Part 1: Mediatations on Blue Like Jazz

I am reading Blue Like Jazz for about the ninth time. In each chapter there are a rainbow of different colored pens, different for each time I’ve read it. I have spoken out loud to a number of people that it’s probably one of a small handful of Christian books that I would unreservedly place into the hands of someone who doesn’t believe in Jesus and not worry over the complicated theology or distance in language from our modern way of dialogue. It’s probably the ONLY one I would place in the hands of someone who is almost unwilling to even talk about God at all, for fear they might be set on fire by their hatred of him. Blue Like Jazz is like this because…it’s someone’s story. Who is being real about his confusion and doubts prior to his decision to trust Christ. And after becoming a Christian doesn’t explain it as roses and like a puzzle that came together all perfect. It’s a real testimony. It’s one anybody would listen to.

I have heard a number of Christians tell me they don’t like the book. I don’t get it. Maybe because they want it to be cleaner or maybe they are legalistic or maybe they are great evangelists and this is not really mainstream for that kind of thing. But if you strip away all the direct, modern, witty way of writing and the journey through doubts about theology, there is Jesus, without a doubt. It’s a testimony of an everyday guy with everyday questions who, eloquently and with much thought, articulates how in the world he met Jesus, even though he didn’t really want to.

(For the record, the second book I might place in this person’s hands would be All of Grace, which is an entirely different book altogether, written from a totally different way of speaking, but is very very clear about the gospel, is not annoying at all, and is written with a Paul-like tenderness).

I am reading Blue Like Jazz again as a sort of long distance book club with two different friends who don’t know Jesus. We’re a little unfaithful but we’re attempting to write once a week, covering our thoughts on two chapters at a time. We’re now in chapters three and four and the following are some of my takeaways for my semi-book club from the west coast to my friends’ computer screens all the way on the east coast.

Something that was in chapter four in particular spoke to me about how Christians communicate with non-Christians about our faith. There was a girl named Nadine who was a Christian and she had a friend named Penny who was not. They hung out all the time and every once in a while they would have conversations about God and Christianity. This is what Penny said about Nadine to Donald Miller, the author:

“The thing I loved about Nadine was that I never felt like she was selling anything. She would talk about God as if she knew him, as if she had talked to Him on the phone that day. She was never ashamed, which is the thing with some Christians I had encountered. They felt like they had to sell God, as if he were soap or a vacuum cleaner, and it’s like they really weren’t listening to me; they didn’t care, they just wanted me to buy their product.”

Um. Conviction. I think my brain just scrolled through about ten conversations I now wish I could burn out of my past. I definitely think there have been times where I’ve been trying to sell God like a vacuum cleaner. Or my version of a vacuum cleaner, like a chick-fil-a sandwich (because I am in love with those, but you likely already know that b/c I try to get everyone to buy one. And boy do I try to sell them to northwesterners but they sure don’t get it. I digress…). Actually I am totally wrong (I was about to post this blog and re-read this and now I am seeing this more clearly). Selling a chick-fil-a sandwich IS actually like me sharing Jesus (bare with me) because I do sincerely love them and want everyone to enjoy one just like I want everyone to enjoy Jesus (I know, the same but totally stupid-different). But a great picture of me trying to sell something w/ no heart was when I worked at Pottery Barn Kids. You have to be all happy and "on" people and trying to add to their purchases as you get them to the cash register. Yuck. Definitely a picture of me following the guidelines of selling a product, without a thought about my heart or theirs.

My most sweet moments, for certain, talking about Jesus have been sincere moments of desiring to just talk about the Lord. And it is not formulaic, but…enjoyable. I am definitely a formula person. I like for things to stay in an order, for things to make sense, and to see clearly how something is going. This drives my husband a little crazy! I’m working on it. In many regards. Especially this one. I think the freedom in talking about Christ is that it’s something that has become real to us. And what God is asking us to do as a “minister of reconciliation” is to sincerely convey what is True. To tell the testimony of Jesus, the story that has become intimate in our hearts. If we’re feeling stiff, perhaps we need to go back to the testimony of God – that he loves us, has created a relationship with us and wants us to walk with him closely all our days. I need to dig deeper into that story, let it ring true, and then let that overflow into my conversations, instead of memorizing an evangelism plan.

(Hey, but I’m sure there’s a time for everything so I’m not trying to create a black and white strategy for evangelism here, note takers. Not that there are any :)).

This brings me to a nice segway (spelling?) to the other giant “wow!” point of chapter three for me. Here’s a series of quotes, all pointing to the same concept:

“Everybody wants to be fancy and new. Nobody wants to be themselves…If there was a guy who just liked being himself and didn’t want to be anybody else, that guy would be the most different guy in the world and everybody would want to be him…The whole idea of wanting to be somebody new was an important insight in terms of liking God. God was selling something I wanted. Still, God was in the same boat as the guy selling knives and Juliet promising to make Romeo new (stories from earlier in the chapter, but you’ll get it). Everybody exaggerates when they are selling something. Everybody says their product works like magic…I felt as if Christianity, as a religious system, was a product that kept falling apart, and whoever was selling it would hold the broken parts behind his back trying to divert everyone’s attention…for thousands of years big haired preachers have talked about the idea that we need to make a decision, to follow or reject Christ. They would offer these ideas as a sort of magical solution to the dilemma of life. I had always hated hearing about it because it seemed to entirely unfashionable a thing to believe, but it did explain things. Maybe these unfashionable ideas were pointing at something mystical and true. And, perhaps, I was judging the idea, not by its merit, but by the fashionable or unfashionable delivery of the message.”

If you boil it down, there IS something that Christianity is putting out there. But are we putting it out there like we’re selling a vacuum cleaner? Why would we do that? Why do we feel so responsible for getting everyone “saved”? We certainly are responsible to share Jesus, to shine our light before men, to be the salt of the earth, to be the feet of those who bring the good news. But does it have to be with a neon sign and straight teeth smiles with red lipstick? (I don’t know, seems flashy, which is what I’m saying).

So even if we don’t share the testimony of Jesus with a strobe light spinning behind us, what Don is saying is that it still has two things that are difficult: 1. a history of people selling it who are “unfashionable” – people that many of my unbelieving friends don’t want to be associated with (which Donald admitted was something he had to get over, since it was an obstacle to what he realized was true despite this deterance) and 2. (and more importantly what I want to talk about) Christianity’s message feels like a magic solution that resembles to a least a small degree other magic tricks people have done for us before, so we’re not easily convinced.

It’s true that the world tries to sell everyone a magical solution. I could name a hundred. (Maybe I will in another blog). And they all wind and weave their pointed fingers back to a similar struggle within all of our hearts: our brokenness. But their magic fades of course. Inevitably and always. So the “magic” that the gospel seems to sell comes to us, veiled by our own disillusionment with magic tricks.

But what if, like Donald said, we could peel away the unfashionable delivery of the message? Just what if the “magic” that we’ve heard from all the other salesmen were just a false reproduction of the TRUE “magic” of the gospel? They hit just enough on the truth that they seem like they might work.

Like the magic of relationships: your heart is broken, it doesn’t want to be lonely, you long for completion, to be known and loved wholly (all Biblical conepts from the True “magic” story of the gospel) but the false reproduction of the truth then preaches to you that these longings in your heart can be healed by falling in love with your perfect mate and you’ll live happily ever after. False magic trick. The “true magic” of the gospel for that same brokenness is that we were created by God and for relationship with a God who loved us unconditionally and went to unimaginable lengths in restoring us to Him in our brokenness by sending His Son Jesus to take on our sin in his death, and rise to life, bringing us forgiveness and redemption. And now we can be whole as a new creation in our spirit and in intimate relationship with the God who created us. That is the “true” magic of the gospel.

I hope as I walk away from this computer screen tonight, I can just be myself. The me that has for sure met Jesus. The me that has been changed. The me that is simply…thankful and teary about it and hopeful for everybody in this Starbucks I’m sitting in. Lord let me be true. True in my heart and true about you by how I get to talk about you. I don’t want to be a salesman. I want to be in love with you and gush about it to everyone.