3.0 (beta)

At caregroup last week, we were discussing the ways others have demonstrated Christian love to us and B shared an experience. She was relocating to a new city and some friends of friends were helping her out. They picked her up at the airport, drove her to the grocery store, and dropped her off at her new apartment. Later, they gave her a ride to their church and had her over for dinner. During the dinner conversation, B asked them if they had seen Batman Begins, which was then in theaters, and a conversation about media intake began. The next time she saw them, these loving folks encouraged B to carefully guard her media intake and gave her a book on the subject. B read the book and appreciated the way that these mere acquaintances cared enough for her that they would attempt to help her into greater holiness. She felt loved.

Our caregroup leader questioned how it is possible to distinguish between what these folks did and the dreaded L-word–legalism.

And then it hit me: legalism is often in the eye of the beholder.

In modern Evangelicalism, especially Reformed circles, “legalism” is a term of unrivaled opprobrium. While true legalism deserves such infamy–it is by grace through faith that we are saved and not by the works of the law–we should not slip into a pattern where every time another Christian takes a moral position that we don’t like, we cry, “Legalist!” 

Instead, we should define legalism precisely:

Seeking to be–or stay–justified in the sight of God by works of the law.

Under this definition, B’s friends were not being legalistic. They were attempting to walk in a manner worthy of their calling and loved B enough that they wanted her to live that way too. Isn’t this what we want Christian community to look like?

Christian music sucks—or so says conventional wisdom. And non-Christians aren’t the only ones who hold this position. Most Evangelicals under 30 firmly believe that Christian music is a poor rip-off of secular pop and rock music.

But it isn’t true.

To be sure, there are lame songs and lame bands on Christian radio. But there are lame songs and lame bands on every kind of radio station known to man. So why does CCM get the bad rap?

One reason is that Christian bands usually work their way up through small-scale national tours, while secular bands usually cut their teeth in a bar scene in a major city. This means that we meet Christian bands earlier in their “life cycle” than we encounter most secular bands. Baby bands don’t quite have their art figured out and often sound quite derivative. On the other hand, the Christian bands that make it to their third or fourth album are every bit as good as their secular counterparts.

Take the classic Christian rock band, Audio Adrenaline. Their self-titled debut album was garish early-dcTalk-wannabe, white-boy-techno-rap. It sucked. Nevertheless, it received a decent amount of Christian radio airplay.

But over the next decade-and-a-half, Audio Adrenaline got it. Sure, they didn’t reimagine their genre or anything. But they managed to create one exceptional modern rock track after another. For example, “Chevette,” the lead track from their 1997 album Some Kind of Zombie, is unsurpassed as a poetic tribute to faithful Christian parents. I can’t listen through it without my eyes welling up. For a guy who doesn’t really believe in man-tears, that has to count for something.

Twenty years ago I watched in awe as my dad drove up the driveway,
More than proud to have a brand new family car.
Thirty miles to the gallon; 0-to-60, sometimes.
I remember putting down the back seat and lying in the hatchback,
Looking at the sky, and watching trees go by.
I was the son of a preacher
And he was a rich poor man.

No A.C.
No FM,
And no regrets
In my Chevette.

The winter cracked the highway and we tried to dodge the potholes.
He never promised us it would be a gentle ride.
He never had a problem, though, keeping it on the narrow road.

No A.C.
No FM,
And no regrets,
In my Chevette.

Poor thing is up on blocks,
But that car still rocks.

And no A.C.
In my Chevette,
And window cranks
In my Chevette,
And vinal seats
In my Chevette,
And no regrets.

EDIT: I’m submitting this post as an entry in AdrianWarnock.com’s contest on why people love their local church (The prize is Mark Driscoll’s new book Vintage Church). Warnock is a really exciting voice in Reformed Charismatic circles; he’s always quoting Spurgeon, Lloyd-Jones, and Mahaney. And he’s got a book deal with Crossway!

——

Logos can say so much. The right fonts and colors can combine to evoke very specific messages.

For example, although the great church we belong to has only been around for a couple of years, it is full of committed Christians who have faithfully walked with the Lord for decades. Thus, I have concocted a couple of “throwback” designs for Sovereign Grace of Orange County.

The first features the brown-and-mustard combo made famous by the San Diego Padres together with the corporate Swiss Style of the old AT&T globe.

The second combines modern colors with the indispensable Cooper Black. (After all, I am the proud owner of this t-shirt.)