The Best Measure

Periodically, I find myself in little "disagreements" with God.  Oh, it's not that I find myself having whole arguments with Morgan Freeman's voice in my head; I just struggle with assimilating my experiences with my beliefs, or what the world believes.   All truly spiritual people are compelled to examine and analyze their experiences in order to make sense of them in light of our beliefs, whether they be religious, moral, social, or political.  In the last few months, I found myself somewhat troubled in trying to resolve some observations of the world around me with the principles that I hold, quite literally, sacred.

My experience centered a great deal on the fact that it's been a distastefully explosive political year, going beyond mere political posturing and into the realm of sickening hate-mongering.  Combine that with the fact that I'm both very committed to the idea of equality for all but still evolving in my understanding of our government, and I wound up with a perfect storm of disillusionment on my hands.  This is so complicated that I don't even have a clear place to start in the narrative, except for the one event that polarized my spiritual and moral standards:  that Chick-fil-A brouhaha this summer, when CEO Dan Cathy made anti-gay statements in a radio interview and as a result, demonstrations supporting both sides of the argument were staged at the company's stores. 

I had, to be honest, an immediate disdain for Mr. Cathy's remarks, not only because I considered it bad business practice, but also because I adamantly support equal rights for all, including same-sex marriage.  In fact, I have so much to say about that issue that I'll have to make it another blog, or several blogs, entirely.  But this summer:  Mr. Cathy made his statements, more as an individual than as a CEO, and got raked over the coals for it.  The cyberworld went BOOM!, and next thing we knew, there was a day of chicken feasting to support the company, and a subsequent day of picketing.  I thought they both were pointless.  These two sides are not likely to ever convince the other.  But then, my brother and I never give up arguing our different views of the political spectrum, knowing full well that we'll never turn one red or the other blue.  I think we do it out of love, hoping the other will at least scoot a little in our own direction, bringing us closer to a shade of purple we can both live with.  Maybe a similar kind of love is the reason the same-sex marriage/anti same-sex marriage proponents keep at each other, believing there is grounds for a compromise everyone can be happy with-----but no, I don't really believe that.  I wish I could.  And that wish gone awry, like Langston Hughes's "Dream Deferred," is where I found my feelings surfacing during the demonstrations this summer. 

Bluntly, I felt somewhat sickened at the sight of people lined up to buy chicken sandwiches in the name of their religion.  It seems so far off from my understanding of Jesus, and of the Christianity that I have always practiced.  But my reaction alarmed me for the same reason.  I am fully convinced of God's love for me----and for every other person on the face of this planet, even those who never hear the name of Jesus between the cradle and the grave.  To me, that show of support of Chick fil A was demonstrating the exact opposite:  that Christ's followers (and therefore Christ) considered themselves better than others.  And THAT, I know, is not the message of Jesus.  I vowed not to do business with them until I had resolved my thoughts and understanding of the situation to my own satisfaction.  But when the picketing of the restaurants took place a few days later, I had a similarly discontent reaction.  While I believe whole-heartedly in the American right to demonstrate peacefully, I had, literally, a visceral reaction to the whole mess.  I said before I felt sickened, and I meant truly, physically sickened.  How could we put our beliefs on display, either side of the argument, over something as ridiculous as chicken?!  I did my best to put it all out of my mind.  It didn't stay gone very long.

Only a few weeks later, I was in Mardel's one evening buying school supplies.  For those who don't know, Mardel's is a Christian bookstore owned by the Mart Green family in Oklahoma City, the same people who own Hobby Lobby, which is closed on Sundays like Chick fil A.  (I've always admired that practice to, as both businesses say, "promote family time," even though it inconveniences those of us with limited shopping hours.)  The Green family is also the group that bailed out Oral Roberts University a few years ago when it was insolvent and in crisis.  I haven't looked deeply into their business philosophies or religious practices, but the items Mardel's carries lead me to believe they support prosperity theology.  I can't logically or theologically get behind that; everything I've seen in life demonstrates that God doesn't reward us financially for following Him.  But that, too, is another blog.  The point is that I probably wouldn't shop at Mardel's very frequently, except for the fact that they have a great school supply section.

That evening, I wandered into the t-shirt section, a huge selection of t-shirts with Christian themes, to look for some gifts.  There are two walls covered with designs, probably numbering over 150, not to mention others hanging on rounders most of the length of the store.  I read each one, craning my neck back to scan from the ceiling on down.  After a while, I began to feel a little light-headed from the looking back and forth, up and down, as well as the fact that I hadn't eaten much that day because of the relentless heat.  The t-shirts on the rounders provided a little distraction for a while, so I went back and forth between those and the wall.  I began to notice the few shoppers in that section, and they seemed so....distant, maybe even unfriendly.  Now I know logically that I might have just had low blood sugar at that point, even though I wasn't shaky or clammy.  But I suddenly felt just as put off as I could be by the in-your-face-ness of everything in that section, as though everyone there felt just a little superior to me, that you had to shout your beliefs from your clothing, not just the way you lived your life.  And if I tell the truth.....I felt as though none of them could or would think for themselves, which is to say, I felt a little superior to them, too. 

It was a bitter, terrifying moment. 

I paid for my purchases and left as quickly as I could.  Once I was in the car, I picked up the phone a couple of times, thinking to call Mary Beth, my dear friend from church, who has a gift for seeing right into the heart of a situation and making it make sense.  What held me back was the inability to even explain what I was feeling.  It was a cumulative effect from both experiences, and it felt as though I was rejecting not just the American version of Christianity, or prosperity theology, but that I was questioning Christianity as a whole.  If you think horribly of me for that last sentence, know that I thought no less of myself when I wrote it;  I've been sitting here for 10 minutes trying to figure out how to go on.  To reject Christianity would be akin to negating my whole life, from a blessed childhood with my parents' upbringing rooted in church and high moral values, to my own career, which I claim as a calling from God. 

My terror at the feelings I experienced that night did not go away.  While I wasn't living in a state of shock or coming apart at the seams, it was not a good time.  I was facing the beginning of a school year like no other, with many extra burdens and the loss of two peers in my department.  I flung myself into those tasks and those changes with more energy than I've used to get going in any year I can think of, and that turned out to be a blessing.  The challenges took my mind off my crisis of belief, and the time I spent working left me little time for ruminating on the significance of what was going on in the world around me.  I even stopped listening to NPR for several weeks in order to stop the flow of any political information related to religious ideologies.  Instead, I reverted to my drug of choice when I'm feeling overwhelmed by the world:  country music.  I quickly learned the most popular songs on the radio and spent my 45 minute morning and afternoon commute singly along mindlessly.  It should have been no surprise to me when that same country radio provided me with a resolution to my crisis. 

Just a couple of weeks ago, I was driving to the family ranch after school on Friday evening, headed over to help my mother care for my sister's baby girl for the weekend while she and her husband took a little trip for their anniversary.  I was tired but looking forward to time with Allie, my god-daughter and main source of enjoyment this past summer.  As I find myself on the road a lot at sunrise and sundown, I love both times of day, and evening is when I am most contemplative, resolving events in my mind.  That evening was no exception; I was parsing the week as it grew closer to sunset.  When I was approaching the turn from the two-lane highway to the backroad, a Keith Urban song that is popular right now came on.  It had annoyed me before---he's not one of my favorites---but I'd not really paid attention to the words, either.  Suddenly, I DID hear what he was singing about, a soldier on a battlefield, questioning whether he had made a mistake: 

"And the answer rang out clear from somewhere up above

No greater gift has man, than to lay down his life for love.

And I wondered, would I give my life?
Could I make that sacrifice?
If it came down to it, could I take the bullet?  I would,
Yes I would, for you."

I don't know why everything coalesced around that moment, and around song lyrics that were no great poetry, but as quick as a lightning strike, it all did.

...The baby of the baby sister I've always said I could defend to the death with my bare hands.

...The family I belong to that tried always to live by a good moral code.

...The Christianity that fostered that moral code.

...The God who called me to teach.....and to teach and treat everyone equally.

...The students I've vowed to protect with my life, who, when they asked, I've told, "Anyone who comes in here looking to hurt you will have to go through me and every other teacher in this building." 

And I knew, at once, that there was no way I was turning away from my faith.  I knew---I remembered what I have believed for many years---that I only have to concern myself with  my own faith, not anyone else's, nor anyone else's concept of mine.  It was a palpable relief I felt, reminding myself that I would, like the speaker of that song, do whatever I was called to do, and that I would do it not just for those who believed the same as me, but for all of my students. 

That's the best measure of Christianity I know of.  Perhaps demonstrating by choosing a certain day to shop at a Christian-owned business is what others know as their best measure.  Maybe it's wearing blingy crosses or praying in the streets.   For some, it might be giving away all the money they make or feeding and clothing the disenfranchised.  But all I have to worry about is whether I'm living by my lights, whether my conscience is clear and my heart is right with God.  For tonight, at least, I will sleep soundly---I am right with God, and with myself.