Christians: We Have Culturephobia

            I walked into a Tattered Cover book store today and found the 3’ x 6’ section dedicated to Christian children’s stories.  I figured these little books would shed a child-like light on a few of the biggest events seen within the pages of scripture.  As I flipped through the pages with my little girl, I couldn’t help but feel a wave of disappointment rush over my body.

            I’d rather not quote the book directly so, instead, I’ll give you the general idea.  One of the pages says that once we become closer to God, all of our problems will go away.  

        This one statement exemplifies the problem within the Christian church.  How many times have we heard the speaker say, “I became a Christian and my addiction to alcohol just disappeared.  I became a Christian and I received a random check for $4,000 right before the bank was about to repossess my house.  I became a Christian and my cancer just left my body.”  

            Don’t get me wrong.  I believe that God can heal and do anything.  There is no question in my mind.  And I do not reject the stories that I hear.  I take issue with the sales pitch used to catapult the non-believer into belief under the pretense that something miraculous will happen the moment a relationship with Christ is procured.

         So in the case of this children’s book, it feels as though I am setting my girl up for disappointment once she starts to engage culture outside of our little protective bubble here at home.  Essentially, I am telling her that everything is going to be fine and she will never feel pain in her life if she is a Christian.

         Really?  What about the bullies? What about the physical ailments?  What about the boys that will reject her?  What about failed relationships or lost jobs?  What about divorce or a still-born child?  What about sin? 

         I’m not necessarily upset solely at the book and I will continue to read it to her.  I am concerned because it serves as a reminder that we continue to paint the Christian life as some magical balloon that floats high above society out of harms way.

         Newsflash:  When you become a Christian your problems will not disappear.  God probably isn’t going to send you a check and He’s probably not going to hook you up with that Twilight vampire actor?  What’s his name?  Dave, right?  Your problems will continue and you will go through some rough times.  

            There is no question, however, that your life will change.  Your relationship will begin to drop anchor on His words and some of your prayers will be answered, while many will also go unanswered.  You’ll discover that a relationship with Christ becomes less about what you receive during your time here, and more about where you will go once you have breathed your last.  Our time here is merely preparatory.  So how are you preparing and who are you inviting to come along for the ride?

         Our goal is to reach people the way Christ would have reached people if He was here right now.  I think He’d tell it like it is, no punches pulled.  I think that He’d tell a beautiful, relevant story.

         

Old Man at the Rock Show

Bob Dylan taught me how to play the guitar.  Eric Clapton helped me expand on my very basic knowledge of chord structure.  Guns N’ Roses inspired me to buy an amplifier.  Metallica taught me to turn it up loud.  “Smells Like Teen Spirit” changed my life, and “Longview” made me want to be in a band.  

I know what some of you might be thinking.  The artists that I mentioned might not be indie or punk rock enough for you.  I cared about this perception in 1992.  Now?  I love music.  And the guys that whined “sell out” are the guys listening to the same Fat Wreck and Nitro bands that they were listening to when they were kids.  Their record taste has evolved much like their maturity. 

You know who I am talking about.  The thirty-somethings in the pit at the Face to Face show who can only name the songs from “Don’t Turn Away.”  The guys who spend the entire night on the floor, raising middle fingers to those of us who found seats in the balcony above the band.  The same guys who will be ejected from the show because they chose to swallow a flask of cheap vodka in sixty seconds and then belligerently break unsuspecting necks while East Coast slamming in a non-existent pit.

I digress.

My past musical ignorance was necessary.  My close record store buddies might say that my taste hasn’t evolved drastically.  I would argue that it has.  These days, I can actually laugh about it and we can poke a little fun at each other.  I can tell Chuck that the latest Killing Joke record is a sleeper and he, in turn, can tell me that Recover (Ceci N’Est Pas) didn’t do anything new with their last attempt.  The point is that I am not offended by shots at my musical taste anymore.  And maybe that is my problem.

Remember when you’d hear a song and it would blow you away?  Those artists, from that point on, weren’t capable of producing garbage.  Right?  Songs had such an impact on my life that I can remember where I was when I was listening to them.  I had a walkman when I was younger and I would wear out every cassette single with its torturous inner mechanisms.  I must have listened to “Appetite For Destruction” and “Nevermind” over a thousand times.  Those records (amongst many others) never got old for me, but the cassettes sure as hell took a beating.

Music captivated me in the same way that love did.  I couldn't think about anything else and I couldn't wait until the next (insert artist here) record came out.  There was oxygen, and then there was music.

As I grew older, I have found that I have become a picky music consumer.  I have to laugh at myself at times.  I find myself thinking that bands in my day did it way better than they do now.  Only to remember that the old timers from back then said the exact same thing!  So what is going on?  Have bands been getting progressively worse or has my musical taste taken refuge at the retirement home?  Look at the charts.  You tell me.

I have found myself a little saddened as I compare my current musical participation to that of my younger years.  I am not the kid in the pit or up against the guard rail at the show anymore.  Instead, I am soaking in every moment from a tactical vantage point with my wife.  Hell, by the time the headliner takes the stage, I’m ready for bed.  When I am at the merch booth, I’m not looking for a shirt or a hoodie.  Instead, I am seeking out that ultra rare tour-only 7” that will eventually become a collectors item.  While others are hunting down the band members, my wife and I are making a quick exit in hopes of beating the rush or traffic that will ensue.  

I guess my point is this.  My music consumption has changed much like my taste in alcohol.  When I was young, it was all about gutter punk, King Cobra, and sleepless nights.  These days, I opt for fine imports or a glass of merlot, “Clarity,” and resolve the night surrounded by those who I love the most.  

These are my thoughts as I grow older.  I will always love music.  I have merely learned that this love evolves with every year God adds to my life.

Thanks,

Steven

Steven and the Bully: A Tale of Cowardice.

I will be thirty-five years old in May.  I have a hard time remembering important dates or things that may have occurred the previous day.  Yet it is easy for me to recall the torment delivered through the mouths and fists of my middle (and high school) peers.  I remember it all in graphic detail, like a movie in my head.  It was as brutal as the newsman says it is.

My entrance into the eighth grade can only be compared to a bad underwear dream.  You know, that dream where you’re hanging out in class wearing nothing but your smugglers?  I thought everything would be fine.  Mom and I went shopping at Target and bought a fresh stack of clothes and some school supplies.  I remember wearing a purple Gecko shirt, some party-popper designed Hammer pants, and double-lace L.A. Gear shoes when I boarded the bus on my first day.  Let me tell you how that went over.

It was 1991.  Hammer pants had been out of style for a few years.  I didn’t know this because I had attended private school from the 4^th grade until this very moment.  The private schools, at the time, tend to be a little behind in fashion.  When I stepped foot off the bus, I knew something was wrong.  Everyone was wearing denim jeans and black hooded sweatshirts.  I looked like a multi-colored piece of confetti walking around the campus.  Saying that the kids noticed me instantly would be an understatement.  

8th Grade - Me and my Gecko

I did my best to fit in and tried to divert the negative attention I was receiving for my terrible taste in fashion.  As my peers adapted to my personality, they warmed up to the idea that I was an easy receptacle for jokes and abuse.  Most of the insults revolved around my clothing and it was merciless.  This was doubly hurtful because I know how hard mom and dad worked to provide those clothes for me.  So in my mind, they were also insulting my mom and dad who I love more than anything else.

I didn’t get it.  I was a happy kid and was a great baseball player.  I thought I had forged enough friendships on the field to sustain me through school.  As my popularity took a nosedive, these friends avoided me as if I had never existed.  I don’t know if I can really explain what it is like to hear someone I thought was a friend participate in the verbal abuse submitted by others who I hardly knew.

I conformed with the crowd and adopted the fashion.  My personality missed the memo.  By this time, some had taken it a step further and felt that dead arms were funny especially when they were imposed on me.  I was deemed weak because I refused to fight those who assaulted me.  I was scared to throw a punch.  I had never been in a fight before.  It felt as though I was still in a state of shock from those opening moments in my public school “career.”  Instead of fighting, I accepted the blows and laughed them off hoping that I would fit in by positively acknowledging the abuse. 

Half way through the year I was nominated the “biggest loser in school.”  There were two of us, me and one other guy who had held the title before I arrived.  The popular kids were so sinister that they set up a “battle of the losers” to determine who would retain the title.  Half the school showed up to watch the fight.  I was terrified.  I told my mom the night before and she called the principal.  I don’t recall exactly how it happened but the fight never occurred.  In the end, I was deemed a snitch which resulted in other merciless punishments.  

Outwardly, I encouraged my abusers in an attempt to fit in.  Inwardly, I was huddled up in the fetal position in the corner of a very dark room.  It felt as though a crowd had gathered around me with the intent of laying waste to everything that might have been good inside me.  They were ripping me apart with their words, pummeling me with their fists, and laughing at the bloody mess that lay in their wake.  I kept it all inside.  I didn’t want to tell anyone. 

Every punch annihilated my self-esteem which by the end of the year had been obliterated.  Every drop of saliva (hurled by tormentors) falling from my face during the bus ride to school puddled on the ground in front of the girl who I had a crush on at the beginning of the year.  By the end of the year, my  memories could have been summarized perfectly through the volley of explicit notes written within the pages of my yearbook; “wishing you a shitty summer, loser.”

All I really wanted was for someone to write “it was nice getting to know you.”  I probably would have dropped to me knees in tears.  No one wrote it.  

Mom and I - 8th Grade (1991)

I was bullied over the next couple of years and eventually found my place and my own style.  Thankfully, I was surrounded by small handful of amazing friends (The Fallbrook Calvary Chapel Crew – you know who you are) who kept me balanced and sane.  I don’t know what I would have done without their support and the support from my family.  I have never put those early years into words.  It is hard for me to do so now.  I just want to say that I love the people who carried me through those times.  Your friendship is priceless to me.

Thank You,

Steven 

I was inspired to tell this story after I saw the documentary entitled "Bully."  This issue demands attention from parents around the world.   

Coming Soon: (Bullying) and (The Story of These Tattoos - split into several posts)

I'd like to write about some other topics that are very near and dear to me.

Writing is how I deal.  It is my therapy.  Thank You for taking the time to read.

Stay tuned...

Steven

Redemption Story: Easter 2013 (See-Saw Battle)

Hi, my name is Steven Press and I have accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior over a dozen times.

My relationship with Christ has been nothing short of a swinging pendulum.  I was reared under legalistic and moralistic guidance which caused me to exhibit the same mannerisms toward future friends, colleagues, and even complete strangers.  My early relationship with God was rooted and driven by fear.  In my mind, God was an angry father waiting at the doorstep with a menacing disposition in full readiness to deliver the most severe beating for a day’s worth of unforgivable transgressions.  It is true that I worked as hard as humanly possible to avoid the thought of a rage filled God who seemed to derive pleasure from punishing Christians for a myriad of sins.  At the end of the day I felt fatigued, inadequate, and undeserving of any warm salutation from God.  I found that I could never please Him, and it was one of the worst feelings I can remember crossing my mind.  

I abandoned God when I was twenty and struck out on a series of adventures for a period of close to seven years. I was afforded the opportunity to join a band which quickly became successful.  This allowed me to indulge in every single sin that I had fully condemned in the past.  I quickly became enamored with women, popularity, success, and offset everything else with bottles of tequila.  There is no question that this new found freedom led me into some of the best, most unforgettable times of my life.  

As the years wore on, I found that no amount of success or recognition could touch my yearning for being truly known or unconditionally loved.  By this time, I had toured a good portion of the world on numerous occasions and our music was on the radio.  People would recognize me as I walked through Melbourne, London, New York City, and Nashville.  Yet as I talked to all of these people, I couldn’t help but realize that their love for me would only be temporary.  I started to compare my current life to my earlier life as a practicing Christian.  What I discovered was quite unsettling.  As a matter of fact, my observations were consistent with many of us who were in the music industry at the time.  

My relationships were hollow.  People sought my friendship because they felt as though there was something they could gain.  Perhaps an opening slot on a tour or a good word to the label along with a personally delivered demo.  My relationships with women were mutual dead ends which tend to get old pretty quickly.  My drinking started to take a toll on my body and didn’t numb the hurt for as long as I would have liked it to.  Furthermore, I was meeting a lot of guys in bands that I grew up listening to who were completely burned out on the music scene.  This discovery crushed me.  From my past teenage vantage point in the crowd, these bands were larger than life.  From my current view in the backstage area, they were falling apart with the help of narcotics and depression.  This wasn’t what I signed up for.

I left the music industry in 2003 in search of that “happiness” everyone always seems to be searching for.  The ensuing years would bring a profusion of the worst mistakes I have ever made to include adultery, an addiction to pornography, a repugnant self-righteousness regarding Biblical application to cultural issues, and a fortuitous tendency to hurt other people with words based purely in selfishness.  All of these things took place as I struggled to find a new identity in Christ.  Essentially, God and I were on a see-saw which I tended to weigh down in my favor.  As in the past, my shoulders buckled under the pressure of my own self-effort and I ended up right back at square one.

As I have read through my transgressions, I would hope that my problem has become obvious to the listener.  As a former fundamentalist Christian, I would place each sin in a category of its own.  This means that sins such as adultery and fornication far outweighed gossip or slander.  It took four years filled with strong Christian mentors, books authored by brilliant theologians, and late nights buried in scripture to rid myself of the twisted view I had on what it takes to be a follower of Christ.

Today, we celebrate Easter, the very cornerstone of our faith, and the answer to all of the questions and doubts I had as a young Christian.  Jesus was torn to shreds and killed in a manner which suited those who committed the most heinous of crimes.  The blood that poured from His body soaked the earth with beautiful purpose.  Every sin, from murder, to a road rage induced middle-finger, was bought and paid for at the very moment He breathed His last.  In all of my years as a Christian I downplayed the importance of this single act and placed myself in Christ’s place.   How pathetic of an act is this on my part?  

Romans 10 v. 9-10 says, “If you confess with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.  For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you confess and are saved.” Additionally, Romans 8 v. 38-39 says, “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,  neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

These verses were paramount in my recovery as a Christian.  The only thing that stood between God and I, was me. Nothing can separate us.  Nothing!  Do you remember that scene in A Good Will Hunting where Dr. McGuire has to tell Will that “it isn’t your fault” over and over again?  That scene describes my inability to comprehend what God has accomplished for anyone who would choose to believe.  God’s grace and forgiveness is beyond human comprehension.

Sean Norris writes, “We are reconciled to God by faith through grace alone. As a result, we believe that the gospel is the same for all people, Christian and non alike. Only God’s grace unleashes freedom—the kind of freedom to accept, to forgive, to walk in love, to live boldly. Galatians 5 v. 1 says ‘It is for freedom Christ has set us free’.  God’s forgiveness means that we are motivated by love instead of fear. The fruit of that freedom of the Gospel is a spontaneous, creative, and compassionate life.”

Today, Christ defeated death and He did so in my stead.  The words I have written here today do little to scratch the surface of my appreciation.

My prayer is that we continue to grow in areas that we do not understand.  Thank You, Jesus, for defeating death on this day. Amen.

Under The Banner of Tolerance We Ride

“Faith is the great cop-out, the great excuse to evade the need to think and evaluate evidence. Faith is the belief in spite of, even perhaps because of, the lack of evidence.”  - Richard Dawkins

“The whole thing is so patently infantile, so foreign to reality, that to anyone with a friendly attitude to humanity it is painful to think that the great majority of mortals will never be able to rise above this view of life.” - Sigmund Freud

“Organized religion is a sham and a crutch for weak-minded people who need strength in numbers.” - Jesse Ventura  

“The plain fact is religion must die for mankind to live. The hour is getting very late to be able to indulge in having key decisions made by religious people - by irrationalists - by those who would steer the ship of state, not by a compass, but by the equivalent of reading the entrails of a chicken.” – Bill Maher

“Faith means not wanting to know what is true.” - Friedrich Nietzsche

“I think religion is a neurological disorder.” - Bill Maher

“All thinking men are atheists.” - Ernest Hemingway

How about those E-Cards that everybody loves?

“Religion, a tool invented by the powerful to control the stupid.”

“Living a godless existence ensures no terrifying batshit religious figure impacts my election decision.”

“Religion!  It just doesn’t make sense.  Unless you’re crazy, or had a stroke, or are just really dumb.”

“If you could reason with religious people, there would be no religious people.”

________________

I pose a challenge to those who find these statements as either factual or funny.  Countless Christians have spent time in school studying science, psychology, and philosophy to include some of the prominent authors mentioned above.  We are required to complete these courses in order to graduate.  We do so willingly, without a fight.

We enjoy these classes, but they do not shake our faith.  We pass these classes with flying colors.  Christian Nobel Laureate's (from all disciplines), Ph.D's, M.A.'s, B.A.'s, and other brilliant thinkers have all [obviously] passed through these institutions.  Yet these men and women are not thinkers?  They are not rational?

You, on the other hand, are not required to pass theology courses.  You are not required to pass lengthy classes dedicated to the study of science as it relates to creationism (these courses do exist).  

My challenge is this:  put down "The God Delusion" for a moment.  Pick up the Bible and read through the Gospels.  Wrap your own mind around what is being said.  Go to a small church in your area and observe; listen.  Pick up a Tim Keller or Tullian Tchividjian book and read it.  You might be surprised to learn that most Christians are nothing like what you see at the Westboro Baptist Church.

In fact, you will learn that we are strikingly similar to you.  Don't believe me?  Take the challenge and see for yourself.

A Curious Inquiry: Pro-Life Militants

I am pro-life.  I am not a pro-life militant.  Here is why.  I don’t understand the purpose.  When a pro-life advocate stands outside the Planned Parenthood bearing signs filled with flames and promises of hell, what exactly is accomplished?  If an eighteen year old chooses to terminate her pregnancy and then walks out into a parking lot filled with screaming pro-life militant Christians holding signs, do you think it is at all possible that you might be the reason why she puts a pistol against her temple and pulls the trigger?  Do you think this hasn't already happened?

At her most vulnerable moment, when she needs an encouraging word the most, she will instead receive a cold shoulder and looks of disgust.  We, as Christians, have become known for this.  This is not how we were called to react!

“A 2006 study by New Zealand researcher David M. Fergusson in the Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry, which controlled for a prior history of depression and anxiety and suicidal ideation (wanting to take one’s own life or thinking about suicide), found that 27 percent to 50 percent of women after abortion reported suicidal ideation. Mr. Fergusson found that the risk of suicide was three times greater for women who aborted than for women who delivered."  Furthermore,  “…last September, a meta-analysis in the British Journal of Psychiatry found an 81 percent increased risk of mental trauma after abortion.” http://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2012/feb/20/disclosing-the-abortion-suicide-association/#ixzz2KT9NU0so.

Don’t confuse my defense of these women as a missing link in my “pro-life armor.”  My concern lies in the approach I see deployed by fellow Christians.  I sincerely don’t get it.  How are we not wrapping these women in our arms while peppering them with words of comfort and love?  As cliche as it seems, I ask myself what Jesus would have done.  I don't think He'd be picketing the Planned Parenthood.  I think He might change her life through a meeting at the well further down the road (John 4:4-26).    

Furthermore, how can a man thrust his opinion of birth control on a woman he does not know?  I picture this in my mind sometimes.  I imagine a distraught woman walking through a parking lot filled with a group of picketers that include male participants.  I imagine the men condemning this woman for not saving the life of her unborn child.  They call her a hell-bound fornicator and warn her to repent of her evil ways or suffer the consequences from God because He’s pissed.

Do these men know that she had been brutally raped by her own father (for years) and was carrying his child?  I think the chances are pretty good that none of these “good Christian men” have a solitary clue what it is like to be a female who has been raped, beaten, and sodomized by a member of their own family (or anyone for that matter).

The common reply from my Christian brothers and sisters is that “at least we are telling them about Christ.  Even if the truth is hard to hear.”  Sorry, that is the biggest copout ever.  I would argue that you are a spoiled milk poured down the throats of those seek to quench a critical thirst.

Radical change can occur through pro-life advocates without the use of fire and brimstone tactics.  You might be the one and only representation of Christ that these women ever see.  Don't make it a meeting filled with hate.

(Let me clarify.  I am a pro-life advocate who feels that the termination of a pregnancy due to "the future convenience of the mother" is unacceptable.  I also feel that abortions due to "abnormalities within the fetus" are wrong.  A child is not an inconvenience. A child is a gift.  Any parent will tell you this.  I struggle, however, with cases of abortion revolving around rape, incest, and life-threatening complications for the mother.  It is important for me to indicate that I don't feel as though I have the right to voice my opinion toward anyone in these circumstances.  I am not qualified).

Thanks for listening.

Steven