Humans of New York and The Death of a Dream

If you ever want to learn more about people, I highly recommend Humans of New York, a project where a photographer takes a picture of various people on the streets of NYC and then asks them an interview question like, “If you could give one piece of advice to a large group of people, what would it be?”

The results are sometimes humorous, often profound, occasionally a bit off-color, and always fascinating.

A few days ago, I saw this picture.

This is the caption that went with it: “I had a whole vision. I wasn’t a pro, but I could film from different angles and stuff. I was going to have a whole YouTube channel with different kids doing rap battles. I worked really hard at it, but nobody except my friends ever looked at it. And all the adults in my life told me that I was wasting my time. So one day I got mad at life, and started deleting, deleting, deleting, until it was all gone.”

One commenter wrote, “This is one of the saddest things I’ve seen here.”

Other responded to this comment with disbelief and anger, and I could understand why. Sometimes people on Humans of New York talk about their five-year-old child’s death or about a family situation full of abuse or about the hardships of moving to the US from another country with no friends or family. All of these things are incredibly sad, and have a much deeper impact than a few deleted YouTube videos.

In my head, I know this. But my heart agreed with the original commenter.

You know why? Because in that man’s words, you can hear the death of a dream.

The Gated Community: Who Are You Keeping Out?

In case you missed it, this is a spectacular Silly Song from the days when most of us weren't watching VeggieTales movies anymore. Seriously. Listen to it. I am making this post extra short to account for the lost time. It’s social commentary with singing vegetables—basically, stir fry satire.

Okay, now that you’ve watched it, here’s a question: in what ways do we tend to make Christianity into a “gated community”?

That wasn’t rhetorical. I want you to actually think about it and come up with some answers.

Another way to ask this question might be, "Who is the kid with the ball in your life? Who is the maintenance man/vegetable who everyone tries to ignore?"

In some ways, I tend to be even worse than the suburbanites displayed in the video. I’m not ignoring the world while grilling; I’m ignoring the world while philosophizing about the best kind of barbeque sauce and the ethical implications of eating meat.

I’m not saying it’s bad to care about theology. But I do think it’s bad to care about theology—or politics, or winning arguments, or creating great music, or sports or art or pretty much anything you might be passionate about—more than people.

Especially if those people need help. Especially if they feel left out, or judged, or think that whatever religion I represent clearly doesn't want them and their problems around.

Any time I feel comfortable with my life as it is, I watch this clip and remember that loving others as I love myself is more than just being a good person. It means actually doing something, taking little opportunities to help others, and not shutting myself off from people who might need me.

“And so what we have learned applies to our lives today.” There’s your daily dose of children’s animated conviction. Hope it made you think the way it did for me.

Asking “Who am I?” With Dietrich Bonhoeffer

It seems like pretty much every Christian loves Dietrich Bonhoeffer. (Although maybe not quite as much as we love C.S. Lewis.)

And why not? He wrote some great (and short) books on Christian living, he had insightful thoughts on spiritual disciplines that he actually put into practice, and he joined a conspiracy to kill Hitler. Pretty much the coolest theologian ever.

I also love Bonhoeffer, and his writing, and his 90-year-old grandmother who I want to be like when I’m old. But sometimes, while reading books like A Celebration of Discipline, where Bonhoeffer is quoted all over the place as the expert on meditation and prayer and Scripture reading, I feel a little intimidated.

I could never be like him. I am weak. I spend my time worrying about things that don’t matter. I want to want to love God, but I’m a few steps removed from a deep relationship with him by my own selfishness. There are days when I feel close, when I feel brave enough to love God and people, when I get my priorities right. But not every day, not with the consistency I imagine people like Bonhoeffer had.

So, when I read a biography of Bonhoeffer last semester, one of the most surprising things it told me was that, for most of his life, Bonhoeffer struggled with depression.

Really? I remember thinking when I got to that part. But he spent so much time in prayer. How could he…?

How could he not be everything that his pristine image in other Christian devotional classics make him seem to be? How could he have a weakness? How could he be like me?

My Last Semester Plan

I am going to be a cautionary tale.

That is my actual plan.

Most people end up being a cautionary tale by accident. They go through life doing stupid things and racking up the inevitable consequences. Then concerned mothers point to them and say, “Now, remember, children, don’t do X, Y, or Z, or you’ll end up like that person.”

It follows, then, that someone purposefully doing something stupid with the intent of teaching others a lesson will be much more effective because they have the end goal in mind.

That’s why I’ve decided to make everyone hate me.

Most seniors live their last semester in the shadow of the looming reality of graduation. They gradually pull away from the general population of campus, stop trying to meet new people, and slowly fade from the memories of underclassmen before they’re physically gone.

This is a totally normal coping strategy. “It won’t hurt as much to leave if I won’t be missed,” the thinking goes. “Why bother investing in others if I won’t be able to keep up with all of them after graduation?”

Therefore, I have decided to take this reasoning to its logical extreme. “It won’t hurt as much to leave if I am actively hated. Why bother interacting with others in a positive—or even a neutral—way if I won’t be able to keep up with them after graduation?”

Sabbath Reflections: Tips for the Prayer Civilian

I am not a prayer warrior. I don’t have a lot of discipline, so my prayer time is loose, unstructured, and hey-look-something-shiny in nature rather than a focused, prolonged time of bringing a list of requests before God. I’ve skipped merrily away from any mention of prayer meetings or extended times of intercession during Lent, because God doesn’t believe in drafting people into places where they’re not gifted, right?

Well, not really. Obviously, as believers, we’re all called to pray as part of building up our relationship with Jesus and responding to the needs of others. (This also applies to areas like hospitality, evangelism, and service where the “I’m-not-gifted” excuse tends to come out.)

But what if that’s not your comfort zone? I’ve always found it very difficult to pray for the world, at least once I got past my second-grade, “And God, please help all the missionaries” phase.