Letters from Kamp Krusty

(From the Archives) Not Drinking Wine: A Sin?

(Haven't had much time to write, so thought I'd re-post this, which is a subject I've been thinking about lately.  As I've written before:  Eventually, my readership will reach zero.  You WILL be alienated by me.  I figure if that last post didn't do it -- written in JEST, folks -- this one can finish off the other half.)

Yes, I realize there are good arguments to be made -- deep, theologically profound arguments -- but I still say it's not a sin to not drink wine.

I think we have to avoid judging other people's hearts.  Rejecting wine, for some, is a legitimate freedom that they have, and they are welcome to that, provided, of course, it's not borne of selfish, prideful, or legalistic motivations.

Yes, I know, wine is a consistent symbol throughout scripture, of God's peace, of Heaven itself, of God's covenant with us.   Yes, I know, the O.T. prophets intimately link the image of wine with the very Kingdom of God.  I'm aware of this.

Still, we shouldn't judge others.  There were many well-intended people in the Women's Temperance movement.  Yes, it's true, ALL of God's good gifts can be abused and misused, but still, some WTU-types were honestly concerned about how society was defiling that good gift, and could only imagine rejecting it altogether.

Yes, Jesus's very first miracle was a sure sign of the coming of the Kingdom:  Wine.  And it was performed "on the third day" -- a phrase, a parallel, unmistakable to early believers.  Heaven and earth were colliding.  Yes, all that's true.  Yes, in one of the most romantic images ever recorded, a death-sentenced Jesus told us to drink wine to remember him.  And he?  He would wait for us, until we could sit at table again, and join him in the Kingdom party. 

Yes, scripture is quite clear and thorough-going about it:  Wine is a gift, pregnant with wonderful meaning, linked with the very soil, a sign of the creation that was created Good, and will be fully restored in the great Feast.

But is rejecting that gift a sin?  I don't think we can say that.  God knows our hearts, and He will be the final judge, not us.

Yes, I realize there are good arguments to be made -- deep, theologically profound arguments -- but I still say it's not a sin to not drink wine.

I think we have to avoid judging other people's hearts.  Rejecting wine, for some, is a legitimate freedom that they have, and they are welcome to that, provided, of course, it's not borne of selfish, prideful, or legalistic motivations.

Yes, I know, wine is a consistent symbol throughout scripture, of God's peace, of Heaven itself, of God's covenant with us.   Yes, I know, the O.T. prophets intimately link the image of wine with the very Kingdom of God.  I'm aware of this.

Still, we shouldn't judge others.  There were many well-intended people in the Women's Temperance movement.  Yes, it's true, ALL of God's good gifts can be abused and misused, but still, some WTU-types were honestly concerned about how society was defiling that good gift, and could only imagine rejecting it altogether.

Yes, Jesus's very first miracle was a sure sign of the coming of the Kingdom:  Wine.  And it was performed "on the third day" -- a phrase, a parallel, unmistakable to early believers.  Heaven and earth were colliding.  Yes, all that's true.  Yes, in one of the most romantic images ever recorded, a death-sentenced Jesus told us to drink wine to remember him.  And he?  He would wait for us, until we could sit at table again, and join him in the Kingdom party. 

Yes, scripture is quite clear and thorough-going about it:  Wine is a gift, pregnant with wonderful meaning, linked with the very soil, a sign of the creation that was created Good, and will be fully restored in the great Feast.

But is rejecting that gift a sin?  I don't think we can say that.  God knows our hearts, and He will be the final judge, not us.

Don't Tell Me It's Wednesday

(Just thought I'd pull this from the old xanga blog, given the season.  I wrote it for the Sun-Sentinel)

Happy Wednesday!

No, wait.  Check that.  You likely know that “Wednesday” really means “Woden’s Day” -- a nod to the Teutonic god.

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I, for one, do not worship Woden.  I'm not wont to worship Woden, and, well, wouldn't worship Woden.  Perhaps you pursue a personal relationship with Woden.  But maybe not.  So forgive my insensitivity. 

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Granted, in this culture, the fourth day of the week is, most obviously, “Wednesday” – why, it’s as obvious as, say, December 25^th is Christmas – but we shouldn’t simply say things like that out loud because “it’s been that way” for centuries.

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It’s time to recognize, and celebrate, our differences.  Joining the celebration of religious expression is easy:  Simply be offended by everyone else’s religious expression.  Celebrate good times, come on.

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What’s disturbing:  Our own government continues to refer to this day as the Day of Woden, clearly embracing one religious view over others.   Even our public schools embrace Woden, throughout school publications and practices.  While I’m not steeped in Teutonic lore, I suspect, based on our monthly cafeteria calendars, that Woden remains the Teutonic Lord of pizza square, pear, brownie and choice of milk.

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Not to mention these “Saturdays” we keep having!   I try to be open-minded about this stuff, but c’mon:  “Saturn” is just the Roman equivalent of the Greek god “Cronus”.  What did Cronus do?  Oh, boy.

“Cronus was the ruling Titan who came to power by castrating his Father Uranus. His wife was Rhea. There offspring were the first of the Olympians. To insure his safety Cronus ate each of the children as they were born…”

That's pretty much not cool.   I don’t want to judge, I'd have to walk a mile in his shoes, etc., but -- I don't know, man -- this just seems out of line. 

But he gets his own DAY for that.  He castrates his dad, eats his kids…and then mall stores honor Cronus with “Saturday Sales Events”?  I don’t even want to know what goes down at those things. 

So yeah, stop saying “Saturday” around me.  New rule:  Even if the culture is steeped in it, and even if most even prefer it; even if it might seem to be reasonable to expect I could accommodate it, heck, even if it IS Saturday:  don’t say it.

Times are changing.  I remember my public high school (!) marching band, performing that song by Chicago: You know what day of the week, in the park, I think it was the fourth of that month named after a militaristic dead white guy.

I doubt the whole crowd at the Assumption, Illinois football game was into Cronus.  Krokus, yes.  Cronus, pretty much no.  Couldn't we have found something else to play?

Let’s re-name everything, and pretend our culture appeared out of thin air, thirty seconds ago.  Sure, it would be a massive, and massively strange, project.   We could make a court case out of it, since the Constitution itself doesn’t afford different protections for expression of mostly-dead religions and expression of religions more widely practiced.

Or, we could just chill, and recognize that, for example, Saturday is Saturday, whether I worship Saturn or not. 

And we could even say that December 25^th is “Christmas” whether you’re a Christian or not.  Heck, maybe then, with one of the most painfully annoying melody lines ever written, we could even wish you a merry one.

From the Archives: Solomon Given Boot from Hip Church Conference

(AP) -- A noted writer has been "disinvited" from a cutting-edge church conference, say conference organizers, after a calmly-delivered, but highly controversial, speech.

"He just doesn't know how to put things," one disgruntled listener said.  "It's like 'Oh, I've got truth and here you go, here's what you need to know'," he said, adding that Solomon ruffled feathers right off the bat.

"He said wisdom is what matters, more than anything else.  We were all like, 'What about authenticity?' But he said an authentic fool is still a fool.  He said that.  He used the word 'fool' a lot.  I was really disappointed," another added.  "It was offensive."

But that wasn't the worst, according to others. 

"He used the term 'evildoers'.  That's just not right to say some people are evildoers.  It's so black-and-white, and lacked nuance.  He said it several times, too.  That may fly in America, but what about the rest of the world?  This guy just doesn't understand other cultures and contexts like we do," said one church-planter in a Starbucks cap.

According to a speech text released on the web, Solomon said there are many evil people in the world, they're fools, and that God will punish them.

"'Punish'?  Not cool," said an organizer.  "He even went off on raising children.  He said people who don't discipline their kids -- dude even talked about spanking! -- he said they actually don't love their kids.  Very, very offensive.  He's probably from some red state, fundie background."

One fellow-speaker, an "emergent church" guru, said Solomon's approach was all wrong.  "I don't think I heard him ask the right questions.  He needs to ask questions, not just hand down his western version of 'wisdom'.  He acted like he had this great understanding, and just tried to say, 'Here's the way it is.'  But all we should do is ask questions.  I declare that fact many times in my book, actually."

Solomon told the attendees to pursue justice for the poor, but even that theme went foul, many said.

"He said that only people who seek God can understand the concept of 'justice', like if you're not a believer, you can't really get it!" said an attendee, wearing a smart-looking Amnesty International shirt.  "It's really myopic and simplistic, and it embarrasses me in front of my friends.  I'll bet he's the type to go and build a fancy worship building, too."

Moreover, Solomon insisted that God should be "feared".  When pressed on what he meant by that, he said "Well, 'fear', as in, say, 'fear'." 

Observers insisted he must be misinterpreting himself. 

Advocates for social justice at the event were shocked further by Solomon's apparent belief that poverty is sometimes related to laziness.

"It's blame the victim again," one group said in a statement.  "Talk about heartless.  He said it's good that workers have appetites, because some lazy people wouldn't do anything until they got hungry.  He said lazy people think they're smarter than the counselors who try to help them.  A complete embarrassment for the church.  No stars.  No thumbs-up."

Solomon stepped down after being confronted by an angry group who had moved to the front of the stage.  Some offered rebukes, serving as "prophetic voices", while others plaintively asked Solomon to "Just be real and quit the 'I-know-stuff' routine," but Solomon's response only made matters more tense.

"Zeal and conviction without wisdom really aren't good things," he said. 

A worker at Solomon's merchandise table following the speech sat lonely, selling tapes of the speech, called "Proverbs".

"We've got good distribution in some of these stores, but not much online yet.  Wisdom isn't very hot right now.  Hate to say it.  Just keepin' it real."

On "Being Too Negative" About the Church

(I posted this about a year ago.  I haven't had much time at all to post the last few days, and won't today, either, so thought I'd re-run this for the "don't question the way America does 'church'" folks, who, by the way, really are wonderful people and let's hug.)

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It's called "Beauty Control".  Man, did they name THAT thing right.

Nothing against Beauty Control (TM) products and/or services and/or salespeople and/or legal representatives preparing a defamation suit at this moment, but at least that one night, BC wasn't cool.  Carolyn went to this "Ladies Night" thing at church, years ago, and the Beauty Control rep was there to do a demo make-over-thing-deal.

They picked Carolyn as the make-over-ee, which made no sense, because she didn't, and doesn't, need a makeover.  I wasn't there, but, apparently, they did a bunch of...stuff...to her face, and then everyone got to see how great she looked, and she was showered with compliments the rest of the evening!  You look great!  Wow!  Beauty Control did that?  Wow!  Awesome!  Look at you, girlfriend! etc., etc. etc.

Then she came home.  I couldn't believe what I saw.

They made her look like Bozo the Clown.  Without even the dignity of the floppy red shoes.

I was stunned.  Uh...I didn't know what to say.  But I said something.  Turned out, she hadn't had a chance to see herself all evening long.  I told her to go look in the bathroom mirror.  She broke up laughing.  No exaggeration:  This makeup job was mind-blowing.

"Beauty Control", indeed.  What was their motto?  "Controlling Beauty Since 1942"?

It was ha-ha funny, but you know?  Deep down, it bugged me.  It's hard to explain.  It was sorta like -- I don't know -- someone messing wtih your wife's face.  Yes.  It felt JUST like that.  And Carolyn was, and is, beautiful. 

Two rules I've always had:  #1: No one messes with Carolyn's face, especially if this violates #2: No one makes her look like she should have a sidekick named "Mr. Slappy" or whatever.

We thought it was bizarre that all her friends would go through the evening as if nothing was amiss, nothing was painfully awry, but, hey, they were being nice.  Nice to her, nice to the Beauty Control Lady.  No feelings hurt.  Just a little charade.

But she got home, where any loving husband would say something, and I did.

Because I love her face.  Her real face.  So we talked about it, looked at it in the bright light, had a good laugh, and then she cleaned off the silliness and went back to the beauty she is.

On Hell, by Brant Hansen

(This is a re-run, at Chris's suggestion, in keeping with the "I'm Not Good at Too Much" theme...)

Theologians debate the nature of Hell: Is it temporary?  Is it eternal?

No, it's two years.  Three, in some states.  Hell is Junior High.

I joined the band in seventh grade.  I chose the flute.

Don't ask.  I don't know why I chose the flute.  I regretted it immediately.  I didn't know I'd be the only guy within a 500 mile radius playing the flute.  Mind you, Assumption, Illinois, has three seasons:  Football season (autumn), hunting season (not sure), and Skoal-chewing season (year-round.)  Of the 60 guys enrolled in the school, 59 played football. 

I played the flute.

I tried to quit.  My mom wouldn't let me.  I remember asking our band director, for marching/parade purposes, to allow me to always march on the interior of the formation.

In Junior High, the only time you succeed is when you don't want to.  I became the First Chair flautist.  I beat out some high school girls for this honor.  You'd think they'd find this alpha-male display attractive.  They didn't.

We practiced in a band-shell arrangement, woodwinds on the lowest level.  The floor was a hard tile, the walls concrete block.  Our band director, Mr. Sesko, had us all together, junior highers and high schoolers, to practice for a big concert.  The room was silent.  Everyone was warmed up.  Silence.

A sheet of music fell off my music stand.

I reached back, through the hole in the metal folding chair, contorting my shoulder a bit to reach the music.  I tipped the chair.  It fell over.  I lay atop the chair, my arm pinned mercilessly between the folded seat of the chair and the back of the chair. 

I couldn't get out.  My body's weight pinned my arm inside, and I couldn't get up because my arm was stuck.  Please know that a folding chair is, essentially, a Chinese trap. 

The room was silent -- except for the clattering cacophony, I mean.  It was loud, as it generally is when a boy is vainly flipping about, kickin' it dying fish-style, clanking a metal folding chair against the hard floor.  No one helped.

I remember looking toward the clarinet section.  Tammy Corzine and Jill DeBrun watched in amazement.  I remember looking up, as I thrashed about, at Mr. Sesko, still on the podium, baton still in ready position, his mouth agape.

No one helped.  Clankety-clank.  Clank.  Clankety-clank.  Clankety-flip-clank-argh-clankety. 

Eventually -- I can't remember how -- but I got loose.  I know I got loose, because I'm not currently wearing a folding chair.  I remember I had to leave for x-rays.  I had to wear my arm in a sling at school.

My mom eventually let me quit playing the flute, but now it's kind of cool to bust it out at some gig.  I now play guitar and I wear some camo stuff.   I can bench press a lot now. 

Where is everybody?

Dave Barry says:  Whoever you were in middle school?  -- that's who you are now, in your mind.  For those who care:  It may help to note that Brant is still wrestling a folding chair.

Stuff that Didn't Happen, Dep't.

Somebody asked me to do this "devotional" thot-thing for some mainstream, well-educated, evangelical, Bible-quoting adults.  I correctly guessed it was to be about God, Jesus, or the Bible. 

(For reference:  At left, I've included a picture of a blurry Bible, superimposed on a pixelated Planet Earth.)

I mentioned we're told to "Fear God" a lot in the Bible, that the actual best English interpretation for the most oft-used Hebrew word for "fear" is actually, strangely, "fear."  As in...you know...fear.

Didn't go over all that well.  I was told we're not supposed to "fear" God, really -- only hold Him in high-esteem.  We're supposed to "fear", as in like, really be BFF, to the max.  That kind of fear.

I mentioned that sometimes our theology interferes with actual revelation.  Like maybe we mentally fashion a God who's not supposed to be feared, really, so we ignore what scripture says.  Mentioned that God will do what He wants, regardless of what we think He's supposed to do. 

Like when He strikes people dead in the Bible.

"No, he doesn't do that," I was told.  "That doesn't happen in the Bible."

I mentioned several instances where it does, including scripture references.

"No.  God didn't do that."  End of discusson. 

So how's your fantasy football team lookin'?

The Tyranny of Mattering

"Laughter is the closest thing to the grace of God."

-- Karl Barth

Two things I know about the world:

1) Everything matters.

2) This can be a real problem.

It wasn’t always this way for me. I was taught, via hymns like “Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus”, that only one thing mattered: God. Everything else was to “grow dim”.

But, like Flannery O’Connor, and probably you, I now see that it’s precisely because of God that everything takes on meaning. Everything is interesting. Everything matters. Nothing grows dim. It’s all fascinating. I’m serious.  Snails and snorkeling and quarks and quarter-notes; Shakespeare and shrubbery; neural paths, base paths, mud, Mongolia, and melody;  linguistics, light, and Liechtenstein; gravity, garbage; corpuscles, Cassiopeia, and Captain Crunch.

Everything matters.

And this is a problem, because, like Oscar Wilde noted about a rival worldview to Christianity, Marxism, it "takes up too many spare evenings.”  So much to be serious about! To be angry at!  So much injustice!  So much suffering!  So little time!  Do something!  Panic!

This is a real problem if you are prone to taking yourself too seriously, like, say -- oh, let me think -- me.

And hey, maybe I've had it right, this serious-taking, right?   Two reasons to be duly burdened, for starters: There’s suffering everywhere. And I’m a moral failure. That's quite enough, but there's more where those two came from, like mortality, nuclear proliferation, the Dolphins' draft strategy, etc.

And then we’re supposed to be like Jesus, right? And wasn’t Jesus the “man of sorrows”?

But this is where I’ve been changing my thinking. Forgive me for being late to the party. I’m now thinking that Jesus was the Man of Sorrows because he had to carry everyone’s burden in a very specific way. This is not something I am asked to do.  He did it.

And I’m also noticing -- I knew this, but never knew it -- that Jesus loved to party. In fact, his favorite topic was, in a way, the ultimate party. To the Jews, hungry ancient-types that they were, the Kingdom of God would ultimately be about food and drink and laughter and storytelling and reunion, and yet more food and drink.  With, like, actual alcohol.

We have no record of Jesus ever turning down a party.

My mom used to tell me to lighten up.  She was first of a long line.  I’m intense. I can’t help it. God made me intense, dangit.  But I’m trying to be intense about lightening up.

Our motley church group here is a party waiting to happen.  (We were musing about logos and marketing mottos:  "Our church is your church's party.")  Seriously:  We all love subversion, and man, there’s something subversive about joy.

Oh, yes, everything matters. Everything's interesting.  And, when you get right down to it, you know what? 

Everything is pretty dang funny.

Ironically, This May Tick You Off

(Here's something I wrote awhile back.  And if I'm wrong here -- I can always be glaringly, spectacularly wrong -- please tell me how.  I should note here I write as someone who wants to follow Jesus's example in how he dealt with people, and as someone who believes God uses the Bible to instruct us with wisdom.  Without that as a background, the following will make no sense.)

You're not allowed to be angry at George W. Bush.

I'm serious.  You're not allowed.  This is not because George W. Bush is not Evil Incarnate, even though he isn't not...not not Evil Incarnate...or not...or whatever.  You're not allowed to harbor anger toward anyone...including me, for saying this.

I don't think lots of people agree with me on this.  I sense this, because lots of people say, "I don't agree with you on this."  I've got antennae for subtlety like that.  I pick up on things.

Typical:  This entry from something called "Nehemiah Notes", an online devotional, dealing with anger.  The writer gives what I think is the reigning understanding:  anger's pretty damn good, sometimes:

There is also a positive, even essential, side to anger. I doubt that we ever accomplish anything fruitful when anger isn't part of our motivation, on a certain level at least.

We don't ever accomplish anything fruitful without anger?  WOW, devotional-writer dude.  Here's an example of how we retrofit actual scripture with our current embrace of anger-culture:

Ephesians 4 (NIV translation)

"In your anger do not sin" Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold

Ephesians 4 (The Message paraphrase version)

Go ahead and be angry. You do well to be angry--but don't use your anger as fuel for revenge. And don't stay angry. Don't go to bed angry.

I like Eugene Peterson -- the guy who wrote The Message -- but...sheesh.  "You do well to be angry"?  That ain't in the original, folks.  That's the updated version, hope you like it better. 

Remarkably, Peterson does this, knowing that just a couple sentences later, it says, "Get rid of all bitterness, rage, and anger".  Get rid.  All.  Anger.  "You do well to be angry"?

God is "allowed" anger, yes.  God is also allowed vengeance -- but it ain't ours.  We're not allowed it, I believe, because we stand as guilty as whomever is the target of our anger.  God?  He doesn't.

We positively love "righteous anger".  The operational definition of "righteous anger", of course, is the anger that I, Brant Hansen, feel, usually because I'm ticked that somebody done me wrong.  It helps that we humans are experts at casting ourselves as victims, and re-writing narratives that put us in the center of injustices.  And we can re-paint our anger or hatred of someone, like a President, into a righteous-looking work of art.  And yet, in Jesus' teaching, there is no allowance for "Okay, well, if someone really is a jerk..."  We're flat-out told to forgive.

Anger is very easy.  Love is very difficult.  Upon hearing my ideas on anger, one bright person told me today, "I don't get it.  What about the guys who beat up the homeless people in Fort Lauderdale?  That's got to make us righteously angry!" 

My understanding is this:  We're to grieve this stuff, and be motivated to pursue justice, and to defend the vulnerable.  The problem with anger:  According to the radical teaching of Jesus, I stand as guilty, morally, as these guys who beat up homeless people.  I asked the guy, "How long do you think you're allowed to keep this anger?"  He said something like, "You can keep it for a little while."

We can keep it awhile.  Sounds...reasonable.  I just can't back it up.

In Proverbs, anger is always -- not sometimes, always -- associated with foolishness, not wisdom.  The writer recognizes that anger may visit us, but when anger finds a residence, it's "in the lap of fools." 

Harboring "justified" anger, towards a President, your neighbor, your spouse, your deceased father -- whomever -- is foolishness.  And foolishness destroys.

I get angry.  Can't avoid it.  But anger can't stay here.  I can't try it on.  I have to take it to the Cracks of Doom, like, NOW, and drop that thing, much as I want to wear it awhile.   This silly LotR analogy breaks down quickly, though.  There's not a single, hyper-destructive "One Ring".  There's like...six billion.

This TV Appearance Didn't Go So Well

This morning, I guest-hosted a TV show.  I should not have done this.

It's like a local "Today" show, complete with the coffee mugs, the faux-home setting, interviews, male-female interaction, etc.  Except UHF-style.  It's called something like, "Good Morning, Florida".

(I'm not really cut out for TV.  My friends were amused as my very nice female co-host leaned in toward me to talk, and I practically slid off the chair the other direction.  Body language:  Someone.  Help.  Me.)

It's an hour long.  This morning's topics:  Feng-shui decorating, and hair.  Let's see:  Television, feng-shui, and hair.  Right up my alley.

Horrors:  The hair people didn't show up, so it was a double-segment of feng-shui.  That may have made me a little slappier than normal.  And that our Feng-Shui guests were devoid of senses of humor.  Sometimes, when you hang out with people like that, it makes everything slappier still.  I don't know what got into me.

Actual conversations -- none of this is made-up:

Feng-Shui Person:  ...and that's why you should never put anything in your room that blocks the positive life force.

Me:  Like, say, my sweat socks?

(No one laughs.  Awkward pause)

Feng-Shui Person:  Uh...no.  It's important to (blah blah blah) ...and so all life must be affirmed in a positive energy environment.

Me:  So...where do I put my mounted deer heads?

(Long pause, I clear my throat.)

Feng-Shui Person:  Well...the Chinese really have never done that.  The Chinese sought the power of Chi.

Me:  So, they weren't very good hunters.

(Pause.  I shift in my chair.  Pause.)

(later)  Feng-Shui Person:  ...and so the stove is the economic center of the home.

My co-host lady:  So how do we magnify that?

Feng-Shui Person:  We use mirrors!  Place mirrors behind the stovetop to reflect the positive productive energy of the --

Me:  Oooh!  That would make it look like I have ACRES of bacon!

Not sure if I'll be asked back.

Kickin' it Krusty-Style with Lenny S.

So I was hard at work at my desk when our receptionist buzzed me. 

“A ‘Len Sweet’ on line 3 for you, Brant.”  Len Sweet? 

I threw one more spear, and then remembered I’d sent Leonard Sweet an e-mail the day before, asking him if he’d talk to me sometime.  I expected an e-mail auto-reply, something to the effect of, “Leonard Sweet is out of the office, thinking about I.S. (Important Stuff) and coming up with S.M.A. (Some More Acronyms) and W.T.Y.A. (Wouldn’t Talk to You Anyway)” but then he calls and says “What’s up?”

a

So, you know, I kicked it with Len. 

a

And you know, Len and I, when we kick it, we always toss around ideas about communicating.  Lenny S. and I always talk relationships, too.  This is not only because Lenny and I value our relationship, of course, but because, like the Leninator always tells me, “Relationships are like catnip to this culture.”

a

We talk about "Christian radio", and I ask him what he thinks about our “target” idea:  We pick a very specific demo profile – this is very common, and it certainly makes programming sense – like, say, a 27 year-old female named Natalie who has a husband named Troy and a part-time job and a 2 year-old son and so forth.  Then, we reflect her interests back to her.  That way, you’re Relevant.  We want to be Relevant.

a

Know what?  Lenster doesn’t really like that.  I picked up on that -- I have finely calibrated antennae for opinion-gathering -- when he said it was stupid.  And “unchristian”, too, which is pretty judgmental-sounding, unless you aim it at an already existing practice of the church, and you’re a cool teacher/writer guy.

a

And the Sweetster?  He is.

a

His point was a good one.  He says that instead of picking a demo, and trying to "reflect" her interests, we should imagine our radio signal – or a church, I suppose – as a refrigerator door:  When people look at it, they find out what we’re all about. 

a

They’re looking for relationship, and they’ve already met them.  They want to know us.  For real.

a

That’s the way actual relationships work.  And when we want people to see the character of Jesus, Jesus will draw people to him, using our authentic, unique, broken voices. 

a

I like that.  But then, I always like it when Leonard Sweet and I kick it.