We live in a very celebrity driven culture. Its certainly a form of idolatry and we have many idols in America. We sometimes look at ancient cultures with a sense of snobbery believing that their worship of carved images was incredibly primitive and odd. All the while we exalt plenty of images ourselves.
We figure it to be harmless and at the same time can’t explain to ourselves why we are so enthralled by these people with whom we don’t have a personal relationship. Their personal matters get exposed in every tabloid and then shared with millions upon millions of people who for whatever reason actually care. Its not that these famous people aren’t important; its that they are just as important as the person sitting next to you at the restaurant whom you know nothing about.
The problem with society is that the people start to internalize the structure of whose important and whose not. Or more importantly, whose “cool” and whose not. Next thing you know we have this stratosphere that categorizes every single person. Such a hierarchy produces two attitudes.
The first person realizes that they are not far enough up the ladder and thus doesn’t realize their inherent worth and beauty. This is often classified as a lack of self-esteem, and biblically you would say that this person doesn’t realize the value of being made in the very image of God. Melissa has shared with me that in her teenage years, she would read “People” and had a sort of obsession with it. She also perpetually felt poorly of herself during that time. This is the kind of thing the culture drives. However, this by no means is relegated merely to the “ordinary” person. Many people that have attained an impressive level of fame have had one failure and then perceive themselves as very unimportant subsequently treating themselves poorly, even to the point of suicide.
The second attitude that is created is arrogance. A person attains a certain level in the stratosphere and feels accomplished enough to put everyone else down. They embrace the thought that they are more important and let others know it. They’re self-absorbed jerks. They take upon themselves to be the enforcers of the entire system; not realizing that their own pursuits are only producing a counterfeit satisfaction predicated on the belittling of others.
This is something that I’ve been praying through and it came up again this weekend as I was praying at the Holy Spirit Conference put on by the Garden. I, like most people, have internalized this whole categorical system. I think for many Americans this happens in school. To varying degrees this enculturation was happening in elementary and junior high for me, but the crowning of my personal stratosphere came in high school. I went to a small K-8 school in junior high and when I got to high school, I was bussed into a two thousand student campus in Paso Robles. I was previously a small fish in a small pond and now I was a small fish in a big pond. I quickly realized who the cool kids were and that was anyone above me in the hierarchy. I would try to do well in sports or make friendship with popular kids in class to move up the stratosphere. If I didn’t make it to the top, that was manageable, so long as I wasn’t on the bottom rung. Those kids were put through hell.
I found Vanguard to be much more inclusive than other campuses and thus felt comfortable to not strive. However, when I moved to Tanzania, a whole new opportunity to engage in the game arrived. Its almost as if a person feels the need to have a resume that says why they are important; why they shouldn’t be kicked off the lifeboat as Donald Miller would say. And whatever impressive aspects of my personal resume would go, they seemed to be overlooked by the glaring reality of “out of sight, out of mind.” People could think the world of me and Treasures of Africa, we could have had a good friendship in the states and all, but with little contact as I was so far away, my success in the stratosphere took a serious hit. This says less about people back in California; I have been learning to accept that this is just the way it goes when one moves away. This is more of a critique on the system itself and the fact that my enculturation into it caused me a significant level of insecurity.
As I shared in previous blogs, towards the end of my first year as a missionary, I began to realize this insecurity of mine. I no longer thought of myself as loved or important to many people whom I previously did receive this affection from. I had even become somewhat envious of the work of some of my Vanguard peers in nearby Uganda, because their work in every right is “cool.” Whereas, the only four Americans involved at TOA are me and three middle-aged women. I felt as though my location and my work had lowered me to the bottom of the ladder.
And yet God works in a whole other framework. His ways are not ours as Isaiah says. Among many wise words that Lydia has shared with me came on Awadhi’s birthday last year. We were sitting at this restaurant where you can view many Tanzanian animals. She told me quite plainly that God isn’t into what’s cool. At the age of 24, such a thought had never dawned on me. I always thought that God was cool. Little did I realize just how deep this internalization of the hierarchy had on me. I took my unbiblical mindset and just added God to it. If the top of the system is cool and God is the greatest, than God must be cool. In reality, cool is merely a label that describes what is popular at the moment within the fallen system. You know what’s cool right now? Plaid. When I left for Tanzania at the start of 2010, no one was wearing plaid. I came back and it looked like Gap opened a Jeff Foxworthy line. A couple years from now, it’ll be something entirely different. God isn’t like that. He’s not into things that are cool. He’s not into our perceptions of whose “in” and whose not. We’re all valuable to Him and He loves all His creation.
Jesus had a very good opportunity to be cool in the midst of His peers. His talents ranged from his craftsmanship as a builder to gifted orator to supernatural healing power. People took notice and crowds would gather to Him. Yet throughout the gospel accounts you see Him evading such gatherings. He’d teach some, but then all of a sudden He’d take off to be by Himself. Better yet, with people all gathered around, He’d say something kooky like “most assuredly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you have no life in you. Whoever eats My flesh and drinks My blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day” (John 8:53-54). Can’t you just imagine a cocky disciple like Peter exclaiming to Him, “Hey! That’s not cool! That‘s messed up, dude.” And yet the truth that Jesus was sharing is an integral piece in following Him.
Bear with me, I was a fan of TGIF growing up. There is this exchange between Shawn and Corey in Boy Meets World that for whatever reason has stuck with me. Corey is having this identity crisis because he realizes how popular Shawn is and he wants to be worthy of their friendship. He’s failing in the hierarchy. Towards the end of the episode, Corey asks Shawn something to the effect of “do you think I’m lame?” and Shawn says “of course not.” Corey gets a confident little smirk and asks “so, you think I’m cool then?” “Of course not,” Shawn replies. “So what am I?” “You’re Corey, I’m Shawn.” Shawn affirmed Corey in something so much stronger than the social structures that we create; he affirmed him in love and friendship. That’s how we ought to be. That’s how God is.
So in the light of my failure within the system of what’s cool and whose important, I asked the Lord a very simple question at the conference yesterday: “who do You say I am?” His response touched me. It affirmed me. It had nothing to do with the people around me that I would perceive as cool. It had nothing to do with that system as a whole. It was a mark of acceptance and was brimming with love, purpose and calling. It took the things I twisted and misunderstood about my identity and unveiled who He’s actually called me to be. It isn’t something that could always be labeled as “cool” but it was certainly good.
We figure it to be harmless and at the same time can’t explain to ourselves why we are so enthralled by these people with whom we don’t have a personal relationship. Their personal matters get exposed in every tabloid and then shared with millions upon millions of people who for whatever reason actually care. Its not that these famous people aren’t important; its that they are just as important as the person sitting next to you at the restaurant whom you know nothing about.
The problem with society is that the people start to internalize the structure of whose important and whose not. Or more importantly, whose “cool” and whose not. Next thing you know we have this stratosphere that categorizes every single person. Such a hierarchy produces two attitudes.
The first person realizes that they are not far enough up the ladder and thus doesn’t realize their inherent worth and beauty. This is often classified as a lack of self-esteem, and biblically you would say that this person doesn’t realize the value of being made in the very image of God. Melissa has shared with me that in her teenage years, she would read “People” and had a sort of obsession with it. She also perpetually felt poorly of herself during that time. This is the kind of thing the culture drives. However, this by no means is relegated merely to the “ordinary” person. Many people that have attained an impressive level of fame have had one failure and then perceive themselves as very unimportant subsequently treating themselves poorly, even to the point of suicide.
The second attitude that is created is arrogance. A person attains a certain level in the stratosphere and feels accomplished enough to put everyone else down. They embrace the thought that they are more important and let others know it. They’re self-absorbed jerks. They take upon themselves to be the enforcers of the entire system; not realizing that their own pursuits are only producing a counterfeit satisfaction predicated on the belittling of others.
This is something that I’ve been praying through and it came up again this weekend as I was praying at the Holy Spirit Conference put on by the Garden. I, like most people, have internalized this whole categorical system. I think for many Americans this happens in school. To varying degrees this enculturation was happening in elementary and junior high for me, but the crowning of my personal stratosphere came in high school. I went to a small K-8 school in junior high and when I got to high school, I was bussed into a two thousand student campus in Paso Robles. I was previously a small fish in a small pond and now I was a small fish in a big pond. I quickly realized who the cool kids were and that was anyone above me in the hierarchy. I would try to do well in sports or make friendship with popular kids in class to move up the stratosphere. If I didn’t make it to the top, that was manageable, so long as I wasn’t on the bottom rung. Those kids were put through hell.
I found Vanguard to be much more inclusive than other campuses and thus felt comfortable to not strive. However, when I moved to Tanzania, a whole new opportunity to engage in the game arrived. Its almost as if a person feels the need to have a resume that says why they are important; why they shouldn’t be kicked off the lifeboat as Donald Miller would say. And whatever impressive aspects of my personal resume would go, they seemed to be overlooked by the glaring reality of “out of sight, out of mind.” People could think the world of me and Treasures of Africa, we could have had a good friendship in the states and all, but with little contact as I was so far away, my success in the stratosphere took a serious hit. This says less about people back in California; I have been learning to accept that this is just the way it goes when one moves away. This is more of a critique on the system itself and the fact that my enculturation into it caused me a significant level of insecurity.
As I shared in previous blogs, towards the end of my first year as a missionary, I began to realize this insecurity of mine. I no longer thought of myself as loved or important to many people whom I previously did receive this affection from. I had even become somewhat envious of the work of some of my Vanguard peers in nearby Uganda, because their work in every right is “cool.” Whereas, the only four Americans involved at TOA are me and three middle-aged women. I felt as though my location and my work had lowered me to the bottom of the ladder.
And yet God works in a whole other framework. His ways are not ours as Isaiah says. Among many wise words that Lydia has shared with me came on Awadhi’s birthday last year. We were sitting at this restaurant where you can view many Tanzanian animals. She told me quite plainly that God isn’t into what’s cool. At the age of 24, such a thought had never dawned on me. I always thought that God was cool. Little did I realize just how deep this internalization of the hierarchy had on me. I took my unbiblical mindset and just added God to it. If the top of the system is cool and God is the greatest, than God must be cool. In reality, cool is merely a label that describes what is popular at the moment within the fallen system. You know what’s cool right now? Plaid. When I left for Tanzania at the start of 2010, no one was wearing plaid. I came back and it looked like Gap opened a Jeff Foxworthy line. A couple years from now, it’ll be something entirely different. God isn’t like that. He’s not into things that are cool. He’s not into our perceptions of whose “in” and whose not. We’re all valuable to Him and He loves all His creation.
Jesus had a very good opportunity to be cool in the midst of His peers. His talents ranged from his craftsmanship as a builder to gifted orator to supernatural healing power. People took notice and crowds would gather to Him. Yet throughout the gospel accounts you see Him evading such gatherings. He’d teach some, but then all of a sudden He’d take off to be by Himself. Better yet, with people all gathered around, He’d say something kooky like “most assuredly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you have no life in you. Whoever eats My flesh and drinks My blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day” (John 8:53-54). Can’t you just imagine a cocky disciple like Peter exclaiming to Him, “Hey! That’s not cool! That‘s messed up, dude.” And yet the truth that Jesus was sharing is an integral piece in following Him.
Bear with me, I was a fan of TGIF growing up. There is this exchange between Shawn and Corey in Boy Meets World that for whatever reason has stuck with me. Corey is having this identity crisis because he realizes how popular Shawn is and he wants to be worthy of their friendship. He’s failing in the hierarchy. Towards the end of the episode, Corey asks Shawn something to the effect of “do you think I’m lame?” and Shawn says “of course not.” Corey gets a confident little smirk and asks “so, you think I’m cool then?” “Of course not,” Shawn replies. “So what am I?” “You’re Corey, I’m Shawn.” Shawn affirmed Corey in something so much stronger than the social structures that we create; he affirmed him in love and friendship. That’s how we ought to be. That’s how God is.
So in the light of my failure within the system of what’s cool and whose important, I asked the Lord a very simple question at the conference yesterday: “who do You say I am?” His response touched me. It affirmed me. It had nothing to do with the people around me that I would perceive as cool. It had nothing to do with that system as a whole. It was a mark of acceptance and was brimming with love, purpose and calling. It took the things I twisted and misunderstood about my identity and unveiled who He’s actually called me to be. It isn’t something that could always be labeled as “cool” but it was certainly good.
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