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.

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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.

Grandma's Room

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.

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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.

Shady tactics

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.

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I'm spending Christmas this year with Karina's aunt and uncle in Pennsylvania. It's been real nice to just sit around a relax quite a bit. I get up later than everyone else and am fairly unapologetic about it. I make jokes that few people, if any, get. The things that I do get laughs about are the quirky, random "Metts" things that I do.

There's something about being a Metts that makes you enjoy destroying cultural norms. When I heard a song by Jamiroquai in Macy's I broke out spontaneously in dancing - this was received by stares. When one of aunt Julie's four Pomeranians licked my face I licked his right back, much to the horror and disgust of my audience. Last night, when we attended a candlelit Christmas Eve service, I kept my candle lit for an extra fifteen minutes after the service even though all the others had extinguished theirs.

It was at this service that I found myself exercising another familiar Metts habit - constructive criticism. I found myself always looking to understand why things were happening and gauging their effectiveness. The service consisted of carols sung by the congregation, scripture readings, solos, a short message and a chorale.

It was interesting to sing the carols of old that have survived the ages and contrast them to the solos of contemporary songs like 'Breath of Heaven.' I had a conversation with Karina both before and after the service about why the older carols last so long and why the contemporary songs feel clichéd and cheesy.

Is it the language? Are these songs inferior because of their modern phrases and focus? 'Breath of Heaven' paints an incredibly dramatic picture of Mary's story - and the composer takes a lot of theological liberty. It's also written as if an angel hadn't appeared to her and as if Joseph wanted nothing to do with her. "Me," "I" and "My" appear in the song twenty-four times. That's an awfully self-centered view for someone who definitely wasn't focused on herself in the biblical account.

Not to say that some of the older carols aren't riddled with theological liberty. 'We Three Kings' doesn't take into account that we don't know how many Magi there were and that they probably weren't kings - but there's something songs llike this do have - a perspective of praise and glory to God. One thing that you will find in the ancience carols is a reverence and attitude of worship.

The reason could also be musical. The composers of older times took much more care in the fabrication of their music. The sound is so much more rich and full than the three-chord pop songs of today's contemporary scene.

Today's young Christian musicians need to recognise these factors and incorporate them. I've already seen some convincing signs that they are. As artists, we've got to work toward a Christmas, and a faith, that isn't clichéd. That's what's going to last. Our own faith, our own espression of good theology. Using the creativity that God has given us.

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Every fall semester, the Spring Arbor University art department has a show of the student's work from the their classes and extracurricular work.

I'm not even an Art Major. I'm I Visual Communications major. I didn't expect to do very well in the show but figured that I would try my hardest anyway. I entered for pieces. Over 250 were entered by all the students and there was some very good photography. I was a bit intimidated and tried not to get my hopes up too far.

I went to the opening of the show this afternoon. I listened to Professor Shaw talk about how students should not worry if their piece didn't make it in because they had narrowed the pieces down to 91. I was bracing myself for the shock of not seeing any of my work.

"Photography is an area where we are always having the debate of fine art versus commercial" said Shaw. "1st place goes to Ryan Maloney. It's a very nice piece that we were all drawn to. An honorable mention goes to Michael Metts. Congratulations."

I couldn't believe my ears. Not only had I gotten a piece in but I had gotten an award. Wow. When we were let into the gallery I found that three of my pieces made it in. Unbelievable. Here they are, with the honorable mention photo first:

Two Windows

Kari

Trees at 4pm

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The time has come for a rant.

We see images all t he time. In today’s culture we are practically forced to be inundated by images selling everything from soda to mp3 players to cars to underwear. The thing about all this advertising is that almost all of them are image-based.

I wouldn’t say they’re photography in the strictest sense. True, cameras with either sensors or film are used to capture the starting points for the ads, but most ads are so photoshopped that all the camera really does is provide the graphic artists with some objects to work with. As we can see in this Diesel ad, almost every surfaced has been airbrushed into oblivion and the only recognizable elements are almost cartoonish.

Dieselgw3kb0

I’d also like to share a second illustration with you. I have a friend who is currently working as a freelance photographer’s assistant in New York City. He’s been working with some of the biggest names in the business and his duties include everything from setting up lighting, holding reflectors, cleaning, and photoshopping models faces. I asked him to give one of my photos the same treatment he usually gives a client and the resulting comparison accompanies this article.

Photoshop

The photo on the right is the “untouched” version where the model’s skin is left exactly as it was seen through the camera. The photo on the left is what’s left of her after applying the usual treatment advertising photographers request. As you can see, almost any character of the girl’s face is gone. Wrinkles, creases and zits are all gone.

First, this problem affects photographers. Because of increased awareness about  the uses of photoshop, people begin to disbelieve that things really were seen the way photographers see them. When I showed a friend a photograph of the collapse of tower one on 9/11 by James Nachtwey - one of the best photojournalists of our time - their response was, “How much of that was photoshopped in later?”

02-JN_WTC_3-34GA

It also has implications that stretch far beyond photography. The people that we see in ads these days aren’t real. They are photoshop people that don’t exist in reality. Any comparisons we draw between ourselves and them would be pointless.

The only way to counteract this is to make sure that we don’t inundate ourselves with these images. We have to take the time to look from side to side and appreciate the beauty God saw in us when he made us. The people we see everyday are God’s most impressive works of art, so remind yourself of that.

BSU3

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“I’m going to Egypt to preach the gospel!” “Last summer I went to Bolivia and saved thirteen children in jungle tribes there for Christ!” “I just got back from China where we did a short-term missions trip and fifty people were saved!”

We hear stories like this from our peers all the time and even tell them ourselves when we have the opportunity to experience a trip like one of these. At first, it may seem that stories like these are cause for rejoicing. That we should be praising God for the wonderful work that these people are doing.

I should start with my short-term missions background. In 2001, I went to visit a missionary family from our church whose father was working as a contractor for an orphanage in Uganda. I was there for two months and mostly helped supervise the younger kids. I felt frustrated with what I was doing because I wasn’t entirely sure what my role was.

In 2005 I went on a trip with YWAM, an organization dedicated to giving young people a chance to share their faith with others. We went to Sweden, Finland, Norway and northwest Russia. We did street performances and evangelism. The group was tallying the amount of people who had “accepted” Christ and there was much rejoicing every time someone did so. We were on a roll.

Russia 2

When I think about my walk, the two things that I couldn’t have done without are my church family and my mentors. Without them, I wouldn’t be where I am today – and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be a Christian. When I think about how we went through Russia in a SWAT team mentality, I doubt any real difference was made in the lives of those people.

The problem is with short-term missions. Too often is a team of Americans sent halfway around the world at the cost of $3000+ per person, rushed through evangelism the local people giving them serious doubts about your commitments to them and their culture, and flown back home in time for Tim and Sarah’s wedding (wouldn’t miss it for the world).

At some point along that line, we have to realize that if there’s any benefit in short-term missions, it’s for the person going, not the person they’re going to. The person in that other country is giving up his or her time and money to facilitate you in hopes that someday you’ll care enough to commit to them on a greater level.

Our last stop on the YWAM trip was Visby, Sweden. I met church leaders there that I really desired to work with and ended up moving there for a year to do youth outreach. While the time there was more effective, having time to actually build relationships with the people I met, a year still isn’t long enough. That year was mostly about me learning one of the most important lessons of my life – be involved in ministry, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.

My Street

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The Darjeeling Limited - Trailer

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The following was written as an editorial for The Crusader - The Spring Arbor University campus newspaper:

The sights and sounds of the new school year assault our senses. Frisbees fly across the plaza, McDonald’s has business at midnight once again and the clatter of card-protectors and key-chains echoes across the campus as the freshmen run to class. I’m sure most of us are already feeling the pressure of classes, assignments, jobs, sports activities, student groups and the many other activities that make college life busy.

The one thing that we desperately need to remember amid all this hustle and bustle is our relationship with God. As much as it sounds cliché, I want to emphasize the Church, and its importance in the lives of college students.

In his book, The Fabric of Faithfulness, Stephen Garber mentions that the period between adolescence and adulthood is essential for the formation of moral meaning. He goes on to say that those who keep their integrity into adulthood are those who choose to be a part of a community that shares their worldview.

Baptism 2

First Timothy is a great book to read when trying to understand our role in the Church. In Chapter 3 verse 15 (ESV), Paul describes the church as “the church of the living God, a pillar and buttress of truth.” He goes on to describe Timothy’s role in the church, which we should take to heart as well. Chapter 4 verses 6-8 says,

“6 If you put these things before the brothers, you will be a good servant of Christ Jesus, being trained in the words of the faith and of the good doctrine that you have followed. 7Have nothing to do with irreverent, silly myths. Rather train yourself for godliness; 8for while bodily training is of some value, godliness is of value in every way, as it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come.”

So how do we go about being a good servant of Christ Jesus? By being “trained in the words of the faith and of the good doctrine that you followed.” The Church is set in place to instruct us and preach the word.

Baptism 1

The Church is the family of God and we need to be an active part of it. Find a church and commit to being there. The Crusader is featuring a series of articles on local churches in the faith section so pay attention to that and make an effort. Ask your friends where they attend and go along with them. If you’d like to visit mine, just send me an email and I’d be glad to take you with me. Church involvement is a big commitment, but it’s a bigger blessing.

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Some of you may know, others may not, that I'm moving back to Michigan after one semester at Moody. I won't go into the details of why I made this decision. If you're interested, I trust you'll ask me. This series of events has, however, gotten me thinking about what home means to me.

I can use change as a drug. It's not always easy, but I always love the excitement of changing situations and places. One of my biggest reasons for going to Moody in the first place was that I was ready for a change. I was tired of my little town where the things you could do for fun on a friday night were either driving twenty minutes to go to the movies or sitting in a cornfield looking at the stars.

I moved to Chicago and enjoyed the city with all it's thrills and good times. I never had to drive anywhere. There was always something to do. If I needed someplace to relax and do homework there were about twenty coffee shops to choose from. When I wanted to go out to eat, I had options. I could choose Thai, Indian, Mexican, Italian, Chicago style Pizza, Burgers, or some of the best hot dogs to grace our earth; all within a few blocks. If I wanted to take a train ride, the possibilities were endless.

Da El

As the semester progressed I spent some weekends at home. Those weekends were incredibly refreshing times. Times to relax. Times to enjoy the people I love and be with my immediate and church families again. People that know me. People that understand me and love me anyway. I began to miss them. I would look forward to those weekends. To the incredible respite they offered.

I loved the excitement and adventures of the city but I began to appreciate  other things about the country. I began to hear the beautiful silence of the country. I began to be awestruck by the commonplace nature that I had seen every day of my childhood.

Farm-2

That's when I re-learned something important. Avoid extremes. I need to avoid being the "City Boy" or the "Country Kid". There are parts of each of them that I love dearly. The noise of the city comforts me as much as the silence of the country. While the beauty of the city is rectilinear, the beauty of the country is biomorphic. Above all, there are wonderful people in both places. I need to learn to see the good in both.

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