Thin Walls

Our 1978 Jayco

  Our camper has really thin walls, maybe 2 inches thick at most.  Recreational vehicles are designed to be as light as possible for the most efficient towing and touring.  We've been on the gypsy road for a while now and have found that thin walls are a blessing in more ways than one.  The first, of course, is that when we are climbing the long and winding hills of west Michigan, I'm thankful that the trailer doesn't weigh any more than it's registered 4,400 pounds.  The old Dodge pickup is a workhorse that doesn't mind the load.
  But another thin wall for which I am thankful is the vanishing generation gap that got so much publicity a few decades ago but seems to be diminishing as observers like David Kinnaman* point out in recent studies.  One characteristic that today's young adults seem to have in common is the inclination to engage in conversation.  They don't seem to be the least bit interested in listening to a sermon or a lecture; there is definitely still a solid wall there.  But they are drawn to real discussion, and they'll talk openly about almost any subject, even religion, if there's good-natured dialogue and an absence of criticism.

Street musicians in Grand Rapids

  Kaye and I experienced the reality of this first hand in downtown Grand Rapids, Michigan, last week when we came across a band of young street musicians occupying a square of sidewalk near the Blues on the Mall event.
  I have found that the camera is an automatic invitation for people to engage in conversation, and I had been shooting artists and bystanders and classic car owners and getting a smile and a welcoming nod from each one.  People love having their pictures taken.  As I was sitting on the sidewalk shooting these musicians, Christina approached Kaye and started talking.  She talked about her friends and what they were doing there, and Kaye talked about our new wayfaring lifestyle and the home we had left, and there didn't seem to be the least bit of a wall between them, generational or otherwise.  Christina didn't seem to notice that we were old enough to be her grandparents and it didn't matter.  It was a delightful and refreshing experience.  The two exchanged email addresses, and when we arrived back at camp there was already a message waiting from Christina.

Musicians Steven and Christina

  And that brings me back to an unfortunate thought about the walls of denominationalism that have divided the Body of Christ for so many centuries.  I don't believe that these walls are God-ordained in the slightest but are man-made.  And it seems to me that while the walls are thinning in some places as with young people - if we are really willing to engage them, the walls are thickening in other places.
  Walls of politics are growing even within the church.  The conservatives battle the liberals, the Republicans malign the Democrats, and the evangelicals demonize the main-liners for their proverbial slippery slope (Curse that  slippery slope!)  Doctrinal walls continue to be shored up and strengthened with every secular or theological "threat" that presents itself.  Hate rises while Love Wins.
  At its last general conference the Missionary Church shored up its doctrinal walls by adopting a statement rejecting Open Theism.  And the denominational walls thickened.
  If we ever expect to engage the current culture, we must move the other way.  Damn the walls.  Tear them down.  For God's sake let's get along.  A generation depends on it.
  As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord by seeking to tear down walls by cutting the theological crap, as it were, and putting people first.
  People are more important than doctrinal stuff.  Always.


What methods have you seen implemented for thinning or removing the walls that separate people?


*David Kinnaman, the head of the Barna Group, refers to 16 to 29-year-olds as Mosaics in his book, Unchristian, What a New Generation Really Thinks about Christianity ... and Why It Matters.

The Bumpy Road to Adventure

  If you are seeking adventure, your life of convenience may become a curse and work against you.  At least if you are the typical American who has enjoyed a lifetime in the hammock of easy-come affluence, comfort and space.  Indoor plumbing is an essential component of life in the Western world, even though it's only about 100 years old here.  A hot shower every day is still unheard of in much of the rest of the world.  If you want to pursue adventure, this convenient lifestyle is a major obstacle.
  Kaye and I have traversed a convoluted maze in our journey out of the commonplace.  We reached retirement age still owing a considerable mortgage.  It wasn't that we didn't have a plan, it's that our plan failed.  Taking an early retirement from school teaching after 27 years, I started a log home construction business with a mobile crew that traveled all over lower Michigan to build new log homes, a specialized service that filled a narrow niche in the industry.  It was a genius plan that lasted eight years.  The only problem was that the production costs were high and the profit margin was small or non-existent on some projects.  It was a lot of fun, but left us with virtually the same amount of debt we started with.  Then Michigan's housing market collapsed and so did my business.
  We had a great piece of property and tried every which way to make it pay for itself.  We grew Christmas trees and sold thousands of them over two decades but found that the income wouldn't offset the expenses, since the money all came in during a two-week period in December but the costs accumulated year round.
  The large house we had built on a 32-acre estate had been ideal for raising our family and a raft of foster kids and foreign exchange students, but eventually the kids had left for college and distant jobs, and now the two of us were rambling around in a big house on a big property with a big heating bill and a big mortgage.  And lots of mowing.  Acres and acres of mowing.
  The place lent itself to retreats as it had two logs cabins and wild woods and meadows. We hosted church youth groups and conducted paintball games drawing scores of young adventurers.  Still the buildings were empty most of the time and costing us more money than they could possibly bring in.
  We decided to sell.  But the housing market was still pulverized and wouldn't be improving any time soon.  Potential buyers came but couldn't borrow the money needed to purchase.  We tried to divide the property to make it more affordable, but the township denied the split.

We just moved from our 10-room house to a one-room cabin.

  Finally, after 40 years in the big house, we reluctantly agreed to move out and bring in renters.  Risky for sure.  And we put a renter in one of the log cabins.  Then we moved into the other log cabin- a dry cabin (no plumbing), putting most of our furniture in storage, and using the travel trailer for water and hot showers.  And we are hitting the road next week with the trailer, finally enjoying some of the freedom we have been looking for all this time.  The forever camping life is upon us.  Illusive adventure has arrived.
  But I started out saying convenience is a curse if one wants to seek adventure.  Here's what we have discovered to be hindrances to getting free:

•   Smelling nice.  If we didn't all have to smell nice, we wouldn't need to use as much precious water.  This includes showers, laundry, clean dishes, and of course, flushing the toilet.  Do you have any idea how often Americans flush the toilet every day?  Keep track sometime and you'll be amazed.  When you are staying in an RV where the sewage goes into a holding tank that has to be emptied somewhere, this is no small consideration.  Every flush has a trade-off, and it's a stinky one.
•   Memories and other stuff.  Downsizing is nigh unto impossible when every little keepsake takes up space.  Not just the old photographs, but what about the china cabinet that's been in the family for generations?  It's hard to view it as junk and sell it in a yard sale.  Is it worth renting space to keep it?  This decision has to be made for a thousand items.  Thank God for the thrift store.  But Americans feel entitled to their stuff whether it's memorabilia, hobbies, collections or whatever.
•   Excessive space.  Now that I live in a small cabin and tiny RV, I feel like I occupied more than my share of space before.  Americans consume more of the earth's resources than our global neighbors and feel we are entitled to it; it's the American way.  We'll even go to war to keep oil prices within reason so our tradition is not compromised in any way.  Now I feel uncomfortable taking up more space than one person deserves, American or not.  A 10-room house for two of us?  I don't think so. But this was a tough one for us, because we were accustomed to entertaining all the kids and grandkids at Christmas time- we had plenty of room for it, and we had to relinquish this tradition.  This expensive tradition.  Tough.
•   Lawns and all kinds of property maintenance.  What is this fetish that Americans have with their lawns?  Weed it and feed it so it will grow faster so you'll have to mow it more often.  Huh?  I think it's mostly about competition.  Having the nicest lawn on the block.  Fortunately, our new renters have a couple of large mowers and are responsible for the greater share of the lawn mowing- it's part of the rental contract.  I'm a genius.  I consider lawn mowing as part of the curse; Adam sinned and was banished from the garden where nature took care of everything, and he's been mowing ever since.  I'm kidding; really green lawns are an American thing.  If you travel much you will notice the absence of lawns in much of the world.
•   Debt.  It's a monkey on your back.  And it's hard to cavort with a monkey on your back.

    So it is that our property, which served us so efficiently for so many years (and we served it too) became a ball-and-chain for us later in life.  We had so much space that we thoughtlessly brought stuff into the house and onto the premises for 40 years only to have it bite us in the butt at the end.  So. Much. Stuff.  Downsizing means you have to deal with all of that stuff.
  Ultimately, you're not going to take it with you.  You can't.  Not in a 24-foot travel trailer, not in a 6-foot coffin.
  So deal with it.  Now.  Or it will keep you rooted and prevent you from realizing the adventure you may someday seek.  This thought has been my motivator lately.

Our cozy little cabin interior.

  Disclaimer:  Not everybody seeks adventure.  In fact, Americans are programmed to pursue security and comfort from the time they are young and are taught to do well in school so they can go to the right college so they can have the right job with the right income so they can be secure and raise their families to do the same, hopefully in the same hometown.  Adventure is not thought of as a  lifestyle but a weekend pursuit with a boat or a four-wheeler (which has to be paid for by working overtime).
  On the other hand, life comes in stages, and during the family years when the kids are at home, a sense of security or roots can be important- and it is not impossible to weave a sense of adventure into the fabric of those years as well.  It's an adventure to bring foster kids into your home and to own a paintball field and a ropes course.  But for us, later on those elements became maintenance and monetary burdens.


  What stage of life are you in now?  Do you need security or adventure?  Or both?

Love Wins, I Can Breathe Now

  Last week at a restaurant in Grand Ledge, Michigan, I talked with another church refugee, a retired steelworker named Tim who spoke of a spiritual journey that was characterized by perpetual fear.  As young boys he and his twin brother had been adopted by a stiff Baptist woman and her husband, and her modus operandi for raising children was to instill the fear of God in them at an early age.  And then hold that thought for a lifetime.  
  Down through the years Tim was always afraid.  Afraid of doing anything wrong.  "I felt like if I even brought a pencil home from work and didn't return it, I would go to hell," he told me, and in his eyes I could almost see that look of worry returning even as he shared his experiences with me.
  But things had changed for him later in life, and I asked him what made the difference.  Without a word he pointed at his wife, Carol.  She was actually his second wife, who he had married in his late forties, and she brought with her grace and confidence in the Lord that he had not seen before.  Her family was conservative evangelical as well, but there was an abiding sense of acceptance and peace in that family, and lots of love.  And it seemed to carry over, or carry down, if you will, from a source not only deep within them, but also from somewhere above.  
  Though Tim's life has been slowly evolving from a sense of condemnation to a place of acceptance by God and the people closest to him, the journey has taken awhile.  The most recent additive that really boosted his sense of spiritual well-being was his reading of Rob Bell's book, Love Wins.*
  "I feel like I can breathe now," he told me, and a look of enthusiastic relief crossed his face as he recalled Bell's ideas about heaven and the great love of God from this popular new book.  "We are now invited to live a whole new life without guilt or shame or blame or anxiety.  We are going to be fine," says Bell (Love Wins, p. 172), and Tim looks like he finally believes it.
  Coming away from my conversation with Tim I felt a sense of relief for him and the growing numbers of exiles who have left a land of emotional and spiritual imprisonment perpetuated by a judgmental religious empire.  I recall the words of my friend after visiting the traditional conservative church that we had left awhile earlier saying, "The guards are still there, but the prisoners have left!"  Wow, that says it.
  But there are still multitudes left within those walls.  Why is it that so many continue to live their entire lives under Old Testament law, when Christ's freedom is waiting for them?  One of my favorite stories that depicts the contrast between the Law and Grace is the one about the woman who was caught in the act of adultery and brought to Jesus (John 7).  Those who wanted to stone her had the Law on their side.  And Jesus, as God, had the power and authority to order her to be stoned to death.  But he didn't condemn her.  He had the right to, but he didn't.  Grace prevailed.
  And I think that's the difference that Tim has discovered between living under the Law or living under Grace.  God has the right to condemn us, but because of Christ and the cross, mercy prevails.

Tim & Carol

  Now Tim's going to hold that thought.  For a lifetime.  Because love wins, he can breathe now.




* Rob Bell, Love Wins, A Book About Heaven, Hell, and the Fate of Every Person Who Ever Lived. 2011, Harper Collins Publishers
  
  
  

A Pacifist's Memorial Day

  This weekend is Memorial Day weekend, and I'm glad I won't be going to church.  It's not that I'm protesting anything, because I rarely attend church anyway, but at this time of year I'm keenly aware of the discomfort that a pacifist experiences while attending Memorial Day services in any conservative congregation in America.  After all, many conservative Christians in this country equate love for God with love for country.
  So I am proposing an alternative memorial to those who have made the ultimate sacrifice, not for their country, but for the Lord and the lost of the world: Christian missionaries and martyrs.  For all Christians there exists a greater purpose than defending national freedoms, for there exists a greater Kingdom than any worldly kingdom or nation.  
  When do Christian martyrs get their day of tribute?  What day is set aside for honoring missionaries who sacrifice their entire lives in obscure god-forsaken jungles and ghettos for the sake of a higher calling?  What parades march through town with banners and firetrucks and marching bands in honor of their supreme sacrifice?  I know of none.
  Now I'm not about to organize a parade or a picnic or to enlist the local marching band to rally, but in my own small way, I will see that the unsung heroes of the faith will have my appreciation and my respect this weekend, even as I am honoring the soldiers and troops who have given all for their country.
  When I see Old Glory being paraded down the street this weekend I will remember not only fallen American soldiers, but also my late Aunt Esther, who invested her life in an obscure village in Sierra Leone, Africa, as a medical missionary.  I will salute Nate Saint, Jim Elliot, and the other young men who were slaughtered by the Auca Indians in Ecuador whom they were determined to reach with the gospel.  I'll remember missionary Graham Staines and his two young boys, trapped in his car and burned alive by Hindu fundamentalists in India in 1999.  I will breathe a prayer of thanks for my own daughter and son-in-law who were sent into hiding and frantically evacuated from India dodging roadblocks under cover of darkness after receiving violent threats from Hindu extremists.  I will think of the thousands of believers over the centuries who have lived and died under tyrants who have sought to wipe out Christianity from the face of the earth.
  Don't get me wrong here.  I don't disrespect the sacrifices that American troops have made for their country and our freedom.  I just think there should be equal time for those who have answered an even higher calling... and who have given their lives for their Lord and His kingdom.
  Your local pastor is not likely to observe my new Memorial Day tribute in the church services this Sunday.  But you, my readers, can join me in this quiet observance that honors multitudes of Christian martyrs and missionaries the world over.  When you see a flag waving this weekend, remember those who have sacrificed everything for the Lord, think about that missionary you know who has endured lifelong hardship and risk, and pray God will raise up one more generation of prayer warriors and people-lovers who, without any fanfare or flag-waving, will continue the global mission. 

Saying the Amens

The Fireside Room at Hidden Hollows

  Some of our favorite people just left the room, and I felt a loud Amen.  I didn't hear it audibly, but I was aware of it nonetheless.   It was the last meeting of our house church group to be held in this, our house of 40 years.  We are moving out before the next meeting two weeks from now, so a chapter of our lives is drawing to a close.  Amen.
  At the end of every formal gathering of the church there is often a benediction, sometimes in the form of a blessing, and the end of the benediction is punctuated with an "Amen".  It is a stamp of approval, a "so-be-it" that adds affirmation and finality to what just took place.
  So I am experiencing this sweet Amen as our friends drive away from our front door for the last time.  Our own kids drove away years ago and found careers and new friends who turned into spouses in places farther west.  Amen.
  After hosting foster kids for 17 years, we said goodbye to the last of them a few years ago as they waddled out the door dragging their black garbage bags filled with their few belongings.  Amen.
  Five foreign exchange students from Russia, France, Brazil, Costa Rica and Columbia came and went.  Amen.
  Three successful businesses that were headquartered here have recently closed.  Amen.
  Several ministries centered here, from a retreat center to a mini-monastery, have run their course.  Satisfying Amen.
  The "Missions" posters that covered the walls of the fireside room are being distributed to whomever would like them, so the wall is half empty now.  Gratifying Amen.
  The pantry door under the stairs is closed now where the girls used to use the pencil sharpener that was there and then jot a note on the walls and undersides of the stairway:  "I am satan's personal nightmare! Signed, Wendi Lee Sims, June 7, 1992".  Nostalgic Amen.
  Three years ago we were dismissed from our lifelong local congregation where we were made aware that we were no longer welcome.  Our views did not conform, we no longer fit.  Thirty-five years of youth work, missions trips, and worship leading ended unceremoniously.  Gut-wrenching Amen.
  Books, keepsakes, surplus office supplies and well-worn furniture are all being re-assigned to friends and family and the "keepers" put into storage for the next place we might live.  Exhausting Amen.
  This big old house has emptied out and is now too large for two people, especially during the long Michigan winters where living space has to be heated for seven months of the year.  We are hitting the road in a few days, following that wind that I spoke of in an earlier blog (See "The Holy Spirit of Adventure"), so our Amens are not unhappy ones if a bit wistful.
  When we drive away from here we also drive toward the next good destination.  Off to see the world, so to speak, in an old camper, finally pursuing our recent quest to hang out with sinners for awhile, having spent our entire first 60 years hanging out mostly with fellow believers.      Finally being the salt of the earth.
  Before we both have to say life's final Amen, we're going to have some fun in some new places!  All fun is God's fun. (Huh?)
  Amen and amen!
  
  We are excited to be heading toward the next new adventure, and that is helping us to say the necessary Amens to the past.  What Amens have you had to say in life (leave something or draw it to a close), and were they positive or negative experiences?

Deconstructive Bigshots

  It has happened again.  Last week a close pastor friend of mine lost his job to the traditional power brokers on his church board.  He was dismissed because he didn't serve their personal agendas for the church.  So he is done with organized church and will serve the Lord and the local community in more organic Christ-like ways.  This is a pretty ballsy move on his part and a scary one; the abrupt career change prevents most disaffected pastors from doing the same, although there will certainly be many others who will soon follow.
  As I've said before, it seems to me that the demise of organized evangelicalism in America is accelerating; I mean, this makes three Missionary Church pastors in the thumb of Michigan who have recently been ousted by their local boards - with the assent of their district leaders - and who have opted to move outside the fortress but stay in town and serve in more personal, incarnate ways.
  This has provoked a new thought that has just dawned on me as I have been observing the movement close-up, and that is this:  Not only is the empire being deconstructed from the bottom up, it is also inadvertently being dismantled from the top down.  The very methods that protected and perpetuated the empire in the past have become the tools by which it is being undermined.  I'm talking about the hierarchy.
  It used to be that constituents would respect the mandates of congregational and denominational leaders, feeling that they were sinning if they questioned authority.  Similarly, pastors submitted to their superiors, thinking this was the will of God.  Not so anymore.  One of the common characteristics of postmoderns is their innate distrust and disregard for authority.  Leaders who notice this trend will lament this "rebellious spirit"  and preach long and loud against it, but they seem unwilling or incapable of adapting to the new reality in the church.  To their own demise.
  Not only is the church losing ground from the bottom up (more than 90% of high school seniors leave the church within one year of graduation) but the Missionary Church is being dismantled from the top down, by men in ivory towers who allow their most dedicated pastors to crash and burn at the hands of a few power mongers in local fiefdoms.  So the exodus out of the institutional church is being fed by the very leaders who are trying to stop it.  Their penchant for power is biting their own butts.
  The scenarios that have unfolded in my neighborhood recently have been characterized by these self-destructive elements:

• Big money makes you a big shot.  Not only is it the elected position in the organization that gives you power, it is often the people with money who have the most clout.  The local church founders are often the most respected by the district leaders.  After all, if you offend the money holders and they leave or quit giving, it will eventually affect the bottom line - district income and your own salary (the Michigan superintendent makes around $80K per year with benefits, just about twice the national average income).
• Secrecy and confidentiality help maintain power.  Exiled pastors will be sworn to secrecy to protect the hierarchy, while the constituents are told that leaders are keeping confidences in order to "protect the reputation" of the out-going pastor.  They cast a shadow of mystery and innuendo over the pastor, creating suspicion in the people and thus preventing people from questioning their decisions. (Displaced pastors in The Missionary Church in Michigan are routinely asked to sign oaths of silence.  The individual takes a hit for the sake of the institution.)
• Decision-making power is removed from the laity.  The Missionary Church has a congregational form of government, which means that the members get to vote on important decisions.  Well, that's the way it's supposed to be, but in the three cases that I've just cited, the pastors were dismissed without a vote of the people.  The congregational form of church government seems to be inherently incompatible with the teaching of hierarchy and submission to authority.  They are like Siamese twins joined at the hip but in a perpetual fist fight.

  The irony of all this is that the structures which are intended to help maintain and perpetuate the institution are inadvertently swinging a wrecking ball which is relentlessly  tearing it down in a post-modern culture which categorically disregards established authority.
  In my own former church, when the district superintendent swooped in to rescue the assembly from an impending split over a pastor who was being ousted without a vote of the members, his solution was to preach an impassioned sermon on unity and submission to authority.  He obviously was out of touch with the times and the realities of life in the trenches.  The church did split, and the pastor moved outside the institution and is now a leader in a network of house churches.
  And this is one of the reasons that more than 1,500 pastors leave the pastorate every month in America.  The hierarchy of the religious institution is an unwieldy demolition ball that keeps swinging back and smashing its own legs.  Without its feet to stand on, it well inevitably topple.  In fact, just this morning I heard a former Missionary Church constituent predict that the denomination will crumble within the next decade.
  To every pastor in the Missionary Church in Michigan I would say, "Watch your back," and if you're not inclined to submit to the power brokers in your church or in the district, I suggest you be working on a plan for an alternate means of employment so that you too may enjoy the satisfaction and fulfillment of really serving Christ and your neighbors - outside the walls, the way Jesus intended in the first place.

The Emerging Purism

  I think I'm becoming something of a Christian purist, but it's not happening over night.  My friends and I are attempting to peel off the barnacles of dogma and orthodoxy that have attached themselves to the hull of the S.S. Gospel over the centuries, relentlessly slowing the ship until it is almost dead in the water.  We're finding that the underlying vessel is nearly unrecognizable to the religious bystander.  Most everybody knows that there's something there, but it hasn't been seen in years, so nobody even knows what it looks like anymore-- and that's where much of our challenge lies.  What are the true essentials to our faith?

  There's a field of theological thought and practice called "Jesus Only".  This is a long-standing detachment of pilgrims who have long known that the religious system we know today is not the essential faith that God had in mind when the Church began at Pentecost.  150 years ago, the Danish philosopher, Kierkegaard, said, "Christendom has done away with Christianity without quite being aware of it."  For about 1,700 years this ship has been sailing under the flag of Christ while concealing the dozens of other flags to which it maintains allegiances-- flags of politics, denominations, various theologies, traditions, dogmas and so on.

  Okay, so I have badly mixed my metaphors:  Is it flags or barnacles?  Well, I guess it's both. The barnacles might be the traditions and practices which have attached themselves to the gospel but have ended up detracting from it.  The flags are the collusive loyalties to which the church has aligned itself which betray it's true allegiance to the gospel of Christ.

  As an up-and-coming purist believer, here are some of the compromising alliances that I've dislodged and discarded so far:

• Church attendance.      --the purist says, "I am the church... well, part of it anyway."
• Commitment to a local assembly.       --"Now I can be committed to my neighbors."
• Tithing.        --"I live a life of generosity, managing the %100 that belongs to God."       (Some say that tithers are cheating God by approximately %90.)
• Legalism, The Law.    --"The work of Christ is Freedom."     (Gal. 5:1) 
• Alignment with the more Christian Republican party (in the North. Democrats in the South)
• Militarism, nationalism.    --"I am loyal to a greater Kingdom."
• The Sunday uniform of proper apparel (obviously, because I'm not attending)
• The doctrinal registry of who is "in" and who is "out".         --"I leave that up to the Lord."
• Accepted Christian behavior.     --"Love God, and do what you want." -(St Augustine)
• Condemnation of sinners, including gays, divorcees, etc.  --"I follow Jesus' 3rd Great Commandment: 'Do not judge'."
• Hierarchy.       --"As a member of the Body, I am answerable directly to the Head, which is Christ.  There are no ranks or levels in between."
• LIstening to sermons.          --"I don't need to be fed, I need to love.  That's all."
• Contributing to the upkeep of a church building.      --"Starving children need it more."
• The Pastor.                 --"We are all priests and minister to each other."
• Worship time.     --"Life is worship.  Serving the needy is true worship.  Millions of believers the world over never attend a worship service; look at the Chinese."
• Guilt, Condemnation.      --Avoiding legalists, condemning people, and oppressive religious environments has helped liberate. "There is no more condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." Romans 8:1

   It's not comprehensive, but it's a pretty long list, isn't it?  That should be a revelation in itself that there is a whole lot of non-essential foreign matter attached to this Ship.  So what's left for the purist believer?  It's the same thing it was at the start, and here it is:

• Love the Lord and your neighbors.  Express it any way you want to.  Be like Jesus, who didn't waste time in the company of the religious when he could be hanging out with the irreligious.

Wow, that's a really short list.  And the true purist will work hard to keep it that way.



The number of purist believers is rapidly growing in America.  How many do you know?