I have a confession to make: I love pop music.
And it’s time I come clean. (Mainly because I got “caught” with my base thumping in the grocery store parking lot this past week.) I am addicted.
Perhaps it’s my addiction to dance hits that keeps me from fully venturing into that crazy Christian territory I talked about in my last post–sure, I can occasionally be heard humming “Hosanna” softly as I do my chores and go about my daily business…but 9 times out of 10 I’m belting out “Somebody call 9-1-1!” at the top of my lungs.
Alas. Nowhere in the Bible does it say that Jesus whipped His hair back and forth.
Guilty, guilty pleasure? Flo-rida and Ke$ha. Chances are good to excellent that I just misspelled their names. And nobody worry, because I (almost) never listen to their songs with the kids in the car. I wish beyond all wishes that Ke$ha was a Christian. (She does like dudes with beards.) Her song “Your Love is My Drug” could almost be related to loving Christ…except for that whole thing about having a slumber party in the basement.
But that does bring me to my next point: Isn’t loving Jesus supposed to be like an addiction? Shouldn’t we crave it (like a lovesick crackhead)? Do things we normally wouldn’t do if we weren’t just flying high on it? Give up all we have just to get more of it? Do everything in our power to get our kids hooked on it too?
Sorry. That last part was a little much.
And I have another confession to make: I used to get severely annoyed with people who couldn’t keep their faith to themselves–and downright angry with people who wouldn’t get off my back about mine.
Pensacola, Florida has got to be the Jesus-freak capitol of the world. You see a lot of street preachers and boardwalk Christians, planned-parenthood picketers and abortion clinic bombers (okay you might not actually physically see those guys), and between Pensacola Christian College and the Brownsville Revival, I’m pretty sure that there are enough pamphlets handed out at the beach on Saturdays to destroy an entire rainforest. You can’t go to the mall without some fat old white man all up in your face telling you to get saved. You get so used to it all.
As a Catholic, I felt particularly targeted. “Religion–faith–is an extremely private thing. I’ll believe what I want to believe, when I want to believe it.” My mantra. When a close friend of mine said, “I love Jesus and all, but I don’t let it affect the rest of my life,” I whole-heartedly agreed.
Looking back, I’m thinking, “How in the world did that make sense?” Nothing in the bible points to that idea being in any way right. And this bible study I’m doing now? Is killing me–convicting me in ways I never thought possible. We’re on week 3 already, but it’s that first session that absolutely haunts me. I have to practice serious self-restraint just to not squeeze it into every conversation I have with another human. I feel bad for the things that I thought back then about those people who were so ate-up with God’s calling that it just bubbled over everywhere they went.
Now I am convinced that if all Christians just oozed Jesus, the world would be a way better place.
I honestly don’t think God wants us all to harass spring-breakers. He won’t call everyone to go to Uganda to feed entire villages, or to adopt orphans in China. Ditto goes for serving at homeless shelters, pregnancy centers, singing in a church choir, or donating loads of money to charity. But maybe it’s wrong to criticize those that do.
I think it all boils down to this: What am I, personally, doing for Jesus? Am I honoring him in the way I live my life? Or am I instead just caring only about people that I know and love? Volunteering only when its convienent? Throwing him a bone and spending one hour every Sunday in half-hearted prayer and worship? Sadly, that’s been the story of my life. And up until now I thought it was working for me.
But Jesus does not need me to throw him any bones.
I think the bible study is affecting every girl in our group, in their own ways. One lady is being called to minister to young girls. Another lady is seeing the homeless with new eyes (and because I just love this lady, I hope she won’t mind if I quote: “I just realized they’re just homeless. They’re not going to murder me.”) We won’t all be spoken to about the same things–but it’s exciting to think that God has a mission for each of us. We just have to be paying attention.
And not jamming out to Ke$ha all the time.