Our Fights are Stupid →

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This post originally appeared on Medium.com.

The Internet is full of people fighting about God, at least when it’s not full of people fighting about what brand of smartphone is the best, or what football team is the best, or even if cats or dogs are the better pets. Some of these fights get really vicious.

Humans tend to organize into little communities who believe and like the same things. Because humans have a bias toward tribalism, they are generally not familiar with people who hold different beliefs and likes. Have you ever heard someone remark with deep conviction about the way people who like a different football team drive? It’s crazy, but I hear it all the time.

Something in us has a powerful nostalgia for the days when we roamed the plains in little tribes, and we knew who we were because of that. Life’s decisions are a lot easier if you know anyone who isn’t in your tribe gets the spear.

But we don’t need tribes anymore. Both Apple and Samsung make really nice smartphones. Any real differences in the behaviors of the different groups of football fans are attributable to socioeconomic factors, not team affiliation. In an age of scarce food and water, tribes were a really good way to survive. Today, we have enough food and water for everyone, at least we do if we share.

I just can’t get worked up when people believe different things than I do anymore. I believe in God, but I can’t prove anything meaningful about my beliefs–the movement of God in my life is deeply personal. So, I’m not going to tell anyone they should conform to my understanding of God. It’s wasted effort. That doesn’t mean I’m ashamed to be a Christian, or that I don’t prefer iPhones. Both of those things are part of who I am. Still, we all need to acknowledge a simple truth: no matter what we believe, we may be wrong. The vast sum of human knowledge, and the even more vast sum of things that humanity does not know should compel us all to a profound humility. Fighting about who is right is a waste of time.

I’d rather just be someone’s friend. I don’t want to fight about God, football teams, smartphones, or even the timeless debate of dogs vs. cats. I want to apply my energies to helping other people, and I’ve found that helping other people makes me way happier than winning arguments. I think we can all agree that the world is full of people who are hungry or hurting. I bet you are sitting within 100 feet of someone who is hungry or hurting right now.

You can argue all you want, but nothing speaks louder for your beliefs than what you do with your life. What if Evangelicals and athiests were most known for the work they do for others? How would people respond to them? Don’t tell me what you believe, show me.

The story of Jesus compels me to act and address suffering. But, I don’t care if your motivation is humanism, Allah, or simple empathy. I’m just happy to work alongside you.

Guest Post: The Virtue of Changing Your Mind

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Today's post is by Rob Carmack, who's stuff you should totally be reading. -Mike

I used to hate the Beach Boys.

“Hate” may be too strong a word, but it’s pretty close. I thought their music was cheesy and simplistic. Perhaps it’s because I thought all of the songs sounded the same, or perhaps it was because of their association with the sitcom Full House.

Regardless of how my dislike began, I held onto it for most of my life. I was a person who did not like the Beach Boys. This was my reality.

But then about six months ago, I read in Rolling Stone Magazine that lots of music critics think the Beach Boys’ album Pet Sounds is one of the greatest records of all time. I thought that was bonkers. How could the Beach Boys have possibly produced one of the all-time greatest rock albums?

Regardless of my prejudice, I went to Spotify and listened to Pet Sounds. The next day, I went back and listened again. Then I started listening to other Beach Boys albums. It took less than a week for me to change my perspective completely: all of a sudden, I liked the Beach Boys (I do like them, Sam-I-Am!).

I’m not saying that I had been completely wrong. There are still some Beach Boys songs that I hate (I’m looking at you, “Surfin’ U.S.A.”), but there are also some songs that I really love (my personal favorite is “Sail On, Sailor”).

What happened with me and the Beach Boys is a phenomenon most human beings experience at various points in their lives: I changed my mind.

Changing your mind can be a scary thing. It’s one thing to appreciate a new kind of music or discover that you like seafood, but it’s a whole other thing to change your mind about how God and life and reality actually seem to work.

Throughout my life, there have been moments when I changed my mind, and each time it significantly altered the way I viewed the world.

I grew up in a world where changing your mind was seen as a sign of weakness or a lack of conviction. People were admired for digging in their heels and gripping onto their opinions with white-knuckle determination.

However, I have learned that when a person changes his or her mind, that is not an act of weakness. In fact, it takes an enormous amount of strength and courage to say to yourself and to other people, “I know I’ve always thought this way, but I think I may have been wrong.”

Over the past ten years or so, I have changed my mind about issues within theology, politics, and relationships. Almost every shift in thinking involved some level of pain or fear. To change your mind is to die a little—to become a different kind of person, even in small increments. However, it is also an opportunity for resurrection—to become a better, healthier, open-minded person.

This is what growth really is.

Lots of people have the idea that growth is the act of learning more about what you already think and believe. But I don’t think that’s true.

Real growth happens when we learn that we don’t know everything, and some of the things that we think and believe are simply incorrect or misguided.

Growth happens when we learn to look at the world in new and different ways—when we learn to see through the eyes of people who are unlike us and think in ways we have never thought before. This means that we must embrace opportunities to change our minds.

If you have been asking new questions or wondering if the way you have always thought about the world might contain a flaw or two, I hope you will set yourself free and invite those new questions. Perhaps you are on the brink of a major moment of growth.

Perhaps you are becoming who you were always meant to be.

(*Footnote: This entire post was written while I listened to the Beach Boys)

What do you think? When was the last time you changed your mind about something important? How did it feel?

With Green Eyes

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Why do we compare ourselves to others all the time?

I'm writing a book about losing your faith. It's a topic that I'm an expert on: I lost my faith a few years ago. God reached out to me and brought me back, which is honestly something I still don't understand all that well. Through that process, I've talked to other people who are losing their faith, or have lost this faith, or even who are considering faith in God for the first time. The little set of mental hacks I use to approach God as a skeptic have helped a lot of other people too. That's why I'm writing the book.

Writing a book is hard. It's one of the most difficult things I've ever done. Communication comes easily to me. I never have trouble saying what I want to say in person, on stage, in an email, or on Twitter. The words I want are almost always there for me, and in the order that best illustrates my point. I barely have to think about it. But books: they have so many words in a row! It's not enough to make a good sentence, or paragraph, or even a good dozen pages. A book has to work for tens of thousands of words. It has to be interesting and accessible or no one will read it. If no one reads a book, it can never accomplish its mission of adding to the conversation.

I had a breakthrough a couple of months ago. After months and months of writing stuff I hated, I started to write pages that sounded like my voice. I can't tell you how great that feels as a writer, but it's probably a lot like what my friend Jeb says hitting a home run in baseball is like. When you write in your own voice, words just pour out of your fingers and suddenly you can write thousands of words in a sitting. Those words are rough, sure, but they are yours–they have your heart and soul on paper. With the help of an editor, words like those may be worth reading.

I shared those words with my friend Bradley, and he told me that yes, they were good. After that, I sent those words to a friend of mine who writes books that sell lots and lots of copies. Even though this friend is really busy, he replied quickly to affirm that my new stuff was in my voice and had heart and soul. It's the kind of news that caused a celebration in my home, complete with a smile on Jenny's face and shouts of joy from my children.

BUT

I sent my words to a guy who is an agent, and I didn't hear back. People who are successful agents are really busy people. The reasonable assumption when you don't hear from someone like that is they have a lot going on. Of course, I never make reasonable assumptions about my work. Instead I assumed this guy read it, hated it, and told all his friends I am a terrible person.

A few weeks later, I asked my friend, Rob Carmack, to do a guest blog post. He just sent me the post for review today and it's fantastic. You'll see next week. As I read his post, the seed of self-doubt that was planted when an agent didn't respond sprouted into a rotten little plant of envy. Instead of appreciating how good Rob's post is, I started to wonder why I can't write as clearly and accessibly as he does. The more I write, the more I get frustrated when I see others communicate clearly. I often see people put into words a thought I had, but with a grace and readability that is beyond me.

A few minutes after I read Rob's post, my friend who writes books posted to his blog. His post was beautiful and grand, and I was swept away by his words. I sat is silent appreciation for a few moments, and all sorts of new insights about life danced around in my thoughts. That is until my little envy plant grew into a vine around my heart. It started to squeeze and then whispered these words to me:

"You shouldn't write at all. You'll never write like those guys."

That voice is right. I will never right like my friend who writes books. I won't write like Rob Carmack. I won't write like my friend Bradley either. Or Donald Miller. Or Rachel Held Evans. Or John Gruber. Or that damn Cathleen Falsani, who's prose is tight enough to bounce a quarter off.

I won't write like Carl Sagan. I won't do research like Andrew Newberg or Tanya Luhrmann. I can't play music like Michael Gungor or Matthew Perryman Jones. There are people everywhere who do things I love much better than I do.

So what? Why do we do this to ourselves? Think about it: I went from feeling good about myself and the work that I do to throwing a pity party in a couple of weeks. This change in my perspective came from envy. I know I'm not alone in this. I hear other people comparing themselves to others all the time. Men do it. Women too. Even our children compare themselves to others, and feel crushed when they don't live up to a standard they just invented.

What do we do about it?

We stop. That's easy to type, but hard to do. How do we stop?

First, we catch ourselves. People have a tendency to go through the motions of life without any awareness, but we'll never beat the envy cycle without calling ourselves out on it. I just realized why I've been so down on my work lately. As G.I. Joe always says, "Knowing is half the battle."

Next, we remind ourselves that we all have value. I bet I can fix computer networks better than anyone I named above. Not only that, none of those people have lived my particular life story. I don't know any other Southern Baptists who became athiests and then returned to faith after a mystical experience and an examination of neuroscience. I am the only person who can sing my technical and irreverent song.

Here's my challenge to you today: be aware when you are comparing yourself to someone else. Remind yourself of your own value instead.

Then go sing your song.