One of my pet peeves is the fact that Christians, and people in general, put labels on everything.

It can’t be music performed by a Christian, it’s Christian Music.

It can’t be radio, with a Christian commentator or MC, it’s Christian Radio.

It can’t be a book written by a Christian, it’s a Christian Book, sold at a Christian Bookstore.

Don’t get me wrong, I love music performed by Christians.  I love me some books written by Christian (shout out to Ted Dekker!).

What I’ve noticed happens when you start to label things as “Christian” is a state of sterilization.  The artist can longer write a gritty song that would reach the heart of the lost, they have to sterilize it to be palatable to the market, lest they be labeled a heretic and pushed out of the church.

Even my favorite author, though Ted is much grittier than most Christian authors, pulls back on what he could have written so that it will sit well enough with the church.  He pushes the envelope, which is why I love his work, but if he pushed it a little more, could he gain the wider audience of the lost?

If the boundaries are pushed, could we break through the barrier that holds the church back and actually bring revival to the land? 

Truthfully, I believe the labels are a symptom of the greater problem that afflicts the church.  The problem I see is pride.  Pride has snuck in at some point and causes the church to erect a barrier of labels that separate us from the very people we are to be ministering too.

As a musician, I don’t want to be known as a Christian Singer or Christian Bassist, I want to be known as a singer who loves Christ and wants to use the talents that God has blessed him with to bring praise, honor and glory to the giver of the gift.

If I write a book someday, and I might.  I don’t want it to be labeled a Christian Book.  I want it to be known as a good book written by a man that loves God.

Ultimately, I want to be known as a man of God who uses the artistic and aural gifts that God gave him to created works that were accessible to the believer and the non-believer alike.  I want to be one that breaks down the barrier that man has erected between God and those who need him.

I don’t want to be known as a person in pristine condition than was never soiled by the alien, fatherless or the widow.  I don’t want to be so proud of “my accomplishments” that I lose the true originator of the task. 

I do not want to be a part of any group that shuns a person because they were labeled a sinner.  I cannot be that much of a hypocrite, since I was once one myself.  Yet someone took a chance on me.  They ministered to me while I was still filthy in my sin.  They didn’t care that I stunk.  They didn’t care that I was diseased. They saw someone who needed the Great Physician’s touch to be healed from the unrighteousness that consumed my soul like maggots on week old meat sitting in the burning sun.

Remember, Christ didn’t come for the well, but for the sick.  The healthy don’t need the doctor, but the sick do.  Why do we focus so much on the well when there are a lot of people out there that are lost and are being hounded by the evil one.  Can we regain our compassion for the lost?  Can we forget about ourselves, for once?  Can we focus on the hurting, dying people of this world instead of our own “holiness”.

I believe that our definition of holiness and God’s are completely different.  After all, 1 Samuel 16:7 says (emphasis added): 

But the LORD said to Samuel, "Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart."

Lately I’ve been feeling as if I have been flying through a storm cloud. 

You start off smooth sailing, clear skies and calm seas.  Things are going well, all systems check out and the flight seems like it’s going to go without a hitch.  You have your itinerary, flight checklist and the crew is all aboard and competent.  It’s going to be a great trip.

You climb to cruising altitude and get up to speed.  Things are comfortable and you start falling into a state of complacency.  You put the plane on auto-pilot so you can take a nap and get refreshed for when you get to your destination.  As you doze the plane starts to pitch, first left, then right.  Turbulence begins in earnest, waking you from your slumber.  The plane jerks up and down, left and right as you try your best to bring it back onto the right path.  You can only look at the instruments at this point, try as you may your visibility out the window is at zero.  You cry out through the loudspeakers for everyone on the plane with you to buckle-up, it’s going to be a bumpy right.  You don’t know how it’s going to end.  You don’t know where you are, did the storm knock you off course?  Have you dropped to a dangerous altitude?

You fight the plane, trying to keep it together and safe as you try to pull the plane above the storm.  You call on the nearest air traffic towers and you get no response.  This is a serious storm.  Panic rises up in your spirit as you realize that you are now flying alone.  The tower can’t talk to you, you can’t talk to the tower and it looks bleak.

Finally, you realize that you need to check the attitude of plane and though you’ve been pulling up on the stick, the attitude of the plane hasn’t budged.  You wake up the co-pilot (how could he still be sleeping?)  You get him to help you adjust the attitude of the plane by pulling up on his stick.

Slowly, the attitude of the bird begins to rise.  As you rise through the cloud, it gets a little easier to adjust the attitude.  The co-pilot eventually gives you back the control of the plane and goes about fixing some of the other controls on the panel.

All at once you are above the storm and immediately you hear the control tower calling for you.  From the conversation that ensues, you realize that they had beads on you the whole time, the problem wasn’t the link between plane and tower, it was from tower to the plane.  They could hear you, but you couldn’t hear them.

They begin to tell you how to correct your course, it’s still dark and you’ve lost your bearings, but the tower knows exactly where you are.  They guide you back to familiar territory and you continue your flight to your destination.

Today I feel like I’ve just broken through the storm.  I still don’t know where I am, but I do know where I’m going.  I must trust my control tower, who has never lost sight of me, to guide me there from my current place.

At the end of February, beginning of March, I will be flying down to Sarasota to pray over the city.  I will be walking the streets and talking to people from the area to get a feel about what they are looking for in a church.  I want to know the people before the move so I can pray targeted prayer over the area. 

My current storm revolves around my job situation.  I was put on the bench at the beginning of the year and I’ve yet to score an interview.  They came at me with a possibility today, but it’s in New Jersey.  I don’t want to be one of those guys that travels for 4 days out of a week to return to my family on the weekend.  I want my kids to know me.  I don’t want Rilian to not recognize me in 6 months because he only saw me a couple of days out of a week.  So, I probably won’t entertain that one.

I will say this though.  I will be coming to Sarasota in February.  If I haven’t found anything by the time I get there I’m going to work on getting a position down there.  If that happens I will push my plans forward and start building a ministry down there.

I will get to my destination sooner or later.  My goal right now is to listen to the tower until I get there.