Yesterday I was at the Hillsdale County Fair with some friends. At 2pm, there was a "religious service" at the band shelter. I left after a few minutes but I still has the privilege of hearing some of the most stereotypically reverent hymn-singing I've ever witnessed.
Christians need to rethink their strategy. If we think singing our hymns and praise choruses in front of the "worldly people" is going to give them any kind of good impression about our God, we're mislead.
Paul talked about what we do being "foolishness" to the those outside our community. Why are we assuming that seeing a church service will be like seeing God?
If the 150 people at the religious service spent that hour talking to people, numerous relationships could have been formed and we would be one step closer to understanding each other.
I have a new passion for blogging. I need to be writing and combining that passion with my photography. I need to be sharing ideas and expressing myself. But these aren't really the reasons I'm all fired up about blogging again.
The real inspiration came during a long conversation with my good friend, Pardeep Toor. I was feeling incredibly down about photography, writing and journalism in general. Pardeep wanted me to continue on with my creative endeavors but I had just shot another wedding in an evangelical box with barely any aesthetic quality and had to fight through numerous camera-wielding relatives to get my shots. I wasn't feeling it.
We talked for awhile and I felt something building. I realized what it was when we watched a TED talk by James Nachtwey. The line that caught me was, "There is a vital story that needs to be told..."
Here is a man who has spent his life showing the western world the horrors and atrocities of war and he's still passionate about telling the story. That's what I'm passionate about. Telling stories. Visually, verbally and effectively. I want to stand between those who know and those who need to know. I want to portray the stories that don't get told.
I want to spend a night at a frat house and photograph the insane drunkenness. I want to spend a day with a family from a completely different culture and show their struggles and joys. I want to write about the 17 year old boy down the road who is the eighth generation to farm his family's land. I want to show what it's like to be dying in a hospital.
Walter Fisher's Narrative Paradigm Theory explains life a whole lot better than rationally ever did, and I've changed the name of the blog to pay him homage. What I want to explore in the coming months is the different stories all around us and what we can learn from them.
I hope you enjoy the journey.
Growing up, I played backyard sports. A little baseball, a little street hockey, a little soccer and a little football. I enjoy the competition and teamwork that goes into sports and some of my best memories of the ages 8-14 are of batting the ball around with my brothers or kicking the soccer ball downfield with friends from church.
Even through I was a homeschooler, I could have played for the local school if I wanted to. The problem was, by 15, I had lost all motivation. My first organized sports experience, a community basketball team, was not a great one. My team won the season, but we did that because our coach favored our star player, who happened to be his son, and pushed us to win even if we didn’t enjoy it.
I had the misfortune of meeting some of the more pigheaded sports aficionados during my high-school and early college years and became frustrated by the obsessive nature of sports fandom. Nothing else mattered to some of these people, and they often sacrificed rationality for the sake of the game.
A couple of years ago, I wrote an editorial for the Crusader about sportsmanship. I questioned some of the tactics used by the men’s soccer team and included photographic evidence of their violation of the rules. I received more than one piece of hate mail and a lot of stern glances on campus. Needless to say, this response didn’t inspire me to new heights of athletic enthusiasm.
Now, after all these years of apathy to all things athletic, I find myself sitting in front of the screen and being genuinely interested in Sunday night’s game. I became enthralled, hoping that somehow the Giants could pull ahead. I rejoiced with the rest when they scored their first touchdown and stared in silence when the Patriots finally managed to breach the Giants defense in the fourth quarter and brought the game to 14-10 with two minutes, 37 seconds left in the game.
The Giants needed a touchdown to have a chance. Not even a field goal could tie the game. The magic happened with 75 seconds left. Eli Manning dropped back after the snap and disappeared in a cloud of Patriots linemen. Giants fans held their breath as hope was nearly lost only to see Manning appear from the crowd and complete a long pass to David Tyree who caught the ball behind his helmet and managed to hold onto it as he fell. The Giants and fans across the country felt a surge of enthusiasm as the team went on to score a touchdown with 35 seconds left and won Super Bowl 42.
After thoroughly confusing my brother by saying “That was a great game!” five times on the way home from the party, I came to a scary realization: I might like watching football. Whether I watch more games after this isn’t certain, but my attitude has changed. I won’t be so quick to dismiss sports fans as fanatics and if I’m invited to watch a game, I might just say yes.
