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I asked him why we would think it's okay to spread Evangelical Christian culture into African nations What about Christianity makes this happen? Christianity makes things happen because it is a life that thinks about people. Christianity is about others. Living for others. Working for others.

I used to ask myself, “Why am I a Christian?” And the rest of the movie, without giving it all away, is also like the strange life of a Christian.

If you'd like to look through some Christian artists, Christians in the Visual Arts (CIVA.org) is the

It was Christmas. This was the first Christmas they were all apart.

Aliza cried into the rough covers of her bed, the bed she used to share with her little sister. Her mother and sister had moved to a Strausburg to work that summer but had died in a train accident on the way. Her father’s heavy steps came down the hall until he stopped and spoke through the door. “Aliza! You have no idea what you have done to this family. Who is the father?” She held her face in her pillow until she heard the door open. She sat up quickly and straight on the side of the bed, holding her pillow to her stomach and trying to hold back her tears. Her father walked up to her and lifted her chin, his curls of hair hanging from either side of his fedora. “Who is the father, Aliza?” She just shook her head, unable to speak. “Is it one of the boys from your class?!” She shook her head. “Someone in the neighborhood?” she shook her head. He stood up and grunted in frustration, curling his angry fingers above her head. “I have to go to temple now. You must stay tonight so they can’t see your stomach. We will go to the doctor and get this fixed tomorrow.” He started to turn around but then stopped. He stared at her head for a few seconds and then spoke slowly and gravely, “Is it one of the men in the temple?” She didn’t move. He roared again, this time not concerned the neighbors would hear. “And of course you’re not going to tell me who.” She shook her head and he stormed out of the room. After he had slammed her door she squeaked, “I tried to stop it but. . .” It was too late. He didn’t hear. Aliza went to temple late that night after everyone else had gone. She knew how to get in because her father was the rabbi. She crumpled between the pews and cried. It echoed in the empty hall. Then she heard a pew behind her creak and footsteps slowly approached her. She hesitantly lifted her head until she met eyes with an old gray bearded man. He sat down tenderly at the end of the pew. “Oh, grandpa. Oh grandpa. I’ve ruined us.” Come here darling. His voice was patient and soft. She hesitated. She would not get up or face him: “Oh, are you already showing, my dear? It’s okay.” Her eyes got big and she couldn’t say anything for a long while. His eyes were so accepting and kind. “Did my dad tell you?” He shook his head. “God told me.” He smiled. “It’s okay, Aliza. He told me in a dream your son will bring peace to his people.” She sniffed and turned toward him, still crumpled between the pews. “I’ve felt the need to come and pray for the whole last week,” He said. “And God told me you will carry a child that no one wants to come into this world. But he will save us. That’s what he told me. He will save us and he will bring peace.” Her lips trembled, “Save us from what?” She thought about her dad’s big congregation and the news he had recently told her that a new government party was becoming popular and they had asked her dad to be a consultant. “Who could possibly be against us?” “I have been alive a long time and I sense something in the air. Not this year or next. But maybe 20 years from now. And your father won’t listen to me. He just wants the power. Aliza, you have to keep this baby and raise him well. He’s going to save many of us.” The next day her father had said to wait for him, and they would go to their doctor to take care of it after synagogue. But she walked into synagogue with her bulging stomach in full view of everyone. Murmuring competed with her father’s hard voice until he was done speaking. Both she and her father knew they couldn’t go to the doctor after that. Only the doctor and her grandpa were at her baby’s birth. And even the doctor left quickly so no one would see him. Aliza named her baby Amichai because it means “My people are alive.” She stayed in her basement room because to show her face would be to shame her family. Her granpda was also alone, but he moved from the temple to the markets for errands, to sitting with Aliza as she fed or rocked her baby boy. He read her the newspaper and told her what he was afraid was happening in the government. As Amichai got older, Amichai watched everything. Until he came of age he had only said one thing. It was when he was five, he said one sentence, full and articulate to his mother when she was crying. He said, “Don’t worry mother; Peace is coming.” As Amichai got older he walked the streets. Their parents knew who he was but the children loved him. He would watch them from his steps. The girls would look at him and smile. They would send a bold ambassador to talk to him but he would only smile, shake his head kindly, and walk up a few steps and away from her. The girls were perplexed but they giggled and adored him. As he watched the boys play games they could see that he was strong and sharp. And so they invited him to their games. Again he would smile kindly, shake his head, and bow out. Whenever there was a fight among them, he was drawn to it. And as soon as the fighters saw him near, their attention turned to their mysterious friend as he walked by, smiling kindly at them and the fighting would be replaced by goodhearted laughing at this peculiar boy. Aliza and her grandfather taught Amichai as he grew up. He discussed the direction the government was going with Amichai and the growth of the National Socialist Working Party and its concerning philosophies. He also taught Amichai much about the sciences and history, and ancient ways in the scriptures. He taught him to pray and memorize the Torah. Amichai loved Jehova and spent hours in the temple when Aliza’s father, his grandfather wouldn’t know. To his grandfather the rabbi Amichai and his mother were impure. Amichai’s grandfather the rabbi also became more entrenched in the state, and despite its antisemetic policies worked within the party as a representative for the Jews. The day came when The National Socialist Working Party started separating whole sections of Jewish neighborhoods and shipping them away on trains. This, of course, brought Aliza many bad memories and seemed to be the tipping point for her son. He began speaking. And every word seemed to cut right to the heart as if every year holding them back aimed and sharpened them to penetrate their hearts. He and his peers were now the rising youth of his neighborhood and the heart of their city. And they all knew of Amichai, for he had spent his days walking the streets of his city and knowing the others. And now he walked with a purpose. He would walk into a group who was simply playing craps or cards to pass the time and allay their fears. And he would say, “My brothers and sisters, this week will be hard. But do not lose faith in Jehova, for he will save us. Protect your families with your lives my friends. Peace is still coming.” And they listened. The National Socialist Working Party, now in charge and having more power to arrest and detain for no expressed reason began closing in around their district. Along the fringes of the city Jews were being picked off for being too loud or going into shops they weren’t supposed to. But Amichai could usually be found near as these confrontations were happening and he would speak to the others to stay strong, trust in Jehova to save, and that “Peace is coming.” As their resistance was felt by the Nazi’s, Amichai was identified as a dissident and targeted by the Nazi’s. But he seemed to instill his people with strength, hope and wisdom, and was never slow or obvious enough to be caught. And the encroaching continued. The whisper in the hearts of every Jew looking on was Amachi’s words, “Trust Jehova. Protect each other with your lives. And peace is coming.” Amichai’s grandfather the rabbi still worked with the Nazis despite these things happening. He had become more like one of them then a defender of his own people. In fact he was assigned to be on the front line of attack as the nazi regime charged one Saturday. They had coordinated a greater push than they ever had before to penetrate and divide what had become known as quite the Jewish stronghold. He was at the front line as they moved in, and the people didn’t resist because they saw one of their kind with them. At least not until he and the Nazi soldiers were deep within the stronghold and began to force families out of their homes. It was unfolding that they had been deceived by one of their own kind. The one that they had been trusting to fight for them. The people were stripped from each other and pulled from their homes, unsure if and how to resist. There was confusion from the brown pressed suits and the mix of languages like steel gun barrels mixing through warm bowls of goulash. The Nazi’s had clear direction and instruction, and the Jews were crumbling under their metal. Once the Nazi’s had stabilized their presence in the town square they brought out many of the town’s folk and lined them up around the perimeter, threatening them to stillness by expressionless men with guns. Before the guns went off the Nazi captain pushed Aliza’s father the rabbi out of their group, and into the line of Jews at the other end of the gun barrels. He realized what was happening and frantically objected. But the soldiers were hard and they had been given their instructions. He fell to his knees and begged. His was the only voice that rang out in the plaza, and all realized that they betrayer had even been betrayed. His sobs rattled off of the cobbled stones. The captain seemed so frustrated by the whines of the man that he raised his own gun to shoot him. Everything else was silent. Aliza’s father froze and looked the man in the face, pleading with everything he had left with his eyes and beard and chosen curls. But a young man stepped from the line of his comrades against the wall, walked to behind his own grandfather and put a hand on his shoulder. Amichai told his grandfather, “Go. And preach Jehova. And preach to our people that peace is coming.” Amichai looked at the captain with his arresting eyes, sent his grandfather to the walls and knelt in front of the gun. He bowed, as if he knew he had arrived at his final bed. The shot rang out but the people spread before the confusion could set in among the Nazi’s. The Jews had heard their singular voice and they escaped into their houses immediately and locked their doors. They defended when they needed to with prayer. They preached the passover to each other. They preached that Jehova would save them soon. They threw pots and pans onto the guards. They preached to them of Jehova and when the military burst in often they would offer them food. The soldiers were dumbfounded, and just like the old testament stories the stronger foe was calmed and confused and by the end of the night completely dumfounded and disorganized. They retreated, confused and bewildered in the morning and did not have a chance to attack again, before salvation came. The Americans and their allies overthrew the Nazi regime within a few weeks and the Jews in Amichai’s little town were saved. All because a little boy had been born to a lonely, crying girl with a prophesy that her child would save her people. Raw Spoon

Jakar tried to hide it so it didn’t show up in his walk. Or maybe he could just finally be his true self in how he walked and moved and talked, now that his dad had finally kicked him out. Jakar adjusted his hood to deflect the rain. So rarely did it rain here in Jerusalem. But it seemed only appropriate on the night he felt most desperately like crying. But he had to be strong. He had been on the streets for 5 days and was famished, dirty, cold and tired. He had just been kicked out from the alleyway stoop under which he had been squatting for the last two days. Things had just been so hard in Jerusalem for as long as he could remember. Fighting all the time. There were a few conspiracy theory bloggers who had been speculating about the return to power of Hezekiah’s family line. Two and a half thousand years prior, there had been a family of rulers known for their justice, wisdom, and virtue. They had been full of integrity and they made righteousness a prized virtue which all seemed inspired to pursue. They purified the city of corruption. They say this kingdom of Hezakiah had been peaceful and all were provided for and productive. Jakar wished a Jerusalem like that were really possible. The weird thing was though, that one of the current Prime Minister’s head aids had retired saying he had strange and ominous intel. He was caught saying in a rather obscure internet video, “The kin of of king Hezakiah is at hand.” Jakar almost couldn’t even let himself hope in that. Now as he walked through the streets the buildings got smaller and further apart. He felt like he would have to find a place outside of the city in order for no one to bother him. He looked up at the series of lights along the dirt road that ran over the hill outside the city. He saw the tip of a small structure, a shepherd’s stable, over the top of the hill, a ways from the road. Surely the shepherd would not be there in this weather and maybe there would be some food, at least what was meant to feed the beasts. As he got further from the lights of the city he let his delicate hips sway a little more naturally as he walked. He should have locked his bedroom door when he heard the music coming through the window, at least before he let himself dance to it. Why did it have to be the absolute worst person who caught him at just that moment. He climbed the road up the hill, his hood low over his head. He left the road when he was closest to the stable. The leather of his shoes were soaked in cold after only a minute of walking in the grass. He saw something move in the stable, a dim movement of light coming from the doorway. He slowed and stabilized his walk. It wasn’t like he would let himself fall in love with a man or anything. That was probably what his father thought it meant. He still wanted to try and marry a nice woman and raise a family. Jakar understood it was shameful to be a girly boy. But it was who he was. He approached the stable very slowly. He stopped at the doorway and called, putting on a masculine air. “Hello. Shalom. Any room for a wet man in there?” A baby’s cry surprised him. And then a mother’s pleased cooing. A man responded. “Show yourself, please.” Jakar pulled off his hood and carefully pulled back the curtain which was a blanket draped over a wire, so they could see him. A mother was tending to her child, lying in a sheep trough padded with an old down jacket. The man walked toward Jakar gripping something underneath his cloak. A gun, perhaps, Jakar thought. The man stopped when he saw him clearly, and after a moment’s discernment looked back at the mother. She seemed pleasantly occupied with the baby and the man gestured to Jakar, “Yes, young man. Come in.” Jakar ducked past the curtains and tucked himself against the wall, wide eyes. The man saw he meant no harm and reached a hand out to welcome him. Jakar gave his best manly handshake and nodded. “Thank you.” They quickly both looked back at the baby. The woman looked up, her kind eyes met Jakar’s and she said, “You made him laugh. He heard your voice. First time in a while he’s laughed.” She saw Jakar was enthralled by the baby so she motioned him to come nearer. And he did. When he was close enough the baby’s eyes went to him. And did not leave. Jakar knelt beside the trough. The baby was silent, studying him. Jakar smiled. A moment later the baby smiled back. He must have been only a few months old. Those eyes. So clear and innocent. Jakar kind of wished the baby could see into him. This baby wouldn’t judge. “We’ve had a pretty hard journey.” The mother said, obviously pleased the baby seemed happy. “It’s been hard on this little one. But look, he’s smiling now.” Jakar bobbed his head and he smiled at the babe. He opened his eyes and mouth wide. It wasn’t a strong man’s gesture, but the baby laughed and kept watching him intensely. Jakar brought his hands in front of him, with stiff strong fingers, snapping lightly. The baby kept his eyes on Jakar’s eyes. Only when he let his hands loosen and move more gracefully did the baby look at them and release another delighted squeak. Then they heard several sets of footsteps outside. The man got up and pulled the gun fully out this time. A man’s deep foreign accent said, “Greetings. We come to pay our reverent respects.” In a few moments they were inside. Seeing who it was the father quickly put his gun down. Three dark-skinned men. Perhaps from Africa. Two of them were the body guards of the third. He was dressed in a very fine suit, a black tie, and a fashionable trench coat. They bowed at the door, a very awkward motion. Jakar didn’t see anyone bow these days, except in prayer. The man slowly looked up and saw the child. He looked to the parents and said, “I flew in as soon as I heard about the arrival. Just this afternoon. We took an old Fiat, or something, and left it a mile back, behind the closed fueling station, just so no one would raise any questions and find you. The father nodded and said, “Yes, okay. Please– please yes enter.” The father said it in a reverent way that made Jakar conclude this was a very important man. “How did you find us, if you don’t mind me asking. I just don’t want others to find us.” Then the new man rose as he took out his cell phone. He approached cautiously to show it to the father. It was a text from somebody with a google map link attached. The father glanced to the top to see who it was from and immediately nodded. “Okay yes. It’s very much an honor to have you visit us. Sorry for these humble surroundings.” The well dressed man pointed to his phone indicating who the text was from as he said, “The boy’s father warned me it would be like this. But knowing him, I wouldn’t expect anything less. Any level of luxury seems to be just fine for him.” The man with the gun must not be the boy’s father, Jakar realized. Maybe just the baby’s body guard. To take care of the baby and his mother. “I told him I wanted to come meet the newborn,” The black man’s deep voice filled the room. “I would not receive no for an answer. I absolutely had to be present to honor the next king of Hezakiah’s line. I have brought this for the young prince.” He turned his attention to the baby as he reached back for his assistant to give him something. It was an intricately adorned box. The man bowed low in front of the baby and then held the box in two hands over him. He opened it and it quietly began to play. It was a beautiful music box. The man reached into the box and retrieved an envelope. “This is the paperwork for a $50 million dollar endowment in the young prince’s name. It is a gift from my kingdom to the destiny of yours. I look forward to the day when my people will live in peace with your great kingdom.” They all looked down to the baby, whose eyes looked at the guilded box for a moment, then to the well-dressed man. But then the baby looked back to Jakar huddled in the corner. The man handed the box to the woman who received it graciously. She set it beside her and let the music chime slowly and beautifully. The well-dressed man and his men settled against the wall, as they realized how enthralled the baby was with the thin boy, (or was that a girl? No just a pretty boy) in the corner. “He likes you quite a lot.” He mused kindly. A deep voice. One that probably commanded troops and made decisions for his nation. “Why don’t you come near, young one. Be brave and be loved by this little one, for his kingdom will be love.” Jakar swallowed and slowly pulled himself out of the shadow, obeying the powerful man. And as he approached the baby smiled wildly again. He wiggled his tiny hands in excitement. Jakar bobbed up and down again, near and far, back and forth. The baby’s eyes tried to track and he broke out in giggles. It bled out into the night but it was such a beautiful sound to all, they deemed it worth the added risk. A few moments later the sound of many feet, and… was that hooves approaching outside? All the men pulled out guns and aimed them at the door. “Hello.” Came a man’s soft voice. “I come in peace. I saw you in a dream. May I please approach?” And a moment later they saw a face peek around the curtain. It was a sun-baked and bearded shepherd. His sheep were following him. “Last month I had a dream that said the great family of. . .” he struggled to say it, looking at all the people in the tiny hut, “the family of the king Hezakiah would visit this place tonight.” He glanced down at the baby and his eyes filled with dumfounded awe. The mother spoke up. “Oh yes, come in. I saw you in your house as we passed through the city and God told me you would visit. “I wondered if I heard correctly. And here you are. Please don’t fret. Come in please, good shepherd. Thank you for letting us stay in your stable. I think it is yours?” The man nodded but his eyes were watering, still staring at the baby. It was only a whisper that could come out of his mouth, “I have hoped for your kingdom to come for so long. My grandparents starved to death in this stable, discarded by this regime. And today you have forever redeemed my broken family by coming to this place.” He came near and looked at the other men to assure them of what he was about to do. “I brought a gift.” He pointed to his coat before slowly pulling it out. It looked like a slightly larger cel phone. “Members of my family own the companies developing technology for the state of Israel. We have many technologies far more advanced than public tech in this world. What we have developed could almost assuredly hack into and bring down most of the empires in the world today. This phone is like a key to the whole system, it has all the automated software to do so, and once it’s in cel tower range it will stay always updated. Of course the current regime would never let go of this. But I give it to this little one in good faith as my allegiance to his office and his court.” He showed the screen to the mother and said, we developed this app for when the time is right.” He turned it on, swiped to a screen and touched an app icon. She nodded her understanding. Then he turned it back to the child as beautiful colors moved across the screen. He watched the baby as he said, “But for now the app displays colors that are calculated to entertain and develop the mind of young ones. When the time is right he will be able to unlock all the power inside.” They all watched the baby glance at the screen for a moment, then glance at the man, and lock back on Jakar. The mother nodded and received the phone with a reverent “Thank you.” The new man settled in and they all marveled as the baby would not take his eyes off of Jakar, against the wall again. The mother said, “I think he loves you, tender hearted one. Please come, if you would like, and let him see you again.” And then with the intuition of a mother she tenderly added. “I think he would like to see all of you.” Jakar slowly, cautiously approached again. So scared. He glanced at the other men in the room. Men of such import. And yet this child wanted to look at him. Jakar bobbed his head and his eyebrows up and down and back and forth again. He began to do it in time with the music box. The baby laughed in delight. He loved watching Jakar. And slowly Jakar started moving the rest of his body. More of it. First in a mechanical, strong and masculine way. But it seemed to only get him so far with the child, who would not stop looking at Jakar’s face. Jakar could feel the dance inside of him wanting to get out. He felt his arms and legs want to break off the fear and shame of what society expected of him like a shell. His hips wanted to loosen and he knew how he would throw his head and shoulder-length hair. Then the finely dressed man laughed a good-hearted laugh and spoke as Jakar danced. “Young one. What did you bring for this little baby!? What gift do you bring for your king?” The boy heard it as condemnation. That gruff voice saying he was not enough. But he didn’t care. That man could hurt him later but this moment with this special baby who seemed to see and love him right now was his. But the man continued, in a strong African accent, although a thread of kindness and joy become more evident. “I brought lots and lots of money, and he brought power.” He gestured to the shepherd. “You may think you have nothing to give. But behold, this baby just wants you. Give him all of you, young one! I can see it in you. Give him the gift you have in you!” And a boisterous laugh came out of the man. This startled Jakar into a new freedom. It cracked whatever shell was left on him. Jakar let his arms and head and hips and legs flow in rhythm and melody with the beautiful music box. Spinning and swinging low to the ground. It no longer became masculine or feminine. It was pure objective beauty in shape and movement. Flexibility balanced with strength, arching limbs. Spins and leaps. Even the fingertips hovered before the baby making their own fascinating stories. It was becoming one of his best dances. All watched in awe. But it was most joyously received by the baby who laughed and swung his arms and legs as if he too wanted to dance with as much of himself as Jakar did. Jakar had nothing to give as a gift but himself. His true self. So he gave all he had. And he gave it for the shining eyes of that joyful little heart. That heart that saw and loved all of him more than sparkling riches or consuming power. Raw Spoon, 12-9-18

Sometimes we think of Christians as straight laced, inexperienced and judgmental rule keepers with sharp What is the WAY a Christian does all that? But as the players, owners, managers, and even fans watch him act out of goodness and out of his belief I cried because the acts of love causing transformation were so beautiful. I want people to see Christians as little Ted Lassos, bringing forgiveness and hope and idealized patience

The purpose of this story is to be read to your family on Christmas eve. Merry Christmas, my friends. Hold onto hope. Until Christmas morning… *** Natalie sat across the table from a friend from high school. Someone was going to pick it up as a present for their son on Christmas day. And then one morning, Christmas morning, he came back.

band from his head and they could see the sweet, kind, silver-blue eyes of the young king, in the very act

It seems like professing and acting on how cool you think someone is might be giving them glory? And wouldn’t we think Christ was cool if we found out the kid was doing it because he was a Christian Sometimes I think I make God seem pretty uncool by being an uptight Christian and quietly keeping my But maybe I can bring glory to God, like we’re built to do, by acting in a way that shows how good I

It can be done well, or poorly. Christianity can be done in the name of Christ. Or it can be practiced with ulterior motives. really ugly things have been done in the name of religion but religion is the thing that compelled Christians

Last week I posted a blog, “Why impose Christianity onto other cultures?” It’s been done really poorly, being used for the purpose of conquest or even worse motives for a lot What I want to communicate in this blog is that although sometimes it is done very, very poorly, sometimes But then the pastors would then teach them the new Christian ethic to live by. The new Christian ethic asked people to do otherwise.