My name is Brandon and I'm a Snob

Well, this last week my parents came for a visit. We just saw them about a month ago, but this will be the last time we see them until Christmas. We had a good time taking them to all of the touristy sights around where we live. Since we live so close to the Gulf of Mexico, we took them to the beach and on a tourist cruise of our bay area. Besides going to the beach, we do very little that could be construed as touristy in our area. I guess when you live in a place that is filled with "attractions" they become a part of the scenery. I must admit that I still love the sight of the water. Maybe someday it will not captivate me so much.

I came to a realization about myself over the course of last week's events: I am a snob. I guess I have always known this, and part of the reason I became a United Methodist as opposed to another denomination is that I would be more likely to be around people who are like me. What an indictment against myself that statement is! I don't know how many times I pretend that I am apostolic and want to venture into unknown territory, the truth is I would rather stick to my own. I never really felt at home in the Pentecostal church, partly because they did not take too kindly to educated folks or people who pushed them to think some of the time instead of running with their emotions. I remember some of the most educated people I knew who would act like they did not know a thing when they got up to preach. It was all about making sure that the congregation knew they relied on the Holy Spirit for their sermons rather than on good Bible study habits, etc. As if preparation is not a spiritual gift worth developing. I guess one of the scariest things for me as a music professional was that it was becoming all too clear that the only thing the Pentecostals wanted in their worship leaders was a 20-something, scruffy looking guys with flip flops and a guitar. Flip flops aside, I do not fit that stereotype, but it was becoming more prevalent each year. I always wondered if this trend was truly an attempt to be more conscious of the culture or if it was a way to pay a younger, less experienced person less money. So in my mind, though I believe God was in my decision to change denominations, I felt like there was nowhere for me to go and remain in the Pentecostal fold . . . and I was only 33 when I left.

I have always envisioned Methodists as people who were more educated than Baptists or Pentecostals, but less liturgical than Lutherans or Catholics. And since I have always been a structure guy, it seemed like the natural evolutionary step for me. Ms? Betty Butterfield calls Methodists "poor man's Presbyterians, or Episcopalians who got tired of squatting, or Baptists who had gone back to drinking and did not want to be judged. Methodists are just typical." I don't know that I completely agree with this, and since the quote came from a drag queen . . . I digress.

Okay, so I am a snob. This truth kept coming back to me when I was out showing my parents a good time this past week. Well, they do not call northwest Florida the "Redneck Riviera" for nothing. (I mean, we have a convenience store where you can get beer on tap. What's up with that?) After taking our little cruise out to one of the islands just off the coast, I asked my mother if she knew why they called it the "Redneck Riviera" and she laughed, because they were thick as thieves. I am sure that most of these folks were wonderful people who work hard and love their families. I imagine many of them make more money than I do (I am in "the ministry" for Pete's sake). But I could not feel a greater sense of distance from these people than I would if you dropped me off in Saudi Arabia dressed like Michael Jackson (think burka, not "Beat It"). And this is where I come from really. I just do not understand this culture at all. I do not get NASCAR. I do not understand why anyone would continue to proudly display the Confederate flag on their trucks, or T-shirts, etc. Every time I see that flag, I want to say: "The war's been over for 150 years and you lost. Get over it." And how offensive is this to the large African American population we have in our area? I just do not get it.

And more significantly, I do not know how to communicate using their language. Sometimes I notice people just stop to translate what I am saying to them. For example, while I was on this touring ship, I was standing in "line" at the concession stand to get the entire family a hot dog and some bottled water. Well, it ended up that I got to the front of the line before someone who was really in line longer than I had been. I told the woman at the counter "I believe this gentleman was here before me" and pointed the man next to me. He looked puzzled and I told him to go ahead of me. Either he did not understand me, or he was so shocked that someone would be kind enough to be honest, even when that meant I would have to wait. I thought it was the latter and I felt bad. Anyone who would be in such a hurry to get a hot dog is in a hurry indeed. Have we lost all sense of decency and decorum in America that when someone is courteous it does not compute?

Now, don't get me wrong. I love my church and the ministry I perform there. But, again, the people to whom I am ministering are not the type of folks who mostly inhabit my neck of the woods. Remember, I chose a church that was like me and where my family would feel most comfortable. What does this say about me?

I am really feeling the challenge to get out of my comfort zone again and try to understand my culture better. If I am ever to be a true witness I need to learn how to speak the language of my fellow northwest Floridians. Maybe this is a greater indictment of the church in general since we train our children to speak a language that no one understands and to socialize only with those who believe as we do and go only to those places with ties to our churches. Fear is a great motivator, but I am looking for that "spirit of power, and of love, and of a sound mind" that the Apostle Paul promised us would replace our spirit of fear. Maybe it is easier to live in fear. At least we know what that feels like.

Peace