008. the one where she lets loose on the elders

First and foremost, allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Jessie, and I write on this blog.  It’s been a while, but I’m still alive, kicking, and ranting, albeit less online than what used to get me in trouble.  I hope you’re ready for a somewhat deep, somewhat angry, somewhat theological, and finally confronted thought process.

As I grew up, I believed that my church was perfect.  We had a good preacher, a great songleader collection, a strong youth group (until we hit high school), good youth ministers (although the way we went through them should have been a red flag to me)… we had it all.   We even had the obligatory “church grandpa,” the one old man whose pockets always held candy for theyoungesters and whom you never saw without a child in his arms.

In July of 2001, just before my junior year of high school, we got an automated message from our preacher that went out to the whole congregation regarding a church “family meeting” the upcoming Sunday night.  Somehow, I knew it had something to do with my best friend’s family.  (Not sure where that feeling came from, but it was correct.)  Her dad had recently been made an elder, yet as we arrived at the building that night, they were obviously absent.

One of the elders got up and read a statement from my best friend, in which she shared that Papa Gerald – yes, the infamous church grandpa – had molested her when her parents were out of town.

As the elders contacted current and previous members, they told us, it was discovered that he had been practicing this behavior for over twenty years.

Afterwards, they split up the youth group guys and gals by gender, to make sure we were ok.  However, I don’t remember anything they told us that night.  What I remember is what I heard various people whispering about in the foyer later on – apparently, people thought that my friend had been lying, and that there was some sort of conspiracy out against Gerald.  I was dumbfounded and livid.  Not nearly as much, though, as I was when something else was revealed to me during my college years:

The elders had discouraged the (many, many, many) affected families from pressing charges.

Now, I am not foolish; I understand the consequences that come from church legalities, beyond the bad press.  But let me again quote the Founder of the church, as I did in a previous post:

…Whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me. But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.

It wasn’t until I came to college and dated a guy who noticed certain behaviors and reactions of mine that I acknowledged that anything had happened to me as a child.  And after months of counseling, I came to forgive Gerald for what he’d done.

As much as I have tried, however, I have not forgiven the elders.

Now the overseer is to be above reproach, faithful to his wife, temperate, self-controlled, respectable, hospitable, able to teach, not given to drunkenness, not violent but gentle, not quarrelsome, not a lover of money. He must manage his own family well and see that his children obey him, and he must do so in a manner worthy of full respect. (If anyone does not know how to manage his own family, how can he take care of God’s church?)

I quote this text for two reasons.

(1)  A little-known fact is that, although Gerald’s son and son’s family lived with him, he had little contact with his grandchildren.  Apparently his misconduct had begun long before his association with my church.  This should have been brought to light, and he should never have been given the responsibility of eldership.  Thee were people in the church who knew about him, and I also hold them responsible for what happened.

(2)  To be quite frank, our elders are loaded, financially speaking.  In case you can’t tell from our lavish building (located just up the road from a swank country club in a ritzy part of town), all you have to do is look at their homes, clothes and cars.  I would bet that the combined costs of our elders’ (and families’) vehicles, attire, and homes could feed a third-world country for a year.  (But that’s just me, and my experience of having been to a third-world country.)  I’ve always been slightly biased against rich people, but especially those in the church.  At a typical Sunday service, there are not only the rich elders and families, but also people who cannot pay their bills that month.  This should not be!

All the believers were together and had everything in common. Selling their possessions and goods, they gave to anyone as he had need.

I’m well aware that few (if any) churches put this into practice, but I can affirm that the congregation in which I grew up certainly does not!  I have learned more ways to sugarcoat foolish spending and bad attitudes towards others at my home church than anywhere else (besides my soon-to-be alma mater, that is).

Now I am 23 and married, and will someday have children of my own.  I will probably be an active part of a local group of the Church, but will still carry my paranoia with me.  When an elder picks up my little girl, how can I trust him?  How do I know that this church family, like my home church family, doesn’t have these same dirty secrets?  How will I know if it is safe for my kids to spend an afternoon at someone else’s home?  Where can I find a church body that is open and honest about their sins, as we are commanded to be?  It is disheartening to think that it simply doesn’t exist.  But that is my experience; that is all I know.

In the event that this post makes it back to someone from my home church:

I am disappointed and let down by your dishonesty.  I am, to this day, shocked that you value your children so little that you would seek the reputation of yourselves to the local community over their well-being.  I am afraid for children around the state, who might run into Gerald in ignorance.  It makes me incredibly angry that you, elders, are called to protect and guide your flock, and yet you let something this severe go without any consequence beyond, “Oh, we’re keeping tabs on him and letting churches know about him.”  I cannot believe that, as parents, you actually encouraged others not to do whatever it took to protect their children.

But also know that I love you.  I love the spiritual guidance that God blessed me with through you as I grew up.  I love the leadership opportunities I was given, the chances to flourish in my spiritual gifts.  I love that you are such a trusting group of people.  But don’t be trusting to a fault.  God calls us to forgive, but not to be foolish.  We are called to watch after children, not to let things destroy their future.  Please, especially you elders, step up and take responsibility.  Acknowledge that you failed – after all, you are human!  It’s to be expected!  Sweeping this under the rug is the worst thing you could have done, especially in the eyes of those of us who were affected.  You have contributed to my cynicism, to my paranoia, to the way I will forever view elders, particularly with regards to my future children.  Please know that I love you, and because I love you, I expected – and expect – better from you.

007. i’m doing it – i’m writing a book

Some of you have heard my ramblings about how “someone should write a book about what they don’t tell you before you get married.”

Well, I’m going to go for it.  I’m going to attempt to write this little book.  With my 14 whole months of experience.

I might need some help.  Scratch that – I am in desperate need of help.  I have several chapter topics in mind, but I’d like to know what you think should be covered.  I’m definitely going to cover the following items:

• Planning the wedding (make sure everything is how you want it, but remember to plan for the marriage, too)
• Leaving the reception (do it early)
• Folding towels (it matters how)
• Daddy’s little girl (it’s ok, but you’ve got to move on)
• Turning into your mother (the good, the bad, the inevitable)
• Toilet paper for guys (it matter which direction it falls)
• Toilet paper for girls (guys like it as thick as a quilt)
• When worlds collide (it’s hard to kick life-long habits)
• Conflict 101 (it’s actually ok to sleep on it)

What other topics desperately need to be covered?  I know that there are many things I wish I’d been told before I tied the knot.  What do you know now that would have helped you in the long run to know sooner?

Guys and gals are both welcome to give input.  Be as detailed or vague as you’d like; marriage is a tough and dirty issue to talk about sometimes.  It’s when we fail to talk about it that things get really ugly.

006. on preaching, parking, and modern-day whitewashed tombs

Most of our chapel speakers and almost all preachers I’ve heard share something that irritates me to pieces – the urge to overuse various inflections and volume in their talks.  In Monday’s 10am chapel, the speaker went from outrageously loud to practically inaudible and back to eardrum-shattering again, several times in the spam of ten minutes.  His excellent point about Christian persecution was completely overshadowed by his ever-changing tone of voice.  It is one thing to vary your voice to keep the attention of the audience; it is another thing entirely to spoil your message by being overly-enthusiastic with your volume shifts.

The parking on my college campus is terrible. This week is the annual lectureship, which means that even more people than usual are attempting to lodge their vehicle each morning. Considering the fact that parking is a perpetual issue without several hundred visitors, believe me when I say that the problem has escalated – although not nearly as much as when Spring Sing rolls around each April. We really ought to suck it up and build a huge, ugly, practical parking garage. Lipscomb has fewer students, yet their parking garage is always full, put to good use. We could certainly use one. Of course, that would mean spending money on something that’s not pretty… and considering the amount of money donated for something as glamorous as the Heritage lobby, I do not forsee anything practical popping up in the near future.  Speaking of the Heritage…

When I walk through the hallowed halls of our beloved Heritage Hotel, I am often reminded of certain words of our Savior:

Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. Blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and dish, and then the outside also will be clean.

Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of dead men’s bones and everything unclean. In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness.

Now, I am fully aware that the new lobby was paid for by a private donor – probably one of the older alum who only comes once or twice a year and therefore would only use the facilities for which (s)he paid.  However, students who live and are educated on this campus daily do not use the Heritage in any way, shape, or form.  Therefore, this was more or less and pointless, money-wasting endeavor that is unused and unappreciated by the student body.  On top of that, the rooms in the hotel are still in poor condition and smell funny.  As pretty as the lobby may be, you can’t sleep there – well, I suppose you could, but Security would more than likely remove you before you hit a REM cycle.  (And has anyone else noticed that the tile on the bathroom floors is so expensive and fancy that it’s reflective?  If you happen to look down mid-nature’s-call and there is a person in the stall beside you, smile and wave, because you can surely see each other!)

My point is this: there are a few buildings on campus, used daily, that are in less-than-stellar condition.  There have been numerous ceiling leaks over the last month, and consequently numerous hallways strewn with strategically-placed buckets to catch the drips.  The Benson, I fear, will never cease to smell of mold and mildew, especially on rainy days.  And there are too many other repairs to list here.  If only the rich alumni would realize that their funds could be donated to much worthier, far more necessary causes on this campus… we shall see.

005. out of the mouth of babes

I am a pre-school teacher.  On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Miss Julia and I spend a little over four hours with ten beautiful three-year-olds.  While most kids in the program are members of local churches, we also have community children – that is, unaffiliated with the nearby “churches of Christ.”

One little girl this year, Molly, is new to the program.  Her grandmother (“Mimi”) picks her up and drops her off, and we’ve been told that she is the only one allowed to pick her up each day.  I would assume that she has sole custody, and that Molly has had a less-than-stable family life up until now.  I say this because, for the first three weeks, she would scream and cry when Mimi would leave her each morning.  She sit in my lap, sobbing, for about ten minutes (or however long it took me to distract her with a puzzle).  But this morning, although she came in clinging to Mimi, she acclimated rather quickly.  Mimi stayed long enough to help her with one puzzle, then was able to slip out the door.  Molly was great the rest of the day.

After lunch, we came back to the classroom for show-and-tell (this week’s letter is D, so we had an assortment of dolls and dogs, as well as a dinosaur and a drum).  When Landon decided not to share his drum with anyone and a general feeling of injustice settled over the others, we got out the play-doh.  I sat by Molly, helping her with her (old and crumbling) yellow glob – I eventually swiped a bit of Landon’s, as his was bright red and just the right consistency.

Molly had me be “the mommy” and she was “the daughter,” and I was to make her a waffle.  After we’d done that a couple of times, I rolled the play-doh into a ball and squished it into the lid – which has the little Play-Doh logo on it.  Molly must never have seen play-doh imprints before, because she was amazed.  When I handed it to her, she stared at it, then looked at me and said,

You are the greatest teacher in the world!

and threw her arms around my neck.   I caught Miss Julia’s eye, and she gave me a thumbs up.  Molly had made my day, possibly my week.

I never cease to be amazed by a child’s capacity for unconditional love and trust.  How is it that they are losing it younger and younger in life?  And how much are we adults contributing to their premature wisdom and cynicism?  It’s days like today that remind me just how responsible we are for raising these children with a sense of security and trust, and just how much we can learn from them if we would only take the time.

I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.

And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me. But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.

004. down with comfort

A little over a month ago, I came to a harsh realization:

I do not know what it is like to suffer.

Now, there are many ways in which we could define “suffer,” including but not limited to experiencing the death of a close friend or family member, financial distress, emotional distress, crises of faith, etc. But when I speak of suffering here, I am referring to physical suffering, the likes of which millions of people around the world experience daily.

My epiphany occurred when Chris and I were at a local coffeeshop one night before classes began. We were on the newly-added back porch, enjoying the breeze and some smalltalk when we were joined by Sid.

If you’ve spent any time at all in Midnight Oil within the last five years, you’ll at least know of Sid. He’s not quite homeless; he owns a trailer on a small patch of land about 20 miles outside of Searcy. His living conditions, however, are far from equal with those known to most of us. Midnight Oil is his usual haunt, and he’s made friends with numerous students over the year – namely our dear friend Chris, who performed our wedding ceremony. I met Sid through him about 4 years ago, and have had many small and insignificant (to me) conversations with him since then.

But this night was different. I mostly listened as he shared his local church experiences with me. Let me say this: I attend what I considered to be the “best” church in town. I say this because they are the most community-focused group I’ve interacted with; the building is used every day of the week, and more often than not it’s for Tae Kwon Do classes, babysitting for single mothers, Celebrate Recovery, and other local meetings. The ministers (and a lot of the members) are constantly meeting with people from the community; I see them having conversations around town weekly. I admire how outwardly-focused my now-home church is. But I am an insider; an “official” member; a former summer intern. I am in the know, in relationships with others there. I blend in quite nicely on any given Sunday.

But Sid shared another perspective entirely. His experiences have been less-than-outstanding, to say the least. I’m sure there are many issues involved in shaping his side of the story, but at the same time… he was failed. The church – the body of Christ as he knows it – let him down. And that experience is one that has and will shape(d) his image of Christ for the rest of his life.

As I listened to him talk, I found myself hoping that he would continue to do all the talking – because I had no idea how to respond. What was I to say? What excuses could I, should I give for the ways he was treated and, in some cases, neglected and ignored? Are there even any excuses?

Something I’ve noticed in the Gospels is that Jesus was a man who met peoples’ needs – their most basic, human, material needs. When people were hungry, He fed them. When people were sick, He healed them. Would they perhaps turn away from His message upon hearing it? Yes. Did that stop Him from helping them? Never.

In churches today, there is an unspoken but very prominent ulterior motive – numbers. Be it higher membership or more baptisms, churches are all about numbers. If we even suspect that someone is “using” us for the free food, the assistance in paying a bill, we shut them off. Now, I’m not saying that we should allow people to bleed us dry of our resources; after all, there are legitimate needs that we can meet with what we have. But why are we so quick to turn people away, to pressure them into a religion without giving them the chance to develop a basic relationship with God?

How dare we give anything to people with ulterior motives. How dare we only reach out to people to get them in our building, into our baptistries. How dare we treat them worse than Christ Himself would have.

To Sid, and to countless others who have been burned and turned away – I am so, so sorry. I promise you that the Christ we claim to follow is nothing like us. If He were here, you would be fed, clothed, and loved, regardless of your religious standing. And that is something in which you can freely put your faith.

When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his throne in heavenly glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.

Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’

They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’

He will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’

Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.

003. a practical wish list

I have at last “officially” discovered IKEA – that is, I might actually own one of their products in the future. This post is simply a reminder of things I want to view again and keep in mind for the future. There are always things to be stored, and I do so desperately want a nice display cabinet for my old radio show memorabilia… *sigh* someday.

Living Room:

• LAXVIK side table [$39.99; black and simple, just the way I like it]
• RAMVIK side table [$69.99; black and simple, with a bit more space for books and magazine]
• SVALOV side table [$89.99; too bad it's white, but still nice]
• KLUBBO nesting tables, set of 3 [$69.99; matching yet different - I like!]
• KOLSVIK coffee table [$139; I'm not a fan of coffee tables (typically serve as space-wasters), but if I were to have one, this would be it]

Cabinets (for my precious old radio show treasures):

• LEKSVIK glass-door wall cabinet [$129; I thoroughly approve]
• NORDEN glass-door cabinet [$379; I love black]
• BJURSTA glass-door cabinet [$349; perfect in brown-black]

I shall return to this in the future.

002. the taking of life

Someone left an intriguing comment on Elrod’s post this morning. This is the main line that caught my attention:

Republicans are so quick to kill convicts, and Democrats are so quick to kill babies.

I understand the inherent difference between taking the life of a criminal adult and that of a voiceless, unborn person (or person-to-be, depending on how you view one that has yet to technically enter the world). But how does killing a murderer make any sense, honestly? Sure, they won’t be killing anyone else. But most criminals simply aren’t deterred by the threat of the death penalty, which renders it more or less ineffective.

Some would argue that this isn’t a fair rationale; that you cannot compare abortion to the death penalty. I would argue otherwise.

At least one form of abortion seems to be universally (within the US, that is) accepted: if the carrying and/or birth of the fetus/child is going to put the life of the mother/carrier at risk. And even another form of abortion (“nature’s abortion,” I call it) happens quite regularly in the bodies of pregnant women and they don’t even realize it: miscarriage. Women’s bodies reject someday-babies on a fairly regular basis, I’ve recently discovered. And let’s take it one step further: what if a woman, knowing that she was pregnant, flew on a plane, and in the process “lost the baby” – would this make her a murderer, an abortionist, for knowingly endangering the fetus?

My main thought is this: when an issue if this subjective, this sketchy, this uncertain… why is it such a polarizing issue in the first place? I know it’s hard to believe, but other important issues exist in politics besides abortion and homosexuality (another post for another day).

001. history

My very first blog was born during my freshman year of high school. Several friends used Livejournal, which was more restricted at the time (you had to get a code from a current user to begin an account), and the thought of an online journal intrigued me. My chosen username was “jesusraver” – a combination of my faith and the ridiculous amount of bracelets that adorned my arms. Since then, I have gone through a variety of usernames, be it with Livejournal or Xanga:

• lady_j (my dad’s nickname for me when I was little)
• singwithboys (I sang tenor in high school)
• piercemyear (my favorite bible camp song)
• godpiercedmyear (when I had to move on from “piercemyear” for various reasons)
• thethirdwoman (most recent; a play on “The Third Man” – old radio show and movie starring Orson Welles)

And now, I move on to yet another username, another blog site. Yes, the speed at which I fly through blogs and names is a bit tiring. But I am quickly approaching a new phase in life, and it is time to grow up a bit. Sadly for me, this includes using capital letters like a grammatically-correct writer (not just when referencing the Creators of my faith, as has been the case). More importantly to me, however, is the chosen username of this latest blog attempt: fruity oaty bars.

If you are familiar with the (cancelled) television show “Firefly” (Joss Whedon’s finest work, in my mind), you will know the story of River Tam – a young girl with innumerable talents. You will also know what she suffered at the hands of the Alliance (central government in the series) and how she became a fugitive. And finally, you will know of “Serenity,” the film that followed the series’ end. (If you are not familiar with either of these works of the screen, please do yourself a favor and remedy that fact.)

During a particular scene in “Serenity,” the crew has docked for the captain to conduct business in a local bar. While in the bar, River notices the commercial playing on-screen above the bartender – an ad for Fruity Oaty Bars. In this ad, the Alliance has embedded a code that triggers a memory that River is unaware of possessing. It is this memory that directs the crew and, consequently, the rest of the film.

Perhaps I am nothing more than a pathetic fan. Perhaps I read too much into insignificant things. Be that as it may, this particular moment in the film speaks volumes to me.

I am a follower of Christ. I believe that all humans beings, at their core, are followers of Christ. I believe that each person has a very specific, significant trigger in their life that will direct them to follow that core instinct. For River, it was Fruity Oaty Bars that changed her life. For me, it was one Sunday at Otter Creek, the Sunday on which they taught a new song – “In Christ Alone” – which gave new meaning to the significance of being in a relationship with a living, dying, and again-living savior.

My writing here may be cluttered ramblings at times. But my hope is that my thoughts might find coherence through leaving my mind and entering a realm in which they can be shared, heard, critiqued. Also, that others might notice the everyday, the mundane, the simple… and allow those things to trigger something deeper and greater than themselves.

These tasks I leave in the hands of those who might stumble across this corner of the internet.