What if the American church was persecuted?

Disclaimer: I do feel like a hypocrite writing this post, which is meant to point a finger at myself in addition to anyone else who reads it. I am far from the kind of woman I like to present myself as in my writing. Despite an embarrassing number of failures, I am a work in progress.

I saw this bumper sticker on the car parked next to me at Scribbles Cafe this week: "Many paths, one God." I'll spare you my soapbox rant on (shameless plug alert!) the universalist approach to religion and step up on a different kind of soapbox. This is a serious question that, while slightly outlandish, is worthy of consideration: What if the American church was persecuted?

I'm not referring to the casual insults of "bigot," "homophobe," or "closed-minded" that so many conservative Christians get. While hurtful, this is not persecution. I'm not referring to the Christians who are personally offended by those who refuse to say "Under God" in the Pledge of Allegiance, disapprove of allowing prayer in public schools, or the display of the Ten Commandments in front of courthouses. This is a far cry from persecution.

Regarding the aforementioned bumper sticker, the all-too-common approach to religion today is one of comfort. The only sin in our modern world of choice and convenience is personally offending others with whatever we perceive as the truth. It is easy to take this view. It allows us to keep our friends, our jobs. Above all else, it's safe.

But is it worth it?

There are, believe it or not, Christians in countries who are facing persecution -- the kind that gets you killed -- who pray for persecution in America. That seems harsh, but think about it for a second. Imagine the mentality behind such a drastic plea. The prayer is not for violence and bloodshed. The prayer is to use drastic measures to wake people up and get them to understand where they really stand in their faith.

The churches in America are in desperate need of revival. Christians in other persecuted countries understand that complacency is the enemy of those who really want to know God, because we forget what we have been spared from when we get too comfortable. We forget the weight of the debts we've been forgiven for, the debts that weigh down the souls of those we love.

The people who attend church out of obligation, for the social interaction, the potlucks, or to look good for their communities are not motivated by love for God. They are not inclined to make the necessary sacrifices, should circumstances demand it, that Jesus refers to when he says "Pick up your cross and follow me."

The Christians of America, as a whole, have very few crosses to bear, thanks to the freedom of religion we have been granted under the law. We should be thankful for that. And our hearts should break for those who wake up every day wondering if today will be the day they will have to die for what they believe in.

Please, think about this. Pray about it. If one day it was made illegal to be a Christian in America, would there be any evidence (besides regular church attendance) to convict you?

The day the world stopped turning

It's really sad how it sometimes takes a national tragedy to shift your perspective in a reasonable direction. We all suffer bad things, but we get into trouble trying to decide who suffers more than another (a game that many people sometimes enjoy playing). Sometimes, though, it's obvious. Sometimes we need reminders that the world is much, much bigger than just ourselves.

Even in private grief that has me utterly convinced life cannot get any worse...I am always aware that it can. Six months ago today, I went to bed after what should have been a normal day, and woke up in hell. God answered my prayer to dig me out of an abusive relationship. I felt like I lost so much, it killed me to know I could never get back the amount of time I had wasted, losing myself in another person. But, as the tenth anniversary of 9/11 proves, the heart is a very resilient thing. Lives crumble, but they can be rebuilt. People are taken from us, but life soldiers on anyway.

It baffles me how that happens. I don't know how or why it happens, I'm just so grateful that it does.

I just sat through the movie United 93 on TV and bawled my eyes out, something I haven't done since my remaining days in LT. I thought I had used up all the tears my body is capable of producing during the three months I spent in Colorado; apparently, I can still make more. So that's a good thing, I'm not completely numb yet. I'm probably too young to be jaded and apathetic about the world and all the bad people in it.

Even if this wasn't actual footage, and the real people who died were represented by actors, the grief I saw was real. It's the kind that makes people give up on faith altogether, or cling to it with a desperate realization that even a small strand of it is better than having nothing at all.

I was 12 years old when it happened, just gotten out of PE, and was, ironically, on my way to my American History class. Naturally, the lesson for the day was cancelled, and we watched the news instead. Not having lost anyone close to me that day, it's hard to feel the same kind of grief as those who were more personally affected. But I admire the resilience in the survivors. I admire anyone who can manage just to get out of bed in the morning when everything seems hopeless. Eventually, I suppose you get to a point where you have no choice but to survive. And it's such a hard, sucky choice, but what other choice is there?

Hence the meaning behind my newest tattoo. "Choose Joy" is more than just a cutesy motto.

This quote has given me much to think about:

"Our generation, as long as we've had an identity, was known as the generation that had it easy.We had no crisis, no Vietnam, no Martin Luther King, no JFK. We've got it now. When we have kids and grandkids, we'll tell them that we lived through the roaring '90s, when all we cared about was the No. 1 movie or how many copies an album sold. This is where it changes." (Greg Epstein)

What does it mean to define yourself by a tragedy? Is it healthy? To an extent, maybe it is. It's a sign that nothing bad that happens is ever in vain. Every life has a turning point; pain is probably the most common indicator of where one's purpose lies. If nothing else, pain turns us around and gives us something bigger to live for.

I'm not sure where I intended to go with this...for once I'm trying not to dwell too much on all the issues that stress my tiny little life. As a wanna-be chaplain, my spiritual gift is serving others in their tragedy. My perspective is ever-widening.

The cost of non-conformity?

I'd like to think that I've always been a non-conformist in my own right. When everyone in high school wore church retreat shirts, I flaunted a Star of David. When some of my friends started experimenting with cigarettes, I took a self-righteous high road and insisted I was better than that. I wanted to do the right thing for honor's sake, but I also wanted to be "that girl" who stood out for it. I did what I wanted because I wanted to, but there was no denying the part of me that just wanted to be known for something.

Now that I've grown up a little, I realize my motive for wanting to do "what everyone else is doing" (even if, most of the time, "everyone else" is NOT doing it, whatever "it" is) has less to do with wanting to fit in, and more to do with a desire to be taken seriously.

If you're not living in the "real world" (what does that even mean, anyway?), you have no idea what you're talking about. People silence you, and disregard anything you say in your defense.

I wrote a weekly column for my campus newspaper throughout my senior year. I experienced this "Can't take you seriously when you believe X and Y" mentality weekly. I'm a Christian, so I can't possibly understand what it's like to be in the minority. Nevermind the fact that I grew up as one, and I did not "convert" simply to escape that. And also because I'm a Christian, it's automatically assumed that I've never had sex since I'm not married, so what would I know about "real relationships"?

I have found that believing in something counter-cultural can cause some people to be less inclined to listen to what you have to say. It doesn't always matter how intelligently and inoffensively you say it. And therein lies the reason I feel so tempted to give in to what society says is good, normal, and healthy: because I want my testimony to be taken seriously. I want my story to be heard by everyone, because I think there's something in it that can benefit many people. Not everyone, but enough. So is it required to live the life my peers are living just to be understood? Do I have to hook up with a stranger, get high a few times, become a social drinker, or indulge in any other lifestyle habit you can think of, in order to have a "real opinion" on these issues?

I don't think there's a single living being that hasn't felt pressured to live a certain way, to make certain choices for the sake of being included. What I want to know is, why are young people encouraged to be unique if, ultimately, they are expected to adapt to the ever-changing values of society?

No one can find the rewind button, girl

You must accept whatever situation the Lord has put you in, and continue on as you were when he first called you. 1 Corinthians 7:17


It was a sad, hard day today...our beloved puppers, Shadow, passed away last night.

She was 13 and a half years old, the equivalent of a 94 year old woman, and in a lot of pain...but she lived the best life possible for a dog, I think. We were considering having her put down at the vet today because she could no longer walk, eat, or hold her, um, bodily fluids, but she died in her sleep around 11 pm last night, surrounded by her family, the way it should have been.

I'm really more of a cat person, but I loved her, and I miss her so much...I can't imagine what it will be like to lose Lucky Mittens. He's 15 already, and I know he's getting up there in cat years. Seriously, anyone who says "Oh big deal, they're just animals" has clearly never had one, and should never be allowed to. They are family, no matter what anyone says.

So a new semester has started already...not that it should make a difference to me. College life continues without me this time, but I find myself wanting to tag along and live the illusion once more. I went to church on campus for the first time in months and wow, there were so. many. freshmen. I have never seen so many freshmen in one room before. And believe it or not, I was actually a little jealous of them.

Unlike high school, I'd be reasonably okay with doing college over again. And no, it's not just because I made some of my biggest mistakes during that time -- those can happen anywhere, at any time. I miss the feeling of having a new clean slate, a chance to be someone new. To make the most of every opportunity and make lasting changes.

I just wish I hadn't waited until my senior year to become comfortable enough in my faith to really live it out on campus. While I'm not completely cut off from my friends, or denied access to new ones, I still feel like I'm shut out in no-man's-land Hudson, which is an absolute dead zone now with hardly anyone my age left in it, and no new dorm neighbors to get to know, or chat with awkwardly as I wait in line for grilled cheese at Rosie's Diner at 3 in the morning.

Grad school is the next best thing to getting a "do over." It won't be until Fall of 2012 for me, but if I end up going to Denver Seminary, it will be a 4-year long program that will, in a sense, be exactly like doing college over again. Only I get to live in a real apartment, and not a dorm. And I'll be in a place where I almost certainly will not run into anyone I know from high school. Of course, the whole "someday fallacy" will most likely come and slap me in the face, but I'll deal with that when it happens. And hopefully I'll be better prepared for it.

In the mean time, I'll try not to get too frustrated when the new freshmen ask me what my major is, or what dorm I'm living in, and then get these shocked looks on their faces when they find out how old I really am, and then the inevitable "So, uh...what are you still doing here?"

No really, that's already happened. Three times. In one evening. *Sigh*

It's my job to fill the mentor role now. Am I mature enough for that?

What I Owe Humanity

One of my dreams is to become all things to every living person.

 

But what will it take for me, in my factory-made clothes and with unscarred feet,

to place my heart in the middle of someone else's country?

Will my own pursuit of life suddenly make more sense

by cramming other wayward journeys in the files of my head?

 

In becoming every story that mankind has ever known,

to do more than merely sympathize, but absorb the pains of others

in my fragile little bones, I make myself understand the difference

between pain and fear. Fear precedes pain always, and pain

is the breaking down of purposelessness. Pain is for those

without mandatory suffering to justify the story.

 

To become every experience, I must learn to carry love.

I must carry on in heaviness the carefully-chosen words

designed to latch on searching hearts.

The "Someday" Fallacy

My ideal "someday" is hopefully not in the far-off, impossible to determine future. By this time next year, I hope -- expect? -- to be moving into my first apartment and starting grad school (some place far from Ohio, of course). I have no major expectations for this imaginary Apartment in the Sky, other than a) I get to have my princess bed, and b) a wall-to-wall bookshelf (no one will ever succeed in convincing me that it's better to have a Kindle for books because it's not as much of a pain in the butt to schlep across the country. Forget that, my books are as dear to me as flesh-and-blood children).

Except...here's where the fallacy part comes in...it will not be the perfect escape I imagine it will be, simply because perfection doesn't exist this side of heaven. Case in point: this entire summer. I can't believe LT is over already. I can't believe I've been home (whatever "home" is) for exactly a week now. I didn't have any plans, per se, for the summer, only expectations. And nearly every single one of those expectations were turned on its head. My plans for "someday" will inevitably be flipped as well. This does not necessarily have to be a bad thing. It's just an inevitable thing. And you would think, at 22 years old, I'd have figured that out by now.

I got a new job! I am now making yummy bagels at Bruegger's (see Facebook job info: "Makes yummy bagels"). Quite a fitting job for a born-and-raised Jewish girl. And it literally *just* happened. Hadn't even been home a full 24 hours and already got hired. In this case, the "someday" fallacy surprised me in a good way. I'd been feeling an increasing panic about what the heck I'd do for money as the summer was coming to an end and not one of the 30+ places had called me back yet...and then I got this one. I feel more at ease now.

Oh and I adopted a new member of the Caplin family...say hello to Pippa!

And this little dude was very grateful to see me after 3 long months (and I him, of course):

Apparently laptops are more comfortable than his designated place on the fleece blanket on my bed. Hmm.

Pray that the "someday fallacy" doesn't completely mess with my ability to handle real-life hardships. I pray so much for patient endurance.

Every journey has a name

In a few days it will be the six month-iversary of the legalization of my name. It's a key part of my testimony I can't leave out. It's a reminder I have a very strange, unusual history, but I didn't write it, God did. I am a weird but unique individual.


The briefest explanation I give to people when they find out is that I have hated my name my entire life, which is not a lie. It was frustrating having 5 other girls turn around at the same time whenever my name was called. To this day, I still cringe when new parents bestow common, un-unique names on their babies. But really, the reason goes far deeper than that, and it's not always appropriate to share that reason with each and every curious person.


God showing up in people’s lives like a stranger on their doorstep is not an uncommon theme in the Bible. In Genesis 12, God said to Abraham, "Leave your country, your people and your father's household and go to the land I will show you.” God made a covenant with him and promised that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars. In Scripture, such drastic life changes usually warrant a name change, to reflect the significance of these changes. Abram’s name was changed to Abraham, meaning “father of many,” and his wife Sarai (my namesake) became Sarah, meaning “God’s princess.”


Similarly, I knew I was going to emerge from my baptism as a new creation. I just went a step further than most people and drew a literal separation between my old self and new self with the replacement of my social security card. There are times when I feel disgusted by my old self. Maybe it's a little schizophrenic to refer to my old self as "her" or "she" and not "me," but whatever. In my mind, and in the eyes of the state, they are two different people.


Legally, Sarah Elizabeth Caplin no longer exists, for which I am glad. God doesn't remember anything of my previous life, therefore neither will I...except I know I always will. She's still a part of me, whether I like it or not. She made huge, life-altering mistakes, but she's still a part of my story. She gave in to peer pressure and cultural expectations, she got screwed over by someone who was supposed to love her...but I won't screw her over again by acting like she doesn't exist. I wish I could, but doing so would be morally reprehensible.


Understandably, I hate being called Sarah. Hardly anyone but my parents call me that anymore, and turning around every time I hear that name being called is no longer an instinctual response. But she's still with me. And reconciling the two sides of me will be a life-long process.


As for whether I'll change my name again if I get married...who knows. I'm not feeling called to marriage as much as I used to be, but if it happens, I'm leaning toward keeping my maiden name, and maybe "assuming" my hypothetical husband's last name, sans paperwork. Replacing all your old IDs is expensive! But, no sense worrying about it now. Ask me again if/when it actually happens :)

The newest addition to the Soundtrack of my Life

I listen to this song about 5 times almost every day. I love it so much, and it was released just when I needed to hear it. It's These Old Wings by my favorite forgotten artist, Anna Nalick.



He raised his hand
for the last time she could stand.
That room was a grave at night.
She left a note that said I'm not coming home.
He took courage, but she took flight.

What are you really holding onto?
Life is a tightrope and you're burning, burning, burning both ends.
You don't always move the way you'd like to,
but don't let the ground drag you around.


And these old wings,
they've been a long time, been a long time coming,
these old wings, they just gotta be good for something.
Burn these strings, so I can see what these old broken things,
what these old wings can do.


She sold the car for eleven hundred bucks
and bought a bottle of something sweet.
She caught a train, and counted seven stops
and got off when she felt free.

She found herself where people go in gloom
for friends that are buried there.
She wrote a note to God on a balloon,
and watched as it disappeared.


What are you really holding onto?
Life is a tightrope and you're burning, burning, burning both ends.
You don't always move the way you'd like to,
but don't let the ground drag you around.


And these old wings,
they've been a long time, been a long time coming,
these old wings, they just gotta be good for something.
Burn these strings, so I can see what these old broken things,
what these old wings can do.

Making relationships count: the honesty challenge

Recently I overheard a conversation between two international employees who were very confused about American ways of greeting. They didn't understand how a person can ask "How are you?" but keep on walking, without even waiting for a response. They didn't understand that "How are you?" has turned into more of a greeting than a genuine question of concern for your well-being.

I've been feeling convicted of how often I do this, and I'm trying to be more conscious of how often I ask it without actually stopping to listen or care. You have to wonder what social interaction among aquaintences would look like if everyone was suddenly honest about that question.

LT has probably messed with my head regarding the "Don't share your junk with strangers" rule of society. Outside this little bubble of Estes Park, most people will respond with something like "Oh, I'm good" even when they're not. It's just expected, and with good reason. If you're brutally honest about how you're doing with everyone you come in contact with, it's the quickest way to avoid making new friends. We don't want to freak people out. If you were to respond with "Ugh, I'm so pissed at my significant other for leaving the toilet seat up again, I just got laid off, my cat won't stop peeing on the carpet, and my PMS is out of control" to the unsuspecting cashier making small talk, you'd be alienated, without question. People would be afraid to talk to you if you're THAT honest.

But, here at LT, those old rules are tossed out the window. It doesn't matter that there are over 200 people in this program, and you'll never remember all of their names. They're still brothers and sisters in Christ, and by default, we are expected to be open and transparent with them (well, with some more than others, obviously, but being real about our lives is the main priority). As previously discussed in the entry about the Night of Confession, what good is the church if people can't be honest about what's really going on in their lives? What do we gain by bottling up? While everyone is entitled to have secrets, it's the relationships in which we cut through the emotional BS that end up mattering the most. Everyone else, we tend to forget.

I have been challenged this summer to question how I am making my relationships count.

Few people I've met this summer have impacted me as much as my "Jew Crew." I couldn't hide anything from them if I tried. Which is kind of annoying at times, but still pretty awesome. This is Closing Ceremonies night for LT, where each project group picked a theme and dressed up. Sharon is an owl, Justin is Shlomo, Rudolph's Jewish cousin on his mother's side (don't ask), and I'm a pirate. Can't help but wonder what the caterers at the reception hall must have thought of us Jesus freaks all dressed up like Halloween in the middle of the summer. Would have been fun to ask.

I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell

I love seeing the shock on people's faces when their first impressions of me are proven wrong. I like playing this game with myself, getting to know a person and learning later on just how wrong I was in the beginning. I used to people-watch and make up stories in my head about what kind of jobs and lives they must have based on their actions/appearances (and possibly store that information in my filing-cabinet mind as inspiration for characters in my future novel).

First impression...

Alter ego!



(Future seminarian, anyone?)

Much of my life is a double-edged sword. I am a walking definition of irony, and I'm learning to love it.