In his book, You Can Make A Difference, Tony Campolo tells the true story of two men who were traveling together on a train out of Victoria Station in London. Twenty minutes into their journey, one of the men had an epileptic seizure and if you’ve ever seen this happen they you know how frightening such an attack can be. The man stiffened and fell heavily out of his seat onto the floor of the train. When this happened his friend immediately took off his own jacket, rolled it up, and put it behind the stricken man’s head. Then he blotted the beads of perspiration from his brow with his handkerchief and talked to him in a quiet manner to calm him down. A few minutes later when the seizure was over, he helped lift his friend gently back into his seat. Then he turned to the man sitting across from them and said, Mister, please forgive us. Sometimes this happens two or three times a day. And then, in the conversation that ensued, the friend of the epileptic explained,
My buddy and I here were in Vietnam together, and we were both wounded in the same battle. I had bullets in both my legs and he caught one in his shoulder. For some reason the helicopter that was supposed to come for us never came to pick us up. My friend here picked me up and he carried me for three and a half days out of that jungle. The Viet Cong were sniping at us the whole way.
Understand, he was in more agony than I was. Repeatedly I begged him to drop me and save himself, but he wouldn’t let me go. He got me out of that jungle, mister. He saved my life. I don’t know HOW he did it and I don’t know WHY he did it...but he did. Well, four years ago, I found out that he had this epileptic condition, so I sold my house in New York, took what money I had, and came over here to take care of him.
Then he looked at his friend and said,
"You see, mister, after what he did for me, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him."

For thousands of years we have set up thousands of churches to honor this man. We have established holy cities and beurocracies and traditions. We ordain people to be priests. There are bishops and cardinals and popes and big hats and man dresses and cathedrals and candles and golden statues, all to honor a guy who was virtually homeless.

Jesus was born to poor parents. They couldn’t afford to get a decent room, couldn’t afford to bribe any hotel to take them in. Jesus was, according to real history, probably born in a cave, not a stable. He was a caveman. In the song “Away in a Manger” it says “no crying he made”. That’s crap. He was a baby. It wasn’t a sin to cry. Who knows, he might have had colic. He probably got diaper rash. He went poop.

Our culture is in love with beautiful. Ever notice that people only get upset when we kill beautiful animals? I love what Seinfeld says about this. No one wants to kill a dolphin. They get upset when a dolphin gets caught in a tuna net. No one cares about 10,000 dead tuna. Why? Cuz they’re ugly, who cares.
Dolphins – have big round smily faces, and a bald head like your Uncle Marvin.
Dogs, you’d never think of killing a puppy, but chickens? Slit their throats and laugh as they run around, fry em up and put them in a bucket! You want honey/mustard with that?
Kittens are priceless, but lobsters? Smash em on the rocks and dip them in butter.
Everyone is upset when someone clubs a fluffy baby seal, but a baby rat? Squish em with your boots.
It’s the same way we treat each other. We penalize the unattractive and idolize the cute. We look up to movie stars and beauty queens and send out the message to regular people, “you’re a reject”.

Jesus was a reject.

Jesus was not Paris Hilton or Brad Pitt. He grew up in obscurity. He probably had zits. (no Noxzema back then). He didn’t use toilet paper (history of why we use right hand for handshakes). He had the bare minimum of education. He worked construction. If he was alive today he probably would have drank Molson Canadian. He wasn’t a tea-toadler.

Jesus was born into a blended family. He lived with his mom and step-dad, who, legend tells us, died when he was 18. He grew up in a go no-where town where people knew his mom got pregnant before she got married. He was not good looking. In the book of Isaiah it says that he wasn’t much to look at. He lived in 40 Celsius environment where they didn’t bathe a lot. He probably had B.O.

He had a rep of for hanging out with the wrong crowd. Even when he got famous he still got ridiculed for hanging out with low-life’s. He was known to coffee with prostitutes. Have you seen an inner city prostitute? It’s not like on the movie “pretty woman” where the hooker looks like Julia Roberts. Real prostitutes don’t look like the same species as Julia Roberts. The ones that come in our restaurant for the Red Card program have been beaten up by life, are addicted to drugs and look nasty. They shake and are pock-marked and don’t know how to behave in public. A lot of people in Mission don’t come downtown because of people like this. Jesus probably would have hung out occasionally at the Union Gospel Mission but not Tim Horton’s. (He would have drank only fair trade/organic coffee).

It’s really bizarre to me how religion has become so in love with power and position. We elevate ministers and they wear different clothes. We have popes and robes and ordinations and super-stars with mega book deals and rock stars. Jesus was called ‘rabbi’ but he wasn’t really an ordained minister. The religious leaders of the day, in all their robes and ornaments, thought he was a total poser. They said to each other, “Isn’t this just Joseph and Mary’s son?” What they were saying was, isn’t this just a lower class construction worker who didn’t deserve to be in the priestly class?

4 a.m.
lori is knocking on my bedroom window with her keys. it's like a dream come true. but it's a nightmare.
someone jumped through the front window of the restaurant and we were robbed. they passed up the money, the pro-audio mixer, the cash, the liquor. all they stole was the laptop. the laptop that i had brought two days prior to take the place of this laptop i am writing on. they stole a laptop that was bound for the garbage. we use it for winamp exclusively. the battery doesn't work. they forgot the cord. there is blood at the front entrance.
someone once told me that i have so many alleged stories about my life that it would take several lifetimes to have all the experiences i have had. the pile just got deeper.

so this morning Nate (oldest son) and I were in Superstore and so we’re buying some chicken and stuff for the grill and this woman is in front of us paying...$6.89. And we’re not in the express lane. And she decides to pay… in exact change. And she’s got one of those mini change purses that you basically cannot see inside or fit your hand in and she proceeds to pull out $6.89, one coin at a time. And it’s me and Nathan. Not the two most patient people in the world. So about a minute in I’m groaning and moping and soon I’m making not very subtle comments. And she’s still freaking counting pennies and nickels. I’m losing it. So I turn to Nathan, and because I’m such a mature man of God I start saying subtle things like, “She’s still counting change!” and I’m sending her my subliminal “kill yourself” mantra and my ninja death stare…and it goes on and on and on… I’m still not completely over it. I’m a little bitter.

i find i am a negative person. i'm not sure how it happened, but here i am. like many others it is far easier for me criticize than contribute, especially when it comes to church and religious life.

it is usually in this part of an article that someone goes on to say, "i think i need to re-examine and change". while that is undeniably true, i'm not going to go there yet. the issue is more complex than a simple confess and go on. so i won't... yet.

like most of us i have a suitcase full of hurts from churches and people. there is betrayal and condemnation, both real and imagined. i have often blogged and written about dealing with betrayal and hurt. my first impulse is to go back over my last few posts and delete them, too negative, too ... something. but they are part of the process. i seem to be a person who is not uncomfortable with paradox and holding opposing beliefs. i believe i am too negative and it bothers me, at the same time it energizes me. i take shots at church for many reasons including my own ego needs and insecurities. like you i cry out to be understood, though i often do not understand myself. i completely believe that much of the church is socially and evangelistically bankrupt, but i still help with a church (though it is hard for me to even write that club365 is a church... because it isn't.... but it is.... and i have ego issues here). so much of what i am and what i believe is caught up in an institution that parts of my psyche despises. and loves.

lori and i were talking at work today about my propensity to be negative. during that conversation (i often process out loud) it struck me that i really don't want to be known as that kind of a person. it is easy to take shots at institutions. i am not saying i will never do it again (i'm pretty sure i will), but it bears remembering that we are in need of solutions, not more critics. so this sunday i plan on going to regular church, complete with the music and methods that i somehow have lost the ability to relate too. on some levels i realize that i have been gone so long i probably cannot even understand anymore. i am an outsider. but somehow, some time ago, it was incredibly meaningful for me. i miss that... i think...

"you guys are my work friends, we're not real friends, we only work together..."
it's a song we sing to each other at the grill, but it's not a song we really believe. the people i work with at the restaurant are close friends, people i have lived a bit of life with, people i have been thrown into a day to day world with. my work friends.
i have fewer friends than i once had.
pastors have work friends too. when i was a full-time pastor dude i was thrown into relationships with hundreds of people, some of whom i would not ordinarily associate with, given the chance. it is the dilemma of working in the social field. any pastor, given immunity from prosecution, will admit that he does not really like some of the people in his or her church; but is forced to relate to them 'as a friend' because of the job. one of the greatest things about not being a real pastor anymore is that i am not forced to pretend i like certain people. i am not compelled to 'hang out' with people i have nothing in common with or simply do not like. though obvious to regular people, this was a startling revelation for me when i quit my last church. real people pick their friends.
inasmuch as i am no longer serving in any traditional capacity whatsoever i'll let you in on a little secret that every pastor feels, but few feel liberty to divulge... some people suck the life out of you. and they are not the fringe people. they are almost always well-invested church members who hold control strings to some ministry or another. they are board members and para-church staff and prayer warriors and tithers and people who consider you their good friend. they are well intentioned. they are middle-class. they are usually hard core christians that have been heavily committed to 3 or 4 churches in the past 10 or so years. they are pariahs.
the reason this is even worth discussing is because of the damage done to sincere leaders by other sincere leaders such as these. i myself found that i spent an insane amount of time sucking up to people that i could never please. they could not seem to be placated, dreaming of new lists of reasons why you were not up to their standards. as a result pastors become people pleasers, constantly seeking to placate a few families with exaggerated influence. for some reason we believe that we will be able to jump through enough hoops, make enough sacrifices, apologize for imagined and real slights enough times, to stem the tide. but it usually doesn't happen. people will say things to a minister that they would never say to their best friend.
people ask why ministers burn out. after all, it is the easiest job in the world. actually, it is a incredibly cushy job, though few will admit it. ministers have freedom that few of us in the real world can even imagine. they get paid to do stuff, like blog, that most of us do in our spare time. they get paid to pray. they get paid to think. they get paid to go to church. but, while it is true it's a sweet deal, it is the easiest job in the world that will crush your spirit and break your heart.
too often the tenure of a religious employee cannot be marked by hours but by bruises.

recently i was asked why i don't go to church.

people have interesting definitions of church. i go to club365 every week but apparently this is not considered "real" church. from time to time i get asked if i attend church on sunday. i do not. sunday does not really work for me. i have a hard time lately imagining why people would want to get up early on sunday, dress up, and attend something right out of the gate. saturday is a more natural fit for me, specifically saturday evening - for many reasons, most of which begin with - 'i'm already up'.

i own a restaurant. in some ways it's more church to me than i have ever experienced. yesterday i talked to a young man about his drug problem, then invited him out to club. i spoke with a wayward friend looking for a way home... and invited him to club. i talked saturday to someone and challenged him to give hundreds of dollars to a thailand orphanage. i drove down the street towards the restaurant and saw an ambulance outside one of the businesses, and somehow knew instinctively it was outside the grill. weird things happen everyday. we rub shoulders with skads of people from all walks of life. we feed the poor. we challenge the comfortable. we reach out to kids. we send pretty much all the money we collect at club to people in need. we play guitar hero. we have deep and meaningful conversations everyday. people's lives are transformed.

ya, i don't go to church anymore.