9 Reasons why I go to Church {but not really}

When I was a kid I would go for the candy (quiet seat prize / reciting bible verses from memory).
When I was a teen I would go for the girls (who didn't) and because I thought I was changing the world.

As an adult though, here are:

9 Reasons why I go to church (but not really):

1. "I can't think for myself" 

This may have caught you by surprise,  but please understand,  I have really tried on this one. But, I just can't. I can't do it! I'm very closely related to a sheep or a lemming or anything else that carries a blind allegiance without hesitation or question. I work best when someone is telling me what to do. I was KING of Simon Says. Some of you may not know this, but I have different people set to speed dial that help me make most of my decisions in my everyday life. I encourage you to try this... it makes everything a WHOLE lot easier!

2. "I love mediocre music"

I love music that doesn't challenge my artistic side. The kind of music that doesn't require much talent or passion. If its a song that has been played on the radio 5,000 times then that's what will be on my playlist. Especially if the musicians playing the song can re-produce it, note for note, just as it was written. If it's a song that was recorded live... they get bonus points in my book for saying exactly what the singer said or sung in that exact moment in the song. If the song squeals of any individuality or passion... I'm out! I don't want any weird instruments being played. Keep it middle of the road fellas.

3. "Because that's where God is found"

 Trust me on this one. God is almost always exclusively found in the church. Well, mainly my church. I've gone to other churches and it's clear that they are doing something wrong. That is to say that they have not tapped into the vein of awesomeness that we have. Also, don't bother looking for God in nature, or art, or in everyday nuances of life. Come to my church. He lives there. He will be happy for you come to visit... well, most of you anyways.

4. "Free Bullhorn Training"

Do you know how embarrassing it is when you are getting ready to rain down judgement on people and the police siren goes off. It completely ruins the moment. I've had that happen to me one to many times. Never again! That's why I am thankful for the BS class at my church. "Bullhorns Save" Sinners! Now, every time I step foot on a college campus or any major intersection, I can go forward with the utmost confidence and assurance that I am filled with "BS".


5. "It's my Crutch"

It's great... anytime I need an excuse to get out of something like going somewhere sketchy with those outside of the church I bring up an appointment or class that I HAVE to go to. Even, if I am lying... I'm really not... because when is there ever a time to NOT go to church? Also anytime I want to seem like a really good person to those in the church... I just start talking about how much I love it, how committed I am and all the great things I have done. and Yes, I am better than you.

6. "It's Archaic and Out of touch"

What you call "Archaic" and "Out of touch", I call "holy" and "preserved". Sure, I have no idea whats going on outside the walls of my church but I like it that way. I mean, if people really want help they know where we are. Why invest my time and energy into my city or those in it? Need I remind you of Matthew 7:6 "Do not cast pearls before swine". I gladly dismiss pop culture, current events and news, and/or any literary or musical influence that doesn't reek of Carmen, Max Lucado, or the 700 club. Again, nothing of value outside of that sphere. Do I eat veggies? Yes, but even those I know as Bob and Larry.

7. "To Avoid Curse and Earn Blessing"

This is quite simple... and if you don't know this one already... you really should. I mean, your livelihood depends on it! Like clockwork, I make sure that I attend every service being offered (Saturday, Sunday, Sunday Evening, Wednesday, and Thursday night bible study), I tithe well above the lowly 10%, and I make sure to cleanse myself of and avoid the aforementioned in number 6. I'm saving up for a retirement that money just can't buy! If hardships in life should come my way (not that any ever have) but hypothetically speaking, if the Devil should decide to target me because of the fact that I am an Ambassador for Christ, then I will know that my "investments" will render a sizeable return. If not, then I am just suffering from not having enough faith.

8.  "Free Wi-fi" (this one is true)

Nothing better than going into church and "checking-in" on whatever social media you prefer. I have the ability, if I wanted,  to download full albums, app updates, or even sitcoms. I can take pictures and immediately "tag" people thereby starting an all out conversation on that particular post WHILE church is happening. I can also check the score of the game! Again, I love free wi-fi any place I go, but especially churches.

9. "To Convert the Lost"

You're thinking that I am referring to those who do not attend church, right? Nope! I am talking about both... Christian and Non-Christian alike. If you are like me, and hopefully you are, then you know that I cherry pick and pull verses of the bible out of context to support whatever issue I am currently against. It's easy to spout off scripture in debates and use the JESUS CARD to trump others opinions. Because, lets be real here, nothing trumps my Lord and Savior! Once that happens... people are quick to repent and confess their sins. They say actions speak louder than words... I say it's the other way around! #TEAMJESUSORELSE



What about you? Did you go at one point? Do you still?
Why? Why not?  Did you ever get the candy or the girl for that matter?



You see...

There are a lot of reasons why people go to church, and, a lot of reasons why they do not.



Here are some reasons why I think people go: 

* It is a deep rooted family tradition

* It is a centering point in an otherwise hectic life

* The draw of community and social interaction

* Out of Obligation

* To be a part of something much bigger than themselves

And why people do not:

* They've been burned and hurt by those in the church

* The reputation of the church

* They do just fine without going

* Lightning would strike upon entering

* Out of touch and archaic 


I recently took to FB in an effort to gauge feedback on this.



Here are a few of the reponses: 

"My last church had donuts... I like donuts"

"I don't go because I can't stand preaching... And I am always on the lookout for hypocrisy. I take it very personally when I trust somebody, such as a preacher, only to find out that their ego, greed, hypocrisy or personal bs gets in the way of delivering "God's Word"

"Because my priorities have been backwards"

"I go to church because I am one of those hypocritical sinners others complain about and I seek the edification and exhortation found in the preaching of the gospel. I need help in this fight."

"Why to to church, unless you're delusional?"   

I've been going to church pretty much my entire life. I have dear friends, each on opposite ends of the spectrum. Personally I have lived both sides. So I feel like I can understand where people are coming from when they voice their reasons Pro or Con.

One thing I've noticed is that in both camps there are extremists. Either those who have completely given up or completely given in. Both isolated in some rights. Both with good intentions. Both believing that they are carrying out a service to the world around them. Both eager to share their version of "good news". Both unbalanced.

Let's be honest though... how many of us are truly balanced? We are constantly swaying with the motion of the pendulum in our lives. However, where that may come across as unbalance in of itself, I think what it really speaks to is growth, movement, and evolution. When change happens, growth occurs. It's in our approach and reaction to that change that we either find more freedom, understanding, and openness OR we dive deeper into captivity, ignorance, and isolation.

So, this was my attempt to speak to those on the far reaches of both camps. I'm hoping that through my humor and sarcasm you found your way just one step closer in following that pendulum to the opposite side. That you progress towards an area of balance. Or in the very least have thought about it.



I leave you with a few questions:

To those who attend church: How are you making a tangible difference in the lives of those around you? Minus the Theology, the "Christianese", the ulterior motives. Strip all that away... on a very basic human level... How are you meeting the needs of those outside your four walls? Do you have friends that do not go to church, that do not believe in God, that maybe you see as "lost"? What can you learn from them? Is it possible that those you view as being "Far away" from God are actually much closer than you think? Have you become set in your ways, completely immobilizing you?

To those who loathe the church and everything it represents: Are you judging the few by the actions of the majority? Is it possible that there are good people out there doing good things that happen to go to church and who happen to be Christian? Why don't you go to church anymore? Is it the church that leaves a bad taste in your mouth, or religion in of itself, or a single person, or all of the above? Do you have friends that go to church, that believe in God, that maybe you see as "lost"? What can you learn from them? Have you become set in your ways, completely immobilizing you?

Well?



 Disclaimer: The "9 reasons list" is of course meant to be sarcastic, humorous, and thought provoking. All of them following along those lines with the exception of number 8. That, I promise you, is very true. Also, I realize that there are people who are somewhere in the middle... they don't attend church, they don't loathe the church, the are really kind of indifferent towards it. Truthfully, I felt like if I were to give focus to that category, it would just be a "throw-in" content wise.

RE: Part 3 How I met my father after 33 years

When I was growing up I wanted to be black. I mean, I legitimately wanted to be black. You could ask my mom and she would tell you the same.

I remember at the age of 15, feeling like my mom just did not understand me... now, I can't believe how much she has learned since then. I say that tongue in cheek. I was the one that grew up. At one point following an argument with my mom, I promptly began to write the following on our sidewalk in big chalky letters "It's a black thang. You wouldn't understand!" Yes, I actually spelled the word "Thang". I vividly remember two black girls walking by looking at me, looking at what I just wrote, looking at me again, shaking their heads, and walking on.

 Funny how when we are young, we think we know it all and that our parents are "out of touch". When in reality they are very much in touch, with enough maturity and love to allow us to step out on our own, find ourselves, and make mistakes.

In case you were wondering, I never did turn black.

However it didn't stop me from all out trying. I loved the hip hop culture. I loved the clothing: Cross Colors, Karl Kani, Adidas, Triple Fat Goose, Etc., The slang, The music: Everything from Cypress Hill to the Chronic Album and, I would never admit this at the time... but the beach boys. I can say this now, but back then I would have been severely flogged for such things. I would even use a product called "Let's Jam" in my hair. It smelled amazing.



 Most of my friends were black. I even went to an after school program with all my friends. I didn't care that I wasn't black... neither did they. Everyone for the most part was accepting of my delusion:)

At one point during this after school program they invited a man from Africa to come and speak to us about our decisions and how those can have a lasting impact on our life good or bad. This guy was the real deal. He was, as they say, Africa Black. He had the traditional garb (think King Jaffe Joffer from coming to America - minus the small stuffed cheetah neck blanket) and spoke in a very thick accent.

He gave an inspiring speech that had all of us on the edge of our seats. We were warriors, we were men, we believed that we could take on the world. At the end he asked all of us to stand up and repeat after him.

King Jaffe: Alright! I want you to repeat after me! Say I, am a STRONG BLACK MAN!

Well... what did you think I did. I proudly proclaimed what had been in my heart the whole time. Albeit a few seconds later than everyone else. Meaning, once they finished you heard my small voice say "...Black Man!"

Everyone laughed.

A short list of other aspirations are as follows:

Con Artist
Professional Hockey Player
Adult film star (sorry mom)
Police officer

You can breathe a sigh of relief knowing that of the four, I really only invested energy into one. I wanted to be a hockey player (you're welcome mom). I even, after many hours, perfected my autograph to which now is my legally binding signature. Obviously that never came to fruition either. I did go to lots of hockey games, wore jerseys, watched games on tv, played street hockey, and never missed my chance to yell "Game off" and "Game on" whenever a car would come down the street.

I was a pretty mixed up kid.

I did seriously look into and pursue becoming an officer later on in life.

THAT'S HOW I MET MY DAD

I had my dad's name, an address, a city... but no number. No matter what I tried, I was falling short.

I did, however, have a friend who was a patrol Sargent in the APD at the time. I actually spoke with him, quite often, about the process and life of a Police Officer. I went on a ride along with him one night and loved every second of it.

I felt like I had enough relational equity to call upon a favor from him. This was after all my last straw.

I called him up and said "Hey, listen, before I even ask... if this is crossing any lines let me know. But, I think I may have found my birth father and he has no listed number. Do you think you can see what you can dig up?"

"Sure man, I'll get back to you when I find something."

It was two long days. Finally I saw his name on my phone as it rang.

I picked it up.

"Hey man!" "What's going on?"

":I found a number for you."  he replied.

"What?! That's great! How?"

"Parking Ticket."

Can you imagine? I'm asking you, the reader, to imagine the series of events that lead to my dad getting a parking ticket that day. How fragile and designed they had to be. I am sure that I would have kept digging... but this one kind of fell into my lap.

I had the number, now all I had to do was call.

I kept the number on me for days. I felt like I had the key to open the door to my past... to finally get some answers and closure. I heard horror stories of kids finally meeting their birth parents and having it completely blow up in their face. So there was a part of me that was treading lightly. I had come this far and did not want to pass it up.

I know... I can have a friend call him, explain the situation, and feel it out, and see if my dad wanted to even talk to me.

Besides, I don't think I could have just picked up the phone and blindsided him.

"SURPRISE!"

You remember that scene in the movie Elf... where Will Ferrell is following around his "Dad" everywhere? well,  you get the idea:)

So, my good friend, Preston agreed to help. He would be a good buffer between the two of us. It was a very selfless thing for him to do. To put himself at the crossroads of such a pivotal point in my life. I will be forever thankful and indebted to him for it.

I called Preston and gave him the number... he said "I'll call him and get back to you."

Well, Preston called and my dad answered. Preston had some preliminary questions to feel him out and to avoid rushing head on into "When it comes to baby Carlos... you ARE the father!"

He gave some history of my life, specific events, people, etc. He later told me that my dad was very quiet and just listening on the other end.

He told my dad "Carlos would like it very much if you and him could talk."

He told Preston that he would have to call him back.

I can imagine... holy crap, I could imagine the wind being sucked out of his sails. It came in like a tidal wave. Crashing on him all at once.

The next day Preston was on a flight from Chicago to Oregon. His phone was off and when he landed he turned it back on. There were several missed calls and a voicemail from my dad. He was fighting for me.

My dad told him that yes, he was caught completely off guard, and that he was sorry it took him so long to call back. Most importantly that my dad wanted me to call him.

Preston called me back, almost in tears, explaining what happened. I couldn't move... I just sat there, glued to every word and detail he was telling me, tears rolling down my face.

Could you imagine being Preston? Being the connecting point between these two worlds colliding? I would liken it to a nurse helping deliver a baby. He was watching new life being born right in front of his eyes.

He had to get off the phone.. but said "let's talk later, thank you for asking me to do this... now call your dad"

So I did. We talked.

It was slightly awkward and natural all at the same time. It was filled with generalities, specifics, and random bouts of silence.. of thinking of what question to ask next.

I asked him to meet face to face. He agreed. We decided on Portillos. I had two days to prep myself.
Before getting off the phone I said "Wait! How will I know it's you? I've never even seen a picture of you."

He laughed to himself and said... "you'll know".

That part of it slightly confused me. What I didn't know at the time is that his wife, once she found out that Preston called and what he called about, decided to look up my name on Facebook. Would you believe that I was the first Carlos Lopez to pop up? It's true. He saw me before I saw him. He knew... I was his son.

Then the big day came. I was driving on the way to Portillos. I must have went through every emotion possible on the way out there. I was by myself. But I knew I had to face this on my own. This was my battle to overcome. I called Preston on the way there and said... "listen man... you HAVE to pray for me right now. I am a wreck"

He prayed, I calmed down, he encouraged me... I continued to drive.

Finally I arrived at Portillos. I take a deep breath and step out of my truck.

I walk about 50 ft and then I see him. I see me in 30 years.

He wasn't lying.. .and let me tell you ladies... I look good in 30 years. I am a Greek Silver Fox!

You're welcome Stephanie :)

We came close to each other and he embraced me and I embraced him.

Believe it or not... time stopped. All of my life lead up to this point. We were finally together.

We talked for hours... about my past, his past, our respective families.

Which by the way... he had no other kids except a younger brother who I also saw for the first time in pictures that day.

It was absolutely amazing. It was everything I wanted it would be and at the same time surprising in every way.  We ordered the same kind of Italian beef, by the way.

Below are some pictures of us at Portillos on that day.

That day... my life took a turn. It's right up there with the day I was married and the day each of my kids were born. It was a day that was a long time coming. It was a day that I will never forget.

Its been over two years since that day. I talk to my dad often. He loves his grandkids and we get together whenever we can. I also talk to my brother as often as I can and all of us even got together for the first time last summer. Here is a picture from that day:

You, too, have Journeys in your life that maybe you feel are still left unexplored or unfinished. Maybe things at one point or another that you have given up on. Don't give up. Keep fighting. Happy endings still happen. You will be glad you did.

RE: Part 2 of How I met my father after 33 years

"Hello" said the voice on the other line.
 I was breathless and was stuck in a moment of unbelief and wonder because I finally heard the voice of my father. I had always imagined what it would sound like... I never expected such a thick Greek accent.

When I say Greek, I mean Greek like Hollywood movies Greek. Right now, in your mind, say this word: Baklava. Ok, now say it  with a Greek / Godfather type of accent "Bahk-luh-vaahhh!!!"... you get the idea.

The second "Hello" brought me back into the present and out of my mouth came "Hello, is this John?".

"Yes" he answered.

"This is Carlos." I replied. [so far, so good! Keeping composure and getting out short, three word phrases]

-PAUSE-

Let's rewind a bit here. This moment is important and I want you to understand the amount of perseverance, late nights, endless research, and tears that led up to this.

After all, it did take me a long time to find my Dad

-----------------Rewind many, many years--------------------------------

When I was younger I was riddled with hurt, disappointment, anger, and resentment. I didn't quite understand why things were the way they were. Why he left.

I was also upset with the fact that we grew up in a poor neighborhood, with minimal income, and lesser hope.

But, there I was. Over the years I learned to embrace the pain of my father not being in the picture and the hopeless, shitty neighborhood that we all grew up in. I wore it like a badge of honor.

Being in a place like that creates this disdain inside of you.  It forces this desire on you, to escape and do better for yourself, or spiral deeper into the mess. I feel like I had enough sense in my head to want more for myself, but enough anger and hurt in my heart to not care. I was constantly fighting the two.

Sure, we were poor, but everyone was. We had fun. We laughed, we cried, we fought, we hugged, we were able to find peace in the mess. My mom, did an incredible job of raising all of us with solid values. She would often go without, to make sure that we had what we needed. She did the best she could with what she had. Now that I have children, I understand how deep her love went. She gave us hope that things could be better. In the background of my life, the pain still lingered and reminded me of who I was.

The tough guy exterior was there. Layers upon layers of built up defense and fortified emotions. This was necessary where I grew up. Weakness was preyed upon. Toughness was respected. However, I would learn that it was unstable when it came to one thing... my dad.

Anytime things got real or I would think too much about it, or someone would pry, or when I heard about sightings of him, a crack would appear in the foundation. I would feel exposed and would quickly stuff all of it back in.

So for years, this is how it went. I would cry, stuff everything back in, and pretend that I didn't need resolution. I knew deep down inside that I needed some sort of closure. I just wasn't sure how to go about it. Sometimes years would go by and I wouldn't even give it a second thought. Other times I would obsess over it like a mad man.

Father's Day sucked.

I honestly tried many times over the years to find my dad. It was incredibly hard. Last I heard he had moved back to Greece or was in Seattle or God knows where. I collected all these details from conversations with my mom. Keep in mind, I had nothing to go on, only a conjured up image of what he looked like and a broken timeline of his life. I had a split image of the type of person my dad was. My mom spoke with nothing but adoration about him... yet, he was not there. So goes my internal struggle. I did research here and there.... dug a little here and there... and asked questions. Still, no answers. No direction.

I buried all of this so deep. I felt like if I just let it go, ignored it, that I could move on and live my life.
So I did. It worked. Once a year though, everything came rushing back in.

I dropped out of high school, moved to Chicago, lived at Jesus People USA, took my GED and ACT's... passed, Go me! Decided I was going to college... my major... undecided. After I moved to Chicago, I started coming into myself. I started to understand more and more who I was and who I wanted to be... or more accurately, who I didn't want to be.

When I was in College is when I decided that I was going to find him. I felt like enough time had passed and enough life experience had been lived that I could let go a little, try to understand the situation of why he left, and try to start over.

I tried. I made contact with someone in Texas that shared his last name. I had all my questions prepared. When that phone rang and the person on the other end answered, I cracked. I kept composed as best I could... my voice shaky, tears blurring my vision. How do you tell a complete stranger that you are looking for someone who may be your dad. That you only want to talk with him and oh yeah... you're not looking for money. That's about as imposing as going up to the edge of a cliff, knowing you have to jump, and knowing that your parachute may not open. Yeah, it was heavy. At the same time.. you are playing part detective, part salesperson, part son. You don't want to scare the person because you need answers and direction.

Well... as crazy as my story seemed, they were understanding. They pointed me towards Seattle, WA. My mom once told me that there was a good chance that he moved to the west coast, started a successful restaurant, had a brand new family, and moved on with his life.  I didn't want to interrupt that. I just wanted him to know that I was alive and that I was doing ok.

The one name that the family in Texas latched on to, the one name that pointed me towards Seattle, the most obscure made up Hollywood name: Jimmy The Greek. Folks, I'm not lying here. Yes, Jimmy the Greek was allegedly my Father's Uncle. So it stuck, they knew him as James. He was much older, ran restaurants in Seattle, lived in a lake house. It made sense. I finally felt like I was gaining ground. I said my "thank you's" and hung up the phone.

The conversation with the people in Texas was good but hard. Good in the sense that I felt like I was getting somewhere. Hard in the sense that they had never heard, or claimed to have heard of my dad. When I hung up the phone I wept. I laid it to rest for at least a few years.

You're probably wondering why in the hell I would lay it to rest for that long. It was a cycle that had repeated itself in my life for years. I would look for my Dad, come up empty, get hurt, give up, stuff it all back down.

A lot had happened in the following years that kept me occupied. Marriage, Kids, Work, etc... life in general. I was comfortable and ok with where things were laid to rest.

But then, things happened... big things. My world was suddenly opened and turned around / upside down. Life happened. My safety net, gone. We (my family and I) were on our own in some respects. However, it was in that place of emptiness, I found the urge to finally locate my Dad once and for all.

I was obsessed. I spent countless hours and late nights researching avenues that may lead me one step closer. I contacted people on Fb. I spoke with the local library where I grew up and obtained copies of old newspapers that made mention of my father. I even went as far as contacting the Center for Disease Control to get copies of reports and court papers that made mention of my father. THAT is a WHOLE other ball of wax... another time, another place.

Everything I obtained never mentioned him by name. Even though, in part, it all involved him. I know I am being cryptic here... but trust me, it would require me writing a book to go into depth and detail. Suffice it to say that my dad experienced some legal troubles. Really what I was looking for was a picture maybe or his name in writing. I found nothing.

I continued though. I did eventually speak with Jimmy the Greek... I even called him by name and gave him detailed accounts of stories that I had heard about my dad growing up. His response... "I have no idea who you are talking about."

You would think this crushed me... it didn't. It lit a fire in me. I was close, I could feel it.

I spoke with my mom more. I asked her if she remembered any other names or associates that would have been around my dad at that time.

She gave me one name... I'll call him Jake. Jake, I found out, was a realtor in Seattle (thank you Google). I left him a message on his cell and an hour later, I received a call back. He was blown away... he remembered my dad! YES! Making progress felt good. He said he lost touch with him once he [Jake] moved out to Seattle. However he did remember a few of their mutual friends. One of which was a woman I will call Pam.


Pam lived in Peoria.

I immediately went to work and found a number. 

I called and begin to explain the situation. She too had lost touch with him, but as far as she knew, he was still living in the Chicagoland area.

That much I knew. I knew he lived in Chicago at one point. But had since moved on.

Could it be though? Could it be that my dad was under my nose this whole time.

Over the years... through hours of research... from Greece, to Texas, to Washington State and back again.

It all came back to where it began.

Now, there were many different possible pronunciations and spellings of his last name. I always knew that it could be one of two spellings... possibly three.

The first spelling lead me along this whole journey... now the second would lead me home.

I began researching under the other last name. It worked... I found someone who matched his name and who was living nearby. Orland Park to be exact.

But something was off... he was much older than I knew him to be. Problem is I had no number, just a name, and address, and a hint of hope that this name I see on the screen may very well be my dad.

It turns out... it was.

You're wondering what I did to get his number. How I got it. How I knew it was him.

Get ready... you are in for a surprise!



READ PART THREE HERE