On Political Correctness

Recently the idea of being politically correct has come under great scrutiny. One person in particular has launched a seemingly successful presidential campaign around the notion that political correctness is weakness and undermines our country.

I think most everyone is sick of political double speak. When someone tries to gain votes by skirting the truth, that doesn’t help anything. But much of what is being written off as too politically correct is more along the lines of taking care not to offend other people. Which I am not sure is a problem.

Maybe we are a bit too sensitive and overreact to things that used to be shrugged off without much thought.  Maybe we do need thicker skin. But maybe we need slower mouths and kinder dispositions too.

Maybe when we stop to ask what others are feeling and experiencing we improve ourselves. What if it is healthy for us to weigh our conversations and preconceived ideas and attitudes to see if they are selfish or inclusive? While I’m positive all of us could use a dose of maturity, perhaps much of what is labeled “politically correct” is not a sign of weakness but a sign of strength.

This isn’t a left/right/conservative/liberal issue. It is a human issue.

If mocking a person’s physical or mental limitations is applauded in a non-PC world, I want no part in that world.

If stereotyping and gross over-generalization of cultures and faiths and ethnicities is what our culture values, I want no part in that culture.

If the way we “Make America Great Again” is to say whatever comes to mind regardless of who is offended, I think we have different definitions of greatness.

We have a problem when we call people fat and ugly and losers without pause. Or when we refuse to use a filter and everyone else can just deal with it. We have a problem when we rebuff criticism because people nowadays are just too whiny.

These things are not politically incorrect. They are just incorrect.

Whenever people are mocked or ignored because of who they are or what they feel, we are in the wrong. Whenever people are dismissed because our experience doesn’t match theirs, we are in the wrong. Whenever we flippantly say, “I don’t care who this offends” we are in the wrong.

Instead we should give careful consideration to the words we use. We need to understand the gravity of the things that come out of our mouth and the environments we create. We should speak and act from a place that begins with others in mind, not ourselves.

We must start with seeing other people as, well, people. And valuing them for who they are right now. Even when we disagree. Even when we don’t understand. Even when it is easier to draw lines and pick sides and make fun.

Does that mean we never tell the truth? Never speak difficult words into someone’s life? Does it mean we never hold people accountable? Absolutely not.

But any time we hide behind “telling the truth” while degrading another person, our truth has little value. If our truth is not capable of helping or building up or making right, than it would be better for us to keep our truth to ourselves.

Perhaps the truth is best heard not in unfiltered language or knee jerk responses, but in seeking to understand who the other person is and where they are coming from. Maybe truth is most clear when the playing field is leveled. It is possible to hold strong opinions and specific values and disagree passionately while treating people with respect and common courtesy.

This is not weak or soft or whatever thing we are afraid of being when we say we no longer want to be politically correct. This is strength and selflessness and courage. This, I believe, is love.

This is the kind of world I want to play a part in. A world where people feel they belong, like they have a voice, like they have value simply because they exist. Because they do.

I believe when we give worth and consideration to other people we are not enabling them or coddling them or wounding them. I believe we are pulling up a chair at the table. We now sit eye to eye. We can have a conversation and break bread together. We can learn from one another.

When that happens we’ll be better for it. When that happens our language and politics and churches and dinner tables will be full of grace and truth. We don’t have to pick one or the other. Let’s do better.

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All I want for Christmas…

It is sometime in the late 80’s.  Maybe 1990.

The only thing I want for Christmas is a new Nintendo. It has the greatest graphics, the best games, and a Power Pad. A Power Pad, people.

I know we don’t have a whole lot of money, but that doesn’t stop me from asking for it. I tell Santa what to bring me even though I know he is only a seasonal mall employee. I tell it to my parents. More than once. I’m sure I make them feel guilty. But it is the NES and a little guilt has never hurt anyone. I need the Nintendo. I’m not positive but I feel like this may make or break my life.

And then The Day comes. Christmas morning. My brother and I come downstairs in our (probably matching) Christmas pajamas. We read the Christmas story to remind us that this day is all about Jesus, but I am too busy looking for Nintendo shaped boxes to be bothered by all that.

The gift opening begins. One of the first gifts I grab is a thin little box. Much too small for a Nintendo. It says, “Open Me Last.” About the time I find it my little brother notices that he too has an “Open Me Last” gift. It is a monstrosity, about as big as the living room or an elephant or the Titanic.

My heart sinks. There will be no Nintendo this year.

We open the remainder of the presents and (hopefully) I convincingly feign gratitude. I’m sure the Ninja Turtle toys will be awesome and the socks are needed, but in my young mind Christmas hinged on getting what I wanted. Disappointment reigns supreme. Maybe I am being selfish, but I’m really good at being selfish. It comes quite naturally.

When we have unwrapped all but the last two presents, my brother opens his mountain of a gift. It is a FischerPrice tool bench. He is ecstatic. Never happier. He dances. He hammers. This moment is most likely the inspiration for the hymn “Joy to the World.”

And my heart sinks even further. I am teetering at Grinch levels of despair. My brother gets exactly what he wanted and it is “The best Christmas ev-er!” and I get a tie box. I am sure it is filled with something lame and/or embarrassing. Like more underwear.

Reluctantly I undo the bow and the paper. I slip the lid off the box and inside I find a single piece of paper. I read something along the lines of “You have one more gift but you are going to have to work to find it.”

I perk up. I read the paper again. It gives a clue as to where I should look for my gift.

Suddenly, there is hope.

I run from the room and find another note. It sends me to another room and another clue. Room to room I run, eagerly in search of what might happen next. Each step of the way raises my expectations. Each leg of the hunt brings more smiles and anticipation. And then I open the kitchen pantry.

A Nintendo Entertainment System.

Santa, it turns out, came through. My parents are saints. Life is good. Christmas is saved. Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

Sure, my parents could’ve just wrapped the game system and put it under the tree. They could’ve left it with the other presents but they wanted to give me something more than just a game system. What they gave me was an experience. They gave me a journey.

And it was the experience and the journey that made that Christmas the most memorable I have ever had.

We would do well to remember that sometimes the journey is a gift.

We tend to know what we want and when we want it. When Santa, or worse, God, doesn’t come through for us how we demand expect we feel rejected. If you are anything like me that can be really frustrating. I tend to think I know best. I know what I need and life would go a whole lot smoother if I just got my way all the time.

But God knows better than that. Thankfully He doesn’t always give me what I want or operate on my time schedule. Thankfully He has much more perspective and insight into what is best for me even when I don’t see it.

So when I don’t get my way or when things seem off kilter or when life hands you a tie box, maybe we need to remember to enjoy the journey. Maybe the journey is the thing that matters more than whatever we find at the end. Maybe what we learn and experience along the way is of far more value to us.

My parents didn’t leave me clues in order to toy with me or drive me crazy, but in order to watch me run and laugh and search.

What if that is what God wants for us? To watch as we enjoy the journey we are on. Maybe there are things He is trying to teach us along the way. Maybe the process is more valuable to our development. Maybe it is in the waiting and the searching that we have the most growth.

Maybe we spend so much time hoping for Nintendos and wealth and security and acceptance and relationships and [inset whatever it is you desire here] that we miss out on what God is doing right now. We miss out on the life we have been invited to live with or without those things.

Hold on to the hope that what you are searching for may just be around the bend or at the next turn or come with the next sun rise. Maybe it comes in ways you never expect. Maybe it comes better than you ever imagined.

Don’t miss out on what is to come because you are so focused on what is not yet. Don’t miss out on what is happening right now because you are so focused on what you want to happen next. Don’t miss the joys and the laughs and the memories that can be made right here and now.

Life is a journey. And the journey is a gift.

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On Fear & Faith

It starts in a garden. In paradise a man and woman are given everything they could ever want. Yet, they are afraid. They are afraid they are missing out on something even greater. They do the one thing they were told not to in hopes of finding out what they were lacking. They are cast from their paradise and confronted with a world far from what was originally intended. Later one of their sons will murder his brother in a jealous rage.

A husband and wife, unable to have children, are promised God will give them a son and a great lineage. Impatient and fearful it won’t happen in time they take matters into their own hands and a servant girl is brought in to conceive the child, causing great pain and friction in the family.

Recently freed slaves, when faced with what they think are insurmountable odds, ask to go back to chains and forced labor. Imagine desiring to return to slavery. The unknown is too great. The fear in the air is suffocating.

Later, after 40 years of nomadic wilderness living and daily godly provision, the people are unsure they should follow God into the land promised them. It is full of strong, warrior men and, well, look at us. Let’s just wander around a little while longer.

Sometime later a group of fishermen panic in the midst of storm, forgetting that the Son of God is on the boat with them. They are fearful that they will drown. They are rebuked, “You of little faith, why are you so afraid?”

One of the fisherman later denies even knowing the Man. He is afraid his outcome will be similar to that of his rabbi’s. He flat out lies to a young girl in order to save his own skin.

After the Man is tried and beaten, crucified and sealed in a grave his followers all hide behind locked doors. They had seen him heal the sick and raise the dead and feed the multitudes. They had followed and learned from him for three years and now, unsure of what to do next, they are deflated and afraid.

Fear is a part of our story.

The people of God have for all time faced scary, difficult, bigger-than-we-can-handle situations. It seems almost on purpose. As if God is saying, “The only way through this situation is if I show up and help you through.” Perhaps God wants us to find our way into a faith that is stronger than fear.

He wants us to trust him. To trust that he is with us. To believe that the things he has called us to are worth doing. Even when it doesn’t make sense. Even when it is costly. Even when we are afraid.

The question then becomes, does God win or does fear? Do we go into the world believing that this is too much for us to handle and believing that’s exactly how God works in our lives? Or do we justify our inaction, our disobedience, because, well, look at us? It is too much. Too hard. Too messy. Too scary. Do we lock ourselves in our homes and churches hoping that if just hold on long enough we can escape all this mess free and clean?

God wants more for us than that. More than survival. More than comfort. More than salvation. He wants to walk with us. He wants to teach us and shape us. He wants to use us to change the world.

If we let fear hold us hostage we miss out on what God could do. We rob ourselves of seeing God do what God does best.

Ours is a God who parts seas and defeats giants and quiets storms. He gives strength to the weak and comfort to the broken-hearted. And best of all, ours is a God who defeats death.

The Man who had been crucified and buried doesn’t stay buried. He doesn’t stay dead. He is resurrected. Jesus Christ conquers sin and death and darkness not by avoiding them but by entering right into the midst of it all and overcoming them through obedience and love. A love that is sacrificial enough and deep enough and courageous enough to follow through all the way to the end.

And those followers of his, the ones locked behind their doors, something changes in them. They are no longer fearful. With death defeated, with a risen Savior, what could possibly cause them to be afraid? They ask, “If God is for us, who can stand against us?”

They leave their upper room and go out into the streets and to the ends of the earth taking with them their story. They call it the Good News. They walk into cultures that are dark and violent. They are beaten and jailed, shipwrecked and snake bit. They leave jobs and families, they leave comfort and wealth. They leave security and predictability. To be right on the edge of what God is doing.

It costs them everything. All but one of the twelve male disciples of Jesus will be killed for their faith. The other is exiled for the remainder of his days. And it was worth it.

Being a part of the redemption story is always worth it. Obedience to something that is hard and scary and bigger-than-we-can-handle is worth it. This is where God has called his people to live over and over again. These are the places were God is most active. And these are places where God is always faithful.

Fear is an enemy to faith. And I don’t want to be afraid one minute more.

I will not be afraid of missing out on something better. I will not be afraid of missing out on my plans. I will not fear the unknown. I will no longer be afraid of my enemies or those I don’t understand. I will not fear the storms and circumstances that swirl around me.

I will say yes to whatever looks most like Jesus. I will be obedient even when it costs me. I will not ask “what if something goes wrong?” and instead ask “what if God shows up?”

I will no longer be a slave to fear.

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