The American-Christian Confusion: The Tale of Terry Jones and His Magnificent Handlebar Mustache

by Ian McLoud

Okay, you absolutely have got to read this: “Pastor Terry Jones Arrested Before He Could Burn Qurans.”

That guy is crazy right? And by “that guy,” in case you didn’t read it, I mean Terry Jones, everyone’s favorite Muslim-hating, Quran-burning, Christian pastor. He decided, along with his associate pastor, to gather up about 3,000 Qurans, soak them in kerosene, load them up in a giant barbeque grill and tow said grill to a park in order to burn them. This would, in his mind, best commemorate those souls who were killed on September 11, 2001. Unfortunately for him he was arrested because, among many other things, he was transporting fuel illegally. Who even knew that was a law? I see you Polk County Sheriff deputies; keep up the good work.

Now, I’ve not talked with Terry, but I’m certain he’s upset. And I’m certain he feels that his rights as a US citizen, mainly those of freedom of speech and self-expression, are being attacked. You may remember that this is not the first time this guy has tried to burn Qurans. To my knowledge he’s only been successful once, which must be so frustrating. I mean, you work on this grand elaborate plan and every time you get so close, so very close, to executing that plan someone comes along and tells you to stop. Talk about the man keeping you down.

And this time, not only could he not burn his Qurans, he was arrested for some joke charge like transporting fuel illegally and not following open-carry laws. Talk about not respecting your rights. And, icing on the cake, his assistant pastor gets in trouble for not having the right registration for his giant grill-trailer. What is this, communist Russia?! So you can see why Terry might be upset. The constitution says he has a right to burn all the Qurans he wants to, but every time he gets close someone gets in the way! They’re just books. What’s the big deal?

I don’t like this story. I’d almost say I hate it, but that’s not quite accurate. I’m disappointed by this story, but not because Terry Jones is having his rights violated. I’m disappointed because some out there will only see that a Christian has made the news again for being flagrantly provocative. And, on the other hand, I’m disappointed that several Christians are probably upset right now that he was “persecuted,” that he wasn’t allowed to exercise his right to freedom of speech and self-expression. And that is my problem, really. Our knee-jerk appeal to our rights as US citizens.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m thankful for the Bill of Rights; I’m grateful to be living in a country where, for the most part, people are allowed to live as they wish inside the bounds of the law. But I don’t like the mindset that often permeates Christian thought in the US, were our first instinct is to define ourselves first as American citizens, rather than holding that our identity comes from Christ. We cling to our rights, but we cling to the wrong rights. And I say we because I have done this, I do this, and I will probably continue to on some level or another. All too often Christians in the US feel like we have to stand up for our rights. That we have to use our rights to force some opinion on others because we can and because it’s what God would want. But what if we’re wrong?

Paul talks about just this sort of thing in 1 Corinthians 9:1-19, especially 12-19. He has a right to marry. He has a right to expect the churches in Corinth to support him, since he worked among them to bring the Gospel. But he doesn’t make use of those rights. Rather, Paul forgoes them so that “no obstacle may be placed in the way of the Gospel.” Let’s make sure we understand what’s being said here. Terry Jones probably feels like his rights have been taken from him because he can’t burn some books. Paul is telling us his rights too have been repealed, there’s no question about that, but that he has repealed them himself. He has willingly forsworn what he was entitled to, for the sake of the kingdom.

Stop and think about that for a moment. Would you give up your right to seek a spouse? Would you go to your employer and say, “Hey I’ll work for free if it means I can preach the Gospel once a week at lunch?” What rights are we willing to just give away so as to not put an obstacle in front of the Gospel. Because that’s our call; to seek first and foremost God’s kingdom, long before our political rights enter the equation.

And this is why I don’t like this story about Terry Jones. I don’t like the idea that underlies it. I’m sure most Christians would agree that what Terry Jones was trying to do is wrong. But I’m not so sure that most Christians would agree that we needn’t always use all the rights that the constitution grants us.

But that’s exactly what Paul is getting at and that’s exactly what being a Christian is about: giving up our rights so that the ultimate goal of spreading the Gospel can be achieved. You know, the whole turning the other cheek and all that. What the issue really comes down to is: how do we define ourselves? Are we, to quote Lee Camp, American Christians or Christian Americans? The answer to that question, and the life that it entails, may just undo a lot of the Terry Jonesing in the world. 

Ian is the Youth and Family Minister at the Lakehoma Church of Christ in Mustang, Oklahoma. You can follow him on Twitter @KindaScottish.

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology.
 
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On Breaking the Slump

by Ben Howard

Over the winter, my favorite baseball team, the Atlanta Braves, signed free agent center fielder B.J. Upton to a five year contract worth $75 million dollars. It's the biggest contract the Braves have ever given to a free agent. I was a bit hesitant upon hearing the news, after all that is quite a large investment, but Upton has been a solid player over the last few years. He's fast, plays good defense, and has the ability to hit a lot number of home runs. He isn't quite a superstar, but he is only a step or two down from that.
 
Unfortunately, B.J. Upton has started this season playing terribly. Over the first two months of the Upton had a batting average of .144. That means he got a hit in 14.4% of his at bats. To put that in perspective, his career batting average is .250. 

In fact, there's a term in baseball called the Mendoza line which defines incompetent hitting. It's named for a notoriously bad hitter named Mario Mendoza who hit .200 for his career. If you hit below .200, it's essentially impossible for you to be a useful player. Upton was far below that.

But this isn't a story about a player who was once good suddenly becoming terrible, this is a story about slumping. Upton didn't suddenly forget how to play, nor did his skills erode to the point where he was overmatched; he was just in a slump. In fact, this month, he's hitting a relatively robust .234.

So how do you get out of a slump?

Some say it's a matter of confidence. Some say you just need to relax. Others have more interesting and off-the-wall suggestions (if you're brave, look up the term "slumpbuster"). Ultimately though there's no real solution. You're simply in a slump until you're out of it. It's part of the cyclical nature of sports and life in general.

The worst part of a slump is when a player begins to press. If you're unfamiliar with the phrase, pressing is when someone begins to put pressure on themselves to succeed. It typically involves over-thinking processes that were once instinctual. For example a baseball player starts to think about how to swing a bat instead of just swinging, or a basketball player starts to go through the step-by-step process of shooting instead of just shooting. At its worst, it can lead to the "yips" where a player can no longer perform simple actions that they've done for years (i.e. a catcher who's unable to throw the ball back to the pitcher).

I mention all of this because I'm in a slump right now and it feels like I'm pressing. The thoughts that used to come to my head easily are a chore and the words I want to communicate just aren't there. Instead of writing on instinct, I've been....well, I haven't been writing at all.

Since I don't know the best way to break a slump, I'm doing the best I know how and leaning into the curve; trying to overcome my writing slump by writing about it.

I've noticed a curious thing throughout my attempts to break out of this feeling. I've noticed the desire to try and copy myself. When I felt like I couldn't access an authentic version of myself, when I felt like I lost my voice, I would simply try and be the best imitation of myself that I could be. If I couldn't "be myself" then I'd try to "act like myself."

Think about that. Think about what that means.

It means that I thought that there was only one "authentic" version of myself that I needed to be all the time. It means that sometimes I thought I wasn't "me". That's impossible. I'm always me. Every part, every emotion, every happy moment, every sad moment, every moment when I have a voice and every moment when I feel like I've lost it, those are all me.

I'm sure you've heard that people show their true colors when they're angry or when they're sad or when they're afraid. Bullshit. People show their true colors all the time. They are always themselves. Every bit of them is authentically them, even when they're trying to lie and hide it.

But there's something in our psyche that tries to avoid that truth. There's something in our mind that would rather see clean narrative arcs and easily defined personalities. We want to be able to encapsulate people, we want to be able to encapsulate ourselves. For people we say that they're "Thoughtful, reflective and kind" or "Surly, arrogant and rude." For baseball players we tick off their batting average.

Here's the thing that I've learned about being in a slump. Slumps are as much a part of who I am as the peaks. B.J. Upton's performance as a baseball player is not defined by his average, it's defined by all the bits and pieces along the way that go into that computation. You aren't one thing, you are all the things across the spectrum that compose that encapsulated view of yourself.

We limit ourselves and others to the average version of us. We define ourselves against our relative norms, and then we judge ourselves to be lesser when we fall below those norms. Perhaps the best way to break a slump, or to be confident in ourselves, or simply love ourselves (and others) is simply to realize that we are always who we are whether we're slumping or peaking or anywhere in between.

Peace,
Ben

Ben Howard is an accidental iconoclast and generally curious individual living in Nashville, Tennessee. He is also the editor-in-chief of On Pop Theology and an avid fan of waving at strangers for no reason. You can follow him on Twitter @BenHoward87. 

 

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Iron Man and Christian Identity

by Ben Howard 

Superhero stories are inherently stories about identity. They are stories about costumes, masks, secret identities, and alter-egos. They are stories about normal, everyday so-and-so’s, and the occasional abnormal, wealthy so-and-so, who craft a new superhuman persona in order to fight evil, or crime, or maybe just to stave off the darkness within.

Iron Man 3 came out last weekend and it is full of characters in the midst of shifting identities. Tony Stark is battling with his identity as Iron Man, James Rhodes shifts from being War Machine to the Iron Patriot, even Tony’s bodyguard/chauffeur Happy is transitioning into life as the Head of Security at Stark Industries.

These identity crises, especially Tony/Iron Man’s are a fight between the true identity and the identity that gives the character power. Is Tony fundamentally Tony Stark, the engineer who builds things, or is he defined by the suit that gives him his power and his strength, the suit that he designed and is obsessed with perfecting? Which one is real? Which one drives the other? 

This is the central internal fight in superhero movies. Do the power and responsibility that come with the role of hero overwhelm the identity of the human playing the role? Does power overcome self? 

Due to circumstances beyond his control, well, more like adjacent to his control, Tony is left stranded in rural Tennessee without access to a working suit or his high-tech garage-cum-laboratory. In this environment, Tony is forced to confront his co-dependent relationship with his own creation. He is forced to re-imagine himself as a person removed from his identity of power.

Like Iron Man for Tony Stark or Batman for Bruce Wayne, everyone either takes on or is saddled with a label or a role. Labels and roles are loaded with powerful identities that can overwhelm us.

This is not only true for superheroes, but of the more common labels of religion. Labels like Christian, Muslim, and Atheist are useful for purposes of differentiation, but when they mutate into defining identities they can obscure the true humanity of the person behind the label.

When the role of Christian, or Muslim, or whatever religious ideology becomes the primary motivating factor that drives us, when it becomes our most important identity, when it is something we must obsess over and protect, when the label controls us, it becomes a destructive force instead of one useful for good. It allows us to always view the other as other and it allows us to always view ourselves through the lens of a constructed role and in so doing bars us from true self-examination.

Now this is not a condemnation of faith or religion in anyway, it is a condemnation of sectarian, myopic ideology which exists only to further its own existence. The problem isn’t that Tony Stark built Iron Man, who uses the suit to fight the bad guys; it’s that building Iron Man consumed him from the inside out.

Also, the response to this issue means more than changing or disposing of the label. Refusing to say “Christian”, but saying “Christ-follower” instead doesn’t change the power relationship, it merely hides it behind a different moniker. Iron Man is still Iron Man even if he calls himself Man of Iron.

Nor is this a call for pyro-theology that tries to burn down the power structure in its entirety. We don’t need to destroy the power relationship, we merely need to correct it and redirect it.

Roles exist to accentuate our humanity, to enhance it, not to direct or determine it.

One of my good friends once told me that he isn’t trying to be a good Christian; he’s trying to be a good human. That’s the actual point of the Christian faith. That’s the end game, becoming fully-human like we were originally intended to be. I hope that the role of being a Christian, of labeling myself that, helps to accentuate my humanity. I hope it makes me a better human.

But if the label isn’t doing that, if the label becomes an identity of power which distorts and misdirects my humanity, then the label and the role must be deconstructed.

In the end Tony Stark doesn’t abandon his role as Iron Man, he simply deconstructs what it means to be Iron Man. Tony Stark is Tony Stark, and being Iron Man helps him to be a better Tony Stark.

What roles or identities give you power? What roles do you need to deconstruct? Is Iron Man a valid metaphor for Christian identity?

Peace,

Ben

Ben Howard is an accidental iconoclast and generally curious individual living in Nashville, Tennessee. He is also the editor-in-chief of On Pop Theology and an avid fan of waving at strangers for no reason. You can follow him on Twitter @BenHoward87. 

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology.

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Who We Are Instead: Last Resort and Allegiance

by Ben Howard

Where does our allegiance lie?

Do we pledge our allegiance to our country? To our family? To our friends? Is there a moral code that undergirds who we are and serves as our ultimate allegiance?

These are the questions asked in the pilot episode of the new ABC drama Last Resort.

The show focuses on the captain and crew of an American nuclear submarine. With no prior warning and no known threat, the captain of the boat, Marcus Chaplin, is given an order to fire a nuclear weapon at Pakistan. However, when he receives the order, both the captain and his second-in-command, Sam Kendal, question its authenticity and refuse to fire.

When faced with the task of killing millions of people, Chaplin and Kendal do what no one in the military is supposed to do, they refuse to comply with a direct order. In response to their refusal, a fellow submarine is ordered to fire upon them in an effort to sink the sub.

Ultimately, Chaplin, in an effort to protect his crew from their own country, docks the submarine off the coast of a small island which he then commandeers as his base and new home.

Once again, this show is only a few episodes in, so there may be a litany of twists and turns in store that uncover different motivations for the characters involved, but so far the show's central questions concern loyalty, allegiance and hierarchy.

For Chaplin and Kendal, their allegiance to country is strong, but of relative importance when placed against their allegiance to humanity. When they are ordered to kill millions of people without knowing the reason, they ask. When their request is not answered, they say no.

I think Christians are called to hold their national allegiances just as loosely. Is it possible for a Christian to serve in the military or in government? Is it possible for a Christian to be part of the hierarchy? Part of the machinery of empire? Perhaps, but only if they are willing to say no when confronted with orders or choices that violate the humanity of themselves or others.

Some of you may have noticed that I said humanity there and not faith. It was a purposeful choice of words. As a Christian I do not need to defend my faith or my God, they will defend themselves. However, I am called, by my faith and my God, to defend other people; the helpless, the defenseless, the widowed, and the orphaned. I am called to defend and fan the flames of the image of God found in each and every person, including the image of God found in me.

My allegiance is not to a hierarchy or an empire, it is an allegiance to my community and my God. It is a hope that my faith will not force me to betray my community and that God will not abandon me or those I love. So I hold my citizenship loosely, just as I hold my association and allegiance to any institution loosely. I will participate and cooperate with them, but if I am forced to choose. I will pledge allegiance to God and those in his image.

Peace,
Ben

You can follow Ben on Twitter @BenHoward87 or email him at benjamin.howard87 [at] gmail.com.

Also, you can subscribe to On Pop Theology via RSS feed or email on the top right corner of the main page.

Who We Are Instead: Revolution and Redemption

by Ben Howard

A few weeks ago NBC premiered a new show called Revolution. You may have seen the previews during the Olympics. If you're trying to jog your memory, it's the one with the sword-fight scene, not the one with Matthew Perry or a monkey doctor. It's one of those shows that trying to catch the zeitgeist with elements reminiscent of The Hunger Games and Lost.

The show is set fifteen years into the future in the aftermath of a cataclysmic event that renders electronic devices unusable and electricity itself unattainable. No cars, no lights, no communication other than letters and word of mouth.

In the fifteen years since this blackout, the national government has fallen and bands of militias have taken over different sections of the country. Revolution is set in the post-event Midwest, near Chicago, an area under the jurisdiction of General Sebastian Monroe. Monroe has outlawed guns and the United States flag, now considered a sign of the underground rebellion.

Like any serialized show, the problems confronting the characters change on a week to week basis, but the central questions stay the same. The tension at the center of the show concerns the difference between who these characters were in the pre-event world and who they are now in an entirely different environment for which they were not trained.

Essentially, the characters are forced to deal with a disjointed narrative concerning who they were and who they are. If, like one character, you worked for Google, who are you now when the internet no longer exists? How does your past shape you when it no longer feels like its relevant to the essential qualities that make you who you are?

This problem of identity finds itself deeply embedded in both the American and the Christian narrative. Both communities are forced to struggle with a past, full of both highs and lows, that read more like myth than actual history. It is a past that exists, but for many in the community no longer bears a relation to present-day reality. How does this past affect us and how does it shape who we are?

The American narrative finds itself with two conflicting meta-narratives. The first is that of America as upstart, innovator and champion. This is the story we like to tell ourselves. The story of the United States winning independence over the British and establishing herself as the “Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.” In this story, the United States grows and evolves emerging as the hero of World War I and World War II and the world's only superpower. This is the story of greatness, but it is not the only story.

There is also the story of oppression. A story that includes the genocide and repression of an indigenous people as well as the oppression, importation and slavery of a race different from that of the nations founders. It includes institutional racism and sexism that have existed long after the legal abolition of such things. It includes the blood of numerous wars and “military actions”.

Both are stories. Both are true. Both define part of what our nation is today and how we have been shaped as citizens of that nation.

It is unlikely that anyone reading this participated in either the good or the bad parts of this story. We did not write this story, but is still the story of us. In the same way that the characters from Revolution must deal with both who they were before the blackout because it has essentially shaped who they are now, so we must deal with the story that shaped us even if we are no longer active participants in that story.

A more acute example of this comes from one of the main characters in the show, Miles Matheson. Miles is the uncle of the ostensible protagonist, a teenage girl named Charlie Matheson, who seeks him out when her father is murdered and her brother is kidnapped. Since the show has only aired four episodes as of this writing, Miles back story is understandably vague, however we do know that he is a former Marine and was one of the founders of the now dominant and dangerous militia headed by Sebastian Monroe, his former friend and colleague.

Much like the American story, Miles' story is one of good and bad. He is a good Marine and tries to restore some semblance of order after the blackout, but in trying to assert his power his good intentions become warped and he creates a violent machine of destruction and oppression. This is often the story of power.

Now Miles, without the authority of his previous life, but with the knowledge and wisdom of what that power can do, can begin a journey to redeem his identity and find salvation for his past acts by helping his young niece.

This is the place where I feel the American story diverges from the Christian story.

The Christian story has a lot of commonalities with the American story. An underground, revolutionary movement with new ideas about how to organize society breaks free of its oppressive chains and rises to power and prominence. In this new position of prominence it has been able to wield nearly unmatched political authority, but this authority has also led to darker moments which taint the narrative.

In the Christian story we must deal with a past that includes the violence of the Crusades, the violent oppression of dissent during the Reformation, and the bloody conflicts between Catholics and Protestants all over Europe, but especially the British Isles. In addition, the church has stood idly by while numerous other atrocities occurred including the genocide of indigenous people on multiple continents, the oppression of minorities around the globe, and corruption within its own community.

With this in mind, the Christian story must sound alarmingly like the American story. However, the Christian story promises the hope that Miles searches for in Revolution, it promises the hope of redemption. A redeemed story embraces both the positive and the negative, the story we want to tell and the story we want to hide. In order to be redeemed, Miles must embrace both the person he was and the person he is in order to become the person he will be.

This is the Christian hope. It is not a story of abandonment and starting over, it is a story about recovering and embracing the old story and all its flaws in order to help write a new, redeemed story. This is the revolutionary message of the Gospel, not that the old will be rejected in favor of the new, but that the old will be redeemed as part of the new creation.

It is a hope that looks forward instead of back because much like the characters in the show, we will never be able to re-create the world that was. Like them, we must work alongside God and his Spirit to create something new out of something old and we must embrace the freedom and redemption that this brings.

Peace,
Ben

You can follow Ben on Twitter @BenHoward87 or email him at benjamin.howard87 [at] gmail.com.

Also, you can subscribe to On Pop Theology via RSS feed or email on the top right corner of the main page.

Who We Are Instead: An Introduction

by Ben Howard

Fall brings a lot of fun things along with it like cool weather, awesomely colored leaves, and football. It also brings along a new slate of TV shows, some terrible, some interesting, some good. In the last few weeks I started diving in to two of these shows, Revolution and Last Resort, and noticed that they share common themes regarding the moral ambiguity of one's relationship to authority and the nation-state.

At the same time, I had just started watching the Emmy-winning series Homeland which also explores the tension between what it means to be a good citizen and what it means to be a good person and whether those can co-exist or must compete against each other.

These shows had my mind running through different ideas about citizenship, American identity, allegiance and the other tensions that exist in regards to being a citizen of a nation-state while also being called to some higher moral authority. These were difficult and occasionally troubling questions and I realized rather quickly that many of the questions raised about American identity were true regarding Christian identity as well. So I decided to write about it.

Next week, I'll be running a five part series on American and Christian identity titled "Who We Are Instead" (yes, that is the name of a Jars of Clay album).

Monday, I'll talk about the NBC series Revolution and how we are shaped by our pasts, both individually and communally. Tuesday, I'll cover the ABC series Last Resort and the question of authority and allegiance.

Wednesday, the discussion will turn to the Showtime series Homeland and we'll discuss what we think, how we believe and whether or not that makes us dangerous.

On Thursday, we'll take a turn for the comedic as I cover Bill O'Reilly and Jon Stewart's recent debate The Rumble in the Air-Conditioned Auditorium and we'll talk about what it means to co-exist with someone who is wholly other.

Finally, on Friday I'll take a shot at wrapping the whole series up by explaining what exactly I mean when I use the phrase "as a Christian."

I hope this series is fun, interesting and enlightening. One side note, I promise that you will not need to watch the shows in question in order to understand the discussion. I'll explain whatever plot points need explanation and I'll do my best to avoid spoilers (which should be easy since I haven't seen the end of any of these series).

I look forward to the conversations this may spark and I look forward to your feedback.

Peace,
Ben

When he isn't watching TV, Ben hangs out with his friends. Yes, he promises you that he has friends who he sees in person from time to time. You can follow him on Twitter @BenHoward87 or email him at benjamin.howard87 [at] gmail.com.

Also, you can subscribe to On Pop Theology via RSS feed or email on the top right corner of the main page.

Amen for Happy Endings

by Ben Howard

Over the last two years, I've become a big fan of the ABC sitcom Happy Endings. The basic aspects of the show are a lot like Friends or something else of that ilk. Its a comedy based around six people in their late twenties living in a major American city (Chicago) and trying to make their way through this wacky thing we call life. 

It seems like a simple, and to be fair, rather vanilla premise, but the show has grown into one of the funnier half hours on TV due to the witty banter and the general likability of the cast. This is the kind of show where you just like hanging out with the people for thirty minutes at a time.

With all that said, this does not seem like a show that is trying to make profound statements about life, or society, or justice, or identity, but when I reflect on the show a little more seriously, when I look at the ideas behind the jokes, this show has some subtle yet profound messages.

I especially like the way the show deals with the relationship of Brad and Jane, an interracial couple played by Damon Wayans Jr. and Eliza Coupe, and the sexual orientation of Max played by Adam Pally.


Regarding Brad and Jane, the show does not ignore the issue of race because it is a real issue and in fact bases at least one episode on Brad's racial identity ("Blax, Snake, Home").  However, more often than not the issue of race is entirely disregarded as an identifying characteristic. Yes, Brad is black and Jane is white, but that racial identity does not define the characters. It is a part of their characters, but it is contained within the context of who they are as a couple and as individuals.

The character of Max is an even more obvious example of the show's desire to define it's characters as people instead of symbols or caricatures. Max is a gay man, but rarely fits the stereotypical mold of what society considers to be a gay archetype. Max is slovenly and uncultured. He hates being in a relationship and has very little fashion sense, often wearing old, fading clothing. Max is essentially the definition of a twenty-something slacker, including his persistent unemployment.

Max is gay, but Max is not the "Gay Character" on the show. His sexuality is part of his personality, but once again it is not the trait that defines him. Like Brad, Max is defined by who he is and not what makes him supposedly different from the rest of the cast.

I think this is what the church is called to when Paul says that, "There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male or female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus." He isn't saying that you no longer have any identity as a Jew or Gentile or as male and female, but that your identity is no longer defined by the exterior traits. You are defined by the thing that encapsulates your very being, that being your role as a child of God and a part of his creation. 

You are not first and foremost your religious affiliation, your socioeconomic status, your gender, your sexual orientation, or any number of other self-identifiers that make you into someone's stereotype. You are a human, made in the image of God and redeemed by his Son.

Amen for Happy Endings.

Peace,
Ben

When he talking about the TV sitcoms like they're totally serious, Ben often spends his time simply watching them and laughing, you know, like a normal person does. You can follow him on Twitter @BenHoward87 or email him at benjamin.howard87 [at] gmail.com

Hello, My Name is Ben and I Would Like You to Think I'm Special

by Ben Howard

Those of you who know me personally know that I've been working on my Master's in Theological Studies since I moved to Nashville in 2009. This past weekend I went online to register for my fall classes and made an interesting and unexpected discovery: I might be done.

This requires a little bit of an explanation because graduation really should be a definitive in or out proposition. The pomp and circumstance of head to toe black gowns doesn't really offer much room for uncertainty. Technically, I have one class remaining, but through a series of misadventures and other gratuitous whatnot that isn't that terribly important, I may have accidentally just finished my last class of graduate school.

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.

This was my first thought. At this supposed cathartic moment of completion, my mind intuitively went to The Hollow Men. Curious.

I've spent the last day or so reflecting on what graduate school meant to me. It became obvious quickly that above and beyond any aspirational desire to learn, or achieve, or better myself, or pursue a career, graduate school was my identity. To be more specific, it was the crutch of my identity.

It was the tag I added to any sentence where I felt my self-worth was lacking.

I work at a bookstore, ButI'mInGraduateSchool!

I live in a cheap duplex, ButI'mInGraduateSchool!

I haven't been on a vacation in two years, ButI'mInGraduateSchool!

It was my way of reminding the world, “Hey! Don't forget me! I'm still special!”

Now, don't get me wrong. I learned a lot, I love my professors, and I don't want to undo the last three years in anyway. I've matured and I credit grad school for a lot of that, but if you ask me if I spent tens of thousands of dollars out of insecurity and vulnerability, I just might answer yes.

I don't know if this is a common experience, I haven't done the requisite research. I'm not even certain that it's a bad thing. Can you put a price on self-worth?

What worries me isn't the source or cost of my personal identification and worth, it's how tied that worth is to outside expectations and valuations. I find my value in what you say about me, what you think about me, how you make me feel valuable. Guess what? All protestations to the contrary, I'm pretty sure you do too.

I wonder how this plays into the cultural and social issues of identity that divide us. I've always felt uncomfortable with that dismissive “You do what you do and I'll do what I do,” attitude in politics and religion. I don't want to do what I do, I want you to join in, or at least appreciate and value what I do. And I'm pretty sure that it would make things better if I valued what you did too.

We pretend we're a society of individuals and neglect the feelings and emotions that arise out of community. I spend all my time trying to make you remember that I'm special, and I forget that you're important too.

Maybe we're too sensitive. Maybe our priorities are in the wrong place. Maybe I'm totally wrong about all this (totally possible). I'd love to hear your thoughts and feelings, and not just because I'm curious, it makes me feel special too.

When Ben isn't talking about himself here, he's thinking about himself somewhere. Even when you're talking to him. You can follow his self-indulgent ramblings on Twitter @BenHoward87.