I Am a Fake Environmentalist

Buying a Prius in order to save money on gas doesn't mean I'm an environmentalist, it means I'm a capitalist.

Supporting the World Wildlife Fund and the Girl Scouts and the Fraternal Order of Police doesn't mean I'm an environmentalist, it means I'm a philanthropist.

Growing my own food because it's healthier doesn't mean I'm an environmentalist, it means I'm a nutritionist.

Purchasing a "green" product because my friend has one doesn't mean I'm an environmentalist, it means I'm a populist.

Putting my blue bin on the curb but refusing to drive it to the recycling center doesn't mean I'm an environmentalist, it means I'm a pragmatist.

Installing solar panels on my roof because they look cool doesn't mean I'm an environmentalist, it means I'm a narcissist.

Frugality, generosity, wisdom, popularity, practicality, and attractiveness don't make me an environmentalist. They make me an egotist. True environmentalists make sacrifices for their cause. They give up money, time, energy, and fame in order to stand up for the precepts that they hold true. They hold on to their belief more than they hold on to their comfort or convenience.

With that said, am I a Christian? Are you? Have we truly put Jesus above all else, or are we just doing stuff because it seems to make sense?

If I Were Running for President

It saddens me that, in today's political culture, a candidate's faith is seen as a detriment to his or her service rather than an asset.  There seem to be unwritten rules that say, in order to effectively govern, you can quote the Bible, but you shouldn't read it every day.  You can hold a press conference at a church, but you shouldn't go to one regularly.  You can invoke God's name, but you shouldn't say anything about Jesus.

But that's not really faith...it's fashion.  It's showing people just enough spirituality to convince them that you're not a hedonist, but not so much spirituality as to imply that you're a holy-roller. A Christian, Mormon, and Catholic are each on the presidential ballot this year, so here's what I would say about my faith if I were on the ticket, too:

"Many politicians spend their careers saying things that you believe, instead things that they believe. It's a great way to get elected, but it's a terrible way to govern. So, today, I am here to tell you what I believe...with the hope that we can find common ground and move toward making a lasting difference in our country.

First of all, I personally believe that the Jesus of the Bible is the ultimate historical example of how to live, love, and lead.  He was compassionate to those who were less fortunate, loving to those who disagreed with him, and a servant to those he worked alongside. As a candidate this year, I pledge to follow Jesus' leadership model as best I know how. Furthermore, I challenge any person of any faith to suggest that the methods implemented by Jesus of Nazareth would not be a breath of fresh air in politics.

I know that there are some who are concerned that Christianity will cloud my judgement and keep me from being objective.  But that assumption couldn't be further from the truth. Bribery clouds a person's judgement.  Not belief. Quid pro quo diminishes objectivity. Not conviction. When someone has faith in something that money can't buy and power can't corrupt, their thinking remains clear and their resolve remains steadfast. My beliefs (both in God and in the Constitution) dictate my actions...not a paycheck, not a power trip, not a President.

For those who are worried that my own personal morality will negatively impact the freedom of the American people, please hear me. I proudly serve a God who gives people a choice as to whether or not they follow Him. Far be it from me to attempt to legislate what God has designed to be optional. In accordance with the laws of the land, I believe in the freedom of religion, all religion, providing that one person's religious beliefs don't violate another citizen's life, liberty, or pursuit of happiness.

Finally, speaking of life, I believe that life is given by God.  But I also believe that it's guaranteed by the Bill of Rights. I promise to vote in favor of the unborn without fail, fulfilling my duty not only as a Christian, but as an American.

I look forward to your vote this November. May America bless God and may God Bless America. Thank you."


(This is a slightly edited re-post from September of 2010)

The Reset Generation

Back in Jr. High, my friend Rob and I used to play a lot of video games. Tetris, Zelda, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and F-Zero were some of our favorites.

Ten percent of the time, maybe less, we would start a game and finish it through to the end. The promise of getting a new high score, saving the princess, or reaching a new level was enough to keep us going. The other 90% of the time, however--when things weren't going so well--we used our favorite button on the game console: the reset button.

If one of us made a bad move partway through the game, we would use our peripheral vision to look at each and say, "Let's start over." Sometimes we would restart the game ten times before we felt comfortable enough with our performance to push through.

I don't know about you, but it seems like society has followed Rob and I's lead. I call us "The Reset Generation." Our culture has a mentality that says, if things don't work out, we can just push 'reset' and start over. Everything is disposable. Nothing is sacred.

We lease cars.
Change careers.
And consolidate credit cards.

We switch churches.
Break contracts.
And file for Chapter 11.

We throw away friendships.
Upgrade houses.
And abandon marriages.

'Reset' is no longer just a button on the Playstation. It's a lifestyle. The SUV has a few dents? Reset. The job has a few quirks? Reset. The condo has a few squeaks? Reset. The relationship has a few issues? Reset.

With video games, there are no consequences to this philosophy. The game is exactly the same no matter how many times we push that little button. But in real life, there are consequences. Often significant consequences. As a "serial resetter," I can tell you from experience that a lack of equity, stability, longevity, humility, transparency, and honesty are natural results of this mindset.

This is not to say that there is never a time for change or turnarounds or a "game over"...but Romans 5:3-4 reminds us that, "...suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope." In other words, a person's lack of persistence when life gets tough negatively affects their character and, ultimately, their hope for the future.

It seems backward though, doesn't it? Our humanness tells us that starting over gives us hope. Avoiding the problem is the best solution. Taking the path of least resistance is the sensible way to go. But the Bible says differently.

Hitting 'reset' may have helped Rob and I win a few video games, but more often than not, it isn't the winning solution in real life.

It's Probably Saturday

At the funeral of a close family friend this week, my dad shared a message that strongly resonated not just with the family, but with every single person in the audience. And, today, I thought I would share it with you.

Whether you've lost your job or somebody you love...whether your struggling financially or relationally...whether you just got bad news from your doctor or your kids - every tragedy has three parts. And those three parts are found in the Easter story.

On Friday Jesus was crucified. On Sunday he rose again. We know those parts. But we tend to forget what happened on Saturday. Namely, nothing. We read the story as if Saturday was a commercial or an intermission or something...ignoring the emptiness and loneliness and nothingness that the day truly held.

Saturday is where most of us live most of the time.

Saturday is the day between bad and good. Between confusion and understanding. Between hurt and healing. Between questions and resolution. Saturday is a day of waiting and of wondering. It's a day where tragedy has already occurred, but where victory hasn't come yet.

Unfortunately, in the midst of our tragedy, we don't often realize it's a "three day story" until the third day actually arrives. It feels like Saturday is going to last forever. As C.S. Lewis wrote in The Chronicles of Narnia, it is easy to feel like life is "always winter and never Christmas."

Just remember: Jonah didn't know he was going to get out of the giant fish alive. Joesph didn't know he would be Egypt's second-in-command. The disciples didn't know their friend and mentor was going to overcome death. But, on the third day, they knew. Sunday finally showed up.

In your hurt, in your pain, in your tragedy...today may feel like Saturday. And it may feel like Saturday has been a long, long day. But, right now, you don't have to know why things happen. You don't have to know what to say. You don't even have to know how you're going to recover.

You just have to know Sunday is going to come.

It's Not What You Think

(Thanks to Seth Godin for the concept of this blog. Simple, but effective.)

When God asks you to do something for him, he generally asks for one of two things:

1. Something you were born to do.
2. Something you are scared to death to do.

If you have been in the habit of assuming one of these, you might want to start praying about the other.