Trayvon Martin

As I attended the U.S. Senior Golf Open on Friday in Omaha, I pondered. Not about golf or how dumb I was not to apply sunscreen, but about something else. I pondered about my own privilege as a white man in the United States of America.

As I looked around at the spectators and looked at the golfers, I noticed their skin color. And I noticed my own. And I noticed the lack of skin colors other than my own. I'm not a statistician, but it appeared that 99 out of 100 people on the golf grounds were white.

I suppose that when everything seems the same, that's also when things seem very, very different.

So I pondered if it seemed different & odd to anyone else that at this tournament of golf, a sport I love & a sport that is often one of the more exclusive and expensive sports in existence, that there were very few minorities playing or watching. And I pondered if what I saw was actually a microcosm of the world outside of the country club grounds.

And then the Trayvon Martin verdict arrived on Saturday evening.

A decision so racially-charged that there was bound to be opposition and supporters, regardless of whether "guilty" was prefaced by the word "not" or simply left to stand alone. It didn't surprise me that there was outrage, relief, and emotional reactions on social media. What did surprise me was my own response to those reactions. My first thoughts revealed an ugly, disturbing part of privileged ol' me, and showed how far I have to go. Before you right me off, though, promise you'll read to the end...okay? Thanks.

"But maybe they got it right? Maybe the jury did its job?"

Those were my first thoughts. And then I realized. I realized that I have: No. Freaking. Idea. I don't understand what it means to be a minority in America. I don't understand that it might be a complete travesty that a black teen was murdered and no justice was served. I don't understand that it might be saddening, devastating, infuriating as a black man or woman to hear "not guilty." I don't understand that growing up as a minority comes with struggles and injustices that majorities never deal with. I wasn't wearing rose-colored glasses and assuming the best; I was wearing white-colored glasses and seeing only what I chose to see. My own white world.

As I struggle with this understanding that I don't understand, I think I know my response. It's not a response of guilt or shame for being white. It's not a response to fix everything and do racial reconciliation over social media before church at 10 am Sunday morning.

It's simply a response to listen to the hurt & frustration from my black friends. To admit that I don't fully understand. To agree that it's redonculous that a black 17-year old was murdered and there was no jail time involved.

And to marvel at how truly amazing the picture of racial & ethnic reconciliation is in Revelation 7:9. Every nation, tribe, people, & language in unison? God, make it be so.

Gimme! Gimme!

Prayer has kind of always been an enigma to me. From a logistical angle (i.e. how does it work, how often should I do it) to a practical standpoint of things like sitting and trying to keep my mind focused on God, not the truck driving by, my to-do list, or how good Hawaiian pizza sounds (which, by the way, does currently sound delicious). I've worked through many of my obstacles of praying, but today as I was trying to spend a focused fifteen minutes talking to God, I ran into an old problem.

I didn't know what the "right thing" to pray was.
I didn't know how to say what I wanted to say.
I tried repeating God's name. I tried speaking candidly. I tried the stream-of-consciousness technique. Nothing seemed to work...and then I realized there was a deeper issue than simply my "style."

I had made prayer all about me.
I had made prayer into a Santa wish-list.
I had made prayer about an agenda...my agenda.

The fact is, it's not all about me. Like this blog title says, my life is not my own. But somehow, I've allowed myself to place mirrors around me, so that everywhere I go, my world conveniently looks like...well, me. And my prayer life reflected that. Every time I prayed, I sprinted into my conversation with God, screaming out what I needed and wanted. "Gimme, gimme! I want that!" And the fact is, God is not a genie, or Santa, or anything else like it.

I'm definitely not saying we should come timidly to God with requests. And yes, there is importance in asking, seeking, and knocking (Luke 9:11). God gives good gifts to those ask (Matthew 7:11). But there's even more importance in simply worshipping the one who gives those gifts. It feels like, at least for me, there is something crucial to acknowledging how good God is before pouring out my requests.

So I did.

When I began to view God not as the means to an end, but instead the means and the end, it changed my whole view of the purpose of prayer. It allowed me to see prayer primarily as a time to sit with God, not talk at God. It really is like that beautiful (but sometimes cheesy) song "The Heart of Worship": "And it's all about you, it's all about you, Jesus."

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name...

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

Before I've even typed a word, or even thought about what I'm going to type, I'm sorry. Sorry for what? Funny thing is...I'm not even sure, either. It could be because the blog post isn't as good as you expected, because you didn't have time to read it but you did anyways, or just because you have a stomache while you're reading this, which is completely unrelated to the post.

You see, I feel sorry about a lot of things. I feel guilty and that things are my fault the majority of the time, even if it's out of my control.

• I'm really sorry to ask you this [insert close friend's name]...but can I borrow a Q-tip? If not, no problem...I'll just find a stick from the woods to clean out my ears.
• Can I borrow a celery stick from you [insert loved one]? I haven't eaten for several days because my bank account is empty...I promise I'll pay you back. Maybe just half a celery stick?
• I'm so sorry you got the flu [another close friend]...I should've bought you vitamins last year so you wouldn't get sick. I guess in a way, it's my fault.
• To the state of Texas, I just want to apologize for the drought. I had half a glass of water that I didn't finish at a restaurant once...I owe you guys big time.

Okay, so those are a little extreme, but a real-life situation might look like this:

Excuse me, Jesus... I messed up again. I feel horrible, so in order to not inconvenience or bother you, I'm just going to slink away and try to deal with my faults on my own. Sorry. sorry.

Frankly, I'm tired of believing that. So I'm fighting against the belief that everything is my fault, that I'm annoying people constantly with my presence, or that I'm an inconvenience. If it is my fault, the people who love me will give me grace to try again. The same goes for my relationship with God. I've heard over and over again that God's love has no bounds and that His grace does not have a limit. Well, it's time to start believing it. Time to let it travel from my noggin to my heartstrings. Time to see that His promises of grace in the Bible aren't just words, but love letters to each one of us.

Does that excuse me from seeking to live like Jesus? Absolutely not. But I don't have a problem with realizing that I'm imperfect, that I make mistakes all the time, or that I have the potential to let others down. I have a problem with realizing that I can't possibly be loved any more or any less by a God who is already so infatuated with me. There are times for apologies and reconciliation...but there are also times for freely living in grace.

So for those who live with a guilt/burden complex like me...let it go. Those who truly love you won't stop loving you because you make mistakes. Neither will Jesus. Jesus loves you. Is that cheesy? Kind of. But I sure as heck am gonna believe it with all that I am.

Hope you enjoyed the post. If not, forgive me...I'll try again. But I'm not sorry :)

Stop defending

I love reading the reviews of music albums on Amazon. Both the good ones and the bad ones are helpful, but a lot of times I read some debate-starting reviews.

Exhibit A: Mr. Allen writes of Owl City, "When one of your favorite artists crosses over into the dark side and fills his song with Christian innuendo, it's time to jump ship. What a shame."

Now, I'm a fan of Owl City. I like the sound of the synthesizer thingy, the flashing lights in the music videos, and the way that my foot starts tapping every time his song starts playing. It also just so happens that he's someone who sings about positive messages and hopeful things...and yes, he is a Christian, so once in awhile some Christian messages get into his music. My initial reaction was to get a little annoyed with the anti-Christian comment.

But as I scanned down the 15 or so responses to his review, some mild and others pretty fiesty, I realized something: Christians, myself included, feel like we need to defend Jesus. Like Peter in the Garden of Gethsemane, our first reaction is to draw our sword and start swinging at any attackers of Jesus, because we are supposed to protect Him, right? We are his warriors, correct?

Maybe not. I completely believe that I need to take a stance when someone tries to force me go against what I believe--abandoning Jesus in order to perhaps do the more popular thing isn't what God wants. But I don't think that kicking and screaming about what we believe gets us anywhere. Commenting "goodbye and good riddance" to Mr. Allen for not liking Owl City anymore doesn't do any good. Picketing with signs displaying "God hates fags" doesn't help express what Jesus was all about. Yelling at an atheist and spouting reasons he should believe in God doesn't make him or her suddenly believe in God.

So my fellow Christians, let's stop trying to be Jesus' machine gun and instead start being His hands and feet instead. Let's have conversations about difficult issues--without proclaiming (or thinking) "SINNER!!" Let's start letting God do the talking, instead of drowning Him out with our own arguing.

And to my friends who aren't Christians, I apologize for the times that I've sounded condescending, arrogant, or downright hateful by trying to "defend" Jesus. My hope and prayer is that you see the true God I love because of, and sometimes despite, what I do and say.

Blessings

BG

Moses and Fundraising

Wait, you want me to speak to this rock? And water is supposed to come flying out? Enough for the whole community to drink? Couldn't it just rain instead? Are you sure?

If I were Moses, those would be my questions after God told him to speak to the rock in order to bring water for the thirsty Israelite community (Numbers 20:1-13). And after Moses grabs the staff, just as God commanded him to, he speaks. But instead of speaking to the rock, he speaks to the Israelites, then gives a couple of good Babe Ruth sized swings to hit the rock. Water comes spewing forth and everything's good...right?

Then why does God get angry at Moses in verse 12? Because "you did not trust in me enough to honor me as holy in the sight of the Israelites..."

I've been fundraising this summer to be an InterVarsity Ministry Intern at Creighton University next year, and I write this after several days of cancelled appointments, little money raised, and a general feeling of discouragement during the process. Doubts and fears, both deep and superficial, begin to creep in: Is it something I'm saying that's turning people off? Maybe they weren't a fan of my haircut...or maybe I had spinach in my teeth?!? What if I don't reach the fundraising goal?

Frankly, it's easy to start feeling like I need to start doing more. I need to re-evaluate how I ask for support. I need to find more people who would consider supporting the ministry. I need to send more letters out. While there is a large element of work and planning during fundraising, what is often near the end of my list is my need to trust in God enough. The reason that God got upset was not because Moses hit the rock, but because Moses seemed to forget the multiple ways that God had provided for the Israelites. The Passover was pretty amazing. The Red Sea doesn't usually part for pedestrians. Manna, in quantities enough for one day's worth of food, doesn't often fall daily from the sky in the desert. Over and over, God had taken care of Moses and his community. Yet Moses still wasn't quite sure. And many times, neither am I.

God's done plenty of things in my journey to Creighton to earn my trust in Him: a home to stay in (for free) for the year instead of an apartment, a good friend as my supervisor instead of someone I don't know, and support from people who I didn't think would even give a dime! The benevolence from our great Provider and Father is all around...I just need to remember it.

I will say that fundraising will never replace taking 30 minute catnaps and eating a Cool Mint ice cream cone on my "Top Ten Things to Do In the Summer" list. Fundraising is not one of my favorite things...but is an invaluable tool. Why? Because it is about so much more than green pieces of paper with presidents on the back and getting enough support to be on campus. It's about the trust that I choose to have in Him, even when things don't look so swell, as well as about walking with God as go through the whole process.

You may be fundraising for a mission trip to Ethiopia or St. Louis, or perhaps you're trying to gather funds for another year of campus ministry. It could even be that you're not fundraising, but instead fundsaving, trying to figure out how you're going to have enough money to afford another semester of college. Regardless of what the financial situation is, the aspect of money can be distracting--something that threatens to steal your eyes from God and His power, or from life and the joy that comes with it. Sure, fundraising can sometimes be really challenging...but "consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverence" (James 1:2-3).

Work needs to be done in fundraising, and sitting on a couch assuming God will drop a check from the sky probably isn't the thing for me to do. But as I fundraise, my goal now is to trust God to do the providing, and wait for the water to start flowing.

God is good...all the time.

No substitute.

We love substitutes.

Diet Coke instead of regular. Texting instead of calling. A side salad instead of french fries, which is always a good choice if you're trying to eat right. But then comes another substitution. Instead of actually exercising and doing sit-ups, we prefer to invent new ways to get fit, such as strapping an electric belt that painfully shocks us with high voltage pulses--all so we can look like this: Ab Belt. What a cute couple. I prefer the Wii.

I certainly do it. I try to find shortcuts, time-savers, and ways to get the same end result--without actually going through some of the pain in the process. Ask my roommates. Video games, naps, and cramming were often substituted for studying responsibly. But I promise, I don't procrastinate anymore. :)

But there are certain things that can't be substituted for. For example, HyVee generic brand "Honey O's" don't satisfy my craving for Honey Nut Cheerios...not even for the two dollar difference. But seriously, a parent can't substitute a toy for spending quality time with their kids. A stuffed animal doesn't replace the feeling of missing home after a family moves to a new state. Not even a kind word substitutes for a loss of a family member.

How many people would say, "Oh, Mike and I are practically best friends. We hang out when there's a group gathering, I talk about him a lot to my friends that know Mike, I write about Mike on my blog...heck, I even sing songs about Mike! Mike and I don't ever talk alone or one-on-one...I kind of feel weird approaching Mike by myself. I never know what to say, and sometimes I don't know if Mike's actually listening to me. But yeah, Mike and I are best friends." I would hope that doesn't describe your best friends' relationship with you.

Then why do we do that with Jesus?

Replace Mike with Jesus in the passage. I don't know if that hits home for you, but I know that for the longest time, that was my attitude. I figured I could go to church, go to Bible study, talk about Him with others, and sing songs about him without ever actually consistently talking with Jesus. And I wonder why my faith suffers after going a week without having one-on-one time with God...

Try as I might, I can't quite seem to find an effective substitute, a quick-fix of sorts, for it. If there is one thing that I have been learning the past several months, it is this: there is no substitute for spending regular, personal time with God. Not just time with God during church, not just time w/God listening to Chris Tomlin or David Crowder Band, not just time w/God reading Guideposts or watching episodes of Touched By An Angel, and not even just spending time with God as you marvel at His creation...on the golf course with three of your friends.

Just like any other relationship, if it's one that you really want to improve...you spend time with God daily. The time doesn't have to be majestic or prepared, nor do you have to "have things together" or know the right prayers to spend time with Him. Just come as you are. Is every interaction between husband and wife, between two friends, or between a child and their parent majestic, prepared, or perfectly worded? Of course not.

So stop trying to do the same with God. If it helps, this image (though goofy/ridiculous/corny) helped me to think about how I can approach God:

It's Black Friday and the mall, containing seemingly millions of people, is bustling. There are people everywhere, and claustrophobia begins to set in. But then I see the seat. A single seat, in the middle of the food court, at a table separated from the craziness of life. There's a man sitting across the table, though, and as I stare harder, I realize it's Jesus. I'm unsure of what to talk about, what he'll say when I sit down, or even if he'll let me have the seat. I haven't talked to him in awhile. The desire for a respite in this packed mall drives me to the chair. I quietly ask my friend if I can sit down, to which he smiles and nods. I kind of stutter and stammer for words as I stare at the floor, awkwardly asking what he would like to talk about it. I finally catch his gaze, and I see that he's smiling, looking right back at me. "I don't care," he says. "I'm just glad that you're here."

I hope that you read this, then decide that maybe it would be nice to spend some quiet time with Jesus. I pray that you start to really see God as your best friend. And my desire is that you begin to see our God the way He should be seen--ready to talk.

Let's Get Real, Part Deux

I saw this commercial the other day...it went like this:

(Man walks up his wife, who is holding a display case of coins)

Man-- Honey, what do you have there?

Woman-- (Smiling) Well, dear, I just bought this from Goldcoin.com! This, my little Pumpkincake, is a coin collection that looks exactly like one that would be retrieved from Blackbeard's ship at the bottom of the ocean...except this one is completely fake! It's worth absolutely nothing!

Man-- Wow, sweetie! That's great! It looks just like a valuable, precious set of gold coins...cripes, I can practically smell the sea-salt from these fake coins that weren't found in the ocean at all! Who would've thunk it's a piece of crap!?

Woman-- (Still smiling) I know! It's not authentic at all! Why would you want the real thing? It's so much better to just pretend... and the best part about it? It cost the same exorbitant price as if it was authentic! (Couple hug, kiss, then place the worthless case of junk up on their mantle).

Okay, so maybe I dreamed that commercial...

Which do you prefer: An authentic gold coin, or an inauthentic gold coin made of copper? An authentic autographed basketball signed by Michael Jordan, or an inauthentic autographed basketball signed by Michael Jorge, the pizza delivery guy? An authentic friendship with someone who you can share your true feelings, or an inauthentic friendship with someone who you can share what you think they want to hear?

Most of you would probably prefer an authentic gold coin, autograph, or friendship, right? For those of you who prefer inauthentic items, I have some inauthentic pens to sell, used by John Hancock to sign the Declaration of Independence, for a small price of a couple hundred buckaroos.

As I think more and more about authenticity, my ponderings focus on my relationship with the One who already knows the authentic Brendan. I don't quite get why I'm afraid to utter the thoughts I think to God. I mean, I understand authenticity being difficult between myself and others--most people have secrets that they hide from others...I get it. It takes awhile to open up and share struggles, fears, etc. with other human beings who have the ability to take advantage of your vulnerability.

But God?

I act like He's the biggest gossiper around. What if God has connections with TMZ or National Enquirer and spreads around what I told him? Or worse, what if He tells my friends?! Or worser...what if He tells my parents!?

When I was younger, some of my friends and I, being bored youngsters, would approach an electrical fence surrounding the cattle lot. "I triple-dog dare you to touch the fence," one would say. And of course, refusal to touch it would be the worst act one could do. So you do, hoping that the power isn't on.

Getting real with God feels like getting dared to touch an electrical fence, just to see if it's on. If it is, you get hurt, burnt, and probably laughed at. So as I reach my hand towards that fence, I prep for the shock that will surely come: the shock of feeling like if I pray out my frustrations, fears, or sadness towards God, it will only annoy Him, make Him roll His big, cosmic eyes at me, or cause Him to send a lightning bolt and make things harder for me, just to show me that I need to stop complaining.

But that fence is never on with God.

King David, probably my favorite person in the Bible, figured out that praying (or singing Psalms) to God candidly did not result in a huge spanking from our Father above. Our friend Dave had more emotions than Crayola had colors. One day he was feeling Joyous Jazzberry Jam, the next day he was feeling more like Ticked-Off Teal.

Day 1: You have taken from me my closest friends and have made me repulsive to them. I am confined and cannot escape; my eyes are dim with grief. (Psalm 88: 8-9)

then, Day 2: Shout for joy to the LORD, all the earth, burst into jubilant song with music; (Psalm 98:4)

aaaaand Day 3: So my spirit grows faint within me; my heart within me is dismayed. (Psalm 143: 4)

But the crazy thing about David's mood swings is what he says amidst his anguished days, whether he was hiding in caves from Saul or anticipating defeat from enemies:

Day 3: I spread out my hands to you; I thirst for you like a parched land. (Psalm 143:6)

Wait, Davie...I thought you were just dismayed? And yet, your response is seeking God?

David's two-step process: honesty, then faith. Authenticity, then expecting God to show up.

My two-step process is a bit different: a 5 second help me prayer, then freak-out. A glance to the sky, then Googling advice for my probems.

Because even though I know that going to God is the right response, I somehow feel like I'd be bothering Him. Yeah, His yoke is easy and His burden is light...but what if He gets sick and tired of me always bringing the worst of me? Isn't there a limit to how many comments I put in God's comment box?

Yes, we need to go to God with good things and bad things, and no, we shouldn't only complain to God like a whiny 3 year old. But... if we can't come to God with honesty and authenticity, what is it worth? Just as I wouldn't want an inauthentic autograph from Michael Jordan, God doesn't want an inauthentic faith from Brendan George. God doesn't want me to pretend like everything's okay. God wants me to have faith that He's big enough, that He cares enough, that He loves me enough to handle the real me. I feel like God says "go ahead and complain, but have faith that I can deal with it...I'm a pretty good multi-tasker."

And that's my hope. As I seek authenticity, the process is slow. But it starts with one honest conversation. With God, it starts with one "I have no clue what you're doing God...I'm kind of pissed off. But I trust what you're doing" prayer. As scary as it can be, it starts with reaching for that fence.