The King of Southwest Ohio and the Best Things You'll Read All Week

Find the rest here.

by Ben Howard

Reads of the Week

1) When We Are All Working With Seals and Polar Bears by Preston Yancey
"Without regional identity or regional context, the listening for a common language is harder to do, it is harder to find the shortcuts that are still echoes of orthodoxy, or harder still to navigate the careful line between what may be right and true for the church and right and true for the Church."

2) How (Not) to Speak about Oppression by Marika Rose
"There’s a reason why Marx didn’t worry about how the proletariat could get the bourgeoisie on side, why feminists need men like fish need bicycles, and why Malcolm X didn’t spend his time trying to win over white people. But we don’t get to be neutral in the fight for liberation: there is no Switzerland of the class struggle. So what happens when we find ourselves on the wrong side of the quest for justice?"

3) Broadway vs. Community Theater: Why Pastors and Presidents Are Not CEO's by Fred Clark
"The point is that the task for a community theater is the opposite of the task for Broadway. Broadway wants to find and to hire only the very best possible people for every role. Community theater wants to get the best possible contribution from every person in the community."

4) I Don't Want Kids by Emily Maynard
"I’m afraid that I’m not a real woman because I don’t want to have kids. I’m afraid that people will always see me as lesser and pity me. I hate when they tease that my biological clock hasn’t kicked in, and imply that I’m selfish, or that I just don’t understand the beauty of motherly sacrifice. I do! It’s beautiful for some people, but I want to be me, not a walking womb. I want to sacrifice in other ways. I want to take care of the people who are already in the world, not just make new ones!"

5) In Which Words Like "Real" and "True" Mean Things by Sarah Bessey
"We use these words like they are freeing or universal or helpful, but they are forging new chains for a new law.  There is no such thing as “real” woman or a “real” man. If you are a man, you are a real man. If you are a woman, you are a real woman."

Honorable Mention
The Sexiest Missionary Wins by Jamie Wright

Hope for the Military's Sexual Assault Problem by Lauren Rambo

We Need Thicker Skin by Zack Hunt
 
Line of the Week

"Fast and Furious 6 looks like if Axe Body Spray were a movie." - Sammy Rhodes (@prodigalsam)

On Pop Theology Week in Review

Abusing Each Other for a Good Cause by Deb Winiarski
"I didn't like how Karber treated the people on Skid Row, and I did wonder if he had explained his actions before shooting the video. But I also realized that it was not the first time I had experienced that sour, something's-not-right punch in the gut when watching an awareness ad."

On Oklahoma by Ian McLoud
"This is what families do. They hurt together. They cry together. They help together. They build together. Lord, hear our prayer."

I'm Probably Wrong by Ben Howard
"To be more precise I am probably wrong about 90% of things. Except cake. I'm not wrong about cake. Unless, of course, I am. In which case I'm wrong about 91% of things."

10 Lessons from My First Year of Blogging by Ben Howard
On Pop Theology turns 1 and I reflect on what I've learned in the last year.

How is God With Us? by Rebekah Mays
"I have many more friends with less extreme accounts who nonetheless swear by a voice, maybe audible, maybe not, that directs their paths."

Song of the Week

"On My Way" by SHEL (You need to check out this band, they're crazy good!)

Peace, Ben 

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology. 

Contact us at onpoptheology [at] gmail.com. 

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How is God With Us?

by Rebekah Mays

I was about nineteen. There were blue and purple lights flashing around us, and chimes twinkled from the stage. People raised their hands in victorious surrender as we sang, “He loves us,” again and again. There was not a dry eye, as they say.

And then I had some sort of vision. I felt a warm hand on the back of my neck. A man’s chest was in front of me, his arm pulling me into an embrace. But no one was there.

A month later I stupidly tried recounting the experience to a friend of mine who had recently departed from her faith. “I’m not making this up,” I insisted. She looked at me sadly.

I’ve found myself at a few places along the Christian spectrum—Presbyterian, non-denominational, and now Catholic—and as such I’ve encountered a wide range of answers to the question: how do you know God? Once I thought I understood. I thought I could just reach out and grab God like some low-hanging fruit, or that I could sit with him at a bistro and chat over a latte, but now I’m not so sure.

I heard a story from one of my acquaintances that a voice told him to get off a train and, without any college education, simply ask for a job at the New York Times. He got it and worked there for twenty years. I’ve known someone who said she healed a stranger’s knee; she said the decayed cartilage suddenly reappeared and the man could walk again. I have many more friends with less extreme accounts who nonetheless swear by a voice, maybe audible, maybe not, that directs their paths.

Naturally, most people outside this evangelical bubble think these more dramatic stories are bogus or delusional, as my friend understandably did when I tried to tell her what I’d seen.

Others, even ones who believe in God and his enduring care for us, are hesitant to label something as “the voice of God.” They see “God-sightings” as an easy way out of responsibility—that waiting for a divine green light before taking action is simply cowardice or immaturity.

I suppose I see both sides.

 

Just a month or so after my strange “vision,” I spent some time at English L’Abri, a religious center started by the late reformed theologian Francis Schaeffer. At lunch one day we spoke about these kinds of dramatic voices and spectacles, and wondered what to make of them. Does God really speak to us this way?

One woman gave what I consider to be a thoughtful response. God can and does communicate to us however he wants, but just as how she wouldn’t go gossiping about some intimate moment with her husband, it’s indiscreet for us to broadcast our deepest and most tender spiritual moments to others.

I’m still learning myself, and I’m not about to prescribe one way of communing with the Almighty, but there’s something to be said for not waiting around for the Will of God to magically grace our heads while we sleep when we could be acting on what we already know he wishes us to do. Sometimes our religious fanfare keeps us from doing these things; loving one another, serving our communities, and doing our work ethically and faithfully. At the end of the day I don’t know how much God cares that I chose Barnard College over St. John’s. He would be with me either way.

At the same time, it’s all too easy to live as if what we see is all there is. There’s something very powerful about stopping, listening, and looking for the moments of wonder and mystery when so many of us board the train with our ear buds in, when we're the first ones out the door when it enters the station. And we do know from scripture that the Holy Spirit is with us, interceding for us and guiding us, even when we don’t ask for it. In the words of Francis Schaeffer, God is there, and He is not silent.

That’s one reason why regularly partaking in the sacraments is so important: the joining of the mundane with the magnificent. It lifts our eyes to the heavens, but reminds us that what’s around us—the kneeling people, the wooden benches, the flowers on the altar—they are good. When we spend our days anxious over whether that image was a heavenly vision or hallucination, our broken foot a plot of the devil or an unfortunate coincidence, we lose valuable time which we could be using to actually live.

So we should listen, marvel, and pause. We should move and pray and praise. We should sing when we can’t keep it in anymore and we should take responsibility for our choices. We need to live our sometimes painfully boring lives, taking joy in the fact that following the way of God is so much more wonderful than straining to hear a thin voice through a tin can.

Rebekah Mays is a Barnard College graduate originally from Austin, Texas. She currently works and writes in New York City. You can find more of her writing on her blog Iced Spiced Chai or follow her on Twitter @smallbeks.

You can also follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology.

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10 Lessons from My First Year of Blogging

 by Ben Howard

A year ago today I posted a rambling 300 word post about why it was important to talk about theology and pop culture. Later that day I posted a longer, even more rambling post about the importance of the show Community. I've never read either post in the last calendar year and, to be honest, neither should you. I'm sure they're quite terrible.

Nevertheless, those two posts launched On Pop Theology and today we're celebrating the one year anniversary with our 291st post. Obviously, a lot has happened between then and now. So in celebration of a year of writing I want to share 10 lessons I've learned from my first year of blogging.

10) Writing is therapy.

I've heard this a lot and it's kind of cliche, but it's also entirely true. Over the past year, I've used this space numerous times to process complex and competing emotions. Yesterday's post, where I literally talked to myself, is probably the most obvious example, but I've also worked through issues of identity, tragedy, frustration and anger in posts here. Thank you for indulging me, I hope they helped you too.

9) Famous people are people too.

It's easy to forget that the people on TV and the people in movies and the people who write books and sing songs are actually real people. It's easy to project a lot of emotional baggage onto them and make them "mean" something. I've written about a lot of celebrities, I even had one write back, and it's made me more conscious of the fact that just because someone has a high profile, it doesn't mean they stop being a person.

8) I have no idea what people like.

If you've blogged yourself, you know that it's a rush when one of your posts becomes popular. As a result, the chase for page views can become intoxicating and addictive. I've had periods where I chased popularity and the lesson is I learned is that I have no idea what's actually popular. I've worked hard on posts for days that fall flat, and I've written posts in 20 minutes that explode. I really have no idea why some things are popular and others aren't so I've started to listen to the following advice...

7) Embrace your weird.

My friend John sent me a link to a lecture a few months back. The speaker was talking to a group of video game designers and his advice to them was that instead of searching for popularity or trying to "be creative" they simply needed to embrace their weirdness. This is the advice I've started giving to contributors and it's advice I've tried to heed myself. If you want to write about obscure Austrian poets, do that to the best of your ability. I mean, we spent three days talking about an obscure basketball player and atonement theory last week. Weird is good.

6) It's okay to be wrong.

If I went back and read everything I've written over the past year, I'm sure I'd find some posts that I don't quite agree with anymore. Guess what? That's part of life. Ralph Waldo Emerson once said that "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds." A thoughtful, honest inconsistency has allowed me to learn from my mistakes. In one post, someone said they thought I was being racially inconsiderate. I didn't intend to be, but through conversation I made a friend who has lead me to some excellent resources on racial issues that I didn't know before.

5) Don't take yourself too seriously.

Everybody needs to laugh and be silly. Reality can be a rough, messed-up place and sometimes the only appropriate response it to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Certainly, there are times to be serious and humor can be difficult if used in the wrong ways, but we could all use a little more laughter.

4) It's fun to create with friends.

If I had to run this site by myself, I'm pretty sure I would've stopped a few months back. While I love writing and trying to be creative, my favorite aspect of this site is working with my friends to record the podcast and write posts. My favorite memories of the last year have all involved creating things with my friends. If you're one of the 29 blog contributors or one of the 16 voices heard so far on the podcast, thank you, I love you, and you're amazing.

3) You can have real friends on the Internet.

It's crazy I know, but I love how many people I've gotten to know through the blog and Twitter. Nothing beats a good old-fashioned friend in the same city, but Internet friends you're pretty awesome too. I have yet to meet most of you, but hopefully we'll cross paths somewhere along the way. Thanks!

2) The grind is worth it.

Blogging is fun, but it's also a grind. For a while, I would beat myself up if I didn't post for a day or if I missed my deadline (which I am currently in the process of doing), but once I freed myself from my own hang-ups and restrictions a lot of that stress fell away. The grind really is worth it. I can tell my writing has improved, even if it still has a ways to go. I can tell that writing is shaping the way I view the world and is even, I hope, helping me to be a better person. It can be rough and it can be frustrating, but it's worth it.

1) Doubt and vulnerability are more useful than anger.

I've written or outlined a lot of posts while angry or frustrated and I inevitably go back to them when I've calmed down and find myself disappointed in the approach I was planning to take. Righteous indignation can be necessary and trust me, I'm not short of issues that raise my ire, but I've learned that vulnerability and doubt are far more valuable tools for conversation. Righteous indignation may be useful to rally the troops, but it is limited in its strategic usefulness. This is the most important lesson I've learned from blogging and one I want to work on more in the next year. I want to write with more humility and less arrogance, more vulnerability and less rage. I want to write that way because I think it's just a better way to be.

I'd love to hear your favorite memories from the last year, whether you're a contributor or a reader. What have you learned? What do you hope to see in the future?

Peace,
Ben

Ben Howard is an accidental iconoclast and generally curious individual living in Nashville, Tennessee. He is also the editor-in-chief of On Pop Theology and an avid fan of waving at strangers for no reason. You can follow him on Twitter @BenHoward87. 

 

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology.

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I'm Probably Wrong

by Ben Howard

"I'm probably wrong."

"Wrong about what?" I ask myself.

"Oh! Everything...probably. At least most things. To be more precise I am probably wrong about 90% of things. Except cake. I'm not wrong about cake. Unless, of course, I am. In which case I'm wrong about 91% of things."

"I don't think you're wrong about cake," my interior monologue counters.

"But what if I am? I mean, I don't think I am, but that's kind of the point isn't it? Nobody knows that they're wrong until they realize that they're wrong. You can only be wrong after the fact. Well, actually you were wrong all along, but you thought you were right and that was the only thing you knew. You only perceived yourself to be right. Maybe my perception about cake is entirely wrong."

"I don't think this is actually about cake. Unless it's about the band Cake in which case I think you take late-90's alt-rock far too seriously."

"You're right, it's not about cake. It might be about Cake, or at least the pyrrhic quest of the protagonist in 'The Distance'. I just wonder about the end goal of all the critiques and counter-critiques. It feels like everyone, myself included, is striving for some version of better/best, but such a pursuit necessitates a belief in a Platonic ideal for religion, for life, for reality in general. What if it's not actually possible to 'be right'? What if it's only possible to 'feel right'?"

"Are you saying there is no truth? No right answers? I don't know if I agree with that, it's a pretty bleak way to view the world. Also, are you stealing this artistic convention from Chuck Klosterman?"

"I'm not saying that there isn't a truth that underlies the universe. I believe in God and I believe God is the truth the underlies the universe, but I also believe that we can only ever see God through a glass, darkly. As a result, our perception of truth and reality will always be fuzzy and slightly askew. I guess it's more than a binary distinction between right and wrong, that false duality may be what's causing so much frustration. And yes, I am stealing this from Klosterman, but he probably stole it from someone else who stole it from someone else who ultimately stole it from Plato, so I feel like I'm in good company."

"I understand. It does serve as a useful vehicle to just openly say things you're trying to process."

"Exactly! I'm glad you understand."

"So what brought on this whole right/wrong existential crisis?"

"Christian leaders saying stupid things. To be more specific, my arrogant responses to Christian leaders saying stupid things. I realized that I was assuming that my faith, my interpretation was always right and I was judging everything against it. But that faith has changed so much over the last few years, and if I use history as a judge, it will continue to change and shift. My shifting, evolving faith isn't a very good benchmark to hold others to, that's not fair."

"So what should you judge them against?"

"That's exactly the problem I'm encountering. I can't judge them against my believe, because it's always moving. I can't accurately judge them by the Bible, because it's affected by my interpretation. I can't accurately judge them by historical Christianity because it's unfaithful to the contextual nature of faith. So I have to triangulate all of those and it's difficult.

"You could always, I don't know, try not judging them. That whole 'Judge not lest ye be judged' thing."

"I was going to get there eventually. I don't know, maybe some people need the message of Piper and Driscoll. I can't comprehend that, but I also can't comprehend people who like reggae, so maybe my understanding of the world isn't the end all and be all. Yeah, their message can be damaging when it's pushed on people who it doesn't help, but my faith could probably be damaging to someone who needs something stricter and more forceful."

"Could it be possible that the varying expressions of Christianity are all useful to some people in some situations?"

"Yeah, I think it could. Good talk self."

Peace,
Ben

Ben Howard is an accidental iconoclast and generally curious individual living in Nashville, Tennessee. He is also the editor-in-chief of On Pop Theology and an avid fan of waving at strangers for no reason. You can follow him on Twitter @BenHoward87. 

 

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology.

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On Oklahoma

Editors note: I lived in Oklahoma for four years during college and I learned to regard tornadoes as something akin to mythical beasts. They existed, but they were always just far enough away to not be dangerous yet close enough to still be powerful. I had friends who would chase storms for fun and friends who would stay locked inside the bathroom until they heard the all clear. During my senior year, I watched from the balcony of my apartment as a tornado touched down just a few miles north.

Everybody has a tornado story in Oklahoma. But there was always one story that all the natives knew and spoke of in hushed, serious voices: The one that hit Moore in 1999. I remember one of my friends telling me that eight years later Moore was still recovering and that it still had years to go.

And now this. Yesterday, yet another major tornado touched down in Moore and followed much the same path as the one in 1999. 51 were killed including at least 20 children. Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.

Today, as an act of communal lament, we're going to run a piece written by friend Ian who lives in Mustang a few miles west of Moore. After the piece, I'll include several links to places where you can donate/volunteer/give blood. This is what families do. They hurt together. They cry together. They help together. They build together.

Lord, hear our prayer.

by Ian McLoud

At times like this we want to try and make sense of what's happening. Well meaning people will say things like, “God will work through this disaster,” but to those who are living with through the horror of this, it just sounds like empty platitudes. Less well meaning people will find someone to blame whether that someone be God or the people of Oklahoma, or who knows. Blame follows pain. 

While it may be true that God will work through this disaster, that God is to blame or any number of caveats revealed after the fact, all of these responses are the wrong one. They’re wrong because they take away from the pain that is still happening, right now.

At times like this people need to grieve. They need to scream. They need to cry. Let them be angry with God. Let them scream at Him. Allow people to mourn. Allow people, to quote Dr. John Dorian, to “feel their feelings, Turk!” No one can explain why yesterday’s tornado happened. And what good would it do to try? 

During times of disaster, niceties are as useless to our sense of well-being as the carbon dioxide expelled from our mouth in the process. Nothing makes sense in a disaster. Nothing makes sense in a tragedy. 

In the wake of F4 tornadoes, the Boston marathon bombing, the Aurora shooting and countless other tragedies that happen on a daily basis, what can be said that will bring things back to normal? What words can be said to a family that has just lost their house that will make that loss okay or bring their house back from rubble? What words can be said to a grieving parent that will lessen the sting of knowing they will have to bury a child? Were Job’s friends truly of any comfort to him? Does the Psalmist find comfort in knowing that at some point, but not right now, God will take care of his enemies? Job wanted to make sense of his suffering right then and there. The Psalmist wanted immediate action taken against his enemies. Who can offer that to those affected by the tornado yesterday?

It’s human nature to want to do something. So offer an ear to listen. Offer a prayer, a hug, the comfort of your presence. Offer a laugh when it’s appropriate and a shoulder for crying when it’s not. We mean well when we say that God will make something good out of this mess. And maybe he will, but maybe isn’t right now. Right now it hurts. Right now we want to cry. Right now it’s not okay. And that’s okay.

If you would like to donate to disaster relief efforts in Oklahoma, you can text REDCROSS to 90999 to make a $10 donation to the American Red Cross. You can also donate online or call 1-800-RED CROSS to donate by phone. If you know of any further or more specific relief efforts, please leave the information in the comments.

Ian is the Youth and Family Minister at the Lakehoma Church of Christ in Mustang, Oklahoma. You can follow him on Twitter @KindaScottish.

Follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology. 

Abusing Each Other for a Good Cause

by Deb Winiarski

Somewhere in the hallowed hours of last Tuesday night, I checked my Facebook newsfeed before going to bed and saw a video posted by my friend Jennifer. I clicked it because she said it was ironic, and I love me some irony.

As I watched LA-based video producer Greg Karber throw shirts and jeans at people on the sidewalks of Skid Row, and listened to his narrative of Abercrombie & Fitch-bashing and ridiculous quotes from the company's CEO Mike Jeffries, I cracked a smile. I won't lie; I probably laughed out loud. Like I said, I love irony. I also love to see someone "stick it to the man" in a creative way that gets people to pay attention to things that we usually ignore or don't even bother to learn about.

But there was a sour turning in my gut as the video came to a close and Karber encouraged people to scour their closets and neighborhood thrift stores for discarded A&F clothes, and donate them to homeless shelters or other organizations that serve those who are not A&F target clients. And even though something didn't quite feel right, I clicked share and went to bed.

The next day, I started following the wildfire blaze of support and back-lash generated by the video's viral campaign. Apparently a lot of people out there don't much like the Abercrombie & Fitch crowd either. People seem to like spreading the word that Mike Jeffries is as much of a jerk as the kids I used to make fun of with my friends in high school. We sat on the front lawn eating by the flag pole instead of trying to vie for lunchroom seating among the "cool kids" who were often seen sporting the A&F logo, along with their "why-are-you-breathing-my-air" looks of disdain.

But I also came across people who protested Karber's actions and labeled him a "douche bag" of a different breed, but of the same caliber as Jeffries. Karber, they said, instead of trying to exclude the "un-cool" was using them to his own ends, and only including them as token pawns in his personal slur against a corporation that he does not like.

As I read such protests against the #Fitchthehomeless campaign, I recalled that sour taste in my mouth from watching the video and realized I shared those concerns. I didn't like how Karber treated the people on Skid Row, and I did wonder if he had explained his actions before shooting the video. But I also realized that it was not the first time I had experienced that sour, something's-not-right punch in the gut when watching an awareness ad.

That feeling I got last Tuesday night, I've also felt it when opening my mail and finding some charity's flier with a dying baby on the envelope. I've felt it in my gut when a Save the Children commercial interrupted my late-night movie marathon. I've even felt that kick in the gut when I looked at a magazine rack and saw some blood-spattered woman weeping over the limp body of her dead husband or brother or sister or parent, etc.

I realized that this feeling comes up when I encounter someone trying to help the marginalized, disenfranchised and abused people of the world with methods that seem voyeuristic and disrespectful. Then it got me thinking about Jesus.

Jesus often called people from the margins into the spotlight to make others aware of their situation and of his power to change it. From the woman with the blood disorder who only wanted to fade back into the crowd, to the man with the shriveled hand, to the widow and her tiny offering that was pointed out to all the people listening, Jesus used people who were outcasts and socially-discarded to prove his point. But he did it in a way that never compromised the humanity and God-breathed dignity of the person he was helping.

In fact, Jesus' actions and words usually brought people's innate value out more for others to recognize. The woman with the blood disorder was not only made clean, she was declared to have the kind of faith that set people free and healed them. The man with the shriveled hand was healed, but he also became a symbol of Jesus' lordship over the hypocritical power-mongers of his day. The widow's offering of two meager coins was exalted from social shame to the greatest sacrifice made in the temple that day.

Furthermore, even when Jesus was blatantly insulting someone or using irony to point out others' foolishness, he did it in a way that did not detract from anyone's dignity as children of God. Jesus always saw people first, before issues. That's the kind of charity that won't leave a bad taste in someone's mouth... well, except for maybe the ones doing the abusing.

We live in a society where it is easy for many of us to go our entire lives without talking to someone who makes us feel uncomfortable about how we use our resources and energies. In fact, the Abercrombie & Fitch slogan boasts itself to be "Authentic American clothing since 1892." The very fact that they can get away with saying that they are authentically American while making money by excluding people on the basis of skin color, ethnicity, weight, age, and socioeconomic situation speaks volumes to the actual state of our culture.

But, beyond that, what about those of us who are only willing to step outside of our comfort zones if it means a feel-good spring break, or a fabulous Instagram photo op for our troubles? Why do we have to work so hard to find the people who need our "help"?

Jesus just turned around and saw them standing in his neighborhood, found them in the places where he hung out, and met them on the street where they lived. The irony is that we tend to get annoyed with the people who use and, yes, abuse others in order to promote their own causes and campaigns; yet, should we not also be up in arms over the fact that many people need such viral videos in order for them to be motivated into action? By sharing these things and reacting to their presence in our virtual reality, we are spending time and energy perpetuating the spirit of voyeurism without having any real obligation to get out from behind our digitized screens and give someone a real helping hand.

Maybe Mike Jeffries is a douche bag because he doesn't want to sell clothing to people who don't fit his idea of cool and beautiful. Maybe Greg Karber is a douche bag because he tossed unwanted clothes to people on the street whom he judged to be homeless, and made a show of it without telling us their stories, or even their names.

But maybe I'm a douche bag because I laughed at them both, shared a video that made me feel like I was making a statement against cruelty and injustice, but then rolled over and went to sleep in my nice warm bed without even a thought for the person who was spending the night under the bridge less than a mile from my front door.

Ironic? Yeah.

Deb is currently working on her Master's of Divinity at Lipscomb University in Nashville. According to Facebook she likes The Bill Cosby Show. You can follow her on Twitter @the_deeb, but I wouldn't since she hasn't tweeted for about 2 years.

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology.
 
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