"Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone." — Colossians 4:6.
The above verse applies to any and all communication conducted by someone who chooses to follow Jesus. In particular, I think this verse deserves reflection as we enter fully into this election season.
With the Republican National Convention underway, and the Democratic counterpart soon to follow, I've seen the communication of those around me become increasing emotional. Be it rage, sarcasm, sorrow, or any other feeling, the extremes of political discourse seem to be making more and more of an appearance.
Honestly, it saddens me very deeply that we who claim to follow Christ would abandon Scripture's mandate so readily in the face of something as trivial as American politics. I say trivial not because politics do not matter for this world. They matter a great deal, and it is important that we intelligently engage in political discourse. I say trivial because spiritual concerns are infinitely more important than temporal ones. Our spiritual commitments should always outweigh those of this world.
Scripture is very clear about how we are to act towards each other. We are to be humble, patient, and filled with grace. How can we be anything else, with all of the grace we have been shown?
I know that during this time it can be very tempting to set down the truth of Scripture as we enter the political arena. I implore you, however, especially if you consider yourself a follower of Jesus, to remember grace. May we set ourselves apart as a generation who brings patient, loving reason back into political conversation. May we deny the fabricated hatred promoted by the world around us. We have available to us grace which covers over acts more atrocious than we can ever hope to comprehend. May we have the humility to be patient and loving with those who offend us in an infinitely less significant fashion.
With God's love and grace,
Taylor
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Barn Chronicles: Volume Two
Lesson 2: Owls Make Bad Roommates
For this post, a small primer on owls might prove helpful. Two attributes of owls stand out as particularly pertinent:
1. Owls are nocturnal.
2. Owls that live in my particular barn make a sound one could describe as horrific screeching. No pleasant hooting here, oh no. No no. No.
These two attributes (combined with the fact that I am decidedly not nocturnal and find horrific screeching to be fairly bothersome) have made my life slightly more difficult.
Most of the difficulty has come from my inability to understand the aforementioned owls. I know it sounds like I'm getting a tad excessive in my desire to comprehend, but this is what I do. I ask "why?" questions over and over until I hit a brick wall. Then I stare at the brick wall and ask "why?"
I actually managed to avoid that brick wall in relation to my current roommate (the owl, for those just joining us from the coverage of Olympic Puddle Jumping). The answer:
Because that's just what owls do.
At first, this didn't seem like a satisfactory answer at all. If this ridiculous nocturnal screeching is "just what owls do," how can I hope to do anything about it? And there's the rub. I want to be able to do something about this behavior. I want to be able to fix it, to solve my problem. Yet no amount of yelling or pleading or gunfire will change the fact that owls will persist in their nocturnality. That last solution might solve the screeching, but only until more owls show up.
This difficulty goes well beyond owls, as I'm sure we can all understand. Sometimes, we come across a problem, say in a person, which seems to be so innate that there is absolutely nothing we can do about it on our own. Not permanently, anyway. We might be able to inspire a temporary solution (i.e. gunfire + owls = momentary quiet), but the root issue is still there. Owls are still nocturnal. That person is still unforgiving. Our world is still full of people who just can't seem to stop hating each other. Feel free to go as deep or shallow as you like in regards to these problems.
I'm not arguing that we should stop trying to solve problems. That involves giving up hope, something I simply will not do (ever). Instead, I'm saying we need something beyond ourselves, because clearly we aren't capable of fixing every problem in the world on our own. Adding more people to the equation might help. However, increasing the amount of people who can't truly solve a problem doesn't seem to increase the likelihood of the problem being solved.
Instead, my experience here in the barn is telling me that we need to hope in something greater. For those who know me, you know that my bigger thing (or in this case person) is Jesus Christ. For those who didn't know, now you do. I think hope should have a basis, and Jesus certainly has that.
So thank you, owls. Thank you for reminding me who it is that I can hope in when problems seem too innate to be solved. Now please go to sleep, it's two in the morning.
With God's love and grace (in a barn),
Taylor
P.S. That "basis" I talked about for believing in Jesus is fairly vague, I know, but I don't have room to explore it in its totality here. Let me know if you would be interested in hearing more specifics on that.
For this post, a small primer on owls might prove helpful. Two attributes of owls stand out as particularly pertinent:
1. Owls are nocturnal.
2. Owls that live in my particular barn make a sound one could describe as horrific screeching. No pleasant hooting here, oh no. No no. No.
These two attributes (combined with the fact that I am decidedly not nocturnal and find horrific screeching to be fairly bothersome) have made my life slightly more difficult.
Most of the difficulty has come from my inability to understand the aforementioned owls. I know it sounds like I'm getting a tad excessive in my desire to comprehend, but this is what I do. I ask "why?" questions over and over until I hit a brick wall. Then I stare at the brick wall and ask "why?"
I actually managed to avoid that brick wall in relation to my current roommate (the owl, for those just joining us from the coverage of Olympic Puddle Jumping). The answer:
Because that's just what owls do.
At first, this didn't seem like a satisfactory answer at all. If this ridiculous nocturnal screeching is "just what owls do," how can I hope to do anything about it? And there's the rub. I want to be able to do something about this behavior. I want to be able to fix it, to solve my problem. Yet no amount of yelling or pleading or gunfire will change the fact that owls will persist in their nocturnality. That last solution might solve the screeching, but only until more owls show up.
This difficulty goes well beyond owls, as I'm sure we can all understand. Sometimes, we come across a problem, say in a person, which seems to be so innate that there is absolutely nothing we can do about it on our own. Not permanently, anyway. We might be able to inspire a temporary solution (i.e. gunfire + owls = momentary quiet), but the root issue is still there. Owls are still nocturnal. That person is still unforgiving. Our world is still full of people who just can't seem to stop hating each other. Feel free to go as deep or shallow as you like in regards to these problems.
I'm not arguing that we should stop trying to solve problems. That involves giving up hope, something I simply will not do (ever). Instead, I'm saying we need something beyond ourselves, because clearly we aren't capable of fixing every problem in the world on our own. Adding more people to the equation might help. However, increasing the amount of people who can't truly solve a problem doesn't seem to increase the likelihood of the problem being solved.
Instead, my experience here in the barn is telling me that we need to hope in something greater. For those who know me, you know that my bigger thing (or in this case person) is Jesus Christ. For those who didn't know, now you do. I think hope should have a basis, and Jesus certainly has that.
So thank you, owls. Thank you for reminding me who it is that I can hope in when problems seem too innate to be solved. Now please go to sleep, it's two in the morning.
With God's love and grace (in a barn),
Taylor
P.S. That "basis" I talked about for believing in Jesus is fairly vague, I know, but I don't have room to explore it in its totality here. Let me know if you would be interested in hearing more specifics on that.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Barn Chronicles: Volume One
And so it begins.
For those of you who are not aware, I will be living in a barn for the next month.To clarify, there are no animals in this barn (though there are two horses, several chickens, two dogs, an owl, and some unconfirmed raccoons nearby).
I'm learning a lot, even in the short time that I've been here (I moved in today). I thought it might be fun to share some of what I have been learning. Thus, for the next little while, Third Chronicles will masquerade as its alter ego, Barn Chronicles.
Lesson One: Barns Shrink Problems
Barns are what one might call...vulnerable. For example, I possess a great deal of intimacy with the outside world. There are several ways in which an animal could somehow wander into this place, ways that I'm not certain I can readily seal off. I may end up making fast friends (or eternal enemies) with, say, a raccoon. Or a deer. Or a chupacabra. I'm not sure what animals might come exploring. On top of this, I essentially live in a horror movie plot. How many movies involve someone hanging out in a barn and then getting murdered? I don't know, I don't really watch horror movies, but I'm guessing a lot.
When I think about this, all of the other problems in my life start to shrink. It's harder to worry about little things when you're confronted (even for just a little while) with a lack of assurance in your basic survival needs.
Strangely enough, I find this comforting. Thinking about only the most basic things in life provides a sense of clarity. As I and the mighty push broom Mjolnir swept out this place, my life got a thorough sweeping. Petty worries have dropped away, and what I'm left with are those things which are truly important to me; those people, things, and questions which are truly dear to my heart.
The practicality of this for those not living in a barn? Consider the advantage of a change of setting. Put yourself in a place where only the most basic needs must (and can) be met. Even if it's only for a small period of time. Do this at least once so you know what is most important to you, and then carry that knowledge out into the next chapter of your life.
Assuming I don't get mauled by a bear, I'm excited to see how this experience will shape me. Let me know if you have any fun ideas for things I should do in a barn. Who knows when I might get another chance?
With God's love and grace (in a barn),
Taylor
P.S. I'll have pictures up soon so people can see exactly what I mean by "barn."
P.P.S. Barn barn barn. I feel like I didn't say that enough during the post.
P.P.P.S. Barn.
For those of you who are not aware, I will be living in a barn for the next month.To clarify, there are no animals in this barn (though there are two horses, several chickens, two dogs, an owl, and some unconfirmed raccoons nearby).
I'm learning a lot, even in the short time that I've been here (I moved in today). I thought it might be fun to share some of what I have been learning. Thus, for the next little while, Third Chronicles will masquerade as its alter ego, Barn Chronicles.
Lesson One: Barns Shrink Problems
Barns are what one might call...vulnerable. For example, I possess a great deal of intimacy with the outside world. There are several ways in which an animal could somehow wander into this place, ways that I'm not certain I can readily seal off. I may end up making fast friends (or eternal enemies) with, say, a raccoon. Or a deer. Or a chupacabra. I'm not sure what animals might come exploring. On top of this, I essentially live in a horror movie plot. How many movies involve someone hanging out in a barn and then getting murdered? I don't know, I don't really watch horror movies, but I'm guessing a lot.
When I think about this, all of the other problems in my life start to shrink. It's harder to worry about little things when you're confronted (even for just a little while) with a lack of assurance in your basic survival needs.
Strangely enough, I find this comforting. Thinking about only the most basic things in life provides a sense of clarity. As I and the mighty push broom Mjolnir swept out this place, my life got a thorough sweeping. Petty worries have dropped away, and what I'm left with are those things which are truly important to me; those people, things, and questions which are truly dear to my heart.
The practicality of this for those not living in a barn? Consider the advantage of a change of setting. Put yourself in a place where only the most basic needs must (and can) be met. Even if it's only for a small period of time. Do this at least once so you know what is most important to you, and then carry that knowledge out into the next chapter of your life.
Assuming I don't get mauled by a bear, I'm excited to see how this experience will shape me. Let me know if you have any fun ideas for things I should do in a barn. Who knows when I might get another chance?
With God's love and grace (in a barn),
Taylor
P.S. I'll have pictures up soon so people can see exactly what I mean by "barn."
P.P.S. Barn barn barn. I feel like I didn't say that enough during the post.
P.P.P.S. Barn.
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