By Sally Morgenthaler

Dean, a 40-plus refugee guitarist, is trying to make ends meet out
West. He used to sit in a Nashville studio and crank out country
clich's, but now he performs Celtic music in restaurants and
coffee houses. He provides lilting spirituality for overstimulated
urban dwellers, the cell phone-Palm Pilot-BMW crowd trying to
snatch a piece of peace. Dean's been a Buddhist for a while, but
now he's not sure. He spent the better part of a decade trying to
achieve mastery over the baser parts of his humanity. But it's
eluded him. Lately he's been wondering about a religion where
spiritual success is one big do-it-yourself project. He says all he
wants to do is just hand over the self-improvement kit to someone.
Someone. He says there must be a God who's big enough and
loving enough to wade through the sludge still sticking to the
bottom of his soul.

As I sip my cup of chai across the table, I'm poised-like any good
Christian-for the ecclesiastical kill. This is a monologue that just
screams, "Insert gospel here!" But this is also where it gets
complicated. Dean thinks Christianity isn't that different from
Buddhism. He listens to Joseph Campbell who, according to
Dean, claims religion is mostly the same
pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps movie played over and over:
self-evolution, higher consciousness, selflessness. I can't resist. I
counter, armed with the numerated spiritual laws. Blah, blah, blah.
Dean hears my concepts as clearly as Charlie Brown hears his
teacher's monotone assignments. Translated: He doesn't. Dean is
listening to his personal experience, which, unfortunately, speaks
a whole lot louder than my words. He's visited several churches in
the past year, and none of them changed his mind. Christianity is
Buddhism morphed into a Western, capitalistic zoot suit. It's about
getting your act together, becoming a better person, becoming a
Jesus clone. If you do, a gold laptop is waiting for you at the Pearly
Gates!

No wonder he's depressed. He was looking for something
different. Someone different. Millions of Deans come to our
churches every week, listening, watching, waiting. In a worship
experience, we have a choice: We can leave people with
themselves, with the legalistic sawdust of every other religion on
this planet. Or we can leave them with the unduplicatable,
self-giving God, the One who turns water into wine, Sauls into
Pauls. We may claim to be Jesus followers as we sing, pray, and
lift our hands. But if we're following Jesus on our own gasoline, we
might as well be following Buddha. How are people experiencing
the gospel in your worship services? Think about it, because this
side of the postmodern shift, it's the world's biggest flea market
out there. When people come to our booth on Sunday morning,
we'd better have something-Someone different to offer.

This article appears courtesy of REV. Magazine Nov/Dec 00 Column www.rev-magazine.com