The Power of Simple Things

There is beauty in simplicity. There is a poetry in small things; in the complimentary relationship between light and shadow, word and image, form and function.

I remember leaving a 3-D movie showing recently with my head pounding and my senses overwhelmed. I drove home, got to the front door and turned to look up at the sky, where I could clearly see the Milky Way snaking across the a black velvet sky. Unlike Harry Potter, it was not a manufactured effect costing millions of dollars, but the simple (yet powerful) fusion of hydrogen atoms, the simplest and most common element in the universe. Still, it captivated me with its singular normalcy.

I am currently part of a planning committee for a huge Lutheran student gathering in New Orleans. An unfathomable 36,000 high schoolers are coming. It is expected that they will leave with a sense of awe after participating. Headline artists will be contracted, a huge stage will be constructed, complete with a towering, 100-foot cross adorned with lights. This is big.

I'm sure I would faint if I knew the exact figure that's being dropped on this 5-day event.  It's probably better for me not to know. However, I can't help but wonder if we're missing something — a larger truth. It is hard for me to reconcile the poverty and devastation of New Orleans as a backdrop for a spiritual extravaganza where no expense will be spared. How do we justify that kind of extravagance when people just outside the Super Dome are going hungry. Is that an authentic experience?

Perhaps I'm being a buzz-kill. The organizers want students to get excited about their faith. They want them to be fired up and moved by the Spirit. I want that, too. In a church that has drifted away from the youth and into retirement communities, we need to hang on to these guys or there won't even be a church in 30 years. But, I have to ask, do we really need to fly the bishop in on a wire to do it? Do we need slick graphics? Do we need to be put up in hotels with attached water parks? Is that all that we are? Is that all that we stand for?

I want people to have fun. I want people to feel like they are a part of something big and to talk about it years after with fondness and wonder, but I don't want to manufacture awe with pyrotechnics and laser shows. My faith is about so much more than that.

My Teacher walked everywhere. He slept outside on the ground and ate with lepers and tax collectors, of all people. My Teacher lived a simple life. So, why do we feel the need to dress him up, shower him, shave him, gel his hair back and teach him a dance routine? All I need to feel fulfilled is the Word and the Meal.

I often don't know why I'm here and I feel stupid suggesting that maybe the stage should be bare, with just a small, wooden cross (or maybe just the shadow of a cross) instead of a production worthy of the Super Bowl Halftime Show or the Academy Awards. In the end, it won't matter how tall the flames were or if you could feel the bass in the back seats. In the end, there is a message that challenges us to go out and live as Christ lived and died.

Maybe we need to reassess why we're doing this. Maybe we need to take a few steps back and ask if the fireworks and choreography are all absolutely necessary to the impact of this gathering. I'm not qualified to answer that and I am open to the idea that I could be completely wrong about all of this, but the idea of simplicity and the power of a moment of silence is something I cannot shake.

All I can do is put it in God's hands and trust that he knows where he wants us to go. The rest is faith — simple as that.