An e-mail popped up in my inbox from Faithvillage.com, with the subject line: Hi, my name is ______ , and I’m an evangelical. Since I don’t consider myself an evangelical (but used to), it’d take a stronger person than me not to click a link like that.
Faithvillage, from what I've gathered, presents as a faith-oriented social media website, with an interactive town as the primary navigator. Users’ avatars can live in a loft, while connecting with friends, following blogs. Sort of Facebook with Twitter/faith chaser, it's very hipster and cool.
Except my cynical, non-hipster side wonders if I'm really cool enough to use the site. And if I'm even really christian enough to gain admittance.
Like Jennifer Knapp once said, I'm a recovering christian. And claiming the brand of evangelical feels like signing up for an advanced trig class when I can barely count to 10.
I used to be an evangelical. I used to know the words to use and the people to know. Then, I went exploring. Coming back, I can say life back at the house for the prodigal daughter feels nothing like the life of an innocent princess.
Based on personal experience and conversations, the label "evangelical" conjures images of a slick salesman, with red tie and three-piece suit, pushing Jesus like an eternal warranty program. He has Robert Tilton's hair, John Travolta's chin, and the ethics of a politician.
Mr. Evangelical raises money for initiatives at his church, but remains fashionably, coolly compassionate. Sunday morning finds him on the same comfortable pew as last week, condemning more than considering; repeating what he's been told without question or doubt. His worldview rests solely on the rose-colored stained glass idols he faithfully worships.
In short, he’s Ted Haggard.
Evangelism originally meant sharing good news. Having a hope in the dark; a future where none seems feasible; being able to say to the broken and desperate "you are loved, where you are, as you are, because you are" defines good news.
Most sharing good news in the dark, hurting places focus more on what they're called to do than what they are called, or what they call themselves. They are, by action and not by claiming, redefining the label of evangelical. They do un-sexy work, supporting and unseen with little recognition for their brand.
If Ted Haggard represents the recent past of evangelicals, then charity: water founder Scott Harrison shows its possible remaking. According to an article written in the January/February 2012 issue of Relevant magazine, using his 31st birthday as a kick-off, Scott raised funds to start charity: water, a non-profit organization making water accessible in African countries. Leaving behind a life of sleekly lavish excess, Scott literally brings water to people of the desert.
Call him christian if you wish, but Scott bluntly states he “didn’t start a faith-based organization.” He strives, rather than to claim a label and be known by it to “live out [his] faith with as much as integrity as possible.” With 4,282 water projects supplying water, wells, and education to more than 2 million people in 19 countries, charity: water fits the supplies to the need of a given situation; meeting needs where they begin.
And therein lies the rub.
Scott readily self-identifies as a Christian; but would he claim the evangelical brand? Even if his actions show faith; even claiming a relationship; even if his actions prepare the way for a conversation or conversion later; do these base qualifiers justify the label of evangelical?
Or is it just a pity brand?
Everything fits the guidelines (or close enough), and it’s convenient or easier. Scott’s actions makes the brand look better, makes christianity’s brand look better by extension. Perfectly justifiable.
Except that being more concerned about appearances and fitting people into little boxes is… well, bad news.
Living the life evangelical requires courage, requires more than right thought or right action. Taking the brand of evangelical accepts the responsibility of an obligation to connect an ethical core to a deeper faith.
Bearing that cross must be a personal decision, and not just a word tossed as a half-hearted compliment. Sharing good news requires wrestling, growing, struggle. Because good news, being part of sharing that star-like light, starts with understanding its worth.
Hi, my name is Amber, and I’m learning how to be an evangelical.
Faithvillage, from what I've gathered, presents as a faith-oriented social media website, with an interactive town as the primary navigator. Users’ avatars can live in a loft, while connecting with friends, following blogs. Sort of Facebook with Twitter/faith chaser, it's very hipster and cool.
Except my cynical, non-hipster side wonders if I'm really cool enough to use the site. And if I'm even really christian enough to gain admittance.
Like Jennifer Knapp once said, I'm a recovering christian. And claiming the brand of evangelical feels like signing up for an advanced trig class when I can barely count to 10.
I used to be an evangelical. I used to know the words to use and the people to know. Then, I went exploring. Coming back, I can say life back at the house for the prodigal daughter feels nothing like the life of an innocent princess.
Based on personal experience and conversations, the label "evangelical" conjures images of a slick salesman, with red tie and three-piece suit, pushing Jesus like an eternal warranty program. He has Robert Tilton's hair, John Travolta's chin, and the ethics of a politician.
Mr. Evangelical raises money for initiatives at his church, but remains fashionably, coolly compassionate. Sunday morning finds him on the same comfortable pew as last week, condemning more than considering; repeating what he's been told without question or doubt. His worldview rests solely on the rose-colored stained glass idols he faithfully worships.
In short, he’s Ted Haggard.
Evangelism originally meant sharing good news. Having a hope in the dark; a future where none seems feasible; being able to say to the broken and desperate "you are loved, where you are, as you are, because you are" defines good news.
Most sharing good news in the dark, hurting places focus more on what they're called to do than what they are called, or what they call themselves. They are, by action and not by claiming, redefining the label of evangelical. They do un-sexy work, supporting and unseen with little recognition for their brand.
If Ted Haggard represents the recent past of evangelicals, then charity: water founder Scott Harrison shows its possible remaking. According to an article written in the January/February 2012 issue of Relevant magazine, using his 31st birthday as a kick-off, Scott raised funds to start charity: water, a non-profit organization making water accessible in African countries. Leaving behind a life of sleekly lavish excess, Scott literally brings water to people of the desert.
Call him christian if you wish, but Scott bluntly states he “didn’t start a faith-based organization.” He strives, rather than to claim a label and be known by it to “live out [his] faith with as much as integrity as possible.” With 4,282 water projects supplying water, wells, and education to more than 2 million people in 19 countries, charity: water fits the supplies to the need of a given situation; meeting needs where they begin.
And therein lies the rub.
Scott readily self-identifies as a Christian; but would he claim the evangelical brand? Even if his actions show faith; even claiming a relationship; even if his actions prepare the way for a conversation or conversion later; do these base qualifiers justify the label of evangelical?
Or is it just a pity brand?
Everything fits the guidelines (or close enough), and it’s convenient or easier. Scott’s actions makes the brand look better, makes christianity’s brand look better by extension. Perfectly justifiable.
Except that being more concerned about appearances and fitting people into little boxes is… well, bad news.
Living the life evangelical requires courage, requires more than right thought or right action. Taking the brand of evangelical accepts the responsibility of an obligation to connect an ethical core to a deeper faith.
Bearing that cross must be a personal decision, and not just a word tossed as a half-hearted compliment. Sharing good news requires wrestling, growing, struggle. Because good news, being part of sharing that star-like light, starts with understanding its worth.
Hi, my name is Amber, and I’m learning how to be an evangelical.
Love your post, Amber. Your voice expresses the ambivalence of many, I think, and a yearning to live beyond labels or at least redefine them.
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