There are plenty of criticisms offered against today’s American youth and young adults. And despite the fact that I turn forty in a few weeks, I still consider myself among them: a kindred spirit of cultural orphans, still sifting through the detritus of an evaporating American Dream to figure out who we might be without it.

Alisa Harris’ memoir, RAISED RIGHT: How I Untangled My Faith from Politics, reflects on the apparent cultural, spiritual and economic desert time in which we find ourselves. We have witnessed the carnage of a financial system that was intended to perpetually buoy a nation, but whose “invisible hand” has instead crushed the dreams of millions. We’ve watched as the two-headed political serpent attacks itself until it is impotent. We’ve seen religious figures scandalized their institutions emptied as a generation walks away, in search of something more relevant to their daily struggle.

One of the few common threads among us is our shared embrace of iconoclasm. While labeled as rebelliousness for the sake of itself by some, it’s more a symptom of a culture whose intense self-awareness has yielded either jingoistic narcissism or resigned nihilism. And both sides are convinced the other is both void of heart and intent on their destruction.

Why do we shrug off labels? Each seems weighed down by its own repugnant sense of self-righteousness. Why do we step away from our parents’ religious and political convictions? Because both have failed us, intent on self-sustenance before serving any greater purpose to better the human condition. Instead we pick and choose from our daily experience as we find identities and causes that fit, not satisfied to permanently ally ourselves with any particular group, lest we get fooled once again into placing our trust in something that doesn’t merit it.

Two quotes from Harris’ book stood out to me as definitive of the postmodern Christian American. Both suggest a custom-tailored identity that older generations label as opportunistic, but which younger ones understand as our only option for survival. She describes her college friend as “…cool in the ‘Evangelical ex-homeschooler who quotes the Aneid in Latin while drinking whiskey and smoking a pipe’ type of way.” Such a combination of attributes betrays both a longing for grounding, while also seeking liberation from old expectations.

A second description of a friend from New York City points at why so many today struggle to find any group or label they consider palatable. Harris calls her friend, “…a fiscal Republican, a social Democrat, a pro-lifer who didn’t believe in banning abortion, and a Christian who didn’t think Jesus cared so much whether people were gay.”

It’s reasonable to see why those within the established systems claim we stand for nothing. On the contrary, the friction lies in the disconnect between what we do stand for and what the systems that have so long taken power for granted say we should believe.

It’s no surprise we’ve walked away from traditional institutions in droves; we feel we owe them precisely what they’ve given us.

The redemption of such cultural ambiguity is that assumptions and stereotypes fall short more often than they apply, causing us to have to take people more at face value, discerning what they believe through face-to-face discourse. We crave more intimate, direct connection with one another because, in doing so, we hope to find out more about who we are as well.

It is here, as Harris points out, that real change takes place: where two or more are gathered. The talking points and ready-made labels fall short, giving way to a deeper concern for the humanity at the center of each life. The effect on her was that she, “determined not to let dogma swallow up my personality and poison my sense of charity. I promised myself that I would remember that people are more important than clinging to beliefs…”

Call it cynical, iconoclastic or even destructive to the fabric of society, but placing humanity above ideals seems the only hope we have for living out Christ’s call to love one another as ourselves. In so much as politics and religion both have failed to yield the result they had promised, it’s now up to us to plant new seeds, together, one at a time.

(For more conversation on Raised Right, visit the Patheos Book Club.)

Christian Piatt is an author, editor, speaker, musician and spoken word artist. He is the creator and editor of BANNED QUESTIONS ABOUT THE BIBLE and BANNED QUESTIONS ABOUT JESUS. Christian has a memoir on faith, family and parenting being published in early 2012 called PREGMANCY: A Dad, a Little Dude and a Due Date. Visit www.christianpiatt.com, or find him on Twitter or Facebook.

Just as the outgoing car passed, the one to my right cut in front of me and turned left. I honked not to teach her some lesson or humiliate her, but because she almost clipped the front of my car. And I made sure not to honk out of anger (pretty sure Paul said only to honk the truth in love, right?), but instead just offered what I call a “love tap.”

After she cleared oncoming traffic, she stopped, rolled down her window and shot me a disgusted look. “I was waiting for the other car to pass,” she said. “What the hell is your problem?”

“You turned left from the right lane and almost hit me,” I said. She looked embarrassed, but quickly covered the awkwardness with more anger.

“Get over yourself, why don’t you?” she grumbled, then flipped me off and drove away.

As I waited in line for my prescription, I thought about the exchange. Would she have acted this way if she had known me? Why was it all right even if she didn’t? My imagination wandered, considering the same kind of treatment offered on a larger scale by opposing political groups, religions, or anyone whose ideology trumps the basic humanity of the Other.

It’s easy enough to blame politics or religion for being soulless systems that dehumanize, but I’m beginning to think they’re just byproducts of a deeper social issue. As our society becomes for distributed and virtualized, and the more we think of other people in abstractions, the easier it is to divide ourselves, seeing those that differ from us as “less than.”

This, do some degree, speaks to one of the great potential value of the missional/emergent church movement. With its emphasis on building relationship, sharing story, serving one another and cultivating compassion, we have both the benefit and challenge of seeing one another as more than an assemblage of stereotypes or issues. In taking the time and effort to acknowledge one another’s humanity, we have an opportunity to glimpse the divine.

Then again, I guess some people are just assholes.

The highlight of Pagosa is the hot springs, which include more than a dozen man-made pools, all fed by a mixture of river and natural hot spring water. The smell all around the place is pungent, like a giant fart really, but over time that stench has come to represent relaxation for us. We take the three-hour drive from Pagosa to Pueblo a few times a year, decompressing and getting ourselves ready for the certain rush of activity that faces us when we get back home.

My son, Mattias, has come to really enjoy the springs too, even though the mellow environment isn’t exactly complementary to his personality. Something about the zoned-out hippie vibe of the place, though, affects even him. This isn’t to say that he’s an easygoing kid or anything, but I like to think it’s a good exercise in relaxation for him too. I’m not so sure the other guests at the springs agree, but relatively speaking, he’s a pretty chill little guy there.

One of his favorite things to do is to talk to everyone. Whereas we find his endless stream of questions a little bit of a beat-down after a while, new acquaintances still find it charming. He has no qualms about going up to complete strangers and asking them about what toys they like most, where they go to school, and if they’re big enough to make it through the night without wetting the bed.

He’s also quite the ladies’ man, even when he’s not trying to be. It’s sadly ironic that one of the best chick-bait strategies on the planet is a little kid, which generally puts you out of the running to take advantage of their charms.

Amy took Mattias into the locker rooms to change one afternoon, when they came across two attractive young women from Europe, each in their trademark itty-bitty bikinis.

“Excuse me ladies,” Mattias walked up to them as they were changing, “can I spin your suits for you?” There’s a centrifuge-like device in the locker rooms that spin the water out of the swimsuits to make them easier to pack. I have to assume that, given his age and lack of sexual awareness, he was really just trying to be helpful, but lines like that to literally charm women out of their clothes don’t come along every day.

They smiled and respectfully declined his offer, but he persisted. “It’s not too loud,” he said. “I can do it for you later if you change your mind, or you can probably handle it if you want to do them yourself.”

How awesome is that? Moments like that make a dad so proud.

Christian Piatt is an author, editor, speaker, musician and spoken word artist. He is the creator and editor of BANNED QUESTIONS ABOUT THE BIBLE and BANNED QUESTIONS ABOUT JESUS. Christian has a memoir on faith, family and parenting being published in early 2012 called PREGMANCY: A Dad, a Little Dude and a Due Date. Visit www.christianpiatt.com, or find him on Twitter or Facebook.

The Church administration that owned the property abruptly called staff and parents of Happy Time Preschool & Daycare in for a meeting where they announced the center would be shut down. A new facility, to be called Point of Grace Children’s Academy, would take its place. All staff would have one week to reapply for their jobs, and all working there, as well as those sending their children to the new academy, must now agree to a rigid code of conduct developed by the church.

A few no-no’s that will cause you to lose your job at the Academy or your child’s place in the student body include:

• Being gay
• Opposite-sex cohabitation outside of marriage
• No drugs or alcohol (not just for the kids; adults too)
• No use of vulgarity (anywhere, not just on school grounds)
• No pornography (though what qualifies as such is unclear)

This “Christian Lifestyle Agreement” reportedly founded upon Biblical principles, though I suppose they’re referring to a Bible other than the ones I have. But regardless of the justification they employ, there are some critical issues at play here, as I see it.

Yes, they are within the scope of the law as far as I can tell, given that they are running a private business. If the school is benefiting from any nonprofit status maintained by the church, however, I expect civil rights activists will have a field day. But for a church to establish such moral codes in an effort to control the ways of life of all involved seems to place a premium on their moral self-righteousness over the humanity of those they are charged by Jesus to serve.

Too often, the collateral damage in the culture wars is human. if, in fact, Jesus, his words and his way of life are our foremost example for our own lives, this graceless, self-aggrandizing act is anything but Christian.

And to have the word “grace” in both the name of the church and the school simply adds insult to obvious injury. If grace is conditional, it’s not grace, period.

Finally, the fact that such headline-grabbing sensationalism ends up establishing the baseline for the rest of Christianity in people’s minds does far more damage than any perceived benefit gained by trying (likely in vain) to control behaviors but things as fundamental as sexual orientation. Moves like this not only corrupt the Christian name in mainstream culture; they further buttress the implicit message so many get from Christians already:

You are not worthy. Therefore, you are not welcome.

No wonder prominent leaders like author/speaker Donald Miller avoid using words like “Christian,” simply because they are so laden with negative perception. Increasingly, I see and hear people calling themselves “Christ followers,” which effectively is synonymous with “Christian,” but without the stereotypes. My concern in doing so, though understandable, is that giving up ground in the debate about Christian identity only helps to reinforce the prevalence of such cancerous theology still within the Christian tent.

Such brazen acts of inhumanity can only be met with an equal degree of compassion, humility, inclusion and true grace – not just on a church sign, but in our words and deeds. It’s one thing to speak out in opposition of egregious acts in the name of our faith; it’s entirely another to live out the grace to all we encounter. The word looks nice on a church bulletin or day care sign, but to have such a beautiful word be associated with this kind of toxic, hypocritical behavior is a sin for which we Christians should all beg the world’s forgiveness.

Christian Piatt is an author, editor, speaker, musician and spoken word artist. He co-founded Milagro Christian Church in Pueblo, Colorado with his wife, Rev. Amy Piatt, in 2004. Christian is the creator and editor of the Banned Questions book series, which include Banned Questions About the Bible and Banned Questions About Jesus. He co-created and co-edits the “WTF: Where’s the Faith?” young adult series with Chalice Press, and he has a memoir on faith, family and parenting being published in early 2012 called PregMANcy: A Dad, a Little Dude and a Due Date. For more information about Christian, visit www.christianpiatt.com, or find him on Twitter or Facebook.

Yes, Mel Gibson, I’m looking at you.

It was Hitler who, after seeing the famous passion play acted out in Oberammergau in the 1930s who wrote about the fact that the same Jews who cried out “Hosanna!” when Jesus entered Jerusalem on a colt turned only a few days later and called for his death. This was a seed, among others, that was used as justification for the atrocities of the Holocaust.

Gibson’s Passion of the Christ offered a similar interpretation as the actors in the passion play at Oberammergau, which used all the same people for both the Triumphal Entry scene and the setting before Pontius Pilate as he allowed the people to choose who to release: Barabbas or Jesus of Nazareth.

John Dominic Crossan notes some interesting differences among the gospels, however, that are worth noting. In Mark, the first of the four gospels, the people before Pilate were referred to as “the crowd.” Later gospels embellish this from “the crowd” to “the crowds,” and then “all the people.” Finally, in John – the last of the gospels by some years – the folks calling for Jesus’ death are now “the Jews.”

This isn’t to suggest that the author of John had a vendetta against the Jewish people but rather it reveals a basic human tendency to elaborate a little more on the original story every time it’s told. Crossan suggests, based on his scholarly studies, that “the crowd” referred to in Mark probably consisted of less than a dozen people. And he gives pretty good reasons why.

Consider when Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem happens in the Jewish year. It’s just before Passover, when Jews celebrate their liberation from Egyptian oppression. But think of the irony of trying to celebrate such freedom while living under the suffocating thumb of the Roman Empire. Crossan calls the climate a “tinderbox,” positioned for revolt, and Pilate sees Jesus as just that kind of spark that could trigger the conflagration.

Pontius Pilate may have been a tyrant, but he wasn’t an idiot. How smart would it be of him to allow thousands of dissident Jews to assemble in the middle of town in such a climate? One forceful word from Jesus could lead to chaos. But as was tradition at Passover, he had to present two prisoners and allow one to go free, as an almost farcical demonstration of mercy.

So who was in this probably small, relatively harmless crowd standing below Pilate’s balcony? Crossan notes that Barabbas, though he is often painted as simply a murderer, was actually a political prisoner. He was the equivalent of what we think of now as a terrorist. He had risen up against Roman Imperial rule with force, probably as part of a subversive movement, and was arrested for killing a soldier, politician or the like.

Thinking about Barabbas this way starts to help us see him as a sort of shadow-side character to contrast Jesus. Both were intent on facing down the forces of empire, but Jesus of Nazareth chose nonviolence, while Barabbas opted for the sword. It’s also interesting to note that Barabbas’ full name in scripture is Jesus Barabbas. Not only did they share a name; it’s also worth noting that the translation of Jesus Barabbas’ last name – bar Abbas – means “Son of God.”

So consider this story as a parable. This means that, instead of concerning ourselves with whether the story is historically true in one or more of the gospels, we look for the deeper truth that can be revealed from within the story.

Here we have two saviors of the people, both named Jesus, and both called, in one way or another, “Son of God.” One has chosen blood as his means of redemption; the other depends on nonviolence. And the choice is given to the people there. Do you choose nonviolence or do you choose to continue the bloodshed that has led us to where we are?

The chorus from the crowd could not be more telling. They cry out, “His blood be on us and on our children,’ referring to the culpability they now bear for sending an innocent man to his death. It is blood they ask for, and it is blood they will continue to get.

Was Jesus set up by Pilate? Did he rally Barabbas’ supporters while keeping Jesus’ followers at arm’s length? Surely he was smart enough to realize that, if it came down to a battle of force, the Romans would prevail. But what to do with this radical rebel who would not take up arms, a man innocent of any crime deserving of such a punishment, yet who possessed the power to bring a mighty empire to its knees?

We will never know. But it seems clear enough that this story is much less about implicating Jews for the death of Jesus, and much more a revelation about basic human nature. God gives us a choice to change the world through nonviolent means, yet we continue to call for blood.

The good news (this is a gospel story, after all) is that we’re given the choice again to make every day. So for today, will we lay down our swords and turn them into plowshares, or will we continue to call for the blood of others to be upon our heads and on the heads of our children?

Christian Piatt is an author, editor, speaker, musician and spoken word artist. He co-founded Milagro Christian Church in Pueblo, Colorado with his wife, Rev. Amy Piatt, in 2004.

Christian is the creator and editor of the BANNED QUESTIONS book series, which include BANNED QUESTIONS ABOUT THE BIBLE and BANNED QUESTIONS ABOUT JESUS. He co-created and co-edits the “WTF: Where’s the Faith?” young adult series with Chalice Press, and he has a memoir on faith, family and parenting being published in early 2012 called PREGMANCY: A Dad, a Little Dude and a Due Date.

For more information about Christian, visit www.christianpiatt.com, or find him on Twitter or Facebook.

I asked her how many young adults they had asked in person about what they really needed, and not just the handful that might already be in their church. The answer, as I expected was zero. They just assumed to know what the younger people in there are needed. But without spending a dime, they could walk around their local campus, coffee shops or bars and find out.

Would the college students benefit from having free washers and dryers made available to clean their clothes while they enjoyed coffee or some pizza?

Would young families appreciate a night out while volunteers entertained their children?

Are there young people struggling with addiction, body image issues or depression who need someone to listen to them?

Would the land behind the church be better used as a free community garden where the local renters could grow and share their own fresh produce?

Do they need help finding work? Do they have questions about God they’ve struggled with for a long time but have been afraid to ask? Are they wondering where they can meet other singles other than in the bars?

The reason I couldn’t tell her is because I don’t live there. But going beyond our comfort zones, seeking people own in their own environments, asking thoughtful questions about who they are and what they need are only the first steps.

Church, we need to learn to shut up more; we talk too much. Second, we need to be willing to take on whatever burden the person we’re talking to offers up.

I did another talk to a group of church leaders recently about faith and sexuality, and after the event, a young clergyman confessed to me that he was a recovering sex addict. What’s more, his research on the topic had revealed that one in five clergy are either practicing or recovering sex addicts, and that the ministry has the second highest incidence of sexual addiction of any profession, after airline pilots.

“Now you know why there are so many topless bars by the airports,” he smiled. But behind the smile was a deep vulnerability and pain that he dared to overcome in sharing with me. Now the responsibility was mine to honor his openness with compassion, attention and perhaps even action.

After all, how can I leave my work at a simple talk on sexuality when twenty percent of the ministers in America are sex addicts?

My day would have been easier and more pleasant if I hadn’t had to contend with such hard-hitting stuff. But if we people of faith are seeking relevant ministry, we have to go where the pain is.

We’re surrounded by suffering, everywhere we look. Sure, we can drop money in the mission fund plate on Sunday or serve sandwiches at the mission and feel like we’re making some difference, but would Jesus agree that these offerings are enough? Are we called to more, even if we might see, hear and experience things we’d rather not?

Who in their right mind, after all, would choose to hang out with junkies, prostitutes and beggars? Who would voluntarily take on the suffering of the world as their own pain, not content to stop until the world knew – in both word and deed – that there is indeed a grace and a love that hold the world together?

Sounds like dangerous stuff. Maybe we should just start up another program and hope some folks come.

Christian Piatt is an author, editor, speaker, musician and spoken word artist. He co-founded Milagro Christian Church in Pueblo, Colorado with his wife, Rev. Amy Piatt, in 2004. Christian is the creator and editor of the Banned Questions book series, which include Banned Questions About the Bible and Banned Questions About Jesus. He co-created and co-edits the “WTF: Where’s the Faith?” young adult series with Chalice Press, and he has a memoir on faith, family and parenting being published in early 2012 called PregMANcy: A Dad, a Little Dude and a Due Date. For more information about Christian, visit www.christianpiatt.com, or find him on Twitter or Facebook.

I’ve heard stories and seen the images of the Rockwellian neighborhoods where families convened on front porches, mothers stayed at home with the children and borrowing a cup of sugar or visiting over coffee at the dining room table was common practice.

All of this, though interesting to me, is history. For better or worse, it really has little or no relevance in my daily reality today.

My wife, Amy, and I both work full-time, though neither looks like the typical office job. We work from home, from the coffee shop, or on the road as we travel in support of one another’s projects. Amy is technically the pastor of our new church that we founded on Pueblo, Colorado five years ago, but it’s a joint effort in every way. We don’t really delineate responsibility based on titles or education. We do whatever needs to be done at the time.

The flexibility of our work is liberating in a way, though one trade-off is a lack of colleagues found in an office environment. We bought an old Victorian house on the north side of town with the big wraparound porch, and we spend many afternoons and evenings there with our kids. However, the only time we see our neighbors is usually as they pull in or out of the driveway.

Some times, modern life feels like being stranded on an island, while surrounded by thousands of other castaways who just can’t seem to connect. So what happened?

For one, we don’t need one another like we used to. For hundreds – if not thousands or millions – of years prior, communities shared in times of both scarcity and abundance. I see glimpses of this in Amy’s mother, who lives on an orchard in rural New Mexico. When they need some milk, it’s too far to go into town; they go next door. And when the blackberry bushes and apple trees present a yield far greater than they can manage, everyone is invited to share in the bounty, or else it goes to waste.

But we don’t grow our own food. When I need apples, I go to the store and buy only what my family can use. If we run out of cereal, I run to the store and get more. The idea of going next door to beg breakfast supplies off of people I barely know seems awkward at best.

Efficient supply networks, transportation infrastructure and digital technology have “freed” us from direct dependence on the land and on one another. At the same time, it has facilitated invisible, yet tangible, social boundaries we hesitate to cross.

Though our material needs may be met, we still have the problem of feeling alone, so we develop virtual social networks for us and play dates for our kids. Because the connection doesn’t occur naturally, we end up programming our together time: even with family. My wife and I have had to carve out Friday nights as date nights so at least one evening a week is not consumed by church meetings and events, travels and the rest of life that inveigles its way into every hour of the day.

Is it any wonder still why the intentional togetherness of a faith community seems harder to accept than it used to be? Simply put, we don’t know how to be together any more.

We rely more on the superficial paths of intersection like a chat at Starbucks or a fragmented post on Facebook than we do on purposeful time in relationship as family, friends and community. We’ve forgotten how to depend on one another, convincing ourselves that the craving for togetherness is too much of an infringement, and that we’re asking too much of each other to spend time.

The fact that we need each other emotionally, spiritually and psychically just doesn’t seem to be a good enough reason.

Meanwhile, our churches continue to depend on the old attractional models of “program it and they will come,” which depends heavily on two assumptions:

➢ the church knows what I need, and;
➢ I am comfortable enough with organized religion to walk through the doors of a church to get it.

Dangerous assumptions to make these days…

Christian Piatt is an author, editor, speaker, musician and spoken word artist. He co-founded Milagro Christian Church in Pueblo, Colorado with his wife, Rev. Amy Piatt, in 2004. Christian is the creator and editor of the Banned Questions book series, which include Banned Questions About the Bible and Banned Questions About Jesus. He co-created and co-edits the “WTF: Where’s the Faith?” young adult series with Chalice Press, and he has a memoir on faith, family and parenting being published in early 2012 called PregMANcy: A Dad, a Little Dude and a Due Date. For more information about Christian, visit www.christianpiatt.com, or find him on Twitter or Facebook.