Environmental Issues

First off, let me apologize for the hiatus I have taken from posting on this site. While I would love to blame this period of laziness on such things as my job, or my schoolwork, I know that the reality is that I have simply not been inspired. I have had several people request that I post something new, considering that the same post has been up for literally months now. The problem is, however, that I have turned such an insignificant thing as blogging into a serious matter. For me, these writings are permanent remnants of lucid thoughts and passionate emotions, laid out meticulously into my own digital domain for the masses to feast their eyes upon. To enter into such an endeavor with only lackluster productions is simply not an option. I realize that this is taking things way too far, and that I am being quite liberal when I refer to my audience as "the masses", but it is still the state of mind I find myself situated in.

So, I spent last weekend in the great city of New York. Upon first arriving in the simple, quiet section of Brooklyn called 'Bay Ridge', I found myself mystified that such a peaceful atmosphere could exist within such a close proximity to that restless metropolis. We proceeded to take the bus into the city, at which point I allowed my eyes to absorb as much as they could. Every image of New York I could conjure up from movies, television shows, pictures, and dubious news footage began to roll by inside my head, like an elementary school projector. I attempted to compare the images side by side. My inability to find a proper match left me feeling like I was in a foreign land. As the night rolled on, I chalked this up to elevated expectations, and a trip to Key Bar, followed by some legendary pizza was in order.

The following day, we did what any dutiful American citizen does in New York, we shopped. It was then that New York felt like New York to me. Walking past countless blocks, countless stores, countless people, that was New York. We saw most of the legendary sites in that one day, including Times Square, which I would now explain to people is some sort of giant advertisement which one can step into. We went to Ground Zero, which is a giant empty block. Somehow, seeing nothing at all in this city full of giants was the scariest thing about it. Looking up, I imagined how the buildings must have appeared when they stood at their full height. Trust me, this is not something one should spend an extended amount of time thinking about.

I had grand plans of all I would do in the city, but had failed to take into account the massive size of Manhattan alone, although I had been warned of this prior to the trip by pretty much everyone. Trust me, if you have never been there, you cannot fully comprehend just how much ground there is to cover.

Now, on to the highlight of the trip. Sunday, my day to leave, should have been filled with regret over what I could have done, or for not planning to stay longer. Instead, I entered His courts with praise. Brooklyn Tabernacle is simply amazing. It is easy to become wrapped up in the architecture alone, the beautiful old playhouse covered in marble staircases, hand-painted murals, and an exquisite dome ceiling. All these wonders, all the riches, however, are but mere rubble compared to the passion and love evoked by the church-goers. The worship, once started, will roll on unceasingly for hours on end. I glanced at one point during a song and saw a group of young guys dancing, twisting and flipping their bodies in revery. I sang louder than ever before, clapped harder than I ever had. The joy is infectious, it's quite easy to get swept up. I was in such awe of the love and thanks these people showed Christ.

It led me to wonder why such joy is often lacking in my own church, not to mention in my own life. I believe it all depends on how much you have to be thankful for. In reality, we should all exhibit the same level of gratitude for all He has done. Sadly, this is often not the case. Living in a quite, rural suburban town is not a life full of danger and risk. I have more money than I need to live comfortably. I accept the fact that my streets are safer than the majority of those in the world. So when I enter my church, every Sunday, there is usually the same level of thanks. Unless some special circumstance comes up during the week, it is hard for me to evoke the sort of passion I feel I should exhibit. This shows me how true it is that wealth, though seemingly a blessing, is often more of a curse. When we have more money than we need, we begin to depend more on ourselves than on God. Take away money, take away safety, and you have true thanks. This is the passion I felt at BT.

Walking around Brooklyn, or even Manhattan, I felt so much more thankful that I had a loving God to guide and protect me through every day. This emotion was not brought about by any real crime or danger, but more by the state of the majority of people in the city. To see so many people wrapped up in themselves, in their money, and in their image, helped me to remember why I should be thankful that my value was settled on the cross. I can not imagine how much this feeling would be magnified if I was forced to walk the most dangerous of streets day in and day out. I guess I might possibly be that man dancing in the middle of church. Or perhaps I would be the woman behind me who planted a sweet kiss on my cheek, crossing not only the boundaries of race, but of society itself. To offer love and friendship up to anyone anonymously, this is probably the best gift that Christ gives us.

So how do I learn from the experience? Should I pack up all my belongings and move to the Big Apple? Should I sell all my possessions and live on the streets? It becomes obvious that none of these will come close to helping my present lack of gratitude. The only thing I can give to God that will please him, that will be the best offering of my thanks and praise, is every last bit of my being. I must offer my body, and all of its visceral complications, so He may heal my many wounds. I must offer my mind, that He may impart me with His glorious wisdom. I must offer my worldly heart, the one that has been taught that some love comes with a price, so that He may replace it with one sacred, swollen with all it has to offer. Lastly, most importantly, I must offer up my soul. Not only the joyous and brilliant rooms I have spent many a nights resting in, but also those long forgotten areas left locked and boarded up for years. This must be done so that He may open new doors and let His glorious light shine in upon them. Spring cleaning at its best.