I Repent

I heard Derek Webb’s “I Repent” for the first time the other day and it stopped me in my tracks. “I repent,” he begins, “of my pursuit of America’s dream…of living like I deserve anything. Of my house, my fence, my kids, my wife in our suburb where we’re safe and white. I am wrong and of these things I repent.” Talk about cutting to the quick. No bushes to beat around or sugared coatings here. He goes on:

i repent, i repent of parading my high liberty
i repent. i repent of paying for what i get for free
and for the way i believe that i am living right
by trading sins for others that are easier to hide
i am wrong and of these things i repent

i repent for judging by a law that even i can’t keep
of wearing righteousness like a disguise
to see through the planks in my own eyes

i repent, i repent of trading truth for false unity
i repent, i repent of confusing peace and idolatry
by caring more of what they think than what i know of what we need
by domesticating you until you look just like me
i am wrong and of these things i repent

(“I Repent” words and music by Derek Webb. Listen here.)

Derek apparently took a lot of flack for this song, for the entire album (I See Things Upside Down). People would walk out of his concerts, calling him judgmental and questioning his love for the church. Some friends of mine recently began reading and discussing Shane Claiborn’s book The Irresistible Revolution, and some of the initial response seems to be the same: he’s so harsh, so judgmental of the church, of suburban America and her extravagant wealth. Where is the love? When I returned from Mozambique, I encountered the same. I found it incredibly difficult to relate to the American church, to reconcile what I had seen and known there and what I saw here. Difficult to reconcile the poverty with the excess, the pursuit of God with the pursuit of comfort, the wholehearted, untamed faith of Mozambican believers with the safe, easy Christianity of the West. For all our grand statements to the world about faith and morality and the love of Jesus, all I saw were whitewashed tombs. Including my own.

And so I began grappling with my own privilege, my lifestyle, my day to day choices that are only possible because of the exploitation of others. I struggled with big business, corporate America, and the economics of consumption and capitalism. I longed for a Body of Christ who loved people more than their religion and Jesus more than their own doctrine. For an “Evangelical America” who is more interested in knowing their Savior than selling Him to the masses. I hungered and thirsted for the freedom and simplicity of true righteousness, of holiness that is not about standards but about the only One who is Holy.

I started looking for more, for ways to live counter to this culture that I found so overwhelmingly difficult to re-integrate into. And I got called harsh and judgmental. I felt judged for not fitting back into the American church, for asking questions, for being discontent with the typical evangelical American life. I got reminded that God loves the American church and that I needed to love her too. This was true. God does love the American church, and I did need to repent for judging her. But sometimes I wonder, too, if He also weeps for her, for what she’s missing in her embrace of the American Dream. I wonder if in our fear of judging we forget to truly love. My question now is, can we have this discussion apart from judgment?

Because the truth is, God is a God of the poor. The whole of Scripture shows us this core aspect of His character. He is the Advocate of the marginalized, the Lover of the forgotten, the Redeemer of the oppressed. We have to be able to dialogue in love and with humility, without pridefully accusing one another of judgment when we hear something we would rather not. Do we stay in the suburbs because they’re safe and white? Do we love property values more than we love people? Do we shy away from the asking the hard questions and taking a critical look at our comfortable lifestyles because we fear the truth? It’s far easier to dismiss the entire dialogue as too judgmental than to face the challenge of sacrifice. But when we don’t, we miss the heart of the gospel. When we ignore the implications of our lifestyles, we ignore the poor. And when we ignore the poor, we miss the heart of God. We miss the core of who God is and what He cares about. When we take the easy road of not asking, not discussing, not wrestling with the cost of our lives, we miss the opportunity to know Him.

In the end, I would rather be accused of judgment and repent a thousand times over than to miss the heart of God because I was too afraid to enter the dialogue. So I repent. I repent of choosing comfort over relationship, convenience over conservation. Of justifying a powerless faith rather than risk disappointment. I repent of standing by silently while broken systems exploit broken people. Of being more concerned with the value of the dollar than with the impact of my economic choices. I am wrong and of these things I repent.

Musings on Critters and the City

So I recently moved out of my apartment (a duplex, actually) and was thinking while packing about the various critters I have known in that apartment over the last two years. It was an older building and not in the best condition ever, so we had lots of…visitors.

First, there Bob the Friendly Front-door Spider. Those who know me know I have this penchant for naming the various critters I meet, especially when I have more extensive contact with them. My philosophy is that if I name them then we can be friends and I don’t have to be skittish about their being around. Therefore, as I’m not particularly fond of spiders and would prefer they keep their distance from me, I noticed and named Bob on the day we moved in. He had constructed an intricate home right by the front door, which meant we greeted each other as I came and went. Granted, it could be argued that I did most–or all–of the greeting, but I maintain Bob waived back whenever I said hello. Bob died about a year after we moved in. I think he lived a happy life as the guard of our front door.

Then there’s Max. Max, we eventually learned, was a squirrel. Well, is a squirrel–he still lives at 12 Oaks Manor (this is the name my roommate and I gave our humble abode, after the slightly sketchy 12 Oaks Motel up the street). Max, if nothing else, was LOUD. Energetic and loud. Think World War III taking place in your attic, especially after he had mated (with Maxine, of course) and had a little brood of babies running around. Most days I fought with Max, wishing he would quit disturbing my slumber.

Penelopes 1 thru 9 were my least favorite visitors. The first Penelope was a mouse–a baby, as it turned out–who first showed her face in our kitchen. She met a swift end due to her love of peanut butter. Unfortunately, though, Penelope 1 was just the beginning of the War Against the Mice that quickly ensued. 7 babies and 1 adult mouse later, we finally found and patched up a hole in the building’s foundation and rid our home of the large family that had taken up residence there. But not before a multitude of occasionally effective traps and eventually poison. I will admit, even naming the Penelopes did not enable me to fully befriend them and I temporarily moved out in the height of said war.

Spring brought my favorite creature-friends. Jack the Rabbit showed up early in the spring, followed by Eudora and Whelty, a Bluejay couple on the verge of hatching little ones. Jack could be seen investigating the surrounding trees and bushes, always keeping a safe distance and disappearing into the shadows. Eudora and Whelty, however, were much more friendly and took a liking to the tree just outside the kitchen window. I wonder how their hatchlings are faring…

I also wonder if my next home will boast the same number of creature-friends. Probably not–I do live in the city. But it’s kind of nice, amid our concrete surroundings and efforts to ward off any creaturely invasions of our sterile homes, to be reminded that, really, we are the visitors in their worlds and once upon a time we were all content to dwell together.