a spectator at the crucifixion? What do you do now?

God, the elephant in the room.

*This isn't my idea. A close friend of mine told me about this analogy. I'm not sure if it's hers or who's it is. I've added to it a bit for clarity and to extend the metaphor. And it needs some further development*

Imagine you are a fly on the wall, or rather, perhaps out of doors on a tree. An elephant is standing near the tree you're resting on. Along comes a group of five blind people. The first one bumps into the elephant. She begins feeling around to figure out what it is. Three of the friends encircle the unknown (to them) thing and feel around to study, curious... and silent.

One person (touching the elephants front leg) says describes it as a rough yet soft, column-like object. It is still and unmoving.

Another person (touching the trunk) describes a wild, quick moving being, blowing out air. Parts of it are rough, parts are slimy like the bottom of a lake. It is gentle and feels like it is responsive to the person's touch, perhaps reciprocate interested in the person.

Yet another one of the blind people, takes hold of another part of the elephant. He describes it as quick-moving, thin, rough, and hairy. The hairs are course, with grit on them. There is a distinct, earthy smell. The part which he tries to hang onto keeps slipping out of his hands, which makes it a bit more difficult to decipher to feel out what the thing is. He can hear a swish as if it is hitting another object nearby. (It's the tail.)

The fourth friend stumbles underneath the beast and reaches his hands up in the air. He could feel a presence above his head, though he could not feel anything at all. There was warmth, like a nearby body, above him. He made out a slight steady beating, like a hollow drum. It was so slight in fact, that he questioned whether he was hearing something outside and above him... or whether it was his own heartbeat.

The fifth friend had walked around the elephant towards the tree for some shade. She sat down and leaned back against the tree, not knowing that I, a fly, was only a few feet above her observing she and her friends. She had not encountered the elephant in anyway.

The fifth friend called out to the others and announced there was a cool place to rest at the tree. The four friends left the object they had just encountered and explored. They each told each other their experiences as described above.

As we see, none of their descriptions were the same. Each description was different. They had no way of actually knowing if they had encountered the same being, or if they were describing parts of one being. They had all been changed at least in gaining of knowledge by their personal experience, but also were enriched (and perhaps confused) by the difference in each others descriptions of the elephant.

It would be easy for them to argue about what it was they encountered. To compete with each other as to "who was right." Instead they rested for awhile before continuing through the savanna. One wondered if they would encounter the elephant again. One kept the memory of it alive and so close to their heart that they felt as if the elephant was there still. One had a bit of all those, and one never thought of the moment again until 10 years later, as a fleeting thought.

Whhoooo aaaarrreee yyyooouuuu?

I'm not about to write anything profound. This isn't some sort of epiphany, but I feel inspired nonetheless. That's what life is really about, right? Recounting over and over again, nothing new under the sun.

I love reading people's quotes (usually via Facebook status updates or random books I'm reading). Many times I have witnessed someone quoting a person who is not of the same religion, ethnicity, gender, or other form of identity, yet for some reason the idea behind the quote is something they can relate to.

For example, quoting Rumi, Jung, Freud, or Gandhi. Rumi was Muslim. Jung, Christian. Freud, Atheist. Gandhi, Hindu. It's funny because this lady at this Women's Disciples assembly I went to a month or so ago quoted Martin Luther King, and she made a joke that no matter what the rest of her speech entailed (like... if it were complete crap) she would have gotten a lot of head-nods and maybe some "Amens!" just because she quoted King. You know it's true!

We look at these people (and others) with adoration because of their genius, profundity, revolutionary contributions to our specific lives, our country or the entire world. Many of their words have become timeless, taken out of context and perpetuated through independent and collective lives everywhere. They become apart of us... and Us.

What blows my mind is how it's possible for people to be so segregated still. So many many of these great people have given such great insight... bridges built upon ideas expressed in languages... bridges that truly can link each of us in some way so that respect and love for each other can cross freely, gracefully from one person to another. We allow these people to inspire us (otherwise read: God inspires us through them), but yet there are still so many obstacles in the world. What's up with that?

I am always curious about people's spirituality and/or religion- where they came from and where they're going. It's a pretty easy question when you don't think about it. Most people in the U.S. (well.. barely, more and more people identify as being agnostic, especially us young ones) would respond to "Christian" if asked what their religion was. However, is it really that black and white of a question? If you're a Christian then does that mean you only have to rely on Jesus the Christ and "The Word" as the tools that mold your spirituality? What about all those other people? What about your parents? What about the random homeless person that you met on a bus that said something so bizarrely profound or observant it made you drop to your knees when you got to your hotel room, asking God, "Did you just talk to me?!"

In other words, are any of us 100% Christian?

A few months ago one of my pastors and I were talking about our faith journeys. It was agreed upon that both of us were born into Christianity, and that much like a Jew is born into Judaism, a born-into Christian may or may not be practicing. In fact, neither of us were sure that we'd buy into Christianity had we not been born into it. I myself have had an interesting journey, exploring Wicca (tree-hugger for life) as a pre-teen and during college various "New Age" material. I find what parts I relate with and keep them, allow them to enrich me and my current situation, and I leave behind the parts that just don't work. I couldn't begin making a pie-chart of religions I feel have made me who I am.

Here's a piece from Lupe Fiasco's song "Words I never said":

Jihad is not a holy war, wheres that in the worship?
Murdering is not Islam!
And you are not observant
And you are not a Muslim

(Who's he talking to here? Isn't he talking to Muslims who take their religion to the extreme... and Christians (+whoever else) who fail to recognize their prejudice against Islam because of the murderous whack-jobs who claim it?)

That being said, if each of us were to examine every contributing factor to our spiritual being I bet very few can say they are 100% anything. And with THAT being said... why again is it that we find it so difficult to relate and get along? Why can't we just focus on the good stuff and kind of drop the other stuff. Like when your boyfriend forgets to pick up his socks and he knows that drives you nuts. Or your wife is always rambling at you when you get home from work. You still love each other, so you learn to work with or tune out those obnoxious disagreements.

Sorry if I sound too much of a hippie- all peace, love, and harmony. But that's what Jesus calls me to be. It's what Gahndi, King, Rumi, and a whole bunch of other people call me to be. Those people are God's instruments of justice, restoration, and peace.

Anyway, so think as if you are Alice in Wonderland. You're stuck in your subconscious, exploring all of these things that you like, dislike, please, and scare you. In the midst a giant hookah-smoking Caterpillar asks you, "Who are you?" Can you come up with anything better than, "...I hardly know[?]"

Roots

A friend of mine told me I somewhat reminded him of the Jason Aldean song "She's Country." For a lot of reasons I think he's right. I don't feel completely comfortable in the western glam scene, because it is just that… glam. Just like the rap scene has been over-commercialized with bling so has the country scene become bedazzled. But being grown in Texas soil makes me bleed something unfound in the concrete, smog, and industrial/commercial BS I see so much of.

During college, linking up with hippie-types I felt a strain between the two subcultures. I grew up in both the suburbs and small towns in Texas. I went to Mexico (bordertowns/la frontera) a lot as a kid. I fished and gardened. All this has made me what I am today.

For this post, in lieu of mother's day, a way of celebrating our beginnings and formation of life, I'll write about some specific things that have shaped who I am today… my fondest memories.

One of my fondest memories is visiting my Grandmommy's ranch in Campbell. I'd go there with my dad to visit. My cousin and I would go to the sand-pit where I remember her teaching me that girls too can pee on the ground. My aunt and grandmother would help us make things like decorated walking sticks, adding fake fur, leather braids and beads. We would go to the lake and hunt for arrowheads, which we'd actually find some of, and search for four-leaf clovers and make bookmarks with pressed flowers.

My mom and I lived with my Memaw for a while on the farm a couple times. I think if I felt like anywhere was home, that was it. Someday I'd like to buy that place back from the people who own it now. There were lots of trips to the feed store with PawPaw, feeding ponies and dogs with Memaw, planting marigolds. I spent many a year in black rubber boots. I remember one time in my junior years we had worked all day outside on something, and we went in and sat under the fan and ate cheddar cheese crackers and peanut butter with a ice cold Coke. Now and then when I let myself eat that, my mind goes straight back to those days, and boy does it taste good.

Even though my mom and dad were divorced he would come to the farm and visit and hang out. These memories are a bit fuzzy of course because I might have been 3 or 4. What I do remember is Dad and I would go down to the big lake across the field and look for beavers. We have a video tape somewhere that Dad filmed as we tracked the beavers, checking out their dens, but being careful not to disturb them. All of my family made sure to point out critter tracks and taught me how to determine which animals was which. It's still one of my favorite things to do. Also when Pawpaw, Memaw, Mom and I would go to into town (Honey Grove) we'd go to Doc's, the only restaurant besides Dairy Queen. On the way home we'd look for animals, being careful not to run any over. This taught me to respect and love the creatures in God's world. And also to pay attention to my whereabouts.

My grandaddy also did this as he was a big part of my fishing life. He has a place here in east Texas "The Lake" as we call it. My Mom, Papa, brother, cousin, aunt & uncle all go spend weekends there with Grandaddy and Maroba. We learned to fish of course. We also learned to be quiet, to get up early if you actually want to catch something, and to respect nature. You throw fish back if they aren't big enough. You try to be careful when you unhook them, especially if you're throwing them back. My Grandaddy is a pretty tough man that you wouldn't want to cross, but he will feel guilty if he catches a young bass in the eye and makes it bleed. There's all kinds of compassion in the world I have learned.

I spent a lot of time down in the fish house where The Keeper cleaned the fish. Ken let me watch (for hours sometimes) so fish guts are not really gross to me. I remember the first time I saw the egg sac of a catfish spill out into the sink. Ken felt bad that a mama fish lost her babies. But thus is the cycle of life in fishing for keeps.

A principle that extends to "good" fishermen and hunters is population control. My Grandaddy taught this to everybody, especially I know to my uncle. Legally of course there are guidelines where you can't just keep as many fish, ducks, or deer that you want.. They do not want the populations to go extinct. This is their translation of stewardship of the land and it's creatures.

My step-mom Andrea taught me a lot about making-do and being happy with what you have. When I'd go visit them in South Padre we'd eat plain old pasta with butter and salt, have girl's movie nights and light candles to make it "fancy". I looked forward to this every visit. It was simple, cost almost nothing and was just genuine quality time. We also did creative crafts like decorating t-shirts with fabric paint and creating "shell creatures"… hot-gluing sea shells to each other to build people. Even now, when money's tight, I love eating plain old noodles…. and crafting things out of practically nothing is also one of my favorite things to do. I still look forward to our girls nights. They are especially fun when we have wine, tea time or rummy-playing too.

Speaking of tea time, it has always been a quirky thing in my life that I have so much British influence. Not only is Andrea's family half Brit, but my Papa (step-dad) is full-on British. We have tea regularly aka as soon as someone enters the house, as we are settling on the couch to talk in the evening, and a cuppa before bed, Typhoo decaf or chamomile for me. This has added not only many a fond memory, but also influenced the culture of my life. In college if I ever had guests over and wasn't sure what to do with them at first, I would offer them some tea and we'd gather in the kitchen while it was fixed. It's an excellent segue way and adds grace to otherwise awkward hospitality. Also, my Papa has taught me an even bigger lesson. He is often the bridge between my mom and I. We southern women are passionate and have a way with words. My Papa is very good at sitting back and listening to both sides separately and finding a way of explaining where the other person is coming from. I try to do this myself and allow time to heal some things that I know words cannot. Nobody is perfect, and some days our own crosses are heavy enough to carry so that we don't think we can handle someone else's. The next day though somehow, it becomes a bit easier.

My cousin is a piece of work too. I admire her more than she'll ever know even if she reads this. She has the patience of Job, and even though I can be the flakiest cousin in the world, I know she still loves me. The family also laughs when a wasp is in the room because of the "AHHH!" that always comes from her. A favorite fishing memory is getting the moss of her lures because she thought it was gross. Also is my lack of grace rollerblading in their basement in St. Louis and banging my head between those metal pipes as I tried to speed through them. I can always count on Kristen to be a bit more mature than me, and I need that.

My aunt has always been so encouraging. She sends little notes like Andrea just saying "Hi" or for a small holiday. She tells me to go for my dreams because I think she knows I can actually accomplish something big someday. I think she also (as a fellow literature type) understands the depth of symbolism in certain things that other people miss out on. Even if that isn't true, it's encouraged me to look deeper into daily things and in many ways has encouraged me on my faith journey. Without her consistent effort to tell me that God has something special for me, perhaps I wouldn't be on this road. Perhaps I wouldn't have the faith I have now. Maybe I wouldn't have even made it through some of the darker days I have experienced over the years. It's funny because I borrowed a small book from their library when I was really young on ancient Egypt. That's when I became obsessed with religions, culture and symbolism. That's what opened my eyes to a whole new world. That journey hasn't always been pleasant, in fact the opposite, but I am all the wiser. Like the bookmark that she gave me a long time ago which I still have with that famous Robert Frost quote about "the road less travelled." That's the road I've been on. She also gave me one with my name and the meaning of Katherine which is "purity." Believe it or not I have always taken that to heart, and have extremely strong morals. Sure, like many I have made a million mistakes and got hurt because of it, but over all it's made me stronger than ever. Again, I'm glad I was told not to settle.

I gotta add something about my Dad. There's a million times I can think of where he has showed me how to "just be" and enjoy my surroundings. Also to pay close attention to what's going on. I remember on one of the many journeys down the Indian Nations Turnpike we pulled over on the shoulder and got out because there was a bald eagle circling above. I remember him saying something about how I might never see this again in my life. What's cool is that now where he lives there is actually a bald eagle nesting area over the lake. We went there a couple years ago in the winter, stood in the snow and watched them flying around and sitting in the trees. A couple summers ago we saw one really close when we were out on the lake. I could go on about how one time when I lived on the farm we saved a Golden Eagle that someone had shot and left for dead and took it to the bird sanctuary. Also my love for beaches, water, salt-water fishing, Jimmy Buffett, The Kettle and those little wooden peg games.

When I was off with my dad in Missouri or South Padre, I often had pets and plants at home that were left behind, but not neglected. My Mom and Papa faithfully watered and fed all those marigolds, moonflowers, and that huge sunflower I had in Allen. Papa built a great place for my box turtle Cornelius that I found at the lake.

I am pretty sure that most of my family has influenced my love of animals in some way, but I lived with my mom my whole life. She's the one who let me keep them. She's the one who taught me that I had to take care of them. She's also the one that made sure I did my homework, took baths, ate and "wouldn't let me go out of the house like that" until I could decide on my own what looked good. Though we still may not agree on things like that, I'm thankful that for certain things like interviews or nice parties, I know what and what not to wear. Sure I think that society is cruel and judgmental in those situations sometimes, but in order to get the job or perhaps a boyfriend I might have to play by those rules. I've learned when and where I want to play like that.

My mom has always told me to stand up for myself. She has always told me to question people's authority in their reasoning. If someone was mean to me or if I didn't think I could get a job, she has always said, "Well, who are they to say that?!" She told me it took her a long time to start asking that, so she started me out early. I'm so thankful for that because it's the foundation for most of my thinking in every realm. Though there are times now when I question her authority, I think over all it's a good thing. One of the things that makes us human is to think. One of the things that progresses humanity is questioning.

In 7th grade when I didn't want to take piano lessons anymore, she told me I needed to be in band. I had to stay in music somehow she said because my dad was musically gifted when he was younger. She also encouraged me to be in Gifted & Talented and PACE, an accelerated reading program. I wouldn't be the person I am today if I didn't have all three of these experiences. If you know me at all, you know I'm a reader. This class also introduced the love affair I have with metaphors and analogies. I wouldn't read the Bible with the same fulfillment this day if not for Mrs. Yant in those classes. In GT I wrote poetry about love and trees, and integrated nature into the classroom by starting a garden in the small blocked-off space outside between school buildings.

Band became my life when we moved to Canton. I actually had something to do in high school. All of those memories hinged on the fact that my mother made me be in band when I just wanted to quit. Even after all those times in high school have passed and exist only in pictures and memories, my passion for music exists today as I play flute sometimes at church or with friends. Countless hours have been spent jamming on flutes, pennywhistles, pianos, guitars, etc. And though my Mom claims my musical side comes from my Dad, some of my favorite memories are singing with her and harmonizing in the car to Celine Dion or Judds songs. I think she contributed more than she thinks to my "ear" for music.

All of my family, even those I haven't specifically mentioned, like many other cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents, have all molded me. I have fond memories of everyone and it is those memories that I think about when I'm feeling alone. Those memories are evidence of love, which to me is evidence of God. I could not ever say thank you enough times. I only hope that I have created similar memories with all of my family so that they know, especially in the doubtful times, that they are loved and accepted as they are. I have learned over the years that though we are often held singularly responsible for "how we are" we have much more influence (as you have seen above) in the shaping of each other than we think.

The many faith perspectives, creative influences, compassion for others, love of God's beautiful world and creatures, and freedom and joy of life and celebration which I have embraced molded my personality. My attitude comes from both the opposition I have met over the years and my family as well. My stubbornness comes from being red-headed, which is a mutation and totally not my fault. So thank you family (and friends) for helping me be who I am and who I will become. Thank you especially Mom, on this Mother's Day. And thanks be to God for the Love planted in all of us, that we extend to each other. Amen.

If only snakes COULD talk!

Today I went hiking in the Tyler State Park. I love this because it brings more peace to me than anything in the world. Usually when I start out I unintentionally pseudo-stomp through the forest. I think it helps me get things off my mind. Then I slow down the pace and stumble over rocks and tree roots.

Today however I didn't want to get what was on my mind off, so I was felt like I was floating through the forest. I was so unawares due to my giddy happiness. I was of course listening to the different birds and other critters moving in the trees, but I wasn't really looking out for anything. I did however hear the mountain biker behind me so I moved aside. After he passed I began wandering again. He stopped ahead and told me to watch out because there was a snake on the trail. I guess I had walked over it because I didn't see it. Normally I am very aware of what's around me, especially under my feet. Thank Goodness that guy was nice enough to tell me.

Here we go. Go back to Genesis. God created Adam right? Well Adam was sitting around bored and whatever after he named all the animals. So God creates Eve. I believe strongly that people NEED to be around other people, and today is a testament to that. If that guy hadn't told me about the snake, I might've been bitten. It's less probable I think when there are more people, more eyes, more brains around so that we make better decisions.

Now, about that stupid snake. Snake are sneaky creatures. They are not evil, but are slithery and pretty quiet (like most things are when they are hunting). Many of them are camouflaged. The Genesis serpent is like this snake. Even though this one "talks" it is tricky. It's intentions are ill. Take note that it's ambiguous as to where in the Garden Adam is when the serpent is talking to Eve. God said it was not good for man (and probably woman) to be alone. And we see what happens when woman is alone. It wouldn't surprise me if the serpent had first talked to Adam when Eve was somewhere else that Adam would have done the same thing, offer the apple to his helper. So again, it's good to not be alone talking to serpents in gardens... or being alone in general to deal with real serpents and other bad things that happen in life that sneak up on us.

Suppose Eve WASN'T alone. Suppose Adam was there. It doesn't say that he walks up to Eve and the serpent, it just says that he was there, kind of all of a sudden. If he was there, why didn't he speak up? This goes to show that it's important to speak up for yourself. If he let Eve do all the talking, that wasn't being a very good helper to her. So maybe the lesson here is we need to communicate and back each other up. At least think things through... though it might be nice to have a helper who will just eat anything you fix for him no questions asked. I'm not much for fussy eaters myself :P

One might wonder why I was floating through the forest in the first place. I'm not kidding when I say that Jesus might have talked to me this morning. It was mind blowing. I was in another world and still am. I'll admit that maybe I'm just crazy, but when I dictate things in my head it's my voice doing the talking. All of a sudden I heard "There is a God!" I repeated it out-loud as if to affirm what the voice had said. It wasn't like Jesus was sitting there in car, but it was an experience like none I have experienced before. The joy I have feels like floating. If Heaven is this, then I want to dwell here forever. I fear it might go away, but hope that it doesn't. I think this is what "being saved" is feels like. To just exist in joy and love.

I think what makes people think this is "just too crazy" is that they don't think these moments will happen to them. Even as a faithful person, filled with spirit, I haven't ever been to this place. After asking "why me?" I ask... well "why NOT me?" "Why not EVERYONE?" Everyone should be this happy even if it doesn't last forever. I think that's why we're supposed to share love and joy with others so that maybe there's a trickle-down effect and joy will fill up people's hearts, over time, over-flowing to the point of this experiencing. It's magical. Like unicorns and mermaids. Which were totally in the Garden and Springs of Eden. Why not?

Last Call Worship

I'm not exactly a Carson Daly fan, since I have only seen two of his new shows that I can recall. However, the other night he had a couple of interesting things. First off I am glad he introduced me to another book discussing militarism which I would like to read. Secondly he showed this band's song Lean into the Fall-Mona. They recorded a live show Mona played at SXSW in Austin. At the show people were raising their hands, pumping fists, staring glossy-eyed, and generally really "into" the music.

If you have ever been to a show where you really loved the band, "that" particular song, were just awe-struck (not in the you-are-just-wanting-t0-get-with-the-lead-singer way) at the performance, you know what I'm talking about. I liked the song, but since I wasn't there, I wasn't "moved" to express myself in this way. In other words there wasn't an emotional height that I had reached to which my response was to move my arms or legs out of my normal set of motions (like walking or fiddling with my hair).

Anyway, I was watching these people dancing, jamming out, clapping and screaming in response to the music and whatever emotions and excitement it invoked. I sat wondering what the difference was with worship.

When people speak of worshiping God, the modern Christian will immediately jump to a list of ways that they like to worship. Common things are singing, praying and reading the Bible. Some would consider their tithe a way of worshiping God by means of obedience and commitment. Focusing on the music part, though traditional and contemporary music in the church buildings these days is obviously different than going to a concert, it's still music. In the same way, I would like to extend the parallel to the response to music (tapping feet, clapping hands, cheering, etc.) whether it is in a church or club is also worship.

You get what I'm trying to right? I'm saying that people, humans, whatever your beliefs are worship. I propose that worship is merely the natural, somewhat unconscious response to some sort of invocation. It is simply letting go and allowing SOMETHING to move through you. Whether you are a Christian and want to devote this worship to God, or you're another religion and devote it to God With A Different Name, or you're Hindu and call it Prana (life-force), or perhaps you are Obi-Wan and call it The Force, whatever.

Some people might agree that "worship" defined this way is mostly universal (let's account for exceptions), but will throw in that it does indeed matter "who" you're worshipping. I'm not so sure that this makes any sense at all. Coming from a Christian perspective, I "worship" God. I "put no Gods before God" as in I try my best not to worship idols.

A thought: if worshipping is "letting go" of one's self-consciousness and joining in a community of worship (whether others are physically present or not.. I believe you can worship "alone") then how COULD you be putting any other God before God. How can you even be directing your worship anywhere? To me, worshipping is the letting go... the giving up of restraining power... and submitting to the way in which the Spirit (or at the concert, the music) moves you. It is a conscious unconsciousness. Like returning to innocence. Just "being".

This experience if you are willing to attain it (whether at church, at a concert, a yoga session, etc.) is invigorating and life-giving, and I am thankful for it.

So see, yet another way that we as humans are the same, despite the words we use to describe our spirituality. I would be willing to bet that many of the "nonspiritual" people of the world have tapped a toe or caught themselves humming a tune at some point in time. I would be even more willing to bet that we were capable of physically expressing rhythm before we could verbal express much of anything.

Christ is Risen, but what does that mean?!

Easter. A singular event that changed the world in so many drastic ways. This is the day that represents to Christians that Jesus the Christ rose from the dead, proving that He was indeed the Son of God, though many did not believe it. Many still do not.

And why? Why is it that so many do not "believe" in Jesus? It's an easy answer, but difficult to admit.

Between the years that Christ rose from the dead and now, what has happened? Have people "who believed in Christ" slaughtered others who did not "in His Holy name"? Have others continued to live a life like Peter and reject Christ at the last minute? Do we continue to profess our love of Jesus Christ, but not do as he commands us and "love one another"? The answer is simple, sad, and "yes."

During the Good Friday services we repeat the words "Crucify Him! Crucify Him!" because we do not do as Christ told us to do and love our neighbors as ourselves. Though some of us "accept Him into our hearts" (as if He, all-powerful, needs permission?) we keep him locked in the jail of our hearts instead of spreading his unconditional love to others. The question I have is "why?"

Why after all these years have we not "gotten it"? Why after all these years do we continue to crucify Jesus instead of following him? According to Rob Bell's interpretation of Hebrew literature and culture, Jesus invited his disciples because he KNEW that they COULD FOLLOW HIM. A rabbi did not invite just any disciples to follow, he usually chose the best of the best. But this prophet chose normal everyday dudes, fishermen, laborers to follow him. He continues to invite ALL PEOPLE TO HIS TABLE regardless of your faith, socioeconomic status, gender identity, age, race, marital status, cognitive capabilities, physical limitations (you get it right? EVERYONE).

So if Jesus had so much faith in us- no, not faith, KNOWLEDGE- then why do we not have faith in ourselves to do as he commands? Do we not have faith in ourselves to love our neighbor as we love ourselves? Do we not have faith that we can restore the world to wholeness and peace with the love we have for others?

Is it that we do not have faith? Or is it that we wish to continue in sin. Is it like Peter, we follow Jesus "in our hearts" but when asked in the face of danger, ostracization, or even personal material loss, do we say "I do not know Him" and instead of suffering ourselves, continue to live, while Jesus takes the fall. We put Jesus back up on the cross with nails and he continues to bleed, because of our denial.

Here's where I become radical. Here's where I do not know how NOT to be confrontational. I do not want eat un-fair trade chocolate or drink un-fair trade coffee, because it denies love to our neighbors in the world. People suffer and die so that we can eat 20 pieces of 50 cent candy on "Easter" morning from a plastic egg. (Don't get me on the subject of how "Easter" and the egg is actually a pagan tradition that Christians continue, yet also continue to violently condemn modern-pagan followers. Most Americans have Scottish or Irish Blood in them, why don't you try researching your own heritage.)

I cannot buy un-fair trade clothing. Every time I browse the aisles in Target or the mall and look at the cute fashionable clothes, I look at the tag. Guatemala, China, Ecuador, Vietnam, India. We have all heard about how we outsource everything now, and that we should support our country's economy by using our buying power to by local, Texas or U.S. made items. The other reason would be NOT to support sweatshops where children are forced to work in horrifying conditions. The average American adult wouldn't have the balls to step into the disgusting and violent situations that young children are forced to work in, so that you can by tank tops at 3 for $20 (only to throw them away at the end of the summer). You don't even have to go very far to find the violence. On the U.S./Mexican borders factories exist where bus-loads of women disappear on the way to or from home/work, later to be found dumped, evidently molested then murdered or left for dead. If you don't believe me, research maquiladoras, or better yet go there yourself. You could drive to Mexico and back on a 3-day weekend. But gas is just so expensive, I need a break from my 9-5 to relax, and oh yeah, I might not make it out alive.

Let's check out technology. You know the iPhone is "only" 50 bucks now! Since when in this economy is $50 not a big deal?! You know why it's 50 bucks right? Because the parts are made overseas. It's the same story, over and over.

I mentioned in a blog before, the book Everyday Justice by Julie Clawson It's has lots of information and will force you to make decisions about your real life. It helps open my eyes and my heart, bridging my "spiritual life" with my "real life". Instead of matters of faith staying in the church, or only about Jesus, my faith now guides my spending habits. That's good because people would rather talk money than love. So the way I've pledged to love my neighbors is to use my buying power lovingly and faithfully. The way I refuse to put Jesus on the cross time and time again is to truly follow him as a disciple and LOVE MY NEIGHBOR as he commands. By doing so, I can keep Him walking, talking, and ministering to people through love, instead of ridiculing him and his message, beating and spitting on him, mocking him with a crown of thorns, and driving nails into his hands and feet. Instead I propose washing his feet in return, and washing the feet of others. Passing bread and wine to others. Refusing to participate in the violence and suffering by supporting legitimate and ethical businesses, even if it means I must "sacrifice" by doing without the latest and greatest all the time.

There are so many other things I want to do, that will show more love to my neighbors around the world. I pray that God continues to challenge and convict me, and fill me with love to carry to everyone in the world. I hope that anyone who reads this knows the love I have for them, for every creation is sacred and beautiful. Thank God for the story of Jesus and his unconditional love. Hope exists in the world today, if we truly love one another. Our world may be pretty screwed up and broken, but with hope we can change it. Be the change. Be the way. Love.