The Pope's Words: I Don't Think They Mean What You Think They Mean.

If you want to start thinking critically about the news you consume, there’s one important thing to remember: journalists are biased. Just not in the way you might think.

Yes, journalists tend to identify themselves on the liberal side of the political spectrum. But when it comes to what they actually write, the bias that skews their coverage is a bias toward cohesive narratives. Journalists are storytellers -- their job is based around taking people and events, and fitting them into a narrative structure that’s easy to understand. Often, this is useful. Often, this is necessary. But just as often, it distorts the truth.

In the case of Pope Francis, the distorting effects of a devotion to clear-cut narrative have been on display for the world to see.

Journalists began their coverage of the new papacy with a simple narrative about the Catholic church already fixed in their brain. In short: the Catholic church is locked in a battle between conservatives and liberals, and the primary importance of any new pope is which of these two camps he’ll end up siding with. The first flaw of this narrative is the assumption that all religious conflicts are battles between liberals and conservatives, groups that mirror their counterparts in secular politics. For journalists, this makes sense, because they have a pretty good grasp of politics, and little to no grasp of theology. But while this conservative / liberal divide does exist in a certain form, most of the issues that any given religion deals with don’t fit into this political dichotomy. (See, most of the church schisms and divisions that have taken place over the past few millenia).

Due to this ready-made narrative, journalists have one goal when the Pope opens his mouth: find bits of information they can plug into the story they've already decided to tell. Because Pope Francis is a nice guy, doesn’t look like Emperor Palpatine, and sometimes takes selfies, journalists have largely decided that Pope Francis will tilt the church in a "liberal" direction. When the Pope talks to the public, only things that fit into this story will make the headlines.

Thus, after the Pope gave a complicated and nuanced interview to a Catholic paper, it’s not surprising that American journalists only noticed a few sentences. The sentences that happened to fit into their narrative.

You’ve probably already seen the headlines. The Pope wants to find “new balance” when it comes to social issues! The Pope says the church doesn’t need to talk about abortion and homosexuality “all the time”! In other words: THE POPE IS A LIBERAL AND HE LIKES GAYS AND STUFF.

Which would be fine, if those headlines were an accurate assessment of the Pope’s own words. If you read the full interview, which is incredibly fascinating, you’ll find it isn’t primarily a statement about how the church has become too conservative, and must adopt the cultural values of modernity. Much of the interview centers around the Pope’s influences from Catholic history, and meditations on the nature of Christian spirituality. Translation for journalists: boring religious stuff. He does talk about the way he wants to shift his papacy's focus -- but he doesn’t speak in a way that adheres to liberal / conservative thinking. What the Pope seems to be communicating is that he wants the Catholic church to become more focused on evangelism, which means proclaiming God’s offer of salvation before all else. All the moral teachings of the church on social issues -- which Francis affirms as “clear” -- are important, but they’re useless when they’re not paired with the message of the gospel.

(It’s important to note that if journalists wanted a completely different narrative, they could also back it up with another out-of-context quote from Francis: Pope Francis: Church Teaching on Homosexuality “Clear.”)

For most Christians, this isn’t groundbreaking material, but it's refreshing to hear it expressed in an articulate way. As an evangelical protestant, I was impressed by the Pope’s richly textured expression of faith. It's true that Francis doesn’t go on an angry screed against gays and nonbelievers, but then again, neither do the vast majority of Christian leaders, regardless of how "conservative" they are. The press's breathless reaction to the Pope's interview is reminiscent of the awful coverage of “hip” evangelical churches that largely consists of ignorant statements along the lines of, “Pastor Coolface believes in the bible, but on a recent Sunday, he didn’t even mention gays!” Journalists have a narrative about “conservative” Christianity in their heads -- that all churches care about is gay marriage and abortion -- and they’re not sure what to do when they encounter an authentic statement of faith that defies this narrative.

I don’t expect that coverage of Christianity in general -- and Catholicism specifically -- will improve in the near future. Religion is hard, and journalists have to pump out stories with click-ready headlines as fast as their underpaid fingers can manage. Even if fitting facts into simplified narratives is frustrating to me as a consumer of news, I understand it. And since he’s such a swell guy, I’m sure Pope Francis forgives journalists for it.

But as fellow consumers of news, it’s your responsibility to dig deeper, and question the narratives. Sometimes they’re right. Sometimes they’re not.

In other words: Do journalists get caught up in artificial narratives? Is the Pope Catholic? Contrary to what you might have heard recently, the answer to both is yes.

Fragments: 2012 - 2013

I don’t post on this blog a lot. But, that doesn’t mean I’m not writing. I love writing, and do it often. I just don’t finish what I write. My Google Drive is chock full of large, complicated pieces that I’ve had ideas for, began writing, and then abandoned. Which is a shame, because some of them are fairly promising. Theoretically, I’d like to finish most of these pieces. But, it seems wasteful to just let the words go stale in my digital pantry. So, I’m releasing them. At least, some of them.

What follows are fragments. Bits and pieces of unfinished writing, exploring a whole lot of topics. If anyone is interested in me completing any particular piece, feel free to let me know. Otherwise, I’ll just get to them whenever I get to them. Or, maybe just keep them in the pantry, while I spend my time looking at pictures of cute animals on the Internet.

---

Part of an in-depth series on the built environment: 
In this great land, there are lots of things we like to question and critique. We are, after all, Americans. If our fries don’t deliver the combination of deep-fried crunch and lightly salted flavor we crave, we shame the local greasy spoon with a one-star rating on Yelp. If a Pakistani has the gall to answer our tech-support questions, we vent our anger on talk radio. But one thing -- an absolutely inescapable and essential part of life -- seems to avoid this treatment on a regular basis. We largely take it for granted, despite the fact that it defines most aspects of our existence.

I’m talking about the built environment. The spaces we live in, work in, and travel through. The physical reality behind almost every experience in our lives. The elevated highways, parking lots, lawns, drive-throughs, elevators, and living rooms that contain us every hour of every day.

The whole kaboodle.

Criticism of “suburbia,” the most dominant form of built environment in America, isn’t new. Academics have generated volumes of detailed criticism of every element of suburban life since the post-war age began. Even a few suburbanites occasionally voice misgivings about their own way of life.

In some ways, I’ll be continuing this grand tradition of sophisticated suburban criticism*. My thinking on this subject has been shaped by a number of other writers, and I won’t pretend like my ideas emerged from a vacuum. But I think the issues go much deeper than a simple dichotomy between the city and the suburb. Given that the population of almost every metropolitan area in America is overwhelmingly suburban, scoffing at single family homes and wondering why everyone doesn’t want to live in Manhattan is unproductive and silly.

What I’m really attempting to do is to convey two simple ideas: the built environment matters, and it isn’t static. Most of the spaces we inhabit are very new, and the way Americans live and work have been radically transformed in a relatively short period of time. Things can, and will, change again. And because the built environment is such a key part of our lives, the way we organize human existence in the physical realm has moral and spiritual components. This isn’t a subject that should be pushed the periphery. Whether we acknowledge it or not, the question of where we choose to live has massive implications for how we live.

Part of a related essay on the effect the pattern of suburban development has had on our conception of the church:
 For individual congregants, there are certainly benefits to choice and competition. Separating church from any physical community allows modern Christians to select congregations that fit their preferences for worship, theology, preaching, and fellowship. The problem is that this choice inherently subverts our conception of what church is. Choosing a church the way you might choose a grocery store or a dry-cleaner leads to a consumer mentality among churchgoers. Rather than being a people who belong to the church, we are people who go to a church. Young pastors talk in the capitalist language of growth, and even congregations with similar theological persuasions often have no meaningful communion with one another. What was established as a unified body has become something more like the competition between Burger King and McDonalds.

There are no easy answers to the challenges the church will continue to face in the age of urban sprawl. But perhaps the best lesson to learn is that place matters. The physical organization of life in America has been almost entirely transformed in the last century. Changes like this come at a price. But the story is far from over. Unlike many other countries, America is still growing. The form of our cities and towns will likely change, in one direction or another. During the transformation of American in the 20th century, the church was a largely absent player in the conversation. (Although, to be fair, the conversation itself was often absent, outside of left-wing intellectual circles). Recognizing that the form our cities take have implications for our spiritual lives is a good first step to avoiding these mistakes.

Part of an essay on how modern conservatism doesn’t seem that interested in conserving anything in particular: 
Conservatives have long held that many things that are theoretically legal are nonetheless bad, and should be discouraged, and vice-versa  -- albeit not necessarily at the level of government. For example, it isn’t a legal requirement for parents to spend quality time with their children, and pass on their values, but it's a good thing. But in the brave new world of modern conservatism, bad choices are celebrated, and common sense is derided as elitism. Are big boxes stores transforming small towns into homogenous wastelands, and erasing centuries of tradition and history? It’s legal, so it must be awesome!

The problem is that if conservatives wish to shrink government, they must be far more vigilant when it comes to their choices. Federal regulation can be a pain, but most are borne out of neccesity. The EPA didn’t come into existence because some “environmental wackos” wanted to control our lives -- it was created because America was so polluted that a freakin’ river was on fire.

Thoughts on the smartphone wars: 
When Android first came out, it was a laggy, incoherent mess compared to iOS’s sparkly polish. Today, Android is a much smoother experience. Bugs remain, but it’s clear that things are progressing at an exponential clip. In the long run, it’s a pretty safe bet that Android will end up more than a match for iOS’s speed and polish.

That doesn’t mean the iPhone will somehow die out, as rabid fandroids would hope. Apple makes excellent products, and millions will continue to buy them. In the end, both sides bring a lot to the table, and push each other to excellence. The iPhone was an incredibly well-designed product from day one, and it’s perfection continues to inspire other phone makers to reach a higher level of polish. Meanwhile, the sheer diversity of the rapidly innovating Android ecosystem is a huge playground for new features and form factors, giving people choices that open up new possibilities.

And ultimately, these are just phones. They are tools for communication, and not holy relics to be worshipped. If you think the kind of phone you have makes you a better person, get over yourself.

Part of a critique of the “food movement”: 
Ethical considerations should, of course, come into play in practical decisions. In the case of industrial farming, the most common complaints surround the manner in which meat-producing animals are grown. I, like most good white people, have watched Food Inc., and seen all the the terrors of coops practically bursting with obese hens. These are then contrasted with the proud, free-range chickens, which strut their stuff through glorious meadows. They are, we are meant to believe, happy chickens.

But, to be honest, those free-range chickens don’t really seem any happier than other chickens. They just seem like... chickens. Chickens who will be killed once they become delicious enough.

(Sidenote: chickens are mean, and I don’t really like them on a personal level. So, I guess that’s probably why I wrote this whole thing. Just a personal chicken vendetta).

The big problem with the fight between locavores and big ag is the either/or assumptions. Big farms aren’t very nice to animals, and grow too much corn, therefore, everyone should buy kale from some bearded guy who lives 30 miles away. What if, for example, big farms still raised lots of chickens in big barns, but gave them a little more space? Or if we subsidized corn less, and encouraged more diverse, healthy crops, taking into account their effects on long-term soil quality? What if instead of getting rid of big farms, food activists focused on making big farms better? Like it or not, little farms aren’t that efficient, and most people dont want to be farmers. Big farms will continue to produce most of our food. Making the perfect the enemy of the good isn’t a recipe for positive changes in agriculture.

Part of a complicated foreign policy piece: 
More than any other president in recent history, Obama seems to lack any sort of clearly articulated vision for America’s role in the world. On the balance, this is probably a good thing. I’d much rather have a lack of vision than a destructive one. But unfortunately, Obama seems to be bent on continuing the worst of the Bush years (rampantly overrunning the sovereignty of other nations to fight an objective-less war against shadowy terrorist organizations), without any sort of comprehensive rationale behind it.

All of this brings us to a single question. It’s a question that our leaders don’t seem interested in answering. But it deserves to be considered.

(It’s also kind of a long question. Deal.)

What is America’s obligation to the citizens of other states, specifically regarding violations of what we believe to be human rights and the resolution of violent conflict? Here’s the crux of the issue: the world is a big, messy place. America is one medium-sized (but powerful) slice of it. Bad things are happening all over the place, all the time. There are tyrants, and terrorists, and warlords. Our response to these issues has been all over the map. We’ve tried to establish democracies, while simultaneously partnering with dictators. We’ve allied ourselves with terrorists when it suited our interests, and then declared war on them later. We’ve insisted on staying out of foreign conflicts, but then mourned when we failed to prevent genocide. We support international justice for war criminals, unless they happen to be American. We’re damned when we do, and damned when we don’t.

Part of a bulleted list of things I like about living in Lincoln, Nebraska: 
- It’s cheap. This is actually kind of a big deal. If you’re a poor kid who is in college, or just got out of college, you can afford your own place. Elsewhere in the United States, living in your mom’s basement is basically your only option until you start making a six-figure income. That would suck.

- It’s safe. Even if you live in a sub-$400 apartment in a sketchy neighborhood, you will likely not be murdered. I’ve never been crime-ed in any way. Crime-ed is totally a word.

- The people are pretty okay. Generally, I reject the whole “people are friendly” description people tack onto cities they like, as there are friendly people and jerks everywhere. But, there are good people here, and I know some of them.

- It isn’t too big for its britches. Neighboring Omaha exists under the delusion that it is the Next Big Thing in the midwest. Unfortunately, every other similarly-sized city in America believes it also the Next Big Thing. Eventually, they will probably battle to the death, before realizing that they are still medium-sized cities whose importance will always be regional, rather than national. Lincoln, as a whole, seems to be more content to be Lincoln. Anyway. Moving on.

- It’s kind of cool. No, really. Local coffee shops are abundant, the music scene is diverse, and if getting drunk on the cheap is your thing, Lincoln is your place. The fact that Lincoln is a college town keeps it from being too conservative, and the fact that Lincoln is in Nebraska keeps it from being too liberal. It’s the perfect balance between redneck and pretentious.

---

So, there you have it. Many written things. All of them unfinished. Perhaps someday, I’ll develop the attention span to finish stuff.

All The Ugly People

---

For the sake of your name, LORD, forgive my iniquity, though it is great.

Psalm 25:11

---

I don’t like ugly people.

I’m not trying to be senselessly provocative, and I’m certainly not making a moral statement. But it is a true statement.

If you live in a normal, American, middle-class neighborhood, with normal, American, middle-class neighbors, you may not know any ugly people. What’s more, the magic of suburbia is such that it’s likely that you never have to encounter ugly people in your day-to-day life. Except, perhaps, at Wal-Mart.

In a poor, high-density neighborhood, you don’t get that luxury. Where I live, a lot of people are impoverished. Many of them are ugly. They wear ugly clothing. They have terrible hygiene. They speak with slurred, ugly voices. They didn’t finish college, or high school. They aren’t the kind of people I want to be friends with, or spend time on.

Sometimes, they ask for help. Or money. I don’t give it to them. They’ll probably just buy drugs anyway, right?

The doctrine that all men are image-bearers of Christ can be repeated to the point of cliché. I know it by heart. But even so, my heart doesn’t really know it. When I walk past a vagrant, I’m much more likely to think white trash than eternal, glorious reflection of the Creator.

In the evangelical world, it’s popular to focus on big-ticket sins you can write books on conquering. Addictions like pornography and alcohol. Social problems like marital unfaithfulness and divorce. But beneath the surface of my life, I know there’s a world of deep, rooted sin that I can’t even begin to comprehend. There’s so much pride and hatred stored up that I could spend a lifetime fighting it, and never achieve victory.

Wishing that someone would cease to exist is the highest level of hatred I can think of. But as I avoid eye-contact with the undesirables smoking on the porch of my apartment building while littering the yard with Corona cans, this unspoken wish passes through my mind. When I take an honest look at my heart, I see more Hitler than Jesus.

Even when my mind tries to mask the hate in nice little thoughts.

Wouldn’t it be nice if this neighborhood were a little more... gentrified?
Full of quirky young people who listen to Grizzly Bear and repair bikes?
What if that charming Victorian could be restored to a single-family home, with a responsible, middle-class family inside?
Perhaps there wouldn’t be so many of THOSE people here...

Maybe that’s one of the reasons I don’t like ugly people. My heart’s reaction to them reveals my true self. It shows that despite the fact that I’ve gone to church every Sunday since I was born, I’m more inclined to hatred than love. I’d rather lock myself inside and read a book about God’s grace than show grace to anyone who doesn’t reach my standard of personhood.

It turns out that I’m ugly too. Fortunately, there’s someone else who doesn’t just like ugly people, but loves them. And better yet, forgives them.

On Urban Missional Cultural Relevance.

According to conventional wisdom, the American city is back. And the American church seems to have gotten the message. If you’re young, ambitious, and entering the ministry, planting an urban church is the thing to do.

Even if your congregation is actually made up of middle-class suburbanites.

(Google “City Church,” and you’ll find a multitude of churches -- many of them located in gritty metropolises like Anchorage and Chatanooga).

The trend toward bringing the gospel to previously un-churched and culturally influential urban areas is exciting, and necessary. I would argue that this movement is one of the most important developments in modern Christianity. However, it’s important to draw the line between truly serving a city, and attempting to capitalize on the image of urban hipsterdom. Buzzwords like “cultural relevance” can mask a real cultural disconnect with the local community.

The vast majority of Christians in middle-America aren’t that artistic. They aren’t overly concerned with refuting the deconstructionist philosophy of Jacques Derrida. They don’t all enjoy sitting through Swedish art films from the ‘60s. And like it or not, they need pastors too.

This isn’t a screed against hipsters, or so-called “hipster Christianity.” Many of the people that get branded as hipsters aren’t trying to put on a phony identity. Some people (including Christians) have a passion for art, listen to obscure bands because they genuinely enjoy them, and wear retro glasses because they have bad eyesight, and thought they just looked good, dangit! That’s okay. But it isn’t a sin to wear dad shorts and listen to Casting Crowns. The chronically un-hip aren’t second-class citizens in the kingdom of God.

The return of Christian interest in urban ministry is an incredible development. A few decades ago, few would have believed that New York City and Seattle would become vibrant centers of evangelical Christianity. But the church is made up of Christians. It should exist wherever Christians are, and reflect where they live. A church on Manhattan island won’t be the same as a church in Manhattan, Kansas.

If being “relevant” in your community means discussing grad-school level literature and cinema, more power to you. If you’ve been called to serve in a true cultural center, you should take that mission to heart. There’s no doubt that the church has a long way to go in ministering to America’s great cities. But if “authenticity” is going to be more than a buzzword, church leaders need to truly take into account the needs and identity of the specific community they’ve been called into.

Even if that community thinks Bud Light is a legitimate beverage choice.

Movementarianism.

This isn’t a post about Occupy Wall Street. But it does have to do with the driving force behind the movement. One of the driving forces behind it, that is.

I’m not talking about the tanking economy, corporate welfare, or American consumerism. In my mind, the most fascinating thing about Occupy Wall Street is what it shares with almost every other movement of political activists -- even the conservative Tea Party.

When you distill them down to their essence, movements have an appeal that goes far beyond the specifics of ideology. They promise the one thing everyone lacks the most: significance. Yesterday, you could have been a Wal-Mart greeter, or an unemployed student covered in ill-advised tattoos. But today, you can belong to something. You can do something about what’s wrong with the world.

(Of course, it won’t do anything about those ill-advised tattoos. Sorry, brosef.)

The mass protest is a religious experience. A group of absolute strangers comes together and experiences a kind of spiritual communion with one another. They stand together, and understand one another. They might even sing together. Out of many, one. At least, for a brief moment.

Which is precisely the problem with movements. They burn brightly, and then fade. Everyone wants a mountain-top experience, but you can’t live on that mountain. Eventually, you have to come down. You have to go back to work. You have to go back to your life. Your real life.

And on an existential level, your real life is almost certainly hard. Our lives are so full of the things we have to do to survive that everything else gets lost in the shuffle. The clarity of the cause is gone. The significance is gone.

None of this is to dismiss political activism. When activism is paired with concrete policies and widespread support, it can change things. But it can’t fill the emptiness inside our souls. When the dust settles, we have to eventually stop looking at the system, and look inside.

Screaming against a millionaires’ greed is easy. What’s wrong with ourselves and the choices we make every day is harder to fit on a picket sign.