Category: Issues of Faith

How Your Church Can “Strengthen The Hand” of the Poor

~ ejmcewan ~ Leave a comment

Have you ever been in a room full of educated, middle-class American Christians talking amongst themselves about the “issue of poverty?” They know there is a problem. They know that they have the power and responsibility to address the problem. But, all the passion and commitment in the world cannot force them out of their seats and into action. They have no real, tangible ideas of how to address poverty in their community or around the world.

I am not an expert on poverty. I have never been poor. Sure, I’ve been financially stressed. But I’ve never been truly poor–left with no resources, no safety net, no way to pull myself out, and no one to call for help.

And I’m not an expert on ministering to the poor. Yes, I’ve worked for and among the poor, both in ministry and in my occupation. Sure, I’ve lived within steps of the poor and have had the poor living (quite literally at moments) on my back steps. But, I am still young and naive and don’t have but an ounce of wisdom in how to address the complexities of cultural and institutional poverty.

But, if any of my Christian friends want to know what their churches can do to address the issue of poverty right now, I have a few suggestions.

First, address poverty at its root. Poverty is not as simple as a lack of money or consistent employment. And it is not always (or not only) a result of personal error. It is a complex cultural paradigm and often generations in the making. Solving the the problem of poverty means tackling it at its root, in the systematic injustices and personal failures that perpetuate it. If you really want to pull someone out of a cycle of poverty, you have to get strategic and address a few key issues. Find an issue that you can (or your church can) personally address and commit to it. You may not be able to address it all, but you can certainly do something.

– Educate. During my two-year stint in AmeriCorps, I worked with the Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur, a Catholic order of Sisters whose mission is to share the goodness of God through education among the poor and marginalized. We could learn a thing or two from these and others who are committed–vocationally–to the issue of education among the poor. Without a proper education (at least through high school), the opportunities available to young men and women are limited. Something as simple as after-school tutoring could be a place to start, but perhaps you are capable of more. Other ideas: Start a community school or a co-op; become a teacher at a struggling school system; sit on the School Board; become a high school academic counselor; create a college scholarship program.

– Promote Strong Family Systems. There is a strong relationship between the stability of a family structure and poverty. In 2013, of the 11% of the American population living in poverty, 31% of them were households with a single mother. And, according to the statistics that same year, a married couple is much more likely to avoid poverty in the first place. Seeing as we are now entering an era in which almost half of the babies born are born into unmarried households, this might be an issue that the Church can address. Not by shaming unwed mothers. Not by ousting unmarried families. Not by coercing marriage. But by strengthening existing couples and encouraging healthy relationships, teaching basic conflict management skills, marital counseling, and by encouraging young women to abstain from sex (crazy, I know) to avoid becoming another “poor, unwed mother” statistic. For women (and men) currently parenting alone, churches can provide training in parenting skills and support in the way of daycare and counseling. And, for children who have already become victims of broken families, foster and short-term respite care, as well as adoption (open or closed, through public or private agencies) are great opportunities.

– Improve the Quality of Life and Housing Opportunities. Have you considered the environmental and lifestyle issues that make it difficult for people to move out of a cycle of poverty? The availability of healthy food, access to public transportation options, clean, safe, and well-maintained neighborhoods–they all matter. What if your church started a housing ministry that rented or sold decent homes to low-income families without the mess of government subsidies? Or started a community housing co-op that enabled lower-income members to build equity in shared property? What if you started a community garden that provided fresh produce to local families in need or organized a block watch to promote community-led policing? You can plant trees for increased safety and air quality; you could provide free medical care or health education.

– Teach Job Skills and Provide Employment. What would you do if you wanted to find a job that would provide for your family, but had a minimum education, few employable skills, or possibly even a felony on your record that (in an employer’s eyes) disqualified you from hundreds of available jobs? You or your church can help teach important skills that help secure employment for the otherwise unemployable: computer and technical skills; handyman, carpentry, or maintenance skills; cooking or cleaning. You could also take it one step further and start a business that employs those who have a difficult time finding employment or hire an under-employed person in your community to do odd jobs (at your church or your home) for extra cash to help make ends meet.

– Give Financial Guidance. There are financial skills that some wealthier people take for granted–things they learned from their parents or peers about how to manage their money, how to save money and stay out of debt, or how to make smart investments. Don’t take for granted that other people know these things. Things as simple as how to open a bank account, balance a check book, or pay a bill online might be a mystery to some folks. Without basic financial knowledge and wisdom about managing wealth, a sudden increase in income that comes with new employment can destroy a family’s financial future. Your church can provide something as simple as free financial counseling or as complex as interest-free personal or business loans.

– Fight Institutional Injustice. Sure, plenty of people living in poverty are victims of their own bad decisions. But, many are not. And, regardless of how they got into the mess they are in, there are mountains upon mountains of institutional injustices that can make it feel impossible for them to climb out. Christians should be in the business of pleading the case of victims. Either find a way to advocate for those who are in danger of being further victimized and left with no resources and no support, or use your skills and influence to work within the system to bring justice on an institutional level. The judicial system, banking, legislation, urban planning and community development, immigration–take your pick. Globally, nationally, or locally.

– Soothe the symptoms of poverty. Emergency assistance will not stop the cycles of poverty, but it can soothe the symptoms. And Christians should not be afraid to meet a need where an obvious need exists. Educate yourself about what resources exist in your community, but also consider how you can step in with a more personal touch. I know that a lot of us are afraid of being taken advantage of or being made fools, but churches should be places of hospitality and generosity. You can be wise about the help you offer while still being generous and merciful. Keep healthy boundaries, but keep your doors open–physically, spiritually, and emotionally. Pray that God refines your discernment to know where the real needs are.

 

And, there is the key element here that I haven’t mentioned:
Helping the poor–I mean, really helping the poor–requires knowing not only the “issue of poverty” in a theoretical sense, but actually knowing the poor in a personal sense.

Now, I’m not suggesting that everyone needs to sell everything and move to a characteristically impoverished area, though I think many are called there. And I’m not suggesting that you go out and make friends with poor people out of pity or a savior complex or mere duty. But if you (or your church) realize you are ignorant of the needs surrounding you, then you need to readjust your vision. Walk outside and take a look around. There are hungry, hurting, poor people everywhere. (Yes, even in places where everyone else looks just like you.) And I would venture to say that if you literally cannot find people in need among you, in your church community, or if you think you have to drive across the country or fly across the world to “minister to the poor,” you may be doing something very wrong.

 

Let me leave you with some wise words from a man who worked for 40 years in my neighborhood to “strengthen the hand of the poor” before he sold us his house and moved away to live nearer to his family. As thankful as I am for this home, I think a little more time spent learning from him could have done me some good.

 

“Why was Sodom destroyed? Ezekiel tells us in chapter 16, verse 49: ‘This was the sin of your sister, Sodom: Pride, fullness of bread, and abundance of idleness. Neither did she strengthen the hand of the poor and needy.’

“That’s also why Jerusalem was destroyed.

“And now, with greed as our national virtue, what hope is there for the United States of America? We are afflicted by imperialistic pride, obesity, and entertainment addiction, and we are all called to do our part to ‘strengthen the hand of the poor and needy.’

“‘Strengthen the hand’ is the King James wording. Modern translations say ‘help the poor and needy.’ And there’s a world of difference between the two. Helping the poor = as little as throwing some cash in the Salvation Army bucket at Christmas time. That’s charity. It’s doing for, not doing with.

“My Grandmother was right about charity. On a below-zero day, she went out on the back porch with a skillet to throw hot grease on the back-yard snow. She shivered as she re-entered the kitchen and said, ‘Wooooh, colder than charity.’

“Strengthening the hand is much different. We get personally involved with another person who needs help, and we work with her or him to get the needed help. That’s risky. You’re vulnerable. It takes prayer, time and patience. You need knowledge and wisdom from the LORD. There are great rewards, however. You get a brother or sister.

“Strengthening the hand is great work for our churches — which we ignore far more often than we perform. Why? Because we’re afflicted with the American curse of individualism. Christians are to be a tribe — a tribe that takes care of each other. In Galatians 6:16, Paul calls us “the Israel of God” — the new 13th tribe.

“Jesus said, ‘The poor you shall always have with you.’ He didn’t mean that as a curse — the notion that the poor are an inevitable nuisance and expense, to be hidden in the slums. Rather, He was saying, ‘You shall always be among the poor.’

“When you strengthen hands, you fulfill Deuteronomy 15:4-5: ‘However, there need be no poor people among you, for in the land the LORD your God is giving you to possess as your inheritance, he will richly bless you, if only you fully obey the LORD your God . . .’ It’s a glorious responsibility and promise.

“And how do prosperous Americans fulfill that promise? Generally, by making sure they have no contact with people who are poor — and we have been that way from our beginnings in the 17th century. Early villages in Massachusetts solved the problem by out-lawing poor people. Today, we deal with the same problem by confining the poor in urban reservations, our slums.

“As the Supreme Court Bailiff says at the beginning of each session, ‘God save the United States of America…’ “- Jack Towe, “God’s Wrath.”

 

Some of you may have noticed that I didn’t list “Provide Spiritual Guidance” on my list above. I have two reasons for omitting it:

1. I take for granted that Christian people–especially incorporated church communities–already understand that they have a responsibility to preach the Gospel to all people whether poor or wealthy. Spiritual poverty knows no economic boundaries, so providing spiritual guidance should be a given, at all times, to all people. “Strengthening the hand of the poor,” however, is a particular command given to the Church in relationship to a particular group of people and can be discussed with spiritual realities presupposed.

2. I believe, like folks such as Tony Campolo, that it’s hard for people to hear the message of Jesus over the grumble of an empty belly. Perhaps there is a reason Jesus did so much of his teaching while sharing a meal. Perhaps we should learn to do the same.

How I Almost Became a Rockstar Worship Leader (but didn’t)

~ ejmcewan ~ 2 Comments

Derailed.

How many times in your life have you been completely derailed from your intended path? Not the kind of derailing that drops you neatly off at your plan B, but the kind that pulls you off the track, spins you around, and leaves you stranded with no clear path in sight?

I was in college when it happened to me.

At the young age of 18, I was already certain of the path laid out before me and it involved a career in music ministry. Namely, it was me on stage at some big, fancy church, guitar in-hand, leading people in worship. To those unfamiliar with the world of Christian worship, the very notion of a music ministry career might seem odd. But, to me, it was everything. My faith was pretty mature for someone of my age and I had a pretty solid theological understanding of worship, so that was a good start. I loved singing. I loved church. (I loved singing in church.) I had just recently started playing the guitar and had dabbled in song-writing. I believed I had been given a set of skills that could be used to serve, not just attend church. Put it all together and a life working in ministry was the perfect fit. So perfect, in fact, that when I left home for college, it was to complete a degree in Worship Arts. (Yes, they have college degrees for that.)

And here I am, folks. The proud owner of a BA in Worship Arts. But, that career in music ministry? It’s nowhere to be found.

I’ll spare you the sordid details of the four years between the decision to pursue a career in music ministry and the decision to absolutely not pursue a career in music ministry, mostly for the sake of space. (I’d be happy to speak one-on-one, of course.) Instead, I’ll offer a quick walk through the journey that took me from almost- “rockstar worship leader” to, well, whatever I am today.

We begin.

First, I realized that working with and for Christians is really hard. Not hard because they are any worse than non-Christians but because they are so seldom better than non-Christians. I learned this quickly as a student at a Christian university. I’m sure my friends engaged in full-time ministry can attest to working with/for wonderful people, so this is obviously not true in all places and in all circumstances. But, for me, the reality of a lifetime surrounded by and working with Christians started to look a little disappointing. I wanted ministry work to be full of encouragement, drama-free and supportive. But people are people, after all, and even the prettiest people can look ugly sometimes. Right or wrong, I was a little shell-shocked when I realized that signing on for a life working in churches did not guarantee a peaceful work environment.

Also, after a year or two deeply embedded in what I’d call “contemporary worship culture,” I started to develop some serious issues with the music I was hearing and playing. Sure, it was fun to play. But what was it actually communicating about the nature of God and our relationship to him? I hadn’t really discovered “new hymns” yet and even though I was reading a lot of Robert Webber and completely bought into the concept of liturgical renewal and “ancient-future” faith, I hadn’t seen a lot of it in action. At least not by my peers. And at least not in a musical language that made any sense to me.

I was also struggling personally. My faith had always had a certain heaviness to it. And then, about mid-way through college, I entered a really difficult season of my faith. At the time, none of the options set before me seemed to speak to what I was experiencing, at least not with the depth I longed for. I actually got to the point where I had to completely disengage from leading because the words themselves seemed disingenuous, like lies. I felt like a fraud.

I valued honesty so much in life and in ministry that I couldn’t be a part of a culture where worship and truth seemed mutually exclusive. And it became clear that, if I couldn’t be honest in worship, I had no place leading God’s people in worship. I had never been good at faking it. The Church does not deal kindly with people like me–people who have a hard time keeping their mouth shut. And because I hadn’t quite figured out the appropriate venue or the appropriate way to address both my personal and ideological issues, I chose to simply step down and disengage from being a “public Christian” entirely.

Sometime around then, it became obvious that I also had no business being a celebrity–even a small-time, church-sized celebrity. I had no interest in having my face printed on the cover of a worship cd or my name appearing before the phrase “worship concert.” Even if my heart was in the right place–which, let’s be honest, could I promise that?–I couldn’t guarantee that the people worshiping with me were not, in fact, worshiping me or the music or the feeling they got when the bass drum kicked in on the second verse. Walking into the spotlight felt more and more like feeding Christian culture’s addiction to the “cult of personality” and the worship of super-Christians.

So, where do you go when you’re 3/4 of the way through a degree in Worship Arts, but you have absolutely no intention of continuing on into a career in ministry?

Well, I finished my degree, for starters.

I spent my last year focused on what I knew and loved about the history of worship and the Church, rather than what I found objectionable about contemporary worship culture. I wrote my senior thesis about, basically, the vapid nature of contemporary worship expressions and how they are insufficient for meeting our need for depth and honesty in worship. One of the implications of this insufficiency is that there is and will be a strong, post-Evangelical presence in the 21st Century Church, one that more closely resembles historic, Biblical expressions of worship and liturgy. (My paper was not nearly as articulate as that, as far as I can remember. But that’s basically what it said.)

After I graduated, I considered moving on to Graduate school to study the theology of worship even further, but I was still struggling so deeply in my personal faith that it just didn’t seem like a reasonable option. So, I found something else to do for a little while, to clear my head and let my heart and faith repair. I followed a boyfriend 300 miles to Cincinnati, Ohio and joined AmeriCorps, committing the next two years to full-time community service.

I starting writing more music, music that was decidedly not intended to be used as worship music (at least not in any corporate setting). It helped me heal a bit and reason aloud through my confusion at the complete derailment of my life. It provided the medium for honest expression that I couldn’t seem to find while working in an official ministry capacity. And it brought me together with many, many more people who had experienced the same thing as me.

I found safe places to worship. The first was an Anglican church in Wheaton, IL where I could be more-or-less anonymous, augmented by a Bible study with a small group of trusted friends when I couldn’t motivate myself to get to church on Sundays. When I moved to Cincinnati, it was a vibrant house church network where I was absolutely not anonymous, but I was welcomed–loud mouth and all–without any strings attached. These two places helped me rebuild my concept of worship and Christian community.

And, in small places and small ways, I started to dip my feet back into the world of ministry. I ended up married to an ordained Pastor, so that forced the issue a bit. But, even before that, I took small opportunities to help lead and administrate worship for God’s people when invited. I try to be always a step back, always a little hesitant, but willing to help when it seems prudent.

I explored the new frontiers of contemporary worship music, music that borrows more closely from Biblical expressions and Psalms, speaks more clearly about the nature of God, and leaves out the subjective “me and Jesus” talk that was so prominent in the worship music written when I was an adolescent. I learned to immerse myself in this music. These are the songs I wish I knew back when I was young and felt alone and without a voice in my struggles. I have also learned to give credence to various expressions of personal worship, when used in their proper context, even if they don’t satisfy my particular need.

And, in this current season of my life, I am trying to allow myself the enjoyment of reminiscing about that sweet time in my life when worship was less complicated and came more naturally from my heart. And to allow other folks–including rockstar worship leaders–to enjoy their ministry and worship lives without projecting my own personal baggage on them.

 

“Fear and trembling” are two words that come to mind when I consider my future role in the Church and how my gifts and skills can and will be used for ministry. I have no idea what the future holds and whether or not I’ll be derailed again and tossed into a different path. My husband and I are poised and ready to jump whenever the next step is evident. And I’m sure that what I’ve learned about myself, my own wavering faith and intentions, and the value of honesty in worship and community will help define my role. But I’m still so very unclear about what that role may be.

Safe bet: the future doesn’t involve me being a rock star.
Those days are, thankfully, long-gone for me.

 

The Blessing of Daily Bread

~ ejmcewan ~ 2 Comments

A little more faith talk for you.

 

Growing up Baptist, the Lord’s Prayer was familiar to me, but not a part of my daily life. Now, for the past few years, my husband and I have begun praying the words of that prayer every night with our children at bedtime. It is, after all, the way Jesus taught his disciples to pray. So, even if we know that there is nothing magical in the words themselves, internalizing the content of the prayer is important to understanding the proper way to frame our own prayers.

How many times have you prayed (or heard) the Lord’s Prayer without actually considering the implications of asking God for “our daily bread?”

The idea of daily bread was significant for those who heard Jesus’ words on the day he delivered the Sermon on the Mount (which includes the Lord’s Prayer). For generations, the Israelites had passed down the stories of how God provided for them in the wilderness with “bread from heaven,” the manna that lasted just long enough to be consumed and wasted away if hoarded for the next day. (For a good, quick discussion of the Biblical concept of “daily bread,” you can read this post by R.C. Sproul.)

When we take Jesus’ example seriously and ask for daily bread, we are truly going out on a limb. The implication of that prayer is that we will trust God to provide, daily, what we need. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And, sometimes, that’s exactly what he gives.

Daily bread.

Nothing more.
Nothing less.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been well-acquainted with “bread from heaven” during certain seasons of my life. And even if the depth of “need” that I’ve experienced in my life is minor in comparison to the depth of need experienced by others next door, down the street, or around the world, that desperate feeling of neediness is the same. And our response–our posture toward God–really should be the same. “Give us this day our daily bread…” Whether that translates as a new job, next month’s rent, or (literally) food for tomorrow, these are the moments when faith is tried. And when we have to ask whether we really believe God is waiting at the other end of that prayer, poised to rain down bread from heaven.

Desperation.
Have you ever felt it?

Have you ever been in a place where you knew that a miracle–even a small one–was what stood between you and your next meal, next car payment, next pay check, or next doctor’s bill?

And have you ever considered that these seasons of living on daily bread are actually a blessing?

 

Living on daily bread gives us perspective on the difference between want and need.

Have you ever noticed that the less you consume something, the easier it is live without it? Spending money is a habitual behavior. For some of us, it’s an addiction. But when we simply cannot have something we want–a nicer car or an updated kitchen, for example–we realize (eventually) that we are fine without it. With some heart-work, our desires start to diminish and we gain a new perspective on what we truly need. (Spoiler: it ain’t much.) And when we know how little we truly need, God surprises us with the enjoyment of its simplicity.

Living on daily bread re-orders our priorities and proves what we value most.

When we’ve learned to live without many of the things we desire, the way we spend the money we do have says a lot of about what we value. Have you noticed that (with exceptions, obviously) the demographic most likely to invest their livelihood in raising a large family is the demographic with the least amount to invest? Have you ever asked why people would rather adopt another child or pay for someone to attend college or loan a stranger money than take another European vacation? Priorities. Show me how you spend your money and I’ll tell you what you value most.

Living on daily bread teaches us when “enough is enough.”

Once we are able to re-order our priorities, we get a better picture of what is enough for us and for our family. And we learn when to quit reaching for more. This is what motivates a man or woman to relinquish their “earning potential” and turn down a promotion or a high-paying job so that they can spend more time with their kids or serving their community. It’s that moment when we stand before the shiny, new things that we could have, and say to ourselves, “No, this other one is enough; I’ll be happy with this.”

Living on daily bread saves us from the delusion that we are self-made men.

Independence and security are counterproductive to a life of faith. I really believe this. The rugged individualism that builds nations and corporations and mega-churches is the same thing that blurs our vision of the difference between God and man. Who really holds the cards here? I don’t care if you are a millionaire or a beggar. Unless you are aware of your own inability to “make things happen,” then your faith is in yourself, not in God. You still believe that if you play your cards (or the stock exchange or the real estate market) right that you’ll be able to store up enough “bread” to last a lifetime. But, we’ve been told: “do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal.” Our investments should be in eternal treasures, things that spring from God and not from ourselves.

Living on daily bread cultivates contentment, which produces generosity.

Along with treasure, contentment is something else that comes from God and grows over time. Contentment is satisfaction with what he has provided for me, regardless of what he has provided for someone else. It puts an end to comparison and envy and, funny enough, it actually produces generosity. Once we are free from obsessing over the things we don’t have, we loosen our sense of ownership over what we do have. We share more. We give things away. We invite others to join in and enjoy the blessings we have received. Whether it be an extra hamburger at lunch or a million dollar donation, this is where it becomes obvious the difference between someone who feels entitled to their wealth and someone who feels indebted to God for it.

Living on daily bread keep us looking up to the One who provides.

When we know that everything we have comes as a gift from God, we begin to orient ourselves to him and not to the world. And then the daily bread that keeps us alive and well–our money, our homes, our skills, etc.–moves us beyond survival and into service. This circles back to our priorities, of course, as we begin to re-order our lives toward the Kingdom of God rather than our own kingdoms. And this is where God multiplies our blessing. Not for all of us in all the same ways, of course. But always to the same end.

 

I am still trying to learn to see the blessing in living on daily bread. My heart is still prone to want more and better and “what she has” and I am so, so very anxious about everything these days. But I am learning. And I understand more today than I did yesterday how precious are the gifts that rain down on me every single day. And, every night, as we pray that God would “give us our daily bread,” I mean it more.

In a few weeks, with my son officially beginning his first term of kindergarten here at home, our daily meditation will be the same each morning:

“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.” (Matthew 6:25-33)

This is what we’ll be working toward memorizing (and learning!) together this year so that it’s written on our hearts and minds.

 

The Modesty Problem

~ ejmcewan ~ Leave a comment

I know that summer is almost over, but this is a post that I’ve been meaning to write for months now and should probably get out of the way before the frost hits.

If you run in the circles I run in, the same subject comes up every year at about the same time. It’s actually a pretty familiar scenario to all of us who grew up in an even marginally conservative culture. It goes something like this: It’s spring. Bathing suits and shorts hit the shelves. The weather shifts. Clothes get shorter, smaller, thinner (seriously. have you seen the obscene high-waisted shorts kids are wearing these days!?)… and then we start to hear the “m” word again.

Yes, Modesty.

Ah, modesty.

I could probably write a pretty comprehensive (and, literally, exhaustive) post about my thoughts on the issue and my history of struggling back and forth (and then back and forth again) with the implications (and definitions) of “Biblical modesty,” but I’d rather not do that here. Modesty and lust (which I’ll address here in a second) are very complicated, very personal, and very divisive subjects and I’d rather avoid too much complexity. So, I’ll keep it simple and offer a few observations about the issue of modesty. Specifically, I’ll speak mostly about how it’s addressed in conservative circles and some of the glaring problems I see in our conversations about it.

(If you’re not a Christian or somehow have avoided all the modesty talk in your world, this might all seem like hogwash to you. If that’s the case, be prepared to be amazed at how boring I can make a discussion about breasts.)

 

1. Modesty is not a sexuality-specific issue.

Almost every single time you read about Christian concepts of modesty, it’s presented in the context of sexuality, sexually-explicit (or simply revealing clothing), and how an immodest woman contributes to the sexual lust of men. Sure, the Bible clearly addresses issues of sexuality. But, speaking about only the sexuality-specific implications of immodesty is a case of addressing the symptoms and ignoring the disease. A proud heart makes an immodest woman. And a woman can be just as proud of her diamond ring, brilliant mind, or beautiful children as another woman is of her cleavage. A woman can clean herself up and make herself appear modest and presentable, but her pride will manifest itself in a different way.

 

2. Lust is not a sexuality-specific issue.

A greedy heart makes a lustful man. If all we address are the sexual implications of a greedy heart–one that simply must have that woman as his own–then we are really missing the point. Contrary to popular belief, there are men whose thirst–whose lust–is for money, for power, and for fame much more than it is for women and the object of man’s lust will change as he grows and changes. Greed, desire, sexuality, and power are so much more complicated than we are willing to admit. But, we have to admit it. Talking about a man’s craving of a woman’s body as the be-all-end-all of “lust” is simply not telling the whole story.

 

3. Modesty and lust are related, but they do not have a cause : effect relationship.

Because Christians are obsessed with sex (or so it seems), we tend to glorify the relationship between sexually-explicit women and dirty-minded men. But we (should) know better than that. A proud woman will be immodest in whatever area she most glories in and, likewise, a greedy man will seek to own anything he desires. Modesty and lust are related, but they do not have a cause : effect relationship. I am not responsible for a man’s lust and he is not responsible for my immodesty. We can see how the two things play together and feed off of each other, but we can’t blame them on each other.

 

4. Regardless, it does not really matter.

If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to see me flaunting my breasts, I am still flaunting my breasts and am guilty of sin. (Get that?) Sin is sin is sin. My sin doesn’t get less sinful if there are no implications apart from my own sinfulness. We like to act as if Godly women can just brush off their own self-love and pride once they’ve realized that they’re not responsible for the sinful desires of men, but it cannot be done. A sinful heart is a sinful heart. Both men and women are accountable for their sins, regardless of how they do or do not affect other people.

 

5. Immodesty is not a woman-only issue; lust is not a man-only issue.

Bear with me here.
Up until this point, I’ve used the “immodest woman” vs. the “lustful man” paradigm because it’s the most common paradigm we see (and discuss) in Christian circles. I’m comfortable doing this because I believe (unlike many of you, perhaps?) that the most common (or most natural) tendency is for women and men to gravitate toward these two sides of the paradigm. But I understand that it’s more or less a stereotype–true enough to use as a baseline for argument, but not true enough to be a plumb-line. So it should be said that, if what I’ve said above is true and modesty and lust are about much more than sexuality, then immodesty is not a woman-only issue and lust is not a man-only issue. The interesting thing here is the way we can see both immodesty and lust play out in both men and women, almost completely independent of each other.

Most of us are self-aware enough to be able to tell you our strengths–mental, physical, sexual, whatever–and most of us are also aware that we can objectify those strengths and use them as a means to end. Tell me I’m not the only one who has noticed how many movies and television shows make play of women flashing their chests or pouting their lips or batting their eyes or faking tears to get what they want. Well, this skill is called manipulation (or sometimes “the power of suggestion”) and most women know how to do it and if they don’t have the legs to get it done, they’ll find something else just as powerful–a brilliant mind, a quick wit, or maybe a superb talent. Some women lust after the attention (or affection) of men, some lust after power, some lust after success. It just so happens that what is most available and efficient to get the job done is usually their physical appearance if not, specifically, their sexuality.

And men aren’t off the hook when it comes to immodesty. Take, for example, the “trophy wife.” This phenomena is not a sterotype of a bygone era, but is a manifestation of not only a man’s lust for success, but also his compulsion to show it off. It might not be a woman. It might be a $40,000 sportscar or a “Ph.D.” or a VIP award in the softball league. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that once pride takes root, immodesty makes a man parade his wealth/success/power/achievement around for all to see.

 

6. But it’s so much more complicated than this.

Let’s be honest: Some women are just shockingly beautiful. And some men are smashing successes. Some of us sing like angels and some can solve complex mathematical equations and some of us breed child prodigies. And these are good things. And they are meant to be enjoyed, by both us and by other people. And although my (admittedly horrendous and sinful) tendency is to be judgmental of women and how much skin or leg or new shiny thing they show off in public, it is impossible for me to know the heart of another woman (or a man) unless I’ve been made privy to that personal information. Our job is not to judge the intentions and motivations of others, but to keep our hearts in check instead. And then to find people who we can know and be known by to such a degree that there is freedom to revel in (and truly enjoy) each other’s strengths and gifts. When we know each other–deep down in the hearts of each other–we don’t have to spend time judging intentions and motivations because the things we love about ourselves and other people become simply a part of who we are and not objects in and of themselves. This is what community looks like. This is what the Church should look like. Loving each other this way keeps us from objectifying ourselves and others and the things we want and gives us appropriate places to enjoy the things we love.

 

7. Which is why marriage is so good and so important in its relationship to modesty.

I hope this doesn’t seem like a far stretch because it’s pretty crystal clear in my mind.

A healthy marriage is the perfect, most appropriate place to exercise a woman’s desire to be seen, known, and loved (which so often leads to immodesty) and a man’s desire to see, know, and possess (which so often leads to lust). In a way, a Godly marriage redeems these desires by harnessing them into a mutually giving, sharing, and reciprocal relationship–especially, but not only, sexually. No marriage is perfect, but good marriages are built on solid foundations. If a marriage exemplifies the “community” I described above, one in which two people know each other and are known by each other deeply, then there is freedom to enjoy and not objectify ourselves and each other. A good marriage liberates us from the need to seek attention and affection elsewhere. And where a marriage lacks, when perhaps a couple struggles to meet each other’s mental or emotional or spiritual need to see and be seen, that’s when the rest of the Church comes alongside and provides an appropriate place or person to fill the void.

 

8. The reality (and the power) of immodesty and lust in our lives and in our world requires action.

In a perfect world, where we all had pure hearts and pure intentions and only the purest of thoughts, men and women could parade around the street in all their naked glory, boasting of their recent pay raise and showing off their perfectly-behaved children. No one would judge; no one would be jealous; no one would feel worse for what they, themselves lack.

But we don’t live in that world.

In this world, we have to learn when and how to cover up. Because it’s not necessarily about what we’re wearing or how we’re wearing it, but sometimes it is about why we’re wearing it (or not wearing it). And it’s not because we’re responsible for a stranger’s lust, but because we’re responsible for our own pride and compulsion to be seen. And, if we didn’t feel the need to be seen, we would be willing to wear anything.

We learn when to keep our mouths shut. Not because we don’t have anything valuable to say, but because it’s not always necessary to be the one speaking.

And, in this world, we need to learn how to keep some things to ourselves. (Even some of our best or funniest or brightest things.) Because the love and admiration and attention of a friend or stranger is nothing compared to the love we’ve already been shown.

Maybe modesty is less about how much we cover up or shut up or keep to ourselves and more about subtly, humility, and appropriateness.
We need to learn to be okay not being seen, or heard, or loved sometimes so that we can learn to see, hear, and love someone else instead.

 

Why Diversity Matters To A Conservative Mom Like Me

~ ejmcewan ~ 1 Comment

Diversity matters to me.

It seems counter-intuitive, doesn’t it?

When imagining the lifestyle of a “conservative Christian housewife,” the mind isn’t usually drawn to pictures of diversity. Instead, we usually picture privacy fences, kids who “don’t talk to strangers,” and family conversations about Us vs. Them. But one of my deepest commitments in the way I parent and educate my children is to their early and intentional exposure to diversity.

This is one of the things I love most about our life in the city.

In the most basic terms, the defining characteristics of an urban environment are density and diversity. Conversely, sub-urban areas are characterized by sprawl and homogeneity. One of the most common misconceptions about sub-urban places is that they are better for families. And, more often than not, what people mean by “better for families” is that the social, economic, and ethnic homogeneity makes it easier for parents to navigate.

When most of your neighbors look like you, make about the same amount of money as you, and vote like you, their culture is familiar. There are fewer conversations with children about why the neighbor “looks like that” or “eats that kind of food.” And there are fewer difficult conversations about why that other neighbor does that thing that you absolutely do not do.

But, does that really make it “better?”
Better by what definition?

Do parents consider the long-term effects and implications of a childhood with little to no experience with anyone different than themselves?

Now, some sub-urban areas are more dense and diverse than others, especially as many suburbs are being retro-fitted with more characteristically “urban” developments. And every childhood is formed under the direction of parents, so every suburban child’s experience will be different. But, I suggest that parents–especially those who identify as Conservative–should consider the benefit of building a family life in which their children are regularly and positively exposed to diversity, regardless of where they live.

Let me offer two reasons why diversity matters to me.

First, early and intentional exposure to diversity could help release my children from bias and bigotry as they grow older. This is obviously not a guarantee. I believe that bias is a natural (fallen) reaction to cultural differences. But parents can direct a child toward experiences that help them navigate diversity with wisdom, not fear or misunderstanding.

I was a suburban kid. And most of the people I knew as a child came from families very much like mine. But, I went to a public high school that was about a million times more diverse than the neighborhood I was from. So, even if my early childhood was not characterized by diversity, my adolescence was a bit more. I didn’t understand the impact this diversity had on me until many years later when my husband took me to a high school football game in his hometown. It took me a few moments to realize why the crowd was so strange to me.

“Wait,” I asked him, “where are all the black people?”

My husband attended a high school where the student body was nearly 100% white. But I, though I lived in a predominately white suburban neighborhood, attended a high school that was remarkably diverse, both ethnically and economically. So, my early experiences with my minority peers–particularly African American and Middle Eastern–were as diverse as these cultures themselves are.

There was nothing inherently wrong with the homogeneity of my husband’s almamater. Public schools simply reflect the lines drawn by school districts. But I do believe there was an inherent strength to the diversity of my school.

It’s impossible to be completely bias-free, but I credit my diverse high school with helping me have a bit more realistic view of people who are different from me. You see, black people and Muslims and gay kids and poor kids and unwed mothers were not “those people” who lived in the other part of town or went to the other school. They were my classmates. They were football heroes, the student council President, and my co-star in the school play. They were people. Actual people. People with names and talents and fears and dreams–just like me.

The diversity that my children experience in the city on a day-to-day basis can be difficult at times. There are still questions that I haven’t figured out how to answer about the differences between our family and some of our neighbors. The questions we do answer, we sometimes only answer in part while our children are young and are satisfied with simply, honest answers. We are still different, after all. And our children get that, even if they don’t understand to what extent.

I can’t guarantee that my children won’t carry bias into their adulthood, but what I’ve tried to provide is a more broad experience in their childhood so that “those people”–the people who are different from us in any given way–are not strangers or numbers or ideas. They are people. Actual people. They own businesses and restaurants; they have ailing parents and they have rowdy children; some have good jobs and some ask for change; some are lazy and some work really, really hard.

They are our neighbors and friends.
They have names. And talents. And fears. And dreams.
Just like us.

I believe that our experiences with diversity as a child influence our interaction with diversity as an adult. When people who are different are kept at an arm’s length, they have no identity other than the thing that makes them different. They have no humanity. No dignity. And their complete other-ness makes them easily misunderstood. Teaching my children to acknowledge them as more than “different from us” teaches them to acknowledge their God-given dignity. And that is the foundation I would like to build for my children as they approach adulthood so that they don’t need to spend their young adult lives undo-ing the bias they were given as children. Instead, I want them to spend their young adult lives determining how they will engage with the world as adults.

And this relates to the second reason diversity matters to me:

I believe that the Christian faith lends itself to an active relationship with a diverse society, a relationship that is mutually efficacious.

Now, I would be foolish to claim that I am even near to perfecting this subtle dance between remaining apart from the world while establishing relationships and engaging those who are different from me. (Especially when my young children are involved.) But I know that this dance can’t be learned without first jumping in.

In the same way that Christians have to learn to human-ize people who are different from us, I want to help make Christians more human to those for whom we are “those people.” You see, when Christians disengage and remove ourselves from diverse populations, we become nothing more than a foreign idea. We appear irrelevant to the world. And we have no identity apart from our other-ness. But when we engage, when we make ourselves present in the lives of people are are different, they can begin to understand us as real, actual people. And that will, perhaps, give them a better understanding of what, exactly, this peculiar people who call themselves “Christians” are actually all about. And I believe that what Christians are actually (supposed to be) all about is good for the whole world.

We may be kind of weird to some of our neighbors. And they may not understand why we vote the way we vote or why we homeschool or why on earth we head to church every Sunday while they head down the street for waffles. But they will, hopefully, know us in other ways. They will know the names of our children and they will sit at our table or chat on our front stoop and they will (hopefully, someday, when I figure this all out) know that we love them.

I want my neighbors to know that we see them as more than “those people” who live in a different part of town.
Because they don’t live in a different part of town.
They live here.
With us.
And that actually makes a difference.

 

A Few Things This Season Of Life is Teaching Me

~ ejmcewan ~ 2 Comments

 

I take myself very seriously.
No, I take everything very seriously.
And the mental and emotional stress of taking everything so seriously is just unhealthy.

The past few months, I needed to slow down a bit, take a step back, and take a look around. Withhold judgement. Stop caring so much. Keep my mouth shut and chill out.

And it’s amazing what happens when you take the time to listen instead of always being the one doing the talking.

 

This season of life has taught me a few things.

Most recently, it’s taught me that the world does not stop spinning when I stop talking.

You know what happened when I took a break from blogging? When I withdrew from Facebook? Heck, when I withdrew from church and my neighborhood and friends?

Life went on without me.

Conversations continued and people had good ideas and bad ideas and talked about important things and not-so-important things. And it didn’t really make much of a difference that I was no longer contributing to the conversation.

For someone like me, someone who is just oozing with self-importance, the experience was both liberating and frightening.

 

Those of us who have even an ounce of smarts or talent or sense of humor have a nasty habit of believing–deep down inside where no one can see–that we are God’s gift to the world. (Please tell me I’m not the only one with this problem?)

But one of the greatest lessons that I’ve been learning over the past few years is that the world does not need me.

It doesn’t need my music. It doesn’t need my clever party banter. It doesn’t need my self-indulgent photos of my children. And it sure as hell does not need my controversial “oh my gosh I can’t believe she posted that” internet links.

And, like I said, this realization is both liberating and frightening.

 

It’s frightening because it questions my sense of purpose and my place in the world. If I’ve always defined myself as a songwriter or a class clown or a this or that or the other thing, when I realize that the world is already inundated with every this, that, and the other thing, it threatens my importance. It threatens my identity. It makes me self-conscious and defensive and then makes me either cowardly or pretentious.

But, this realization is also liberating. It’s liberating because it takes away the pressure to perform and the pressure to always be the one to make things happen. It frees me from the lie that the future of the universe is resting on my shoulders. And it frees me to appreciate the ways that other people are filling the voids that I leave. Because, you see, it’s hard to notice other people when we’re constantly obsessed with our own brilliant contribution to the world.

 

Step back for a moment, shut your mouth, and watch the world spin on without you.
You’d never believe how small it makes you feel.
And how good it feels to feel so small.

 

I still haven’t figured out what this all means or what I’m supposed to do about it. And I’m definitely not ready to move on from this season of my life. But there is one thought that’s been ringing in my ears the past few months, something Saint Paul said in his letter to the 1st-Century church in Corinth. The basic gist is this: It doesn’t matter how spiritual I am, how wise I am, how holy I am, or how impressive I am. If I have not mastered the art of loving, then I am of no use to the world. I am just another noise in the crowd and it is all for nothing.

The world doesn’t need one more self-important internet celebrity or smart-ass cultural commentator. So, until I’ve figured out how to love–my God, my husband, my children, my neighbors–then I’d be better off keeping my mouth shut, regardless of how pretty the song or how funny the joke.

There’s already enough noise in the world.
And not nearly enough love.