Christian Piatt Blog

When information leads to inaction

I am a music junkie, with more than 1,000 CDs and countless downloaded music files. There’s a music store in Dallas called Bill’s Records that had the deepest music catalog of any music store I had ever seen. If there was a rare import or limited edition release, I knew Bill’s would have it.

Sometimes, though, I just wanted to browse. The problem was that, unless I had a specific thing in mind that I was looking for, I almost never bought anything there. There was just so much that I hardly knew where to start.

A scientific study considered how we humans make choices. Two tables were set up in a grocery store, one with six choices of jellies, and another with more than 20. Though when asked, people claim to want more options, the study results were quite different; the table with only six samples sold 10 times more than the table with a much larger selection.

Author A.J. Jacobs refers to this phenomenon in his book, “A Year of Living Biblically: One Man’s Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible.” In this particular section, he is wrestling with why the Good Book has so many rules.

“The Bible takes away a lot of those jam jars,” says Jacobs, referring to the study. “There’s something relieving and paradoxically liberating about surrendering yourself to a minimal-choice lifestyle, especially as our choices multiply like cable channels.”

There’s an acronym that’s become indicative of a growing trend within the online community called “wilfing.” The term “wilf” stands for “what was I looking for?” This refers to the tendency to begin looking for a certain bit of information online, only to be consumed by an infinite thread of links to other interesting tidbits. After a while, you’re so far from where you began that it’s hard to remember why you got online in the first place.

In a British study done last year, data suggested that young professionals squander as much as two full workdays a month wilfing. What’s worse: those wilfers probably can’t tell you what they spent their time doing.

It’s enough to raise the question: Although we’re surrounded by more choices and more information than ever before, are we entering into the informational equivalent of 40 years in the desert? It calls to mind the story of the Israelites, after being led to freedom by Moses, who came to realize that their thirst soon took precedent over their previous longing for freedom.

Perhaps our voracious appetite for personal choice, individual expression and freedom comes at a hidden cost. Maybe, although what we think we want are options, what we really need is freedom tempered with structure, and latitude balanced with some limitations, even if our initial reaction is resistance.

As a member of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), my gut reaction is to reject anything that smacks of dogma, or that attempts to proscribe in any way my relationship with the divine. However, if we consider our religious institutions less like high school principals and more like experienced guides, maybe there is some potential benefit in being nurtured into more of a “minimal-choice lifestyle.”

I’m the first to admit that the things I think I want don’t always serve me well in the end. I like to think I can address God more or less on my own terms, but where to begin? At its best, church offers movable, permeable boundaries that allow us room to navigate, while not feeling lost. At its worst, these boundaries become fixed, rigid doctrines that our institutions of faith wield as weapons.

Personally, I don’t want any church telling me which kind of jelly to eat, but I’m also not sure I can handle 20 choices, all at once. Let’s split the difference and start with a handful of options, with the understanding that, just because these are the ones currently on the table, there’s a world full of options we can continue to explore together.

It seems that many adventures hang upon the wild waggings of Mattias’  – my four-year-old son’s – tongue. Three examples from the last week come to mind.

I’ve warned him more than once that his confrontational nature and fearless tendency to get up in people’s faces could easily lead to him getting popped in the face. I suppose he’s more of a learn-by-doing kind of kid. Last weekend, he was in the back of the car with his friend, Vaughan, and they started to fight over a toy. Though it was Vaughan’s toy, Mattias decided to explain to him, in no uncertain terms, why it was now going to be his toy.

The next thing we knew, both boys were wailing, and Mattias was covered in red from a profusely bleeding nose, brought on by the fist of said friend coming into close and rapid contact with said nose. He had been on his way to a birthday party, but looked like a horror movie victim and had to change. By the time he calmed down, however, he decided it looked cool and wanted to keep his bloody clothes on to show all of his friends. We decided not to go that way.

The next moment came when I picked him up from school recently. I’m not sure what went down at school, but he felt compelled to explain to me all of the “potty words” he should never say.

“They’re bad words, those potty words, dad. You know?” he said. “I should never say words like weiner, poop, butt and fart, dad. Never.”

Thanks son for your imminent prudence and restraint.

Finally, I took him to lunch since he was being (relatively) good, and as he tends to do, he wandered up to new folks and introduced himself. I figure that, as long as he understands boundaries and stays close, it’s good social conditioning.

I should mention at this point that one of his favorite hobbies lately is mimicking famous lines fro old movies, accents and all. We get a good laugh out of it and he gets to be center-stage. At one point at lunch, he walked up to a big, tattooed, pierced guy and raises his hand in the air and says, with a completely straight face:

“Hey, you crazy mook, you talkin’ to me?”

The guy looked like Mattias had just kicked him in the knee. He stood there,  stunned and mute, and Mattias ran off to play.

That’s my boy.

The tyranny of the unpossessed in America

It’s come up before in this column that I’m a big basketball fan. I’ve traveled as many as 700 miles to attend an NBA playoff game, and I’m proud to say I once caught Kenyon Martin in my arms when he leapt over his team’s bench for a wayward ball.

There are few in my life who share my passion for pro ball. So when I get together with those select friends who have a similar interest, we “nerd out” about the latest trade rumors, playoff predictions and how many pure centers there really are in the NBA.

With the trade deadline near, talk about which players would stay and which would go has been a hot topic among nerdy fans. One thing led to another, and my friend and I – on the way to a Dallas Mavericks game, I might add – revived a years-long debate about the controversial trade of Steve Nash to the Phoenix Suns a few years ago.

I won’t bore you with all of the details, but to put the debate in context, my friend named his son Nash after the all-star point guard. Talk about someone who was heartbroken when Nash was traded away!

Anyway, we chatted once again about why it was that Mavericks owner Mark Cuban was willing to part with Nash, who went on to win the league’s Most Valuable Player award two years in a row, and why Nash agreed to leave an up-and-coming team, as well as Dirk Nowitzki, who is one of his best friends in the world, for a bigger contract.

Though the six-year, $65-million offer from Phoenix was a year longer and almost $20 million richer than Dallas’ offer, my point was that, at that level, a guy can play wherever he wants. Twenty million dollars, though a huge chunk of change, wasn’t going to change his long-term retirement plans. Why not stay, I asked, and at least push them to counter the offer? Instead, Nash took the offer from Phoenix and never looked back.

“It became personal,” said my friend who, ironically, is named Steve. “When Nowitzki’s contract came up for negotiation, the Mavericks offered him the league maximum contract, no question. When (Michael) Finley (the Mavs’ former star forward) came up for renewal, they signed him to the maximum too. But when Nash’s contract was up, they didn’t offer him the same deal. He was insulted.”

Insulted? How can anyone ever justify being insulted by an offer of $45 million to play basketball for five years? Though I admire Steve Nash, such an argument smacked of brazen greed.

“I try to put myself in his position,” said Steve. “If I got a raise at work, I might be happy with it. But if I found out two of my friends who did the same job and had the same experience were making more, I’d be upset.”

Come to think of it, so would I. Why is that?

We tend to draw so much of our self-worth from how we measure up to others. In a relatively affluent society like ours, such benchmarks have less to do with survival, as they may have in scarcer times, and more about where we are in the pecking order.

The problem with this mindset is that it sets all of us up – save for the one left on top – for dissatisfaction. And as for the top dog, they are too busy looking over their shoulder to enjoy their privilege.

Brian Feille, a professor of theology at Brite Divinity School, once called our insatiable covetous nature the “tyranny of the unpossessed.” As long as we have our basic needs met, we’re satisfied, but only until we become aware either that there’s more to be had, or that someone else has more than we do. At that point, we become enslaved by our desires, shackled by greed, regardless of what we have.

There’s an old saying that claims there are only two paths to wealth. One leads us to gain more, and the other, to desire less. In reality, however, only the latter path leads anywhere but in an endless circle.

So, how much do you deserve?

Superdelegates: A distortion of democracy

It seems the Democratic Party has a dangerously short memory.

Though their candidate for president lost his bid for the White House, while managing to win the popular vote, less than eight years ago, they seem intent on risking the same sort of outcome with the distribution of so-called superdelegates in determining their presidential nominee.

The delegate process is complex, and some might argue antiquated and irrelevant. Each state is appointed a certain number of delegates based upon population. Although the Republicans award all delegates from each state to the winner of the primary or caucus in that state, Democrats allocate proportionately based upon the popular vote. So if one candidate gets 60 percent of the vote, they get 60 percent of the delegates, and so on. The idea here is that, although it may mean it takes longer to determine a clear front-runner, Democrats believe that this system is more representative of the will of the people.

Superdelegates are party heavyweights, including members of congress, governors and the like, and their votes in the party nomination process count as much as a state delegate. So in short, one party official’s vote can be as powerful as that of an entire voting precinct. And whereas the state delegates are determined based upon the results of the primaries and caucuses, superdelegates can vote any way they want. They can come out publicly in favor of one candidate or another to help sway public opinion, and they can change allegiance as many times as they like up to the final vote on the party floor.

Historically, the role of the superdelegates has been minor, as most contenders are weeded out before they have a chance to vote at the party convention. However, in those rare cases such as the current Democratic nomination, they could play a significant role: even to the point of deciding who the nominee is, independent of popular voting.

There are two arguments used in support of maintaining the superdelegate system. First, there are those who suggest that the superdelegates are in place to help ensure that the “best interests” of the public are served. Though not explicitly stated, this suggests that the voting public may not be able to discern and lend support to those leaders who will serve their best interest. Aside from the highly subjective nature of the phrase “public’s best interests,” there is the matter of the perceived greater good versus the value placed on representative democracy.

Granted, there is the possibility that voters will select a candidate that leads us in a direction contrary to the greater benefit of the majority of American citizens. Some might even argue such choices have been made in the not-so-distant past. However, there is a name for the form of government wherein a privileged few govern in the best interests of the whole; it is an oligarchy. Though maintaining a superdelegate system is far from pure oligarchic rule, it certainly leans in this direction, and hardly embraces the spirit of representative democracy which we celebrate, at least rhetorically.

The second argument for superdelegates is to keep “un-electable” candidates from being nominated. Common reasoning can reveal the possibility that the darling of either political party may be too ideologically radical to secure the coveted independent and moderate votes necessary to win the White House. In fact, the superdelegate system was introduced prior to the democratic candidate nomination in 1984. At that time, Walter Mondale was competing against Gary Hart, who was considered by some as certain to lose the general election if nominated. Therefore the party gentry intervened, helping ensure that their tired and true candidate would prevail.

The result: Mondale won the party’s nomination, sure enough, and proceeded to lose 49 out of 50 states to Ronald Regan.

Though justifications are as plentiful as those who desire to lay claim to positions of power, the superdelegate system appears to be nothing but a thinly veiled effort to circumvent the system intended to empower the electorate to get involved. Though there is much lip-service paid to getting out the vote, a trumping of the public’s choice for democratic nominee would inflict significant long-term damage to the electoral process, disenfranchising yet another generation of would-be activists. Trust in the system would erode once again.

Ironically, those in charge of managing the party system that leads us to the final nominee are not elected. As appointed officials, we can only hope that they can see beyond their own short-term interests and desires to control the outcomes, as the “greater good” of the Democratic Party may depend on it. The only other option available to the rest of us may be to defect from the party all together, until the numbers are so lessened and their power so weakened that they have no option but to cede control, placing authority back into the hands of the public.

Church and politics not so different, really

I took part in my precinct’s caucus on Tuesday, which was a first for me. It was crowded, brimming with energy, and sometimes bordering on chaotic.

Some might say it was a “raucous caucus.” But enough bad wordplay from me.

As many have read by now, there was an eclectic blend of seasoned veterans and newbies, all trying to learn how to work a pretty confusing political system together. In a lot of ways, it was a metaphor for what the church is going through as well.

The experienced members of the caucus were thrilled to see such an unprecedented number of people turn out, and to see so many younger folks excited to take part. You could feel the energy in the air, and it was all smiles, at least for a little while.

As generally is the case, the glow waned as we got down to business. Like many church denominations, the caucus process has layers upon layers of processes and policies, some of which might seem arcane or even pointless to the untrained eye. However, the veterans in the group began to navigate the procedural waters with ease, only to be hung up, time and again, by the naive, inquisitive, and probably annoying, newcomers.

We were much like preschool children, with our hands in everything, asking “What’s this?” and “Why do you do it that way?” Though the inclination is to answer the 20th question with a resolute “Because I said so,” the leaders summoned the patience and tried over and over to bring us up to speed.

What began as a jubilant celebration of political activism turned into an hours-long marathon of deciphering rules, deliberating about the appointment of delegates, a few phone calls and appeals to the local party representative.

By the time we finished, no one was entirely satisfied with what we had accomplished, and everyone looked tired and beleaguered.

Church is much the same in its current desire to welcome hordes of now-distant young folks into their communities of faith. It misses the energy of young children, the creativity of youth and the hope found in the presence of young families.

The problems begin, however, when they actually come. You walk in one morning, ready to enjoy your Sunday morning cup of coffee, and the pot is dry. You’d munch on a doughnut as a meager substitute, but some scrawny little punk just ran off with the last Danish. You head to the sanctuary to find your favorite seat, only to find it filled, and what in the world is the racket coming from the front of the room?

Since when do we have guitars in worship? Who approved that anyway?

You head indignantly to the next leadership meeting to air your concerns, but you have been bumped down the docket so the new associate minister can talk to the group about a youth mission project. The seemingly benign conversation degrades into a more passionate argument about the overall mission of the church, and before you can get in your two cents’ worth, the youth choir starts warming up nearby.

Dejected, you take a handful of aspirin and ask yourself where the good old days went, and why it was that you wanted all this new blood in your church in the first place.

Change is hard for everyone, especially those who were there first. Sometimes the idea of new faces is more appealing than the reality, but politics, like church, is a messy, complicated business.

What’s most important is not that we all agree on the issues, or even that we get along. What really matters is that, once we come around the table together, we stick together, and that we keep welcoming new voices and attitudes, in spite of the discomfort that comes along with it.

The church of ‘Come and see’ or ‘Go and do?’

I just got back from a three-day summit in Kansas City, Mo., focused on the place of young adults within the church. I talked myself blue about a number of topics, including the growing ineffectiveness of the old “attractional church” model.

Several decades ago, the church benefited from several social dynamics. People moved less often, divorced less, kept the same job forever and generally stayed close to home. The concept of community was very centralized and relatively constant.

On top of this, there was a swell of confidence in institutions after World War II. From Roosevelt’s New Deal to the triumph of the good guys against Nazi Germany, we embraced idealism as a community value, as well as those institutions that represented those ideals.

In such a dynamic, the local church stood as a social, ideological and cultural hub for the local community. If you grew up in the Methodist church, you were a Methodist, period. Of course, there was some church-hopping, but the very notion of surveying the multitude of faith options out there in the world was a relatively foreign concept.

In such an environment, the institutional image was a relatively positive one. It represented permanence, safety and security – all values highly sought at the time. Rather than having to aggressively seek out fringe-dwellers, churches focused more on meeting the needs of those already in their midst. A focus on programs became paramount, along with a trust that, as these programs became known in the community, people who needed them would come.

This, in essence, is what is now known as the “attractional model” for church. Though it had its day, many things have since rendered this way of doing church nearly irrelevant. People increasingly suspect all institutions, particularly religious ones and they have fewer denominational ties without church as part of their upbringing. We are a highly mobile, decentralized, ever-discriminating – some might say skeptical or even cynical – culture.

What’s more, the last thing we need is for church to reflect the culture we see every day outside the doors. For a while, churches decided that, to reach the MTV generation, they had to look more like MTV. Though this works with some on a superficial level, the feeling-driven spirituality of high-production services takes us only so far, leaving many hungry for something spiritually richer, deeper and more relevant to their notions of justice, transformation and healing needed in the world.

Enter the “missional church” model. Instead of focusing on building up the programs that will draw those we think we need to survive, we reach out – less as firebrand evangelists and more as compassionate missionaries – ready to listen, to build community beyond the walls, and to serve.

Though worship used to be the point of entry for most people seeking a faith community, it actually is toward the end of the missional model cycle. We first build relationships in neutral territory, developing dialogue around “common ground” issues: climate change, poverty and even our own personal stories bring us closer together, rather than draw lines of belief in the sand.

From here, an organic sort of community emerges, engendering a sense of mutual trust and intimate care for one another that transcends ideological differences. Though the relationship may stay there for years, it also opens the door for invitation to deeper discipleship if the desire is clearly expressed. This is the point at which we find opportunities – either inside or outside church – to worship, study, serve and share together, growing in parallel in our spiritual lives. As for worship styles, those emerge from the passions and experiences of those who come, rather than being preordained by those who think they know what the public wants.

The hardest thing about the missional model of church is that it doesn’t offer immediate results for churches obsessed with survival. Instead it focuses on discipleship in the active, culturally engaged sense. The beauty of this new vision for faith is that it can flourish whether or not our religious institutions fail. It demands more of us individually, but it offers the potential for much more in return.

So what would Jesus do? Would he spend time worrying about how to meet his church’s budget, or would he get on with the business of cultivating disciples, one relationship at a time?

To me, the answer is clear.

Following is my most recent column in Disciples World Magazine:

Love knows no bounds…or does it?

According to a report from Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, by the year 2025, five out of six current clergy leaders will have retired. Meanwhile, the average tenure of a clergy person is at least a decade less than in other “first career” professions. Aside from these age and attrition issues, there is also the matter of representation within church leadership.

Although most churches are experiencing the greatest growth in membership within non-Anglo ethnicities, a significant majority of our church leadership is still white. Although a majority of those who attend church are female, most clergy are male. Gender, age, and ethnicity gaps help to further reinforce the sense that our churches are decreasingly relevant with respect to real-world issues. Meanwhile, we face a looming vacuum in the pulpit.

Some within the church believe that broadening the scope of seminaries, and those they attract and train for ministry, has a positive effect on the institution of church and society as a whole. Others believe that it is the very historical restrictiveness of the church that has created the divisions, animosity, mistrust, and abuse that we now seek to reconcile.

In an August 1994 letter to members of the Episcopal House of Bishops, John Shelby Spong, retired bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Newark, New Jersey, wrote, “Some members of our church no longer feel included, where those living in non-traditional relationships might no longer expect to find a place or a welcome in the Body of Christ and where gay and lesbian clergy might question whether or not their gifts are still wanted by the church they love.”

Spong went on to note that as much as a third of the populations in major urban settings identify themselves as gay or lesbian. He claimed that, by allowing ministers to live as openly gay or lesbian persons, and by encouraging them to model committed, loving relationships with their partners, these church leaders could bring “both the hope and love of Christ to communities of people long oppressed, long denigrated, and long judged by various religious authorities as inadequate human beings in whom the image of God is somehow flawed.”

In a post-denominational world, maintaining traditional standards upon which the historical church was built risks greater alienation, a lingering sense of oppressiveness, and further cultural disconnectedness. If we press forward toward a vision of church within which gender, ethnicity, and sexual orientation are not criteria for ministry, we risk any number of divisions that could further weaken our ailing religious institutions.

There are those who believe it is religion’s responsibility to draw the boundaries of propriety within which the rest of society should operate. Others feel it is their spiritual calling to step across some of these same lines, drawing cries of heresy from the ones making the rules.

This moral tension changes form over time, but it never goes away. The price of addressing such issues is seldom insignificant. However, a church that does not face these kinds of social issues head on does not earn the right to claim the gospel as its heritage.

In their book Caught in the Crossfire: Helping Christians Debate Homosexuality (Abingdon, 1994), Sally Geis and Donald Messner suggested, “We need to perceive (scripture) not childishly but with a childlike faith.” Unfortunately, we often take strong positions on this and other issues before we even have a proper vocabulary we can employ to develop constructive dialogue.

Christians often think of homosexuality as a single, monolithic issue, but when we achieve an arm’s length degree of objectivity, we quickly begin to see how such issues cannot be distilled down to an either/or debate that can be so easily categorized.

The most important factor for either side is the continuation of dialogue. If, indeed, we agree that the church is to reflect the “re-membered” body of Christ, then our interdependence and common mission should trump the desire to draw lines and dig in our heels.

The future of the church depends on it.

Christian Piatt is a nonprofit consultant, newspaper columnist, and author of Lost: A Search for Meaning (Chalice Press) and MySpace to Sacred Space (Chalice Press). He is minister of music at Milagro Christian Church in Pueblo, Colorado.

Culture “war” lies just beneath the surface

In general, most of us would like to think that the church is finding ways to coexist with the contemporary culture. It’s a common sentiment to believe that the church can be in the world, yet not of it, and that we can serve an imperfect world, insomuch as we are an imperfect church made up of imperfect people.

Unfortunately, there are those who see the church’s role as one of waging war on a secular culture, positioned to swallow whole the kingdom of God on Earth.

“It is impossible to deny that we are in a culture war in our nation, as well as the rest of the world” says Becca Anderson of ASSIST news service, a right-wing purveyor of manifestos disguised as news, “What we believe as Christians is diametrically opposed to what we see around us daily.”

She goes on to argue that the church’s indifference to the impingement of the rest of the world on “God’s territory” is comparable to surrender on the battlefield. Tim Ewing, founder of Rare Jewel Magazine, a publication “designed to inform, equip and inspire those who desire to see America’s Christian foundation restored,” sees the conflict in starkly black-and-white terms.

“We tend to talk about a Left/Right dichotomy,” Ewing says. “In such an argument, a middle position is deemed as ‘best’. But compromise is bad.”

Ewing goes on to contend that theological and political moderates are the biggest part of the problem. He explains that imagining liberal-conservative ideology along a linear sort of spectrum is not only inaccurate, but also damaging to the values of organized religion. He argues that one should imagine instead moral and social views more like a circle, with what is true and right on the inside, and then everything else beyond the perimeter.

“There is no middle position when you think of it that way,” says Ewing.

So the evangelical position in framing the so-called culture war is clear; but what are they planning to do about it? Send Christians to boot camp, of course, to arm themselves for the coming war.

The focus of quasi-military trainers for the Lord such as Ewing and his partner, Rick Marschall, is first and foremost on writers. Their goal is to engender in Christian writers a “mature sense of outrage,” and to train them in how to counteract what they perceive as an overwhelming wave of secularism infecting “the church.”

From “The Da Vinci Code” to atheist polemicist Richard Dawkins, their army of Christian writers sets out to refute anything in mainstream media that they see as counter to biblical teaching. Further, they are intent on equipping congregations at the local level to do battle with their fellow citizens, teaching them talking points and strategies for winning debates about key moral issues.

“Even if you’re not a writer,” says Anderson, “Ewing and Marschall’s ‘America at the Crossroads’ (training) could be a turning point in your life. Who knows? It could cause you to pick up your pen and charge into the fray.”

At least their crusade is bloodless so far. While a respectful, passionate exchange of words and ideas is at the cornerstone of our democratic heritage, the militaristic context within which the debate is being framed raises violent ghosts from the not-too-distant past. Christianity, after all, has been known to replace the pen with a shield and sword when it is perceived that the stakes are high enough.

Both the most empowering and the most potentially dangerous element of faith is the phenomenon of embracing ideas for which you are prepared to either kill or be killed. This sort of fundamentalism already pervades a radical branch of Islam, the results of which we have seen in palpable terms.

The prospect of taking up a similar bloodthirsty battle cry is as much a distortion of Christian values as has been achieved by jihadists in co-opting the otherwise peaceful Muslim religion.

Let’s pray we don’t repeat history.

Fear is fine, but just walk with some common sense

On a clear day in 1953, a bookkeeper from New Zealand and his small team of adventurers embarked on the final stage of a historic climb.

Without the benefit of oxygen or many modern tools available to climbers today, Edmund Hillary and his crew reached the south peak of Mount Everest. Exhausted and short of breath in the thin mountain air, most of Hillary’s group could not continue to the summit, but he and Nepalese climber Tenzing Norgay pressed ahead.

Hillary, a modest, self-effacing man, had no visions of fame about his adventure. He simply saw Everest as a challenge to be taken on with respectful persistence. He also had no illusions about the risks he took in making such a historic attempt.

“If you set out on an adventure,” said Hillary, “certain from the outset that you will succeed, then why bother beginning in the first place?”

Hillary died recently in Auckland, New Zealand, at age 88. He is remembered not only for his bravery, but also for his humility and concern for others. He always put the well-being of his fellow climbers before his own aspirations, and he was careful not to place his fears too far out of sight. To ignore one’s fears, said Hillary, was to take unnecessary risk.

To allow those same fears, however, to paralyze us and keep us from trying to achieve the improbable, is equally ill-advised. Fear often alerts us to real risks that lie ahead. But, much like Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay, we should welcome our fears, embrace them and push forward, fully aware of the potential dangers.

This is part of what is so incredible about Jesus’ ministry. He knew well the dangers that faced him in a hostile, occupied territory. From the day of his birth, he was identified as a potential threat to the existing powers, and as one who should be “dealt with” accordingly.

Though Jesus never ran away into hiding, he also didn’t put his energy into futile tasks. If he found one place too unreceptive, he shook the dust from his sandals and moved on. Instead of beating his head repeatedly against an immovable wall, he sought out those who were open to his message.

There were times, however, when Jesus took a position, even knowing the potential consequences. For some, the famous painting of the “laughing Jesus,” supposedly laughing all the way to the cross, is an encouraging symbol of triumph. But I simply can’t get past the image of Jesus in the Garden on Gethsemane, weeping bitterly until blood oozed from his pores.

He knew what was coming. He didn’t want it to happen. But he didn’t let his fear dictate his choices.

Life isn’t about avoiding risk any more than it is about wandering blindly into harm’s way. If Edmund Hillary taught us anything with his legacy as the first to conquer Everest, it is that our fears often are the greatest mountains we will climb in our lives. However, with the proper tools and preparation, fear never should hold us back from achieving the greatest things that await us at the next summit, just beyond our reach.

There is such a thing as reasonable risk. What that constitutes is up to each individual, but it’s impossible to make wise decisions about life’s risks without dealing with the fear that accompanies. It might seem more appealing to hole up and do nothing, or to stampede blindly into the fray, hoping to avoid danger without knowing exactly what it is we’re trying to avoid.

Faith, though, is not ignorant. Simply throwing up our hands and saying, “whatever happens, God will take care of it” isn’t enough. We were each given a brain, a conscience and a discerning sense of judgment for a reason. They’re gifts from a generous, loving, yet liberating God.

Like any true gift, the terms about how we use them are up to us.

Christian Piatt is the author of “MySpace to Sacred Space” and “Lost: A Search for Meaning.” For more information, visit www.christianpiatt.com.

Media affect preachers and politicians alike

When I pulled up the news online Tuesday evening and saw blurbs about Hillary Clinton getting choked up during a community meeting, I let out a resigned sigh.

“Just watch,” I said to my wife, Amy. “Tomorrow morning’s headline will be about her emotions.” Sure enough, the first sentence of the top story talked about her choking back tears as she spoke.

My first reaction is annoyance, assuming that this sort of publicity is desired by those folks who want to portray a woman as emotionally incapable of handling the presidency. Who, after all, wants a leader who gets misty with their finger on the button, or in front of high-powered international diplomats, right?

Then I started thinking back to her husband, Bill, and his now-infamous “I feel your pain,” speech. The president – then a candidate – responded to ACT UP member Bob Rafsky who claimed that “We’re not dying of AIDS as much as we are dying of 11 years of government neglect.” Clinton’s emotional response has been parodied regularly for 15 years since.

We say we want leaders with whom we can relate, but we deride them for showing real feelings. We claim to seek “real people” for government offices, but then discredit them as weak if they demonstrate the capacity for normal emotions.

Candidates these days submit to a 24-hour-a-day microscope for as much as two years, followed by another four if they actually win. There is little safe harbor from the public spotlight anymore. While some claim this is an inherent part of modern politics, it hasn’t always been this way.

Ever since John F. Kennedy used television to help launch him beyond Nixon into the White House, the criteria for effective politics have changed. Charisma, physical appearance and public speaking ability have become increasingly valuable traits, while positions on issues are reduced to sound bytes.

The emergence of the tele-evangelism phenomenon has done much the same to religion.

Everyone can call to mind the stereotypical televangelist: perfect, immovable hair, sparkling white teeth, an oversized, beatific smile and lilting drawl that practically harkens the angels straight from heaven.

Are these people for real? Well, no, they’re not. Much like the contemporary politician, they are brands, commodities pedaled by way of a powerful media tool. Those attributes highlighted by video are emphasized to the point of exaggeration, while other characteristics are muted or invisible. While a significant contingency of skeptics looks on in wonder, trying to figure out how anyone takes these characters seriously, the millions of dollars and tens of thousands of faithful come pouring in.

It’s no wonder, then, when a person who is desperately trying to live a contrived, superficial image such as that presented on television cracks under pressure, mascara streaking down their cheeks or blubbering in emotional ruin about their unexpected transgressions. How could they? We held them up on a pedestal, made them larger than life, and this is the thanks we get?

Absolutely.

While we don’t practice physical crucifixion these days, we do our share of character assassination, gleefully picking off those whom we once employed as vehicles for fantasy. It’s enough to suggest we haven’t learned much from our mistakes 2,000 years ago.

Jesus would likely have a hard go of it these days without a cadre of image consultants. Would caps on his teeth help him spread the Gospel? Would he embark on a global preaching tour, sponsored by Old Navy? Probably not. But how in the world would he get our attention otherwise?