Guys, Not Everyone With A Confederate Flag Is Racist!

If I had a dollar for every time I saw a Facebook post that made me angry, I could afford to get guac on my burritos when I go to chipotle because I would be considerably well off. I have quite the diverse range of Facebook friends, so I see a diverse range of opinions in my Newsfeed. Usually, I just ignore people and let them be. However, this time I just got so heated I had to write out a few things in order to vent, and it’s turned into a blog post.

I’ll get right to the point. I have noticed that there are a lot of people who are upset about the confederate flag being removed. A few southern states have already removed them from their state grounds, and more states may follow their example. Some stores like wal mart have decided to stop selling confederate flag merchandise. And because of these decisions, some folks in the south feel like their “history is being taken from them.”

I have no idea where to even begin addressing this. Let’s just try to break it all down and see if we can get at the heart of what is upsetting people. The confederate flag is a symbol. Indeed, it represents a particular history, a particular experience, a particular culture. It is a symbol of Southern pride—but only for some people. The key point that those who are so desperately clinging to this flag while simultaneously proclaiming “I’m not a racist!” seem to be missing is that that flag means something completely different to black Americans. For them, it is also a symbol. It also represents a particular history, experience, and culture, but it is NOT a source of pride.

That flag has been the icon of black oppression since the civil war. It is an icon of hate. It is a symbol that creates division. Our country is in desperate need of racial healing, and clinging to the confederate flag for the sake of preserving your history sends a message to your neighbors that their history and experience is less important than yours. After all, what are you really trying to preserve? What does the flag really represent? It represents a tradition of hierarchy where whites hold all the power and blacks are treated as second-class citizens, or worse. The confederate flag reminds us of who has held the power all throughout US history, and now this refusal to let it go is further evidence that our modern day situation has not improved much. White Americans still have the upper hand, and that hand is a clenched fist wrapped around a confederate flag.

If we truly want to move forward as a nation, if we truly seek equality, then those in power have to be willing to surrender this false sense of entitlement. Change cannot happen without making sacrifices, and at this point I’m talking about more than just a stupid flag. We need humility, grace, and mercy. We need to acknowledge the hurting that is going on in our very own communities.

It is easy to dismiss events like the tragedy in Charleston because we can tell ourselves that it was just the extreme actions of a terrorist. But the ugly truth is that our complacency as a nation to the plight of the black community has contributed to a culture of hate that allows such events to take place. Nine black Americans--our brothers and sisters--were gunned down in a church. Nine innocent people were violently murdered simply for being black, and yet YOU are the ones who feel threatened?

Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.

Faith and Stuff: Confronting the 'What ifs'

“But what about babies?”

We were sitting in someone’s living room, having “small groups” or “bible study” or whatever you want to call it, and someone had just finished explaining the hard, uncomfortable truth of the fate of non-believers: We are all deserving of hell. It is only by God’s grace that any of us are saved. It is unfortunate, but not unfair that those who have never heard the gospel die and go to hell. That is why it is so urgent that we send out missionaries and spread the gospel at every opportunity we have.

“Are you telling me, that babies who die are currently burning in hell?” I asked angrily. “Because we all deserve hell? Even those innocent children who never had a chance at receiving God’s grace?”

I never received a satisfying answer that evening, which wasn’t uncommon during youth group. I refused to accept that God was tossing infants into the fiery pit, but we left it at that. There were a lot of things I was unwilling to accept back then, but it was often easier to ignore them. Whenever I started to ask questions, I was always discouraged by the “answers” I received. I struggled with my faith a bit, but eventually, I learned how to handle these tough encounters without hurling myself into a faith crisis. Whenever I read a difficult passage in the bible, I would close the pages and offer up a prayer:

God. I don’t understand what the heck I just read. I have no idea why you would say such a thing. BUT. I trust you. And I hope that someday, I will reach a better understanding of all this.

With this established trust, it became a lot easier to stomach those crazy Old Testament passages, and my Senior year of high school, I accidentally fell in love with the OT. Such vibrant stories! They were a mystery I never tired of solving. Just in time, too.

When I was accepted to Eastern University, there were a few dear members of my congregation who were concerned about the nature of this particular Christian school. They didn’t want me to fall prey to “false teachers” and lose my faith. I wasn’t worried though. My faith had already been tested many times before and had only grown stronger because of those trials. I could handle anything those liberal Christians would throw at me.

When I learned that all incoming freshmen were required to take Intro Old Testament and New Testament courses, I was super excited. Finally! I would have access to a real bible scholar who could answer all of my questions and help me unlock the mysteries of the OT. I had a plan: I would befriend this professor, just like I had befriended all of my teachers in high school, and then he would have to spend the rest of his life answering all of my questions. I was a bit discouraged when I realized there were 200 other students in the class (how are we supposed to become best friends if I am but 1 out of 200 students???), but I sat near the front and hoped for the best.

Spoiler alert: we did become friends, but he never answered any of my questions. In fact, he only ever left me with MORE questions. Jerk.

Even so, that class--along with a number of other experiences I had that first year away from home-- changed my life forever.

I was incredibly resistant at first. I’m always resistant to change. At one point I had even convinced myself that my professor was one of those False Teachers I had been warned about. It was a shame that such a nice guy was secretly evil and probably going to hell.

Eventually, though, I had to admit to myself that things just weren’t adding up anymore. I began to wonder if I was really guarding my faith or if I was guarding something else.

What if?

What if asking questions doesn’t have to result in a crisis of faith? What if God is big enough to handle my uncertainty? What if God doesn’t need defending? What if I let go of my need for answers, for certainty?

I was afraid that if I let go of my beliefs I would lose everything, even God. And then I would just be floating around in the abyss of the Unknown, without a foothold.

But then I remembered that prayer from high school. It was founded on trust, not right belief. Maybe it was time to revisit that prayer:

God, I don’t always understand what’s going on. I don’t like not having all the answers. But I trust you. And I am grateful to be on this journey.

Thus, like Elsa, I let it go...

Sorry, couldn’t help myself. But anyway, that was the beginning of a very long, still on-going process of change for me. My whole perspective on God, sin, life, and even love, have changed dramatically over the years. I may continue to write about what that process has looked like for me. Or not. Who knows? My moods are unpredictable.

Rejection and Stuff

So, it has basically been a year since I’ve written anything for this blog. I am soooo on top of things. I have about five other posts that I started and never finished. Honestly, I can only find motivation to write something if I am avoiding writing something else--but since I’m not a student anymore, there are not a whole lot of opportunities to avoid writing something.

But recently I've been working on a rèsumè and cover letter. Let me tell you, rèsumès and cover letters are the worst things ever. I hate them so much. I have to talk about how great I am when I don’t really think I’m all that great, and I have to somehow convince the reader that they should hire me without flat out begging them. It’s miserable. So I figured I should write a blog post instead of submitting my application.

This is a job that I really want and that I think will open a lot of doors for me. But I haven’t applied yet. I keep planning out the next steps, like what I’ll say in the interview, or what I should wear. But I still haven’t applied yet. I like thinking about how great it will be if I get the job. My life will be so much better if I get the job, and I can see a lot of the loose ends in my life finally coming together if I get this job. But. I STILL have not applied.

Why is that? Good question, Self. I think the most obvious reason is that I’m afraid I won’t get

the job.

Now I realize that if I don’t apply, then I most certainly will not get the job. But you see, the difference is that if I don’t apply, then they will never have the opportunity to reject me. And once again it all comes down to fear of rejection and what rejection means. If I never apply, then I will have a (very lame and pathetic) excuse for not getting the job. But if I do apply, and they still don’t hire me, well then it could only be because I am a worthless failure at the very core of my being.

That’s not true, and I know it’s not true, but sometimes I just have a really hard time believing it.

If I let fear dictate my life, then I will have to watch countless opportunities pass me by while I sit here designing my own hell. I don’t want to do that.

So here is what it comes down to: If I don’t get this job, it won’t feel great, but it also won’t be the end of the world. Learning to deal with rejection is hard. But what I need to remember--and I think everyone could benefit from this advice--is that it is not our circumstances that define us, but how we respond to those circumstances that reflect who we are. It’s never too late to change how we respond to the challenges in our lives.

I guess I’ll go ahead and submit that application now.