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No one could’ve prepared me for the nuanced process that’s made me confess: “I’ve done these things my whole life. It’s time to revisit why.” Even if someone had warned me, I wouldn’t’ve believed them.

—

Zechariah 7. Sharezer and Regemmelech, Men of Bethel, come to Zechariah. They’ve got a question. They need God’s favor.

Men Of Bethel: Does God wants us to continue remembering the destruction of the Temple by fasting and mourning every summer?

The answer they want: Not at all!

They’ve got a God-given tradition and they ask God’s prophet if they can stop.

Imagine traveling to ask the spiritual authorities if you really have to keep reading your Bible or attending church.

What’s wrong with these guys? Are they getting lazy?

Not exactly.

—

This story never stood out to me all those times I blitzed through Zechariah. My “Read the Bible In a Year” Plan demanded several chapters a day. Thankfully, I’ve finally become cool with reading the same several chapters for weeks at a time if necessary.

Like Sharezer and Regemmelech, I’ve indulged God-given traditions for years, reading through the Bible as often and quickly as possible because, well…isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?

As it turns out, that’s not a good enough answer.

Am I advocating not reading the Bible or quitting other God-given practices in the Christian faith?

Not exactly.

—

God’s response solves the conundrum.

Men Of Bethel: Do you want us to keep fasting every summer?

GOD: This whole time you’ve been fasting, was it really for me?

MOB: …

G: And your festivals, are they about me or you?

MOB: …

G: If your ancestors wouldn’t have ignored me when I told them to help orphans/widows/immigrants/poor people, you would’ve known to stop fasting years ago.

MOB: …

G: They didn’t want mercy and kindness for the people who didn’t deserve it. That pissed me off enough to let their pleasures dry up…

MOB: …

G: …into a lifeless desert.

—

ARVIN: Christian practices are losing their allure. I’m not enjoying Bible time or church. I dislike worship music and I’m over having the same Christianese conversations.

GOD: Why do you read your Bible? Why go to church? Why play in the band and etc.?

A: …I thought you wanted that?

G: That was for me?

A: …

G: You humble-bragging about scriptures you memorize and competing with others who want to preach/write like you is for me?

A: …

G: You running to your role as popular-funny-preacher guy to avoid conversations about immigrants who “don’t deserve to be here” is for me? Didn’t I rescue your Dad from martyrdom in Iran and bring you to America? Did you deserve to be here?

A: …

G: And how come you’re so celebratory and vocal about hip-hop culture but muzzled when it’s time to affirm the value of the African-American lives in which your beloved hip-hop obsession holds its roots?

A: …Oh my…

G: Maybe I stopped letting your Christianese be enough because you made an idol of it. You hid behind it.

A: …but most of the people who like me won’t like this! They don’t understand why “All Lives Matter” is offensive or why restaurants they love close down if the immigrants they don’t like are deported.

G: …

A: I’ve avoided this because it works for me…at least it used to. I don’t want arguments with the spiritual authorities I know. I want them to like me.

G: …

A: …does that make sense? I want spiritual authorities to like me?

G: Who crucified my Son again?

A: …

—

I’m ready for blasphemy accusations. They put me in good company.

I’d rather you call out my hypocrisy in celebrating the cultures of marginalized and disenfranchised groups while staying quiet about mistreatment.

I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry.

I don’t care who you hate/love/support/voted for.

I’d rather see who you’re serving/praying/crying/hurting for.

—

God, in his mercy, allowed Sharezer and Regemmelech to realize they didn’t want to blindly indulge tradition. He brought new understanding through an honest and steadfast generation.

Perhaps people leaving the Christian faith is God allowing certain God-given traditions to dry up and be exposed as the pseudo-secure prisons they’ve become.

He’s scattered his people before. He knows how to win them back.

Don’t get me wrong: he’s not doing away with the Christian practices, but refining them.

I don’t think God’s terrified like I am when it comes to how The Body of Christ will handle the polarizing political climate we’ll continue to encounter, debates about the LGBTQ+ community, Women’s rights, Black Lives Matter, Immigration, Kanye West, and whatever else people debate in those dumpster fires we call comments sections.

In the meantime, I’m gonna abandon and unlearn the idol of Popular-Funny-Christendom™-Guy.

Instead, I’ll let the inerrant, entirely God-inspired Bible convict and humble me rather than serve as the idol behind which I complicitly enjoy my privilege.

I played music in worship bands for 9 years.

The backlash started in 2014. My fingers had callouses from playing the same church songs over and over. But it’s what happened after a trip to Africa that had my heart more calloused than my fingers.

The services and times spent playing music in Burkina Faso were unbelievable. Even a church kid who’d supposedly seen everything by then  was speechless at what happened when people would gather to just…sing.

They couldn’t understand the lyrics I’d written and I wasn’t gifted enough to keep up with their beautiful songs, but it happened anyway.

Tears, like, genuine tears. All over every face in every room. The experiences were so profoundly personal, I’d refuse to open my eyes while playing/singing because I didn’t want to risk anyone feeling seen by anybody other than God.

—

Back in the US, fresh off what’d happened across the ocean, I was invited to lead worship in a service. The particular congregation will remain vague on purpose.

Before I could even reach the choruses of the ever-familiar Australian bangers, it happened again. My eyes welled-up again. I could barely sing again. I found myself deeply moved again;

until I opened my eyes and…

nothing.

Phones out. Heads down. Nothing. The few who were paying attention would look away as my eyes neared them. Disgusted. Bored. Ready to leave.

Okay, I thought, I’m done.

—

I swore off worship music. I stopped doing Sunday mornings for 2 years. I’d try to go, but would sit in parking lots in tears. It felt like revisiting the alley where I’d been mugged and robbed by someone I was about to propose to.

I did what every millennial does upon getting hurt. I legitimized and escaped to “big, deep ideas.”

I took the philosophical approach well-worn by the feet of cynics. Grabbing coffee with friends, I’d utilize the right metaphors to make them feel how brilliant I was to be done with worship music and church culture.

“But Arvin, do you still want to preach?”

“I mean, yeah, sure.”

—

Years later, when all my music books were recycled as coasters for the coffee cups I’d drink from as I expounded on how right I was to bail on Christendom™, opportunities to preach in a few different cities opened up around the world.

It was in my preparation for these conferences and Sunday mornings that I learned what I wrote this blog to tell you.

I returned to worship music when I discovered disliking worship music was disliking the label on a bottle of water.

Who cares what the label says, you need this stuff.

I can now tell you from experience: I go back/forth on liking the stuff, but I need it. I know I need it.

Whether it’s fog machines, lights, predictable refrains, and decked-out worship leader outfits or just a group of tone-deaf kids playing guitars, I need this stuff.

I don’t care about the packaging anymore.

—

You don’t know how badly you need to worship God until you’re in your room minutes before preaching for the 6th time this week with a massive headache, jet-lag and insomnia and consecutive sleepless nights, plus several vague memories of having fainted from exhaustion/dehydration in the middle of preaching in yesterday’s 3rd service.

When I found myself battling for what I’ve wanted to do with my life, worshipping God with music I’d often mocked wasn’t even a question.

I had to. I needed it.

I cracked open my coffee-stained hymnals and began to sing the songs I’d written years prior before I’d been hurt. The healing felt good enough to make me realize:

Oh, no wonder I was wounded in this area. The enemy wants to keep me away from how wonderful and necessary this is.

—

Cynicism is a luxury reserved for those who aren’t fighting a battle.

You wanna go on enjoying your first-world experience texting on your $1K smartphone to setup hangouts where you drink $6 cups of coffee and mock the men and women who are fighting spiritual battles with exhausted hearts, lifting tired hands and crying salty tears while holding their tongues after having seen some crazy-offensive and faith-shaking obscenities go down behind the scenes of ministries and the Christian faith, yet they worship out of genuine surrender for the God who is their only hope? Be my guest.

Enjoy that latte and philosophize your woundedness until you think you’ve covered it up in enough literature. We won’t be looking at you; our eyes will be closed.

The rest of us need to worship God.

The rest of us have work to do.

Before I stopped being surprised by what can happen in church, my dad told me a story of people who came to him wanting to be baptized. He knew something was off when they asked for a letter proving he’d baptized them before they’d even discussed what baptism was about.

He found later these folks were told by their lawyer the judge in their court case would look more favorably on them if they became Christians. With only a few days before their hearing, they needed “this Christian stuff” expedited.

“You understand, don’t you, Pastor?”

—

Jesus, how do we help people who want the truth so it’ll help them lie?

—

Here’s how:

“Good Teacher…”

“Why do you call me good? Only God is truly good.”

But I thought Jesus was God? The Word made flesh, right? Immovable, universal truth, right? Is Jesus saying he’s not god?

Revisit the question: “Why do you call me good?”

Now read it this way: Why do YOU call me good?

—

Repeating the truth without first having encountered and experienced it is not enough. It wasn’t enough for Jesus and it’s not enough for every millennial who up and left Christendom™.

You can copy/paste scripture into your life, but you can’t fake seeing what you haven’t seen.

Sure, you can fool Christians. You can fool yourself. But Jesus will confront you. He’ll call you out. It’ll be just humiliating and humbling enough to make you blame the devil.

“Why do you call me good? Only God is truly good.”

Are you calling me God? Or are you just cooperating with the semantics you think you need in order to get what you want from me?

The guy is a religious leader, bills paid by his ability to explain scriptures and know what he’s talking about.

Spend 30 minutes in some form of ministry and both of his motives will surface.

1. Find new information to reinforce what you’ve already claimed to be true.
2. Monopolize information to regurgitate later, reinforcing your claim that you know what you’re talking about.

—

This is how truth can lie. It flows through a filter as dishonest and self-centered as this religious leader’s intentions.

Jesus debunks the entire premise. Instead, he’s goes straight to the heart of the matter.

This is how millions of us millennial Christians justify our departure. We mistake our God-induced unraveling of live to be a life-induced unraveling of God.

—

“May you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide-deep-long-high His love really is. May you experience the love of God, though it’s so great you’ll never fully understand it. Then, you will be filled with the fulness of life and power that come from God.”

The Christian life centers around experiencing and understanding God’s love. Until then, you’re about semantics. Until then, you’re not full of life and power, but something else. You’re full of sh—let’s just call them semantics.

—

What we misunderstand is that this unravelling is Jesus’ idea.

Think about it—how would you feel if you were a gifted, brilliant artist who is celebrated and followed not for the masterpiece you’re about to unveil, but because the tools you’ll use to paint it are being manipulated?

You might call out your “admirers” for pretending you are who you say you are without letting you say who you really are.

You might unravel their ideas of you just so you could introduce them to you who you really are.

You might even put all their lies on your back and die along with them so your resurrection would be what sets the record straight.

Because you can fake yourself and others out with semantics, but you can’t fake resurrection.

—

“Good Teacher, how can I inherit eternal life?”

Imagine Jesus indulged the man and simply gave him what he wanted. He’d go back to the Temple and regurgitate what he heard in the tone and inflection that’s most self-assuring.

And here’s what I find wild: The people in the Temple would hear him telling the truth and still, upon hearing Jesus, know that Jesus is the only one who speaks with authority.

God is not interested in arming us with the answers we want to reassure ourselves, our lifestyles, or our politics.

Because you can be full of semantics.

You can convince others you’re about Jesus.

You can even convince yourself Jesus is about what you say he’s about.

What you can’t manipulate is resurrection, that God-given rebirth of the dreams and desires that’ll only ever be enjoyed by those who truly trusted Jesus long enough to willingly drop them down off his feet, without demanding he schedule a pick-up day in advance.

Anything worth doing is on the other side of confusion and the subsequent offense you’ll feel over having been confused.

What if someone took away your sight upon introducing themselves? We jump to the miracles in Paul’s life, but I’d be pretty upset over this method.

In the films about Paul, I’ve yet to see portrayals of the humiliation that’d obviously overwhelm a zeal-filled, murderous Pharisee when he needs the very assistants he was just yelling at to now guide him into town.

Must we wait for HBO’s rendition to finally grasp this sort of humbling process playing out in real time?

—

What about the kid who sees his entire family bowing down to him in a dream before waking up to the Gucci coat his dad got him? It must’ve felt promising.

What about those years spent going from one humiliating spot to another?

Pits, slavery, and sexual assault allegations to top it all off?

These monsters in Hollywood who’ve been caught committing atrocities to women? Picture adding Joseph to the bunch. We give that fellow inmate flack but I’d forget about Joseph, too. I’d Claire Underwood myself into oblivion.

—

The Biblical examples are plenty, but reflect on the confusing plot twists in your own life.

…

Right?

The request itself is insulting. You don’t need to remember so much as you need a respite from your angst.

In observing my own dreams, I wonder, God, am I just a narcissist or are you trying to do something with my life? I’m confused.

I often repent for being offended with God over him not telling me everything he’s going to do or allow. Wouldn’t this be easier if I knew what to expect?

—

God is not the author of confusion, but name a good author who can’t navigate a reader through mystery?

Mystery and confusion are as different from one another as a romantic drive and being kidnapped.

The difference is trust.

God doesn’t author confusion, but he does mystery rather well.

And like all the other methods he deploys, his mystery is rooted in love

—

What if God told Adam, “I’m going to bring Eve into your life. But first I need you to name all these animals and then take a nap. I’ll pull your rib out while you’re asleep and make Eve out of that. Sound Gucci?”

Or

“After a decade of debilitating demotions, you’ll be the second most powerful person in the nation. You’ll save your family, then they’ll bow down.”

Or, maybe

“You’re going to lose this job. Then you’ll start another one and lose that, too. After that, I’ll bring the opportunities where your gifts and talents will shine.”

And perhaps

“He’s going to break up with you. And she’s going to quit being your friend. Then, she’ll date him. But don’t worry, your Stallion shows up May 19th and it’ll be Gucci from there.”

It’d be mighty kind of him to give us a heads up, right?

—

Wrong.

It would be torture.

Imagine knowing the day and time you’ll cross the threshold you’ve wanted your whole life. Then picture every millisecond between now and then.

“But Arvin, that doesn’t exactly resemble torture.”

Not torturous for you, friend. For God. For everyone you’re meant to learn from and help along the way.

Have you sat across from someone who kept looking over your shoulder, waiting for the person they really wish would arrive? Multiply that by the average Christian’s vain ambition and divide by their delusions of grandeur. What’ve you got? A big problem.

And what about for Jesus? Relegating himself from the Groom in your “Just Married” getaway car to the Uber Driver you hope doesn’t try to hit on you? To tell Adam every detail robs God of the intimacy they enjoyed as they named animals together.

—

If that weren’t enough (and it isn’t for the narcissist in me), I don’t buy that it wouldn’t be torturous for each person. Knowing every single thing that’s going to happen every minute until I hit my mark is like walking around with an urge I don’t get to satisfy for a long, long time.

If that sounds good to you, drink 3 liters of water every day and don’t use the bathroom for another 4 years, 8 months, 3 weeks, 6 days, 14 hours, 31 minutes, and 19 seconds. Sound Gucci?

—

There is an inherent, taken-for-granted MERCY to the mystery of God.

It is out of kindness that he asks us to wait on him.

It’s a pretty good deal for him, too, when you think about it. This way, the only people who arrive at their destiny are those who choose to trust him.

Everyone else will have to settle for fake Gucci.

And while we’re at it…

There’s something to be said about numbness. Numbness, the real enemy the church misidentified as comfort, is not a victimless mistake.

—

In fact, one of the more blatant results seems to’ve been spelled out in scripture already. Look at this from Psalm 94:19—

“When doubts filled my mind,

    your comfort gave me renewed hope and cheer.”

Now insert a society whose Christian communities have demonized comfort to the point of absurdity. What do we do when doubts fill our mind when comfort is deemed an enemy?

Observe the mechanisms of society you frequent from day to day. Are hope and cheer the spirit of our age? If you were to describe the average conversation you encounter while out and about, considering the political and socioeconomic climates we’re looking at, what words would you use?

Succumbing to numbness is not a victimless mistake. Like all the great lies harming humanity, numbness ultimately fails to deliver. Ironically enough, numbness will make you feel a pain for which you’re utterly unprepared.

—

What does that pain feel like? See the verse again: “When doubts filled my mind, your comfort gave me renewed hope and cheer.”

The pain of numbness is that of a doubt-ridden and anxious existence.

I haven’t met many millennials who haven’t faced some sort of depression, be it a mild bout or clinical, at some point in their young lives. The inherent difficulty we’re venturing into now is that of how offended you may already feel that I’ve suggested our strange worship of doubt as a virtue has something to do with causing our depressed tendencies. Even if you’re pissed, stay with me.

Wherever you find yourself on the spectrum of debate regarding causes and medication for depression and anxiety, we must, at the very least, agree this pandemic needs to be addressed and corrected.

—

We don’t see many instances in scripture where Jesus confronts someone who is depressed. One could make a case that anyone who didn’t know Jesus had to have been depressed in some way.

But a closer examination of one of the prominent diseases of Jesus’ time on earth points to our need for the Holy Spirit’s role of Comforter.

Leprosy, a disease we thankfully don’t see as often as Jesus did, falls at least metaphorically in line with the numbness, doubt, anxiety and depression we sadly do see.

I won’t remind you of the instances where Jesus encountered leprosy because you likely already know the stories. But, just to be clear, I’ll ask plainly:

Based on his interactions in the gospel, what sort of stance do you think Jesus has on leprosy—an infectious and inevitably life-ending disease often introduced alongside a numbness that causes one to no longer feel pain?

Do you see any scenario in which Jesus would be for leprosy? Do you ever see a Jesus who is pleased by leprosy?

—

Pseudo-intellectuals and trolls aside, the answer is obvious. “I have come that you may have life, and have it to the full.”

The point I’m making is that you can’t observe Jesus’ interaction with leprosy and not conclude that numbness, doubt, and anxiety-ridden existences are not his intended purpose for anybody.

With this in mind, return once again to Psalm 94:19— “When doubts filled my mind, your comfort gave me renewed hope and cheer.”

Outlaw comfort by replacing it’s definition with that of numbness and you’ve cut yourself off from the cure for doubt and anxiety.

“Get out of your comfort zone” may sound edifying, but it might also result in a generation of people upon whom globe-sized-expectations are set without providing any salve for the inevitable friction they’ll encounter; I’m sad to say it already has.

—

This is why it’s imperative we allow the Holy Spirit to reclaim comfort in our lives. Without it, the God-sized dreams we’re called to see through will taunt us until we put down roots in the valleys of the shadow of death we were meant to walk through.

There’s an abundant life on the other side of our depression, doubt, and anxiety-ridden seasons. But, by definition, we can’t enter it unless we allow God to differentiate between numbness and comfort.

To this end, I pray you’ll see comfort differently as you recall Jesus’ attitude toward leprosy and numbness—

He’s not asking you to get out of your comfort zone;

He’s trying to introduce you to it.

“Babe, I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s really, really good news. You’re going to love it.”

“Okay? Keep going.”

“Now that we’re married, I’ve decided I’ll never have sex again. Ever.”

—

If I had a dollar for every time I’ve been told to get out of my comfort zone, I’d use that money to fly somewhere they don’t speak English or subscribe to verbicidal cliches.

—

“What are you talking about? That’s really good news?”

“Isn’t it!? I thought you’d be happy! Are you not?”

“Not at all! I thought sex was part of what we were looking forward to?”

“But…”

—

I’ll admit, I wasn’t always this tired of the phrase. I’m only over it now because I subscribed to it. Some kids played baseball and memorized stats. I memorized sermons and mouthed them out loud in my bedroom. I latched onto this idea of fleeing my comfort zone in pursuit of pleasing God. I made it my mission to make myself as uncomfortable as possible as often as possible. If the amount to which I suffered was the amount he’d be pleased, I’d sacrifice whatever it took to make this God of mine happy.

—

“What makes you think I want you to never have sex again once we’re married?”

“I don’t know…I guess I…well—“

“Sweetheart, listen. It’s not that I want you to swear off sex forever…it’s that I want to be your only source of it.”

—

You can perhaps imagine my shock and surprise when it seemed, through adamant, overlapping lessons, that God was thwarting my attempts to jump into what’s uncomfortable in order to please him.

It started to hit me—the Holy Spirit is, among many things, our Comforter.

To view God as one who’s intently after our discomfort for his pleasure is to miss his heart by miles. If I were the devil, this would be all I’m about. Can you imagine that married couple arriving at the confusing crossroads I arrived at?

—

“I thought you were pleased by whatever made me uncomfortable. I thought being comfortable meant hurting you.”

“No. What you’re talking about is numbness. I’m against you numbing yourself with stuff that’ll betray you.”

—

Comfort, like discipline and character and integrity and grit and whatever other trait you hold in high regard, is an invention of God. It’s actually one of the ways he speaks to you. No wonder the devil has sought to hijack the feelings associated with comfort until you’re walking around thinking God is trying to make you uncomfortable so he can be happy.

What Groom, in his right mind and heart, would be pleased by this? These are the twisted and sociopathic tendencies of a rapist, not a Savior.

—

“Okay, I’ll have sex with you, but you should know…it makes me really uncomfortable.”

“Good. I actually prefer that.”

—

Are you kidding me?

—

Can we please begin to reclaim comfort? Can we start identifying comfort for what it is and who it comes from?

You can argue I know nothing about marriage, but I’ve sat across from enough dumbfounded grooms whose responses to this scenario are more confirming than they need to be.

“Of course I wouldn’t be happy to find out she hates having sex. I want to be pleasing to her.”

—

“BUT ARVIN—we in America have worshipped comfort. That’s all this idea is about.”

My friend, you’ve dissected and abandoned Comfort, rendering it unrecognizable. Imagine I accused you of worshipping any other of the Holy Spirit’s attributes. Advocate? Counselor?

Come on, we’ve let the devil steal and run with this word. 

—

My chances of burnout and morally licensed lasciviousness tanked when I realized God didn’t want me to be uncomfortable. He doesn’t want me to leave my comfort zone.

No, he wants his presence to be my comfort zone.

Can you imagine what that might look like? Being comfortable only when and where God would have you?

With this at work, I’ve found myself at peace and rest amidst devastating conditions. I’ve found myself befuddled and confused when people identify my circumstances as trying and difficult because I’m too busy enjoying what’s actually going on. I’m comfortable.

—

Inversely, I’ve found myself uncomfortable in moments and places where everyone around me, even many Christians, seem to be doing okay. It was only later on, sometimes even years later, that the truth came out about what was happening behind the scenes that should’ve been addressed. I was right to be uncomfortable [Side-note: I’ve learned my female friends are actually really good at catching vibes like this, often feeling uncomfortable even before knowing exactly what it was that made them feel that way. I’ve learned to pay attention to this. I regret the times I’ve dismissed someone as simply “too emotional.”].

Things like this have happened enough times over the last 7 years of my life to convince me I’m right to stand firm on this.

The Holy Spirit is our Comforter. He’s about reclaiming comfort for himself so what pleases God comforts us and what displeases him makes us uncomfortable.

The goodness inherent in what I’m about to tell you is that it forces God to reveal who you really are without everyone else “getting it.”

On a coaster handed out to every groomsman at my best friend’s wedding was written a specific message from the groom. Reflecting on his words over the years has helped me see why our friendship works and has survived experiences other friendships couldn’t.

I’ll keep the specific phrasing as private as he intended it, but the best part says something like this: “Arvin, I often don’t understand you, but I’m with you because I know what you are and what you are is good.”

—

The crime for which I’ve had to forgive myself most in recent years is that of exploiting my own God-given gifts and talents to garner the applause and pleasure of those around me. It’s an exclusive and private form of self-disrespect because no one, not even those who love you, will be able to recognize it. Even if they could, they are forever incapable to do anything about it.

Folks can tell when you’re doing something you weren’t made to do in order to please someone. But when it comes to my gifts, the things for which I was born, who can tell me I’m only using it to make someone else happy?

Possible answer: God’s Holy Spirit.

The cringe I feel when I type that name out—the cringe that signifies I’d rather write His name differently so my writing wouldn’t be excused as Christianese—is yet another example of what I’m trying to tell you.

—

In case one is inexperienced enough to think this is a small issue or splitting hairs, I’ll explain further. The heart of the matter is this:

People, even (and especially) Christian people, tend to applaud and support what they can understand. Upon witnessing a person operating in their element or God-given lane, they can only approve of it if they themselves respect and feel comfortable in that element as well.

The only time I’m wrong on this is when I’m dealing with someone who actually heard from God.

Take Peter, for example. He’s existed in a context and society where people go about their lives motivated by money or, in the case of the Pharisees, pleasing God by following rules well enough to entitle themselves to the perks of the pedestals everyone’s convinced are legitimate.

Then Jesus shows up, floats over every pedestal with signs and wonders while roaming around with bottom-feeders without needing to feed on the bottom. Peter calls Jesus out for being the Son of God because he hears from God, not because he understands everything Jesus is doing. If he’d understood Jesus in real time, he wouldn’t be cutting off Malchus’ ear.

“You are blessed, Peter, because my Father in heaven has revealed this to you. You didn’t learn this from any human being.”

—

What I’m finding is that to follow God’s Holy Spirit on the grand tour of his new heart is to abandon the self-exploitation I used to use to please others, even those on the pedestals of power in Christendom™.

In simpler words: I’ve found myself displeasing and confusing many of the Christian people I love simply because I can’t make them understand me.

But the stress and pressure of this went away when I realized not even Jesus Christ could force others to understand him.

—

I realize now why God allows this. It is his intimate, expedited protection.

To be Mr. Understood is to also be limited to the capacities of those doing the understanding. If I stop at every checkpoint to run through the list of people by whom I need to be understood and applauded in order for me to move forward confidently, I slow everything down.

I’ve tried this a lot. Here’s why it sucks: you live going back/forth between lying to yourself and resenting everyone around you. You hate anyone more successful than you and look down on those who are less successful than you are. You become a Pharisee displeased with the height of your pedestal.

To finally abandon the idol of being understood before feeling empowered is to green-light an invasion of God into your life. He creates a space between you and everyone else that’s solely reserved for him.

Now, instead of caring what people think of your work or ideas, you’re free to love them before they prove they understand you by applauding or booing. I’ve gotta say I much prefer this.

Being understood is overrated, I’d rather be trusted.

J. Lee The Producer and Marcellus Coleman wrote and produced a soulful love song titled “Rightly.” When they tagged me to create a concept for the music video, I found myself addressing perhaps my most favorite problem.

—

I get yelled at a lot. Half the time, my friends are doing the yelling when they discover the show or song or piece of art they’ve told me about still hasn’t found its way into my regular routine.

The problem I love is the overwhelming amount of beautiful art I know I’ll never have enough time to enjoy. There are too many good shows; too many profound and funny books. There are too many incredible musicians; too many gorgeous sermons. And even if I try and capture them all, I’ll be doing each one a disservice by not giving the work the time it deserves.

The really good problem I have is that it’s a good time to love beauty.

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I’m not anti-routine. But routine-worship, like any other idol, tends to rob the participants of their dignity while selling them a new perception they won’t realize is meaningless until their kids grow up and inform them they’re not interested in repeating the same mistakes.

I’m fascinated with the ability of beauty to awaken a person. I still see this in Christendom™, but it can happen wherever an honest heart gets a word in.

Part of the goodness of God is that it’ll ambush you at the very place you go when you’ve abandoned the idol of routine-worship you incorrectly thought was Him in the first place.

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That’s the idea behind this video—that upon finally understanding what God has been singing over you every day, you’ll exit the cycles that numb your true desires until you find your seat at the table. I hope and pray our new music video will encourage you to do just that.

I’m grateful to’ve written, produced, and directed J. Lee The Producer and Marcellus Coleman’s RIGHTLY.

Enjoy!

“I’m sorry. I’ll pray for you.” Except, sarcastically.

I’d heard a comedian say this to someone else after she told him a normal fact about her life. 11-year-old arvin found it funny.

The setting makes it worse. At a birthday party, meeting birthday girl’s grandparents. Watching a football game featuring the alma mater from which they’d graduated 60 years prior. Let’s pick it up here.

Arvin: “Oh, who’s playing?”

Old Man: “The University of [BLAH] against [Eh-Hem] State”

Arvin: “Cool! [some joke about soccer being real football].”

Old Man: “Yeah…well, I went to [Eh-Hem] State.”

That’s when I said it. That’s when I looked an octogenarian in the face and said, “I’m sorry. I’ll pray for you.” Get it? Like, “The school you went to sucks! Haha!”

The Old Man turned his head  and kept watching the game.

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Add ignorance to immaturity and you’ll witness Foolishness talking back to Wisdom.

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Old Man had lived 80-something years. 11 years prior to this moment, I’d barely been born. 11 years prior to this moment, Old Man was already retired.

He was a Veteran, Husband, Father, and Grandfather. He’d lived through the sixties. He married a girl and had a family and worked a job and went to church and thought thoughts and stayed married and so much else for over 7X the amount I’d been alive. He watched some of his friends die in a World War. He watched other friends survive that World War, come home, grow old, and die then.

And this 11-year-old decided he wanted to hear himself regurgitate what he’d heard a comedian say.

I wish could find him, buy myself a [Eh-Hem] State t-shirt, watch a game, and ask him dozens of questions. Instead, Foolishness decided to have an irreverent, unmerited scoff.

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This story about Arvin Sepehr doesn’t matter.

What matters is you realizing if this interaction takes place within you as often as it does in me.

Except, playing the role of Old Man: God’s Holy Spirit.

And ALL your Fears, Insecurities and Self-Deprecations are cast as 11-year-old me.

I hope you cringe as soon as you get it. It’s cringe-worthy. Add ignorance to immaturity and you’ll witness Foolishness talking back to Wisdom.

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Isaiah 40.

“Clear the way through the wilderness for the Lord.

Make a straight highway through the wasteland for our God.

Fill in the valleys, level the mountains and hills. Straighten the curves, and smooth out the rough places. Then the glory of the Lord will be revealed and all the people will see it together.”

This way you’re to clear, who is it for?

The highway you’re to straighten—for who?

Valleys filled, mountains/hills leveled, curves straightened, rough places smoothed out—FOR WHO?

God is trying to get to us…to reveal his glory in us.

What sort of way have we made for him?

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In fact, here are some more questions—

What sort of terrain does God encounter when he pursues you?

And when you prayed that God would “have his way,” did you know he’d take you at your word, almost literally?

Did you think he’d fill your valleys (or wherever you go to hide) with rocks he repurposed from the wreckage of the pedestals you erected?

And when timeless Wisdom shows up, what version of yourself do you commission to respond to Him?

I hope it’s not 11-year-old arvin. I hope it’s not your fears and insecurities and self-deprecating agreements you’ve made.

I’ll conclude with a couple questions for myself—feel free to eavesdrop.

How many of my responses to God’s dreams and plans and beliefs for my life are as disrespectful, faithless and foolish as that little kid at that birthday party?

How often are my prayers, albeit blanketed in Christly verbiage, simply pleas for God to bend the story He’s telling to accommodate my refusal to trust his wisdom, or believe that my fears are wrong?

I’m asking a lot of questions—something I wish the 11-year-old me would’ve done.

There’s a really cool desk for sale on IKEA’s website. Sure, there are several. But I found one I like. It’s affordable and emits that sort of Scandinavian minimalism I’ve come to demand of things I buy.

The assembly instructions are straightforward and easy to follow—and they should be. I mean, it’s a desk. Why would they be complicated? It’s a desk you’ll use to write or draw or set your clothes when you’re too lazy to hang them up.

But if you skip to #4 on the easy-to-read-easy-to-apply instructions, you’ll find yourself lost. You won’t know what’s what and may even become frustrated with the whole thing altogether. In fact, if you’re lazy enough to pile your clothes on a desk instead of hang them up, you’ll definitely be frustrated when you find yourself in a context that is simultaneously familiar and mysterious.

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“All scripture is inspired by God and is full of use when it comes to:

Teaching us what’s true.
Making us realize what’s wrong in our lives.
Straightening us out.
Teaching us to do what’s right.

It is God’s way of preparing us in every way, fully equipped for every good work he wants us to do.” 2 Timothy 3:16

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Something as simple as a Swedish desk gets confusing and frustrating when you try to skip ahead. How much more confusing and frustrating does this Christian life become when we skip to number 4?

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Behavior development and the insertion of discipline seem to have Dwayne-Johnsoned, extending their 15 minutes of fame into what looks like the face of western Christendom.

Yes, the disciplines matter. Yes, faith without works is dead. Yes, this stuff doesn’t mean anything if your life doesn’t look real and righteous and holy.
But skip ahead to the part where you think you’re supposed to be on your best behavior, ignoring the healing and root-correcting processes, and it won’t be long before your frustration and confusion lead you to abandon a passion you once celebrated for paradoxically being familiar and mysterious all at the same time.

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“…It is God’s way of preparing us in every way, fully equipped for every good work he wants us to do.”

I’ve caught myself (more times than I’d like—aka more than once) doubting God’s desires and destiny for my life because he seems so adamant about the preparation process.

If I were conducting a prep course for doing something, even something as simple as an IKEA desk, I’d do exactly what the Swedes did.

Identify your materials and tools. Communicate what they’re for (thus dispelling what they aren’t for). Start at part 1—move forward gently and chronologically.

If someone were to interrupt me when I’m identifying the materials and tools with some bonkers rant about how “Arvin Sepehr is a conspiracy! He doesn’t even want us to make a desk!” I’d hopefully Robin-Williams that moment until everyone watches that kid try to build the desk on his own without my instructions.

Our generation has witnessed the collapse of one desk after another.

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I need this blog as much as (if not far more than) everyone I know whose desire to do every good work God wants them to do has driven them to skip steps often.

Skip out on the seasons where what’s true (#1) and what’s wrong (#2) are explained in full—where you learn what friends are for (and what they’re not for),
where you learn what power is for (and what it’s not for),
where you learn what the beauty and gifts of others are for (and who they sure as hell aren’t for),
…and you’ll never get around to doing “every good work” because you’ll be too busy in the board room of your own ego trying to decide if that person meant to offend you or not,
or whether or not your flirtatiousness is “just how you are” or about the sexual gratification to which you feel entitled and morally justified because of all the good you’re doing,
or…you get it.

Skip the season where what’s wrong is actually straightened out (#3) and the terrain God encounters as he pursues you each morning is made smooth and accessible—and see how frustrated you get when your pursuit of him is as laborious as you’ve made his attempts to get to you.

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Sure, skip to #4—doing what’s right. Make that the focus of your motives and life. Hide your desires and passions or make them sub-plots to your good behavior and hearty service.

What would that look like?

I bet it’d resemble a poorly made desk about to fall apart under the mess lazily been piled on top of it.