Don't let the sophomore slump get you down

I took a much-needed break from seminary studies to hang out with five of my friends several weeknights ago, but what I anticipated to be an uplifting night ended up being kind of a bummer. We met at one of our favorite bars and talked about various aspects of our lives in general ... actually, more accurately, four of us sat and listened and occasionally added our remarks while the remaining two had a very amusing conversation about sex. Good times all around, though I could feel God staring down at me with His arms crossed, and practically hear Him laughing hysterically at what was probably my very red face.

But the bummer came when one of my friends started talking about the numerous people in his life who have disappointed him, to which another one of my friends promptly responded, "Most people suck." Always the optimist, I politely interjected by saying "I disagree with that," in hopes of proposing a non-preachy argument that everyone has the capacity to be good, and that making a statement that most people are bad is not only unfair, but a little arrogant. But I never got the chance to, not least of all because one of my other friends at the table immediately started laughing at me.

She probably didn't mean it that way, but I felt totally patronized. I felt as if the entire table might as well have started patting me on the head and saying, "Awwwww, isn't that cute? He has the naivete to actually love people!" Though I enjoyed the rest of the night, I couldn't help but pine for that respectful debate that never happened. I felt utterly alone in my optimism, even in the presence of one of my devout Christian friends. But more importantly, I was heartbroken for my friends who were denouncing such optimism -- how badly burned were they that they closed themselves off to most people? And how could they do such a thing without feeling utterly depressed and alone in this world? I have yet to read President Barack Obama's The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts of Reclaiming the American Dream, but I at least understand the first part of the title more vividly than ever: Hope in the face of the world at large is nothing short of audacious. Not only is it rare, but it's frequently frowned upon by those who know nothing about it. Morrissey, former vocalist for The Smiths, put it another way in their song "I Know It's Over": "It's so easy to laugh, it's so easy to hate/It takes strength to be gentle and kind."

One of the best songs the Jesus Jam performed during the greatest concert of all time is a challenging yet rousing anthem called "Love Your Enemies." The band knew full well that the lyrics would be considered revolutionary by all generations that followed it -- in fact, I can imagine that every audience member at this concert was flabbergasted upon hearing them, especially after hearing so many Stereophonic Pharisees tracks before it about how the "unrighteous" shouldn't even be allowed to hear "The Word" at all. After the Jesus Jam's demise, their fans had inherited a mission to not only start their own bands, but also to keep "Love Your Enemies" in their repertoires, which is quite a daunting task even today. Not that "Love Your Enemies" is a particularly hard song to play once you get the hang of it, but THAT CHORUS -- "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you." Those words are hard to hear and even harder to sing.

But as musicians continuing the legacy of Awesome God-via-The Jesus Jam, it is absolutely essential that we don't omit "Love Your Enemies" from our performances of "The Word." It's by far the most challenging section of the piece, but the rewards are great for anyone who plays through it successfully, and even greater for those fortunate enough to hear it played well. If we skip the section altogether, we are doing ourselves and our listeners a disservice. It may be easier in the short run to not have to even worry about that section, but in the long run, listeners will notice that a crucial part of the symphony is missing and, mistaking it for a poorly written piece, may never want to hear "The Word" again. In the end, performing "The Word" is not about how much fun we're having playing it -- it's about the healing, nourishment and inspiration the listener is capable of experiencing when they hear it the first time. A superbly rendered version of "Love Your Enemies" will motivate others to pick up an instrument and master it themselves.

But as I learned that night with my friends, far too many listeners don't want to even give first few seconds of "Love Your Enemies" a chance. I think a lot of them may have heard this section in the past, but it made for quite an uncomfortable listen. Perhaps they deemed the musicianship a little too intense. Maybe they felt the melody is just too dissonant. But it's most likely that the words are just too painful for them to hear. They've had too many bad experiences in the past to ever want to listen to a song about forgiveness and reconciliation in the face of relentless hatred and hostility. To put it another way -- and veer into another musical metaphor altogether -- these listeners are stuck on the sophomore slump.

Anyone who has ever actively sought great new music should be painfully familiar with the sophomore slump. It's always a thrill to discover that relatively rare thing -- a debut album that actually has consistently good songwriting, refreshingly innovative sonics and a solid front-to-back flow. For most musicians, the debut album is merely those first few awkward steps after hearing the starting gun, before they actually find their stride and learn how to run. So it's always uplifting and exciting to find musicians that begin the race at a full-fledged sprint.

But with that unexpected starting sprint comes potentially crippling expectations: Now you want these musicians to win the race. You want them to prove themselves as the greatest runners of all time. But sadly, some of these musicians simply lose their energy and finish second, fifth or sometimes dead last. Countless artists have released utterly disappointing follow-ups to those amazing debuts (which I will explain out of popular hearsay as much as actually hearing the music). The Doors brought psychedelic rock to previously unheard-of levels of darkness with their self-titled 1967 debut album, but spent much of the rest of their career in the annals of schmaltzy pop, hackneyed blues-rock and Jim Morrison's drug-addled "poetic" indulgences. Dr. Dre basically revitalized West Coast rap with 1992's The Chronic, but his output has been spotty at best ever since. The B-52's and Pretenders helped define New Wave with their self-titled debuts -- released in 1979 and 1980, respectively -- but the former band has lost much of their endearing quirkiness, while the latter band has essentially become a mediocre Chrissie Hynde solo project. And Guns N' Roses made hard rock tough and ugly again in the face of polished hair metal with 1987's Appetite for Destruction, but it takes a truly special person to forgive Axl Rose's ego or "November Rain."

Nevertheless, though we tend to focus on sophomore slumps because it IS easier to laugh and hate than to be gentle and kind, numerous artists who fell prey to this curse quickly recovered and delivered on their initial promise. Ramones and The Clash both released second albums that fell short of the simple rock & roll revolutions they instigated on their self-titled debuts, but they more than redeemed themselves respectively with 1977's Rocket to Russia and 1979's London Calling, both considered two of the best punk albums ever made. U2's 1980 debut album, Boy, was followed by the comparatively lackluster October before they came back with even bigger statements and more riveting tunes on 1983's War. Pearl Jam followed their grunge powerhouse of a debut, 1991's Ten, with the inconsistent Vs. before taking a real walk on the wild side with 1994's odd but brilliant Vitalogy. And outside of the great first album/worse second album/better third album pattern, Bob Dylan basically screwed around for much of his post-Blonde on Blonde career before unexpectedly dropping the classic breakup album Blood on the Tracks in 1975.

Music nerd indulgences aside, the point is that we can't wallow in the throes of sophomore slump disappointment forever. I've seen it again and again (in myself, too) that listeners will stop listening to an artist just because they had the gall to upset their otherwise "perfect" repertoire and release a subpar record. All of a sudden, they decide not to follow this or that band anymore just because of a single misstep. Or even worse, this disappointment "puts things into perspective" for the listener and they decide this or that band was never really that great to begin with. Sometimes they base their level of disappointment on the simple fact this or that band are doing something DIFFERENT. Heaven forbid anything about their sound changes or progresses.

It is absolutely crushing for me to see my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ or otherwise treat people much the same way. As I said before, adopting the attitude that "most people suck" is not only unfair to that person, but it's a little arrogant since it more or less assumes that whoever is making that statement isn't one of those sucky people. By putting all your faith in flawed human beings alone, you are already begging for trouble. People are going to trespass against you sooner or later, sometimes intentionally and sometimes not. But we are called not just as Christians, but as human beings to forgive each other for those trespasses. It may be hard to listen to and sing "Love Your Enemies," but it's absolutely necessary if we are to get the most out of Awesome God's greatest love songs. And once you familiarize yourself with it, "Love Your Enemies" not only becomes easier to sing and listen to, but it can be kind of fun.

On our way to an internship interview this weekend at Fuller Theological Seminary's main campus in Pasadena, Calif., my mom and I got into a huge fight. I expressed my anger toward her becoming very upset over the fact she had managed to get dog poop on her jeans, after which she proceeded to lecture me for not letting her vent about something that had nothing to do with me. Long story short, one unnecessary rehash of our sometimes volatile past led to another, and it more or less culminated in her sarcastically apologizing for not being a perfect mother. All of a sudden, it dawned on me like the midday sun in the middle of July in Phoenix, Ariz.: Humans screw up sometimes, and it's totally unfair to see a person for the number of mistakes they've made instead of their overall, wonderful, God-given character. Performing and listening to "Love Your Enemies" may be challenging, but by doing so we are ultimately rewarded with life, while holding a grudge (and consequently acting upon that grudge) can only lead to death. Phoenix-based folk-punk duo Andrew Jackson Jihad summarized this notion in their song "People": "People are wasteful, they waste all the food/People are hateful and people are rude/But God, I love some people sometimes/Because people are very, very special/And people are impatient, they don’t know how to wait/People are selfish, people are prone to hate/But God, I love some people sometimes/Because people are the greatest thing to happen."

And we are the greatest thing to happen. So to my friends who unintentionally bummed me out the other night, I forgive you and love you for the broken but beautiful souls you are. Because of the Jesus Jam's timeless rendition of "The Word," we will always be better than the sophomore slump.

Any instrument can be of His peace

Several years ago, upon the request of a friend, I played a single service at one particular church in the Phoenix Valley area and decided never to play there again -- not that I disliked the music, but I was busy as a community college freshman who was already committed to another church, and frankly a little disgusted by the music director's diva-worthy attitude. But I did not leave without an unforgettable and appalling nugget of information. As I overheard the other musicians talk amongst themselves, I heard one of them mention that one of the singers temporarily quit the band because she simply couldn't worship God in a group with a drummer.

OH MY GOSH. I seriously couldn't believe what I was hearing, and I still don't. I understand people are picky about the music they want to hear in church (including yours truly, in case you couldn't tell), but drums!? That's what determines whether or not a band is worshipping God the "right" way? Is any percussionist that plays anything more than a shaker or tambourine indisputably hell-bound? Does God really want us to stick exclusively to ancient hymns that lack any sort of beat or syncopation? I mean, this was an ELECTRONIC drum kit, too -- good for volume control in the face of occasionally novice musicians (and people like the aforementioned Righteous Rhythm-Hater), but bad for any purist who realizes there ain't nothin' like the real thing. Apparently, even this lame alternative to acoustic drums was way too radical for this lady.

To say I was a little biased would be an understatement. I basically learned to play my primary instrument, guitar, by playing in Esperanza Lutheran Church's contemporary worship band on and off since I was about 17, if not younger. Rocking out for God (electronic drum kit and all) was never a big deal to me -- in fact, it never occurred to me that there was anything wrong with it until I heard about this vocalist's brief, rhythmaphobic exodus. Naively, I reacted by adopting the polar opposite viewpoint, insisting that the Rock Band version of church was the only "real" way to praise God. I was convinced the Jesus Jam's frontman was an electric guitar shredder, not some tortured pipe organist. Larry Norman put it quite eloquently in his song "Why Should the Devil Have All the Good Music?": "I don't like none of those funeral marches/I ain't dead yet!" (Kind of cruel considering the aforementioned Righteous Rhythm-Hater was rather elderly.)

Then, once I transferred from Chandler-Gilbert Community College to Arizona State University, I started attending University Lutheran Church because it was closer to my new house and many of my friends had extolled its virtues to me. It was culture shock from the beginning -- the very first song at the very first service I attended there was a completely unfamiliar hymn played on piano. I was expecting the band to show up and kick in at any moment, but that moment never came. Every song was on piano or organ -- that was it. I could feel my face going as white as most of either instrument's keys. How on earth could people worship to such minimal dreariness as this? In the most traditional of settings, I felt like a participant in the utmost heresy.

I was comforted to discover there were contemporary services held there on Wednesday nights, but this comfort was largely shattered upon attending my first such service. The music was still guided by just a piano and no drums; if we were lucky, there would also be a guitar (often played by myself), and even then usually just an un-amplified acoustic. As far as I was concerned, the only thing more contemporary about this service was the fact they played more songs I and other people my age were familiar with. Since then, University Lutheran Church's Wednesday night services has added bongos, electric bass and a microphone system to the equation, but it's still quite a reserved affair compared to my halcyon days of rockin' for Awesome God.

But though I considered my transition into ULC somewhat of a curse initially (in terms of music alone -- I have never considered their staff or attendees anything but angels), I now realize it was an absolute blessing in disguise. For one thing, the sanctuary is much smaller than the one at Esperanza, so even an electronic drum kit would sound a bit overwhelming. But even if they had a sanctuary the size of the Tower of Babel, drums wouldn't be an absolute necessity. I did not abandon my electrified past for the sake of a more somber, canonized future; rather, I realized worship music's instrumentation does and should not matter. The God I experienced moaning my way through an organ-led anthem like Martin Luther's "A Mighty Fortress is Our God" was the same God I experienced half-dancing to a percussion-driven tune like Charlie Peacock's "In the Light." In the end, they're all just variations on "The Word."

When it comes to being biased toward particular instrumentation in a worship setting, I think it's a lot easier for old-school liturgists to criticize the relatively new phenomenon of "Christian rock." Larry Norman may have released "Why Should the Devil Have All the Good Music?" 37 years ago, but as evidenced by my experience with the Righteous Rhythm-Hater, there are still people who don't think church is a place for drums, electric guitars or even synthesizers. I think this attitude is epitomized by an incident I read about regarding the Resurrection Band (also known as Rez Band or just REZ). Between 1972 and 2000, the Resurrection Band offered Christianity-filtered social commentary in the context of raw, balls-to-the-wall hard rock -- think less Stryper and more AC/DC, Van Halen or Guns N' Roses. One of their vocalists, Glenn Kaiser, had a raspy, bluesy bellow that would have gotten him kicked out of the choir but sounds right at home with the Bob Segers and Rod Stewarts of the world. But their grit and volume were way too much for one church they played at, which basically kicked them out after about three songs because their music was inspiring everyone to dance. According to this church, no one should have fun while performing or even listening to "The Word." The notion of the Jesus Jam's frontman as a tortured pipe organist must be preserved at all costs.

But throughout the development of contemporary Christian music over the past several decades, the opposite approach has suddenly become a problem. People like my former self and far too many other people I know adamantly refuse to worship God in any setting where the only instrumentation is a piano, organ or vocal or bell choir. They want a beat. They want electricity. They want to leave their worship experience with ears ringing and souls singing. Several newer churches -- particularly the Acts 29 Network, which I criticized in a previous post -- seem to pander to this mentality with their exclusively full-band version of "The Word." The tortured pipe organist has now been recast (resurrected?) as an electric guitar shredder.

I think adopting either attitude is silly, elitist and totally detrimental to the Awesome God-given purpose of "The Word." Any church who hopes to meet the needs of believers over 60 and under 40 (to quote the title of an Edward H. Hammett book) must be able to find a middle ground between both approaches. Of course, that's all assuming that only the elderly like traditional hymns and only the youthful like contemporary Christian music, which is a stereotype that's long overdue for a swift, completely deserved death. I know many people in their 20s that absolutely love centuries-old hymns like "All Creatures of Our God and King," "Amazing Grace" and "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing," and many in their 40s and 50s who go nuts for CCM standards like "Awesome God" (the song, not the band/composer I made up to represent the Lord our Creator), "I Could Sing of Your Love Forever" and "Heart of Worship." Assuming that hymns and CCM are generationally exclusive totally goes against the nature of "The Word" -- it was written to be a symphony for all generations to perform in perfect harmony, despite the fact our favorite parts within its score may differ.

Another thing people must realize about "The Word" is that it was written to be played on any instrument. Awesome God doesn't care if "The Word" is relayed via piano, organ, synthesizer, guitar, choir, drum kit or even kazoo -- as long as the notes are correct and played with unbridled passion, He's mainly just happy to hear people are still playing it after all these years. (Heck, a kazoo choir might actually bring out the best of memorably obnoxious hymns like "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms.") But if Awesome God does have an ideal version of "The Word," it probably sounds less like one of Joseph Haydn's string quartets or Glenn Branca's experimental guitar compositions and more like the climactic performance during the final scene of Mr. Holland's Opus, in which 20th century instruments coexist peacefully and beautifully with older, traditionally orchestral ones.

Funk-rockers Audio Adrenaline, one of the more popular contemporary Christian groups of the 1990s, resolve this issue quite nicely in "The Houseplant Song." Over a ramshackle, 1960s-style acoustic garage rock tune, vocalist Mark Stuart sings about how a book told him that any song with a syncopated beat guarantees a one-way trip to a fiery afterlife. But in that same book, he discovers a revelatory experiment: "Take two houseplants and put them to the test/Set them both in front of speakers and let the music do the rest/The first one you play Mozart or something lovely like that/The second one you play that Petra or that Megadeth/Doesn't really matter what kind of rock it is." After trying the experiment -- evidently late at night -- his neighbor angrily knocks on the door. Stuart explains the experiment to his neighbor, who then points out that Stuart is playing Richard Wagner for one of the plants, not Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Ultimately, his neighbor suggests they start hanging out, and they head out on a drive where they talk about life, love, happiness and the Holy Spirit. What starts out as a near-fight over implied musical differences becomes "a meaningful relationship that's headed straight to heaven."

Tortured pipe organist or electric guitar shredder, why can't we all just get along? Any instrument can be of His peace.

Christianity as a ministry, not an industry

I think any music nerd worth his or her weight in pop knowledge, good humor and/or weakness for cute love stories should see That Thing You Do! For those who have not seen the film, it tells the story of a fictional 1960s band called The Wonders. One of their songs, "That Thing You Do," starts out as a lovelorn, Everly Brothers-style ballad but the drummer, Guy Patterson, unexpectedly ups the tempo when they debut it live, forcing the rest of the band to play it as a jangly, ultra-catchy singalong in the Beatles/Byrds vein. One thing leads to another and this upbeat version of "That Thing You Do" eventually becomes a #1 pop hit. But when it comes time to produce another single, The Wonders' manager, Mr. White -- played by Tom Hanks, who also directed the film -- says that he wants none of the "lover's lament" dirges the group's primary songwriter, Jimmy Mattingly, seems to specialize in. Mr. White wants something happy, peppy and snappy to bring in more dough from fickle listeners seeking an instant hit fix.

I think this attitude could apply all too well to our brilliantly asinine contemporary Christian music industry. Much like Mr. White, these CCM suits are not interested in bands trying new things and developing artistically. They can't take that kind of business risk -- and trust me, the way they market these "music ministers" has little, if anything, to do with ministry and much more to do with making money. Just like the most shameless movers and shakers within the secular music ministry, they simply want to take the kinds of songs that have proven to be commercially successful in the past and reproduce them over and over and over again for returns that are unlikely to diminish (that is, until consumers move onto something else). There are quite a few CCM songs of the past decade that qualify as happy, peppy and snappy -- if not that, at least songs you can kind of dance to. But the CCM industry actually banks on the "lover's lament" material Mr. White so staunchly loathes -- the kind of lethargic, contemplative and anthemic music that sounds bearable and maybe even likable upon first listen but has folks like me nodding off and/or pulling my hair out by the 50th. I listen to this music and I can practically feel my brain fighting to retain all my vocabulary words besides "Jesus," "God," "holy," "praise" and "hallelujah." The Jesus Jam were never this boring.

I don't think the industry's higher-ups are entirely to blame for the sameness of most contemporary Christian music -- some fault must go to the artists themselves that produce this kind of stuff with the same guaranteed-hit expectations. But I don't think a lot of people realize that the Christian music industry has a disturbingly firm grasp on what counts as "real" Christian music and what doesn't. These industry standards have largely squelched the efforts of many Christian musicians who have tried to avoid cliche and craft work with honesty and nuance (including myself) to be heard by a larger audience. If you don't fit the mold, you are none of the CCM business' business.

In the book I cannot stop raving about, Body Piercing Saved My Life, Andrew Beaujohn writes about the Gospel Music Association Dove Awards, aka the Christian Grammys. He writes about the fact jangly pop-rockers Sixpence None the Richer were one of the prides and joys of CCM until they scored a mainstream hit with "Kiss Me." The song -- which appeared on the soundtrack to She's All That and made it to #2 on the Billboard Hot 100 (!) -- is a very innocent request for a smooch under the "silver moon sparkling," and really contains nothing that would be considered morally offensive to most Christians. However, its commercial success and secular subject matter were enough for the GMAs to turn their backs. The group had officially gone to the dark side as far as these suits were concerned, and the song was deemed ineligible for a Dove nomination according to some then-newly written rules.

But paradoxically, in the Dove Awards ceremony Beaujohn attended (I believe in 2004), grunge-lite quartet Switchfoot were nominated for numerous awards. Like Sixpence None the Richer, Switchfoot made their name in the Christian music scene and then unexpectedly scored two Top 20 hits with "Dare You to Move" and "Meant to Live," rousing, lighter-raising anthems about overcoming life's sometimes crippling obstacles. I've admittedly only heard a handful of Switchfoot songs, but in that little nugget of their repertoire I don't recall a single mention of the words "God" or "Jesus." But their lyrics speak about love, forgiveness, generosity, unity, strength, peace and hope in the face of a discouraging, terrifying and hateful world -- a message that is consummately uplifting and only implicitly Christian. Through their music, Switchfoot don't tell you about how great Awesome God's rockin' tunes are; they simply play the tunes for you, and you are free to interpret them however you please.

Switchfoot won several of the awards they were nominated for that year, but failed to show up to accept them. The band has said numerous times in interviews that though they were on a Christian record label and don't shy away from playing Christian festivals, they prefer to think of themselves as "Christians by faith, not by genre." Artist or otherwise, I think this is a perfectly admirable way of conducting one's career as a Christian. The sad truth is most of society tends to tune out once they learn you're a Christian; all of a sudden, your opportunities for evangelism are very limited. But I think some of history's most effective evangelists are the ones who took a more subtle approach to performing "The Word" -- you have to really listen carefully to recognize the symphony's meaningful nuances, but the piece is still enjoyable to casual listeners who may not know who wrote it. Many obsessive readers get wrapped up in the fantastical details of The Lord of the Rings series without realizing its very Christian lessons on greed, perseverance and friendship, courtesy of Roman Catholic author J.R.R. Tolkien. Numerous children and adults alike are delighted by the winsome songs and magical characters of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood without recognizing its appropriation of Jesus' command to love our neighbors as ourselves, courtesy of Presbyterian minister Fred Rogers (still the best televangelist of all time). A whole bunch of agnostic and atheist indie kids sang along with refrains like "He is the Lord!" simply because they enjoyed the stripped-down yet ornate beauty of Seven Swans, an album courtesy of Episcopalian folksinger Sufjan Stevens.

Still, I found it rather disappointing to read that Stevens now refuses to do interviews unless questions about his Christian faith are avoided. I understand where he is coming from -- as I said before, making your beliefs obvious can sometimes put off people who would otherwise give you a chance -- but I think there's a difference between tact and pandering. I can't help but wonder if artists like Stevens or Switchfoot play subtler variants of "The Word" because they seek mainstream or indie acceptance, rather than sincerely wanting to show intelligent, open-minded people what Christianity is really all about without alienating them. I think any Christian worth their weight in gold (and frankincense and myrrh ... sorry, I had to) must harness his or her calling as a disciple and apply that mission to everything they do in life, whether it be subtly or obviously. This is a ministry, after all, and music is certainly no exception to that rule.

When it comes to the idea of Christianity as a ministry instead of an industry, I don't think anyone epitomized that mission better than Keith Green. If Larry Norman was the father of Christian rock, Green was its first superstar. But that certainly isn't to say Green is responsible for this shallow mess we call the contemporary Christian music industry -- far from it, actually. Like Norman, Green followed his God-given calling to make disciples of all nations, and he did so with some pretty awesome music. Green's style was alternately boisterous and stately piano rock in the vein of Billy Joel, Elton John and Randy Newman (or Ben Folds, the logical conclusion of all three), and over it he sang unabashedly about what being a Christian is and what it isn't. He used Moses as an example for people who feel unworthy of performing "The Word," and Noah as an example for those who are criticized for wanting to join the symphony at all. He expressed gratitude to the Lord for giving him a second chance at life after recovering from drug abuse. He told jokes in between and sometimes during songs, amusing audiences by comparing Christians whose reverence to God doesn't extend beyond Sunday mornings (and Wednesday evenings) to people who visit a friend in prison once a week. And on that note, Green importantly and distinctively criticized those who fail to take their faith seriously, or lack any faith at all. Take this line from "To Obey is Better Than Sacrifice": "If you can't come to Me every day/Then don't bother coming at all." Pretty harsh words, but isn't that sentiment really what being a child of God through Christ is all about? It's OK and perfectly natural to go through rough spots, but His promise for eternal life is entirely dependent upon our devotion to and passion for Him. We are either diehard fans of Awesome God or we aren't, and Green never cared if he offended anybody by saying so. The Jesus Jam got ran out of town, so to speak, for performing what would eventually be acknowledged as the best concert of all time, so in the long run, why should we be afraid of other people's booing and hissing? Sadly, Green died in a plane crash in 1982, at the age of 28, but I'm sure Awesome God gave him a permanent slot on heaven's main stage. I hope to see him perform there one day.

I think much of Green's sense of ministry died along with him. All that most Christian musicians have now is a suffocating industry. It's an industry where Christian radio stations can play Christian bands' covers of U2 songs but not actual U2 songs since the Irish alt-rock group's faith apparently isn't obvious enough. (They have an unbelieving bassist -- HERESY!!!!) It's an industry where Derek Webb, former singer/songwriter for Caedmon's Call, has serious issues with his record label over the use of a single curse word on one of his albums. It's an industry where I don't think I can say I've ever seen a female singer who wasn't a pinup-style "babe," while conventionally unattractive male singers like Bart Millard from MercyMe and David Crowder can seemingly succeed without a hitch. And outside of music, it's an industry where Christians can be pumped with all kinds of harmless bookstore garbage, whether it's fluffy devotional packets, "WWJD?" stickers or Testamints. (Really, do we need Scripture on breath mints!!?!?)

To sum up this post (and really, the last couple of posts about my thoughts on contemporary Christian music), WAKE UP, PEOPLE. This is just another niche market that has little, if anything, to actually do with God. I don't think God has a favorite style of music; if He does, I would hope it isn't the blandly epic folk-pop that has all but consumed any other style being played on Christian radio stations or in numerous churches. And the idea that the "realness" of Christian music can be measured is absolutely absurd. Any version of "The Word" is real Christian music, regardless of tempo, mood, melody, skin color, technical skill, overtness or covertness. The only universal standard by which a performance of "The Word" should be measured is whether or not it inspires someone to join the symphony who would have never picked up an instrument otherwise.

In the aforementioned scene of That Thing You Do!, immediately after Mr. White demands another hit, Mattingly promptly steps up to the studio microphone, adopts an all-too-eager grin, snaps his fingers in a swingin' rhythm and intersperses giggling with a single sung-spoken phrase: "I quit ... I quit ... I quit."

For all who consume the many vacuous, Mr. White-approved elements of Christian culture, I urge you to quit. But don't ever give up on the holy essence of our Awesome God. If your performance is sincere, your unique version of "The Word" will be rewarded.

Redefining mediocrity

The last post I made drew much praise from my friends and family, for which I am very thankful -- it is nice to know I am not alone in wanting to fill the God-shaped hole in a lot of contemporary worship music with something other than countless mentions of Jesus' name, as if churchgoers perpetually forget where Christianity originated. (If you haven't seen the South Park episode that lampoons this particular cliche, weep under your bed in shame for an hour and then watch it.) Nevertheless, as I had somewhat expected, my opinionated essay did draw the ire of one of my buddies at Fuller Theological Seminary.

This particular friend of mine called me a music snob, and I would be lying if I said I didn't smirk a little (OK, a lot) on the inside. She doesn't see anything wrong with David Crowder, Matt Redman, Chris Tomlin or Hillsong United, and explained very rationally that music is merely supposed to enhance the worship experience, not stun you with its musicianship and/or originality. I can totally understand where she's coming from -- I'm also of the opinion that a church service is nothing without a powerful, nourishing, Scripturally sound message. But since when does the transforming Christian message have to be relayed in the context of terrible music? I still don't understand why artistic creativity and Biblical tradition have to mutually exclusive, which I think is the unfortunate message being sent by most contemporary Christian music of the past decade.

But we can't just blame it on the Chris Tomlins and Hillsong Uniteds of the world. For as long as I can remember being at least aware of the Christian music scene -- from roughly 1995 on -- I have detected an utter lack of discernment among many of its listeners. There wasn't really much of a difference between the people who listened to Jars of Clay's lite alternative rock and those who listened to Five Iron Frenzy's ska-punk. The people who blissed out to Michael W. Smith's lengthy, sobering worship performances tended to also mosh at 30-minute Beanbag concerts. There is certainly nothing wrong with musically diverse tastes, but that diversity tends to stop at a certain point; I don't know a lot of people who listen to the jazzy a cappella group Take 6 and also listen to the jangly pop of Sixpence None the Richer, which is actually heartbreaking evidence of Christian music industry's interminable racial divide. (Again, another post for another time ... )

But disregarding stylistic diversity, the thing that still baffles me is that so many Christians can't seem to tell the difference between high and low musical or lyrical quality -- something I don't think you necessarily need to enter seminary or take a music appreciation course to learn. There is an overwhelming tolerance for mediocrity among Christians. If it's about Jesus, they're into it, whether it's as amazingly profound and passionate as Larry Norman and Andrae Crouch or as irredeemably awful as Creed. (Yuck, I need a shower after typing that.) This seems to be an indirect application of God's unconditional love toward music, which I will applaud for its good intentions. But when God through Christ commanded us to love another, I don't think he was giving us an excuse to create or experience poor art. Like any influential band, I'm sure the Jesus Jam would be embarrassed to know their music inspired some terrible musicians that completely torpedoed the point of their music. (Case in point: Pearl Jam > Creed -- yeesh, I need to stop typing that!!!) And I'm sure they would also be horrified to learn certain fans weren't getting the point either, much like Nirvana's completely unintentional appeal to jocks and rapists.

If anything, I think the Bible indicates that putting time and effort behind one's art is quite pleasing in the sight of the Lord. Take this rule for Christian living from Colossians 3:23: "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men ... " Or this saying of the wise from Proverbs 22:29: "Do you see a man skilled in his work? He will serve before kings; he will not serve before obscure men." Perhaps that latter quote could be facetiously interpreted as a diss on the indie scene about two to three millennia early, since that whole subculture is all about obscure men (and women). But then again, it could be taken as a promise for the afterlife, as many unabashedly Christian artists who languish in obscurity on this frighteningly secularized Earth will be named among the kingdom of heaven's rock stars.

Either way, the point is clear: However you serve God -- through art, preaching, mission work, science or otherwise -- you are called as a disciple to give it your all. The Jesus Jam were asked by Awesome God to do plenty of research on how "The Word" was written, and how to make the tune's very best sections count like no one did before them. All of this so that when they performed that brilliant concert as reviewed by Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, it didn't just come across as a band playing another passionless tour date on one of their off nights. This concert was raucous, sweaty, uplifting, energizing and unforgettable. Everyone who got the Jesus Jam knew they had performed the best concert of all time.

With all this talk about fighting against mediocrity, I feel I should offer my own definition of the term: Mediocrity has nothing to do with technical skill and everything to do with creativity. There have been plenty of very good musicians who created utterly bland music -- heck, as much as I hate Creed (UUUUGHHH!!!!!! I'm going to claw my eyes out ... ), I can still acknowledge their guitarist is quite skilled at his instrument. But a bad song played well is still a bad song. On the other side of the spectrum, there have been numerous musicians who could barely sing or play their instruments but made some great music out of sheer enthusiasm and ingenuity. All one needs to do is listen to the best early rock & roll, punk rock, hip-hop or experimental music to discover this truth. These artists redefined the idea of what constitutes good musicianship. There may be nothing new under the sun, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't explore some of the shady spots.

For this reason, I like working with musicians who may be relatively inexperienced but have the creative drive to worship God with all their heart, soul and mind. I have drawn some criticism for adopting this approach from people who adhere to the more traditional definition of musical mediocrity as technical ineptitude. These people want their worship experience to be a big, tight, clean, pitch-perfect production -- in other words, they want it to sound like all the other Chris Tomlin and Hillsong United soundalikes. I understand that some Christians want that out of their church services and I respect their preferences, but I don't plan to conform to that trend anytime soon. Personally, I equate the desire for super-polished Christian music as a quest of sorts to equate the perfection of God when an essential and inevitable part of our existence is our imperfect, sinful, perpetually broken nature. I'm not saying we as performers of "The Word" shouldn't fine-tune our skills, but we also shouldn't fine-tune them to the point of sounding like every other popular performer. We are a cluster of varied yet complementary notes, not just a series of drones.

On that note, I would like to end by saying thank you to all the musicians at Esperanza Lutheran Church for remaining patient with my busy schedule and occasional disorganization, and more importantly for continuing to offer their numerous talents and ideas to our 10:30 a.m. versions of "The Word" and beyond. And I would also like to extend that gesture of thanks to any Christian who has ever strived to be different in the face of conformity while staying true to their core beliefs. It can be a hard balance to achieve, but you give me hope that someday we shall overcome this crippling blanket of artistic and theological mediocrity. God deserves way better than what He's been getting lately.

Christians need quality music

I was at a housewarming party hosted by a friend of mine a few months ago where I was quite possibly the only Christian there. This happens to me a lot -- being an artsy person hanging out with other artsy people means a whole lot of staunchly secular attitudes in this day and age.

While at this party, a friend of mine asked how I had been, and I told her the bad news of being laid off from my job as a journalist and the good news of being accepted into graduate school. Inevitably, she asked me if I was going back to Arizona State University, and with an internal sigh, I broke the excitement of me potentially rejoining the Sun Devils and kind of half-muttered that I am in SEMINARY, studying toward worship and music ministry. As I had expected, her response was a mere surprised, alienated "Oh." And I think the conversation more or less ended there for a while.

Much later, as I was turning in for the night, this friend bid me farewell with this request: "I know you're going into church music, but I hope you'll still make good music!" Ouch. I was a little hurt by this, even though she probably said it with the best of intentions (and also seemed more than a little intoxicated). But I have to say, her fears are not completely unfounded.

I feel no need to beat around the bush: MOST CONTEMPORARY WORSHIP MUSIC SUCKS. By contemporary, I mean most of what has been written in the past decade or so. By worship music, I'm not talking about centuries-old hymns, which I think are beautiful and Scripturally accurate in their own right. And I'm also not talking about Christian rock or rap or metal or punk or pop or any other veritable genre of music that happens to have lyrics about God through Christ instead of sex, drugs, angst, politics or sheer silliness. (Though some Christian punk is pretty ridiculous -- apparently the group Noggin Toboggan have a whole album all about kittens.) Worship music is a whole different species of suckitude altogether: It's adult contemporary pop/rock written specifically for church services. And it is by far the prime example of banal, soulless marketing fluff that makes this monstrosity we call the contemporary Christian music industry tick.

For those of you who have had the good fortune to not hear David Crowder, Matt Redman, Chris Tomlin or -- heaven forbid -- Hillsong United, I envy you. For those of you who have, you are probably a churchgoing Christian or at least have been to a few contemporary church services before. These artists, in particular, are pretty ubiquitous nowadays, though you would be totally forgiven for not knowing who they are since ALL THEIR MUSIC SOUNDS THE SAME. The melodies are anthemic and sweeping. The tempos are egregiously slow, and not in a cool minimalist sort of way. There is almost always an acoustic guitar or piano holding the whole thing down. The songs are typically pretty lengthy, but only because they are so repetitive. A few of the songs are backed by choirs that are polished to the point of sounding synthesized. Then there's the inevitable overproduced backwards cymbal effect to let you know there's about to be a significant shift in dynamics. And worship music only has one song structure: Start off quiet, build oh-so-gradually, hit an overlong bowel purging of a crescendo, and then bring it back down for a quieter repeat of that huge chorus. It can admittedly sound quite pretty, but in a very harmless and predictable way. I shudder just typing out this description for you.

But what amplifies my reaction from shuddering to near-vomiting is worship music lyrics. These lyrics don't bother to take any chances. You could probably spend at least an entire week straight counting out how many times "Jesus," "God," "love," "salvation," "faith" and any other cliche word associated with Christianity is pumped into these just-add-water anthems. This is disappointing, considering some of the Psalms express very strong and legitimate feelings of doubt and anguish toward God, and some of the older battle hymns are rife with pretty hardcore imagery: "From victory unto victory/His army shall he lead/'Til every foe is vanquished/And Christ is Lord indeed." ("Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus," George Duffield Jr.) But worship music removes any elements that would be considered the least bit offensive -- and also anything that would appeal to anyone who is not already Christian. Sounds like a pretty terrible method of evangelism.

I fear these worship music "artists" may be perpetuating a separationist attitude among burgeoning Christian musicians. Even worse, I think they are perpetuating self-centeredness among many Christians. The thing that irks me the most about worship music is most of it exclusively features "I," "me" and "my" language. There are hardly any mentions of the essential notion of Christianity as a familial community. There are hardly any songs about trying to make the world a better place. There are hardly any songs about loving one another, even. It's all about what we as individuals can get out of God. All it really amounts to is that most irritatingly blase of any "divinely inspired lyrics" I've ever heard, courtesy of Delirious?: "God, You're my God, and I will seek you." Good for you, but what does that mean for your brothers and sisters in Christ?

I equate this kind of attitude with churches that maintain a pastoral approach to ministry in the face of missional living's increasing relevance. Like pastoral churches, contemporary worship music is not there to motivate people to fulfill their duty as Christians -- it merely serves as a Band-Aid for whatever spiritual boo-boo's they may have recently suffered. People who listen to contemporary worship music have no interest in joining the proverbial orchestra and performing "The Word," as composed by Awesome God. They only want to sit in the audience and listen to subpar musicians give a very dull rendition.

Not only do I wish there were more Christian musicians who encouraged people to join that orchestra, but I wish the musicians that do encourage people to do so would get more exposure than these worship music torchbearers. Even with a zillion mentions of the word "Jesus" in any given contemporary worship song, I hear little -- if any -- of Jesus in any of that kind of music. I hear Jesus more so in the music of artists on the Asthmatic Kitty and Sounds Familyre record labels, many of whom sing unabashedly about God over some of the strangest music you could ever imagine. I hear Jesus in Animal Collective's latest album, Merriweather Post Pavillion, which features songs about cherishing your loved ones and "support(ing) your brother." I even hear Jesus in the music of hardcore punk sextet F@#!ed Up's The Chemistry of Common Life; even though it's taken from a very agnostic perspective ("It's hard enough being born in the first place/So who would ever want to be born again?"), at least they haven't given up on the search. This is the kind of music that fuels my desire to pick up my instrument and perform "The Word" in the most creative, passionate and relevant way I can muster through Awesome God's rockin' grace.

With all this being said, I must offer a full disclosure: As someone who oversees the 10:30 a.m. service music at his own church, I try to avoid this dreadful contemporary worship music I am speaking of at all costs, but sometimes I succumb. It's not that I like the music (although a few of the songs have admittedly infiltrated my pleasure centers), but the fact of the matter is that quite a few Christians do like contemporary worship music. This terrifies me to think people would rather listen to "The Word" than play it themselves, but at this point in my very young mission I am still learning and therefore playing by some of their rules. One day I dream of a church where a band as bizarre but unmistakably spiritual as Danielson can be played without confused looks or congregants walking out, but I'm doubtful that day is today.

Still, I don't see any reason church music can't be more challenging, motivational and evangelistic than it has been in the past decade. Awesome God did not write "The Word" to be played solo or casually listened to; He wants us all to play our parts and make its melody resound for all the world to hear and recognize its beauty and power. Awesome God is a brilliant composer, and the Jesus Jam were pretty groundbreaking for being an Awesome God cover band. I would like to think they are offended to see "The Word" replicated so poorly by so many sycophantic fans who don't attempt to be innovative musicians.

So to my friend who hopes I still make "good music" in spite of my excursion into seminary, don't worry. I'm working on it, and I hope other future worship leaders will, too. The terms "Christian" and "quality" do not have to be mutually exclusive.

Acts 29: Butt rock pretending to be indie rock

This past Sunday night, I attended Praxis Church in Tempe, Ariz. for the first time in a while and what is likely to be my last time ever. Many who attend that church are good friends and acquaintances of mine (and one of them is my sister). One such acquaintance saw that I was wearing my Fuller Theological Seminary T-shirt and said, "You left-wing wackos!" And then in a mocking, high-pitched voice he exclaimed, "We love God and everybody else!"

To be fair to this acquaintance, he told me he was joking, but I still don't find it very funny and frankly, I think it pretty much encapsulates the Acts 29 theology. For those of you who aren't in the know (which may or may not entail being an unbeliever), the Acts 29 Network is a organization of neo-Calvinist churches founded by a certain Mark Driscoll. If you haven't heard of Mark Driscoll, I highly recommend familiarizing yourself with him so you can at least be aware of a ministry that I believe is hurting the Christian message.

Driscoll is the pastor at a Seattle-based church called Mars Hill, which in its 13 years of existence has grown into one of the more prominent mega-churches in the U.S. As was documented in an episode of ABC News Nightline, Mars Hill has a reputation of being a "hip," non-liturgical church where the pastor dons fairly casual wear, the congregation is mostly in the 18 to 30 age range and, by church standards, the music is very loud; think of a combination between Nickel Creek, Coldplay and, at its edgiest, Death Cab for Cutie and you'll get an idea of the worship band's style. This church conveniently offers coffee and free Wi-Fi to congregants whenever they are not listening to Driscoll drop terms like "dude" and "chick" and curse in the middle of sermons. In other words, Mars Hill is an indie rock church -- or at least it would like you to think it is.

Driscoll describes his church as "culturally liberal and theologically conservative," and the latter couldn't be any closer to the truth. Driscoll is a strict patriarch who discourages women from preaching and believes women's top priority must become submission to their husbands upon getting married. He is notorious for frequently talking about the do's and don'ts of sex during his sermons, and even more notorious for thinking pastors' wives should oblige to their husbands' sexual wishes more often to reduce the pastors' urges to screw around with other females and/or males. And on that note, he is a big homophobe -- I heard him once say in an interview that he considers Biblical figures like King David, Elijah, John the Baptist and St. Paul "rough" and "heterosexual" guys, and express distaste at the fact 60 percent of churchgoers are women and most men who do attend church are "chickified." There is nothing indie rock about Mark Driscoll -- he is 100 percent butt rock.

As I alluded to before, Praxis Church is part of the Acts 29 network. I have attended about six or seven of their services, and I think the pastor there is several steps above Driscoll. (For the sake of this post, I am omitting the pastor's name -- all of you who attend Praxis know who he is.) I would be lying if I said I did not find some his sermons very compelling, thoughtful and enjoyable in their own right. But from what I have heard within his sermons, read on his blog and heard about him from some of my friends who attend Praxis, he also seems to be a big fan of the patriarchal route. On one of his blog posts, he echoes Driscoll in explaining why husbands are supposedly the natural leaders in any marriage. I once heard him say during a sermon something to the effect of "Mary was a virgin -- yeah, right." A female friend of mine said she and her friends asked this pastor about joining a group where men undergo preliminary pastoral training, and he responded by reading a piece of Scripture as an excuse to keep women out of the program.

The thing that scares me even more than these views is the fact so many Acts 29 congregants seem to be more tuned into the "culturally liberal" aspect of this ministry than the "theologically conservative" one. I know quite liberal people who talk about this network like it is the most revolutionary Christian organization in existence and it's simply not true. I think a lot of this misperception has to do with presentation: Driscoll's preaching style, the Starbucks-style service and -- above all -- the music. Extremely fine-tuned but not overly polished, churches like Praxis are offering a variation of "The Word" in a style tailor-made for thousands of young folks who bliss out to the anomaly of "mainstream indie rock." It's completely understandable that people's choice of church is determined by the kind of music played within, but it's still disappointing to me. It's kind of like determining which person you would like to date based on that person's musical tastes: It might make for some enjoyable, revelatory conversations, but ultimately it's a shallow move. And in the case of Acts 29, I think it's a shameless, bait-and-switch marketing ploy.

One thing I take great offense to is the fact Driscoll paints Jesus as a macho dude-bro who would have watched football, shot guns recreationally or worked on his truck in this day and age. He denounces the most common portrayals of Jesus as a "hippie, diaper, halo Christ ... I cannot worship a guy I can beat up." I can kind of understand where he's coming from -- I do agree that Jesus tends to be sissified in much modern theology, and the fact of the matter is that the Messiah is a rebel who pissed a lot of people off, got killed and was resurrected for standing up for what was right. But Jesus was a rebel in the punk rock sense, not in the heavy metal sense. Jesus' authority cannot be measured by sheer volume or girth. He was not a bully, in spite of the often misinterpreted text in the Gospel of Matthew about bringing a sword to the world (which had more to do with triggering the Jewish and Roman authorities' wrath than conducting any of those horrible Crusades). Jesus did occasionally get angry -- especially when interacting with the Pharisees and the Temple's money changers -- but righteous anger was not the foundation of his ministry. He was not a "cool guy," as ABC Nightlife portrayed Driscoll; Jesus was a complete and utter social outcast and so were every single one of his disciples. To draw a comparison to the Sex Pistols, Jesus' ministry and message is his "God Save the Queen" -- banned by the BBC but ultimately a No. 2 single (though any Jesus Jam track is always No. 1 in my books). As someone who considers himself a sensitive, artsy, "chickified" nerd who has never felt entirely comfortable among anyone on this Earth, not least of all macho men, I can wholeheartedly identify with the Jesus Driscoll would probably assault.

But the thing that troubles me the most about what I've seen from the Acts 29 Network is that it is missing the Christian message's most vital ingredient: Love. I know there is little, if anything, warm and fuzzy about Jesus' love -- it's the brutally honest, consummately transforming and downright scary kind of love we don't deserve and are profusely thankful to have. But it is also forgiving, generous and blind to whether or not we are jocks, nerds, extroverts, introverts, liberals, conservatives, artists, engineers, men, women, heterosexuals, homosexuals, young, old, mobile, immobile, etc. No one is unworthy of performing "The Word." Like any good punk rock, passion is more important than precision.

But I'm convinced Acts 29 are the ultimate bitter, jaded, Pitchfork-style music critics, hanging every sour note you've ever played over your head so you'll never be able to play comfortably, even though you may sincerely want to improve your musical skills. I especially feel this way after reading the aforementioned Praxis pastor's blog post where he bashes on unmarried 25-year-olds who live with their parents, do not hold high-paying jobs and "suddenly" decide to go into ministry. I am 25, single (asking women out has never been my sharpest skill, frankly), live with my parents out of financial necessity and work part-time because it is relatively convenient for my school schedule. In spite of all this, I don't think there was anything sudden or insincere about my recent foray into ministry. I love the Lord my God with all my heart, soul, mind and body and want to use my musical talents to glorify His holy name, and I don't think anyone's age, financial situation, marital status or even past mistakes should be used against anyone who wants to perform "The Word." Being a successful, married Acts 29-style macho man is not that easy for some of us.

Now with all this being said, there are some things I do like about Praxis and, to a lesser extent, Mars Hill (a church I've admittedly never been to personally, though I've read and viewed enough to decide it's not my thing). The pastors at both churches are intelligent, captivating evangelists in their own right -- as I've sincerely told the pastor at Praxis on several occasions -- and in spite of my beef with their patriarchal views on marriage, I'm sure they are wonderful husbands and fathers. I do like the fact Praxis is encouraging involvement in missional communities, which will ultimately become the future of the church as Christians move away from buildings and further into their various communities. And please note that this post is not necessarily a dig on the people who attend these churches. As I said earlier, I know a lot of them personally, and this past Sunday after church I had an amazing in-depth theological discussion with my wonderful sister and many of her incredible friends. Honestly, that post-service discussion (at Four Peaks Brewery, of all places!) felt more like church to me than the service itself.

But as Christians, we are in fact called to love God and everybody else, above any other commandment the Bible gives us. And if thinking that makes me a left-wing wacko, I'm OK with that. Larry Norman, the father of Christian rock, put it best: "You could shake hands with the devil/Or give your life to God on the level/But without love, you ain't nothing without love."

Mark Driscoll, please take note. The Kingdom of God is not biased toward butt rock.

Transformative Christianity: An honest walk

I would highly recommend Andrew Beaujon's Body Piercing Saved My Life: Inside the Phenomenon of Christian Rock for any Jesus freak who has ever felt alienated by the more homogenous aspects of Christian culture and/or the more atheistic tendencies of contemporary artistic culture. In his book, Beaujon -- an unbeliever -- interviews many of Christian rock's most notable figures and offers his take on the genre's best and worst qualities. I admittedly have yet to finish the book (a generally busy school schedule plus a new job will do that), and the rest of this blog post is based on one of Beaujon's references to another book I haven't even read, Apostles of Rock: The Splintered World of Contemporary Christian Music. But apparently, this latter book contains something I have turned into my own personal mission statement, musically and missionally.

Apostles of Rock proposes the existence of three kinds of Christian music artists: separationist, integrationist and transformative. I'll go even further to say that these categories apply not only to Christian musicians, but anyone devoting their creative capacities to His holy name.

Separationist Christians create stuff specifically for other Christians. They don't even try to offer anything that would appeal to anyone who isn't already down with the Jesus Jam. (See my first blog post if you haven't already.) Their "creations" are guided entirely by existing formulas that have yielded the most success in the past. There is no attempt to evangelize -- it's broken-record niche marketing in its most obvious, shameless form. A parallel can be drawn to the world's most stagnant Christian denominations and churches. Progress and ideas are out of the question; you can rest assured you will never experience anything unfamiliar or challenging. While there is potential for some separationists to bear influence outside their immediate sphere, it's never sought out. They sound less like the Jesus Jam and more like the Stereophonic Pharisees, who were notorious for their staunch aversion to the Genuine Gentiles.

Integrationist Christians are a little better at replicating the Jesus Jam. These Christians try to have the best of both worlds -- creating thoroughly faith-informed things that are also enjoyable by secular standards. It's fun to witness moments when integrationist Christians' unbelieving appreciators realize the object of their appreciation is all about God. And it's downright uplifting to see some unbelievers continuing to appreciate that object regardless of its source of inspiration. Successful integrationist Christians are a rare breed -- many try and most fail -- but I think most nondenominational organizations tend to fall into this category. I've been to services at one such "mega-church," in particular, where many of its regular congregants are not Christian. This is in line with the Jesus Jam's appeal to Jews and Gentiles alike, but I can't help but wonder if these unbelievers are on a sincere quest for spiritual revelation or simply hanging out with the rest of their friends in a big building that happens to have a cross in it. It seems that integrationist Christians sometimes dumb down their theology in an attempt to make their message more "universal."

But the transformative Christians are the ones who truly "get" the Jesus Jam. These are the Christians who are unafraid to tell it like it is. Let's face it -- the Christian journey ain't no walk in the park. It's an arduous lifelong struggle. There are people who persecute us in ways both obvious and subtle. Countless times we try to show and/or tell people about Christ's amazing love, forgiveness and generosity, and they simply don't want anything to do with it. Heck, sometimes the mere mention of the word "God" or "Jesus" or "church" provokes responses I think most Christians are used to: Our friends and acquaintances either censor themselves, tell us how "good" they are, completely throw us under the bus, try to change the subject or simply walk away. All of this -- in addition to numerous other factors -- leads to doubt, that thing every Christian feels but so few of us talk about.

My favorite song of all time is "Casimir Pulaski Day" by Sufjan Stevens. If you haven't heard the song, first of all I feel incredibly sorry for you, and secondly it's about an ex-girlfriend dying of cancer. Stevens, an Episcopalian, sings in his friendly, intimate whisper of a voice about how he and his fellow Bible study attendees pray over the girl's body, but in the end she still dies. Over a sparse, beautifully simple Americana-style backdrop, Stevens laments the "complications" the Lord throws into our lives, and the song ends with this line: "He takes and He takes and He takes."

When I told one of my friends this is my favorite song, he immediately asked me, "But don't you feel like such a bad Christian listening to that song?" And my answer was and still is, "No." In spite of all its sadness and bitterness, "Casimir Pulaski Day" still sounds like it was written by someone with a strong faith in God. Stevens simply sings about the Christian life honestly, and that's what transformative Christianity is all about. I am a transformative Christian. It may be reductive to put it this way, but transformative Christians are misfits -- graduates from the Awesome God-via-the-Jesus-Jam school whose renditions of "The Word" sound markedly different from most. (Read my second blog post if you haven't already.) Transformative Christians understand that when the Jesus Jam proclaimed themselves as the only band that matters, that statement didn't forbid us from listening to any secular bands or adopting their styles into our own. The Jesus Jam are OK if we don't buy all their merchandise, and they never said we had to listen to them or play their material all the time if we're just not in the mood.

But when it comes to following whatever vocation we are called to, the Jesus Jam remain the ultimate role model for transformative Christians. Transformative Christians recognize the difference between doubt and blasphemy -- it's one thing to say you don't feel like listening to or playing "The Word" every now and then, but it's another to stop listening to or playing it altogether or, even worse, call the piece overrated. Even if we don't like a particular section of "The Word," we still must be able to appreciate it as important within the context of the entire symphony.

Transformative Christians are obviously better at performing "The Word" than separationist Christians simply because we try to play it to those who haven't already heard it. And ultimately, I think we're better at performing it than integrationist Christians because we don't try to hide our mistakes, which makes us more endearing and approachable. But even though we don't feel totally comfortable among the other two categories of Christians, we can't simply isolate ourselves from them. Transformative Christians perform a vital role in that symphony; we must remember our parts and play them proudly. Our triune God loves misfits, and in the end our blind eyes, deaf ears, withered hands, flows of blood and demon possessions will not matter. As long as we remain faithful yet honest performers of "The Word" and encourage others to join in the song, we will never be turned away from the Jesus Jam's concert at the Ultimate Temple.