“Different” by Mike Patz & Brian Sanders: A Review

“We have come to realize that imperfect churches can still be breathtaking churches, and that imperfect disciples can still turn heads, inspire, and remind everyone they meet of the God-man Jesus” (page 13).

While I still have two chapters left, in light of Different recently being released on Kindle for free (though it appears to no longer be) I wanted to recommend it here. It’s worth noting that the only way this review could be more biased is if I wrote the book myself (and even then I don’t think it would be as favorably partial as this). Not only have I been part of the Underground since 2010, but Brian Sanders is also my hero. I admire him as a follower of Jesus, leader, thinker, father, and so much more; and I’ve been waiting for new book from him since his collaborative volume, In Your Underwear. When I heard that he and Mike Patz were co-writing a book together, I knew we were in for it.

If anyone is familiar with Brian Sanders, it’s no secret that he and Mike Patz have been best friends since high school. They’d get in trouble together and, as Brian tells it, Mike would get away because teachers “liked him” whereas Brian would get punished. These two were tennis doubles and because of their friendship an unspoken chemistry evolved. Brian wouldn’t have to say a thing to Mike and vice versa, they just knew how to play off each other. In the same way this unspoken chemistry allowed them to dominate in tennis, part of what makes Different triumph the way it does is how well they work together.

As you read you get the feeling both voices are essential to this book. Both Mike and Brian bring something to the table that would otherwise be missing. For Mike, it’s his relentless love for Jesus that gives this book heart. It shows in his ability to wordsmith, creating just the right question that penetrates past the surface and etches itself in the soul of the reader. For Brian, it’s his contemplative philosophical musings that give this book a greater sense of structure. As someone relatively familiar with Brian, I do get the sense that all the work he’s done since Life After Church has culminated into this. There are familiar illustrations and stories from past sermons but the points don’t lose their poignancy. They are just as deep and cutting as when I first heard them (the beauty of truth is its timelessness). While both voices are unique in their own right, they blend harmoniously and vice versa.

If you listen to the author interviews on this book, Mike says this book wasn’t written to feed people as much as it was to make people hungry. They wanted to put our feet to the fire and put our feet to the fire they do. Different not only instills hope for what the church can be, it also reignites (to steal from Neil Cole, another great missional thinker, for a moment) a primal fire in your relationship with God. A huge part of that is the passion in which the authors write. They burn on the page and their heart’s cry becomes your heart’s cry. More than just solid writing, these are powerful principles on what it looks like to be a disciple of Jesus in the 21st century in the West where the church is on the decline. This includes an abiding commitment to justice and the poor, a leadership that serves and empowers as well as a wholehearted commitment to Jesus and a longing to be filled with his Spirit. I personally couldn’t have thought of better people to write this book.

These men are more than theologians and missiologists. They’re practitioners, which gives the, unrivaled amount of integrity and authority.

Though Chapter Four alone makes the book worth buying, some of my other favorite chapters so far include one, three, nine, and ten.

Get it on kindle here.

On Identity

Every performing musician has his or her pre-show ritual. For some it’s stretching backstage or practicing solos. For some it’s sleeping or listening to a song to get in the mood. As embarrassing as this may be, I’d imagine myself as my favorite musicians. Though I don’t play shows anymore, I find the ritual still at work in my life. Whenever I’m asked to speak somewhere I imagine myself as my leaders, using the same terminology and mannerisms, hearing their voices in my head. When I’m on campus I’m my old staff worker, trying to project vision with the same enthusiasm.  I’ve become an amalgamation of my heroes. 

Not too long ago I took a missionary assessment to help me recognize my strengths, weaknesses, and areas of growth. One thing that came out was that at the ripe age of 23 my identity is still forming.

So much of my life has been spent trying to be other people. I’m a chameleon, able to blend in with whatever group happens to be around me. This works both to my benefit and detriment. Benefit because God’s gifted me with the ability to see the beauty in mostly everyone and a desire to share that with them, if not emulate it in some fashion. Detriment because sometimes it means picking up their negative qualities as well. Detriment because it almost always means seeing myself as lesser.

If I’m honest, while part of me exemplifies the behavior of my predecessors because it’s how I learned something, part of me does it because I don’t believe who I naturally am is good enough. Somehow hiding in the armor of my heroes makes me better (or so I tell myself) but more often than not it seems contrived.

Back in high school one my closest friends would intentionally be mean to girls as a way of flirting. The crazy thing was that it worked. Even girls he didn’t like would develop feelings for him. I, on the other hand, would try and would find myself doing damage control later. I could pretend to be him, but I wasn’t him. It’s like when we were children and we’d wonder why everyone else got away with stuff but we always got in trouble. It’s taken me 23 years but I think I finally got it: it’s because we weren’t everyone else. We’re different and that’s okay. The pitfalls of our leaders/peers don’t have to be ours as well. It’s okay to be different. It’s okay to be yourself.

If there’s one thing I’m most grateful for it’s that Cayman has forced me to become my own person. Rather than hiding behind the gifts of particular people, I’ve had to step out and learn what I’m good at and, in the process, discover how God’s grace is sufficient in my weakness. He says I’m enough and that matters so much more than the lies I tell myself. Growing up is about learning who you are and who you are not. 

I’m not C.S. Lewis. I’m not Andrew McMahon. I’m not Brian Sanders, Jeremy Stephens, Brad Everett, or Joshua Haupt (although they are all remarkable individuals I’m profoundly shaped by). I am Tomy. Granted I still have a long way to go before I fully embrace that, I’m closer than I was before.

I’m Tired.

I didn’t have any intentions on blogging about Ferguson namely because the last thing I wanted to do was to appear as if I’m appealing to current events in some “attempt to be relevant,” as if I’m trying to win some Internet popularity contest. The fact is many people are writing about Ferguson and racism in America. And quite frankly I’m tired.

I’m tired of being told what to feel. I’m tired of being told what I feel isn’t valid. I’m tired of White people trying to tell me what racism is and isn’t. And quite frankly I’m tired of trying to explain, to no avail, why they don’t get to define this conversation. It’s disheartening and it’s exhausting and it’s tempting to give up.

This past week a friend of mine posted a blog about how we, as Black people, should just leave America. Initially I wanted to respond reminding him of the good that’s worth fighting for. Then I remembered that for the past year and a half I’ve been living in the Caribbean and, to be honest, in times like these I’m reminded why I left the United States. Though we built it, I’m not sure there’s a place for us there.

Growing up, I was often told by my friends I was the nicest Black person they’d ever met. In fact, between my aptitude for school, my niceness, and my musical tastes, it was almost like I wasn’t Black at all. I didn’t live in the ghetto; my parents were still married; and I attended private school for most of my education. Of course now I see all kinds of issues with these statements. But at that point I thought nothing of it. In fact I prided myself in it.

Then at fourteen, I watched as a Hispanic girl I liked was called from the other side of the cafeteria by her mother, who was less than excited at the prospect of her daughter being romantically involved with the “same kind of people” that impregnated and abandoned her older sister. Her mother proceeded to pull her from the cafeteria to their car by the ear.

Then at sixteen I was stopped by a White police officer in a predominately White neighborhood. Apparently, he received a call about a Black man roaming the streets with a gun. After being pulled from the venue (I was watching my friend’s band perform) to get frisked, the cop was surprised to find a cellphone in a leather case. He may have been embarrassed but I was humiliated because my White friends who witnessed this happen didn’t say or do anything. It was then I realized no matter how special people made me sound to the rest of America I was just another Black man living in a country where someone could ignore the command to leave you alone, kill you when things don’t go their way, and be found innocent just in time for people to decide your dead body makes for a good Halloween costume (all while claiming to not have the facts). Sometimes I think we use the complexity of issues as an excuse to be silent, overlooking the fact that silence is also a decision. Tell me talking about race doesn’t unite us and I’ll tell you neither does the absurdity of supposed “colorblindness.”

This week has reminded me that we often resort to violence when we are unable to articulate our frustration or when it fails to convince; and I’ve come to realize this situation takes much more than explanations. It takes Jesus; and I pray he comes quickly.

To those wondering: Yes, I know racism is more than Black and White. It’s been my long held belief that if anyone deserves to be mad it’s the Native Americans, who not only had their land stolen from them but were beaten down so badly we had to create special places for them to recuperate while we celebrated the man who put them there.

To those tired of hearing about Ferguson: I’m just tired of it happening. 

To my friends/heroes/mentors (especially White ones) who’ve spoken up about this issue: You have given me more hope and strength than you will ever know. Thank you for being equally enraged, if not more so.

All The Small Things: Thoughts on Grandiose vs. Everyday Actions

“Saruman believes it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found. I found it is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay… small acts of kindness and love. Why Bilbo Baggins? Perhaps it is because I am afraid… and he gives me courage.” ­– Gandalf from The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey.

This past week has been kind of surreal. After five years of searching I managed to reconnect with a stranger who shared with me some of the profoundest insight on life I’d ever received. More than right words, they came at a time when I was trying to find myself. Those words were water to a parched soul. Though we were complete strangers, this person made an impact on my life I never forgot. This past week all my searching came to an end when I found them Facebook. Without a second thought, I messaged them.

Then I got nervous.

More than the uncertainty as to whether or not it was right person, I was afraid they wouldn’t remember me. Sure, that conversation may have been monumental to me but who remembers every random interaction they have? But the possibility of being influenced by something someone doesn’t even remember got me thinking: what if we have a deeper impact on people than we even realize because the little things we do matter more than we think?

A student of mine occasionally tells this story of how she got involved with InterVarsity: she attended our student rally where I presented the gospel (a lot of it without notes, mind you) and something small I said, something I don’t even remember (hopefully it was the Holy Spirit), got her thinking. She recommitted her life to Jesus that night and has been a part of our community ever since. Now things are changing for her and she attributes it to that one night, which is still beyond my recollection.

There are moments when I try to be deep or witty or cool only to have it fall on deaf ears and unimpressed crowds. But it’s always the small things that somehow resonate more. I find this both encouraging and discouraging.

Discouraging because I’m a sucker for the grandiose. Maybe it’s all the Disney channel I watched growing up but I like coming through in a major way. I’ve traveled an hour and a half via Amtrak for a teddy bear. I once wrote and recorded a song asking a girl to prom. I’ve even worked three jobs just to visit my girlfriend who lived out of the country and that’s just the tip of the iceberg (you should ask me about UC Davis some time). Yet no matter how grand the gesture, the little things always seem to overshadow it; and that makes me mad. 

We want our big gestures to count. We plan them with a particular response in mind (rewards, accolades, praise, etc.) and yet it’s for that exact reason smaller gestures always trump our grandiose actions. While big gestures may reflect the person doing them, they don’t always. Anyone can write a song, buy a star, or plan a surprise but it’s the small things we absentmindedly do that portray who we really are. Something about that reminds me of God. We can hide behind the grandiose but it’s the miniscule that exposes us.

This isn’t to say we should stop our big actions. Those matter too. After all, the person loved their bear, the girl said yes to being my prom date, and the woman I flew out of the country for is now my wife. At the very least they make for interesting stories and at the most they are tremendous expressions of our care. However, to believe that our grand actions somehow make up for the small, every day things is self-deception. Small actions speak louder and it’s in this we find our encouragement: we are impacting more people than we realize or even remember. How cool is that?

Technological Zombies

It’d been eight years since the zombie apocalypse ravaged the city, a host of them residing in an airport eating the flesh and brains of humans. A girl and her friends are wandering around when the zombie finds himself attracted the woman. He eats the boyfriend (minor detail) and something strange happens. His attraction grows stronger. He begins to protect the girl. Stranger still, the zombie falls in love with the girl and the more he falls in love with her, the more human becomes. Though Warm Bodies carries the obvious message that love is what makes us who we are, I can’t help but wonder if there’s more depth to that statement than even they knew. Frankly, sometimes I wonder if technology has robbed us of our humanity, making us more efficient but at a greater expense than we realized.

Aside from our increased sense of impatience and dependency, we’ve forgotten how to unplug and exist apart from our devices. We’re like children who don’t want to sleep out of fear of missing out on the action. It’s gotten to the point where the first thing my students ask me for when they come over my house is the password to my wifi (the second being the location of our outlets). The sad part is I’m guilty too: whenever I walk into the room my first inclination, much to the frustration of my wife, is to crack open my laptop and check my Facebook. It’s interesting how now in Christian circles we’re challenging each other to fast from technology. Years ago it was countercultural not to have cable or television in your house, but now I believe if someone wanted to be truly revolutionary all they’d have to do is keep the Internet out of their house (but even then I’m sure there’d be an open network in the vicinity).  We’re technological zombies feeding off the LCD screens of our latest gadgets.

A while back I wrote a blog on happiness. If I had to point to one thing I believe is contributing to the increase of depression in our society, I would say technology. Courtesy of social media and other platforms, we now have another excuse to turn inwards and create our own realities as an escape from the one we actually reside in. In the process we’ve become so busy pretending we’re living a fantastic life we actually fail to live.

This isn’t to say technology is the anti-christ. Obviously the reason you can read these words regardless of your location is the technology afforded to us. Yet every so often I’ll meet with students to learn about their spiritual journeys. Invariably the question of what they do for fun comes up and more often than I’d like the response has been to sit at home on their smartphones, watching Netflix. They don’t like interacting with people. Though it’s hidden under the guise of shyness, in actuality they’ve forgotten how to relate to people in real life.

As ministers we’re not just competing with clubs and bars. We’re competing against the growing isolationism of our materialistic, technological culture and I’m tempted to capitulate. Sometimes it is easier to talk with someone via text message than to bear the awkwardness of real life interaction. But for those students I’ve seen become a part of our makeshift community, I’ve seen something strange happen: they come alive again. They rediscover the joys of meeting new people and sharing life with one another. Like Warm Bodies they become human again as they’re reminded again that it’s love that makes us who we are.

School of Hard Knocks: Experiences in Planting

Like those people who wake up hung-over from the night before vowing to never drink again only to find themselves at a bar later that day, every time I look forward to being part of a pre-existing movement, my heart flutters at the thought of another unreached place.

This past week my wife and I were in Guyana at missions conference with students and staff from all around the Caribbean where we had the opportunity to lead a workshop on our experiences in starting new ministry. I thought it’d be appropriate to share some of those ruminations here.

  1. Not only is it okay to fail, you will fail – You have to be pretty solid in your relationship with Jesus to start new ministry. If you’re someone whose worth is contingent on success, planting will be your worst nightmare. Planting always involves risk and risk always opens the possibility of failure. It hurts but it’s part of the journey. It’s best to not take it personal, learn what you can, and move on. Fail often.
  2. It’s okay to start small – When I was on staff in Florida I was assigned to one particular campus. By the end of that first year I had something going on at four of the five main campuses. That may sound impressive but none of them had solid foundations. They were four flimsy chapters with a staff worker spread so thin real discipleship couldn’t take place. In starting small, you allow yourself to invest in a concentrated effort with the hope and vision it will grow to become self-sustaining if not multiplicative. Speaking of vision…
  3. Vision is everything – Without vision the people perish and so do ministries. Vision informs who you are, what you’re trying to accomplish, how you’ll get there, and sometimes the timeline you’re working with. It creates space for buy-in, which allows for unity within a community (after all, a house divided against itself will not stand). Without vision, it’s impossible to put appropriate structures in place and find the right leaders. You’ll find yourself expending lots of energy but it will all be counterintuitive.
  4. Context is key – When I joined InterVarsity as a student, it was at a small, private liberal arts university in the heart of downtown Tampa. When I came on staff, I was sent to a 48,000-person community college with five main campuses and numerous satellite locations. Even now as I pioneer ministry, I’m in another country where the main campus has 1,000 students from all around the island. Ministry has looked completely different in all three places. A lot of things will make or break your ministry but failure to know your context is striking out before you even play the game. Failure to know your context is in essence failure to love and affirm the people you’re reaching, which has disaster written all over it.

Planting is one of the hardest things I’ve done. It’s lonely, it’s frustrating, and it highlights every insecurity and fault in me. Yet I’m crazy enough enter the flames repeatedly and expect a different result. For all the failure experienced, few things beat the joy that comes when something actually works. I feel closest to God in the fight to see his kingdom come. And that has been the biggest thing planting has shown me about myself: I enjoy a challenge.

 

Encouragement for the Exiles

Though Florida should actually be known as the Sauna State, when the sun manages to defeat the clouds it’s no mystery how its nickname stands the test of time. It was spring 2012, I was in my first year with InterVarsity planting at a local community college, and on this particular day I was standing in a parking lot, flagging down any student I saw entering and exiting the off-campus housing facility. It was the only way I was able to invite them to Bible study.

Despite the veneer of caring about student organizations, it often seemed as if this institution purposely set rules in place to prevent them from existing, especially if they were Christian. Because we couldn’t hang posters, hand out flyers, or even have a table at orientation before having ten students as well as a faculty advisor on board, most of my recruitment looked like me walking around campus, finding some kid sitting all by themself, and persuading them to investigate Jesus that semester. Whereas, on any other campus, I’d be able to get anywhere from 40 to 75 students signed up by myself, on this campus I’d be lucky if I got 20. It was hard; and most days it felt like I was getting nowhere, but I secretly loved every minute of it. Partially because something in me likes to subvert authority, but also because I was reminded the coming of the kingdom can’t be stopped.

Acts 8 tells a similar story. In the preceding chapter Stephen becomes the first Christian martyr after getting dragged out of the city and stoned by the Sanhedrin. As if following Jesus while he was on earth wasn’t scary enough, the religious leaders started killing his followers in his absence. But interestingly enough the death of Stephan didn’t mark the death of the church. It marked its expansion. Instead of the church becoming an institution, it became the movement Jesus called it to be (Acts 1). That’s the annoying thing about Christians: you throw them in jail thinking they’ll learn a lesson about sharing the gospel and instead they preach to the inmates. Acts 8 tells us the Samaritans came to faith. And so it’s always been with us: the places where we persecuted most become the places our numbers grow the fastest. You can’t stop us.

Sometimes in our comfort we rely on our tried and true, fancy structures but crisis calls us back to the barebones of ministry and innovate again. It’s these moments that test us as leaders and as movements but we find God is nearer than our very breath. As hard as it is, perseverance is in our blood.

A couple years back the entire California State University system has decided to remove campus access from not just us but all religious groups that refuse to comply with their policy on “tolerance.” While they’ve granted us a grace period, our time is running out. This of course is an absolute travesty. But while I do pray that administration recants their decision, even if they don’t, I am more than confident what was intended for evil, God, in his sovereignty, will use for good. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if we saw more students come to faith. It will undoubtedly be hard but I have faith that even in our exile God will do something beautiful. He always does.

“Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.” – Romans 5:3-5

 

*For more information on what’s going on and how to pray for my brothers and sisters in California.

The Pursuit of Happiness

Every so often I’ll stumble across an article on social media promising sage advice for young twenty-somethings entering the throes of adulthood. Typically, it boils down to doing what makes you happy. While I usually struggle with these articles, for the most part ignore them and move on with my day. But this past week I stumbled upon Jaden Smith’s twitter and found a tweet of his that read “from the day you’re born to the day you die, you have one responsibility and that’s to make yourself happy.” When I saw the amount of favorites and re-tweets it received, it got me thinking: does this philosophy actually do more harm than good?

The irony is that in our pursuit of happiness we’ve become the most miserable people ever. Studies show depression has increased in recent years and that self-absorption has played a part in it. Our self-centeredness has caused the breakdown of the family further isolating ourselves from outside community. When the commitment is to our happiness, other things invariably suffer. Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. Though there are numerous reasons behind this, I imagine a solid chunk of them being people whose spouses no longer made them “happy.” I wonder if this philosophy is actually selfishness disguised as wisdom. Ultimately, if all we care about is ourselves then that’s all we’ll have in the end.

The other day I was in the grocery store when I saw a woman with a t-shirt that read, “it’s all about me.” Regardless of whether or not this woman actually believed it, it’s a testament to what we think about ourselves: the world exists for us. But don’t you see how counterintuitive that is? When everyone believes that everything is about them there is no room for others in their lives apart from that person’s service to them. But, of course, that person would never be their servant because they themselves are convinced the world is supposed to be theirs. Who wins in this situation? This philosophy is both a product and a perpetuator of our individualistic culture, which is self-defeating by its very nature. 

Some will invariably ask, “what if helping people makes you happy?” I’m not convinced that’s good enough. To use happiness as a motivator allows us to excuse our passivity towards people because it would make us unhappy. That, to me, is wrong. Some things are more important than our feelings. Moreover, to say action only flows out our feelings overlooking the inverse. Sometimes in the process of doing something for someone we gain a sense of happiness or joy we didn’t have before – which, by the way are not the same thing. You can be unhappy for a moment while having a profound sense of joy about your life and you can also be happy about something without joy. 

But even from a neurological standpoint I find this to be somewhat troubling. Our brains are constantly at war with each other when it comes to decision-making. Our pleasure center wants things instantaneously whereas our more logical brain argues for delayed gratification. Which makes us happier?

As a follower of Jesus, my understanding is that I was made to love and be loved by God. What’s interesting is that in Him I am happiest and most joyful. Yet while happiness is a great byproduct of following Jesus my commitment isn’t to my happiness, it’s to his glory; and my joy flows from that. Out of the abundance of what God has done for me I’m freed up to serve others. I find this infinitely more fulfilling than living for myself.

Preparing to Win the Battle and the War

As a campus minister, one of the greatest joys of my heart is watching as students give their lives to Jesus. For all the prayers, setbacks, and hard conversations, it’s the moment where everything feels worth it. Luke 15 says there’s rejoicing in heaven and I believe it. It’s exciting. Yet if there’s one thing Cayman has taught me, it’s the importance of seeing past the initial victory to equip new believers for the greater war.

As some of you have undoubtedly heard someone say, our call in the great commission is not to go and make converts but rather disciples. After almost a year-and-a-half in Cayman I can see why. Discipleship is everything. Alan Hirsch in his book, The Forgotten Ways, examines the DNA of well-known Jesus movements throughout history and one commonality between them all is their commitment to discipleship. From an organizational standpoint it’s the most strategic thing we can do. If you’re in ministry and find yourself often wondering why you’re doing everything, there’s a possibility it’s because you haven’t discipled anyone. But more than that, from a kingdom perspective, it’s the most important thing we can do. Some would say it’s why the church exists.

In the same way we were born to parents who taught us how to walk, talk, and eat, when we are born again we need someone to show us how to live in light of this newfound freedom. So, why don’t we disciple? Off the top of my head I can think of four reasons.

1)     It’s daunting. I mean, where do you even start? Is it just a matter of teaching theological truths? Is it instilling practical things like prayer and bible study? What about the values distinct to your ministry and/or heart? Discipleship is all those things, which leads me to my second point.

2)     It’s a long and messy process with no shortcuts. The temptation is try to mass-produce disciples through a class or a series of bible studies but while discipleship is no less than a class, it is so much more than that. It’s sharing life and working out its kinks together. That requires getting personally involved in the lives of folks, which means focusing on a few rather than the crowds.

3)     Our own discipleship was accidental. It’d be easy to replicate your discipleship if it was intentional but more often than not we ourselves were unconsciously discipled, making it difficult to duplicate.

4)     We’ve bought into the lie that empowering people means losing our own authority. We’re afraid our disciples will be better followers of Jesus than ourselves when in reality that’s exactly what we should want. If this is you, it sounds like you’ve got some wrestling with God to do.

If we want our movements and ministries to outlast us, if we want to see people walk in the fullness of what God has called them to, then we must disciple people and disciple them to make disciples. Some materials I, as well as others, have found helpful include: the Bible (of course) John White’s The Fight, Greg Ogden’s Discipleship Essentials, Mike Breen’s Building a Discipling Culture, and InterVarsity’s LAUNCH (though this is catered towards students).

Cayman is a very religious country but for all its religiosity, a relationship with God is often an alien concept. Our prayer is that through discipleship we would see love for God spread as well as deepen and this initial victory lead to an even greater triumph.

Courage & Cowardice

For only five chapters, the book of James has an uncanny way of making you feel unfit to follow Jesus. There’s a verse in that epistle that gives me chills every time I come across it. It reads, “So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin” (4:17). All of a sudden sin stops being just something you do. It’s also something you fail to do.

That scares me.

It scares me because I know me. And I am a coward.

When I was in the sixth grade I witnessed a classmate fight a kid half his size. I remember watching it happen, knowing I should do something but being paralyzed in the moment. The kid’s shrieks brought me back to reality. My classmate and I took off in opposite directions but before I could get anywhere, a teacher apprehended me and told my father how I stood by idly as a sixth-grader beat up an eight-year old. I learned that day that neutrality is still an option and doing nothing makes you just as guilty as the one perpetrating the crime.

In solitary moments I often contemplate the man I’ll be twenty years from now. I wonder if historians will write about the issues of this generation and if they do will I be on the side that stood for justice or did I capitulate to the prevailing notions of the culture (history shows us they’re not always the same). It’s why I’m drawn to leaders like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Dietrich Bonhoeffer. These men looked societal evils in the face and proclaimed the will of God – even died for it. My greatest fear is that when the fight of my generation comes, when the moment of need arises, I’ll punk out on Jesus.

Part of who I am is a people-pleaser. Wisdom says you can’t make everyone happy. Most of my life’s been spent trying to prove her wrong. Perhaps a characteristic of courage is not caring so much how people feel as much as caring about doing the right thing. Sometimes neutrality is cowardice and courage rests in the decision to do something. It isn’t the absence of fear. It’s the strength to overcome it (fear). It’s the recognition certain things are more important and more costly than our cowardice. The gospel reminds me of that reality.

At the beginning of every semester I spend at least the first week doing my best to faithfully invite as many students as I can to investigate Jesus. During a club fair one semester, a Hooters-eque restaurant was recruiting girls to work in their establishment. As terrified as I was to share my faith it was a real picture of what was at stake. I could either offer these students living water or I could punk out and allow the enemy to shortchange them. They were my motivation all week.

I believe a byproduct of the gospel is a more courageous life – namely because Jesus can’t leave well enough alone, but also because in Him we have eternal security and the promise of resurrection. Yes, danger is real but so is our heavenly Father who protects his children. When we find our security in Him, we are freed up to love our neighbor as we love ourselves. We have not been given a spirit of fear.

I want, with all my heart, to live a life that embodies this philosophy, a life not plagued by fear and self-preservation. Like Bonhoeffer and King I want to be bold in the face of evil even if that means my end. It starts with living courageously today. It starts with deciding God’s will is ultimately more important than my life.