“Go into the culture and speak the language of the culture so that you can be a counterculture for the culture.”

I love this word. It speaks volumes of what followers of Jesus are supposed to be in this world. At my church we use this word practically every week. It’s in our DNA. But the word is often left undefined. What is a counterculture? What does it look like to plow one? Why do I have to be one? Am I plowing it already?

We sometimes talk about what that might look like in praxis; in fact, when talking about our lifestyles we often refer to that as counterculture. Sometimes we might say something like, “living out the gospel.”

Before I dive into what that looks like practically, I want to create an image of what that might look like philosophically.

If you’ve ever studied music, you’ve probably heard of counterpoint. Essentially, counterpoint is the relationship between two independent melodies that together create euphonic harmony. In a contrapuntal line, the once independent melodies become interdependent. One melody is completely distinct from the other melody, but when brought together they don’t clash. In fact, they create a beautiful harmonic line.

Counterculture works in a similar way. Culture may be moving in a certain direction, and a counterculture moves in a completely different direction, but this counterculture doesn’t attack the culture. It’s not an anticulture. To pull from my opening quote: we need to be “a counterculture for the culture.” In other words, we work for the good of the culture around us.

For many years modern evangelicals and fundamentalists have been caught up in a “culture war,” firmly believing that the culture was the enemy, and Christianity is responsible for making it right.

But if you look at the world around you, you’ll find endless possibilities for the gospel to infiltrate and come alongside this culture, creating a distinctly beautiful counterculture.

So what does this look like in praxis? Well, it’s different for every church. But look around you. You’ll soon discover the heartbeat of the culture you’ve been placed in.

What about for the individual? Perhaps that’s a little easier to answer. God requires certain things of his followers, but there’s one command he gives that encompasses all other commands.

Love.

“Love me. Love your fellow disciples. Love those around you who aren’t disciples. Love those who hate you for being a disciple.”

And what does that even look like? Perhaps it’s partnering with a local soup kitchen and helping to care for those facing poverty. Perhaps it’s taking that homeless person walking up and down your block everyday out to lunch. Perhaps it’s sitting next to that despondent guy at the bar in your local tavern and listening to his story.

Perhaps it’s choosing to not ogle the women at your office, to care more about your coworker’s wellbeing than your own, to deflect praise for a “knocked-out-of-the-park” project from yourself to your teammates, to value your community above your individuality.

And when someone asks, “Why do you live the way you live?” you can say,

“Because the God I serve stepped out of his comfort zone and said, ‘I love you’.”

Maybe I’m different from most guys. I realize you’re not supermodel hot. But I don’t want you to be. You’re beautiful because you’re buried so deeply inside our Father’s heart. You’re captivating because you’re captivated by God.

Your soft smile and gentle touch will be enough to send me to the stars. And your strong, silent support of who I am as a man will empower me, strengthen me, and energize me in ways nothing else can. I won’t ask that you always agree with me, but I will ask that you trust my intention to always seek your best interest. My methods may be wrong, and I may never understand you, but please be patient. I’m trying so hard.

I can’t promise that I’ll be your knight in shining armor, but I can promise that I’ll protect you from the dangers and hurts of our world. I’ll give my life to ensure your safety, security, and joy.

And I’ll listen. I’ll sit still and just hear what you have to say. My natural inclination is to spring into action and fix the problem, but I’ll deny that and just be an ear to talk to and a shoulder to lean on.

I know you’ll want an adventure. An endless adventure where we’ll explore the depth of our Savior’s heart and the intensity of his love. I’ll take you there. I may not have the money or ability to take you to beautiful European countries or to see breathtaking natural wonders. But I can promise you that I’ll take your hand as we discover the love that God has for us.

My love for you will be flawed and weak, so I won’t pour it directly on you. I’ll pour my love on our God, and he will amplify it and rain it down on you.

I can’t say I’m ready to share my life with someone else right now. But after I find you, I know I won’t be able to imagine facing the challenges of life without you by my side.

Listen for my voice. I’m calling out to you. And I love you.

I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to teach children about God’s love, but there are times that I fail in living out that love. There are times I mess up, and there are times I have to be stern with them. It can’t be fun being the kid who gets called out for goofing off during a lesson.

And even though I’m supposed to teach them, more often they can teach me. I learned a lesson from them on Sunday. My campus pastor’s kids aren’t always the most well behaved in the bunch, but they know something about love. Whether instinctively or thoughtfully, they understand love better than grownups do.

In his first letter to the church in Corinth, Paul wrote that “love. . . keeps no record of wrongs,” and it “always trusts.”

Mike’s kids tore after me on Sunday after lunch. “Nate!” they yelled, as they wrapped their arms around my waist. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve gotta go back to Morristown now,” I said.

“Do you have to?” they asked.

I melted.

They didn’t remember the times I got fed up with their antics and took away their snack time. They’d forgotten the moments I put them on the spot for speaking out of turn. They kept no record of the incidents I brushed them off to take care of some administrative work that could have waited till much later on.

“Love keeps no record of wrongs.”

And they trusted that, even in my less-than-happy moods, I still had their best interests in mind.

“Love always trusts.”

It’s how God loves. Kids can teach us something about that in a very powerful, unique way. Do you want to learn?

He anointed us, set his seal of ownership on us, and put his Spirit in our hearts as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come.
~2 Corinthians 1.22

He owns me.

I don’t like that thought. The idea of being owned by someone or something makes me feel like I’ve lost my freedom.

Like I’m in chains.

I want to belong to myself. I want to choose where I go, who I see, what I do.

I want freedom.

But freedom is a lie. I always belong to someone. Or something. I’m always going to be a slave. But there’s only one Master whose chains bring fulfillment, joy, and. . . well, freedom (this time it’s not a lie).

The problem is that every time I seek freedom from His chains, I’m instantly enslaved by something else. But no one is as good a master as He is.

So I was captured. This time by a person. Through no fault of her own I was drawn away from my Creator, the one for Whom my heart truly beats, and I allowed myself to believe that my heart was my own, to be given to whomever I desired.

But it’s not. Giving a heart bought by God to anything but His plan will yield disastrous results. And in my foolishness I was left brokenhearted, weary, and destroyed. I sought a comforting voice among my brothers and sisters, but I couldn’t find any. And then a whisper broke through the darkness.

“Return to me. I’ve paid the price for your freedom.”

Father, I’m sorry for trying to take ownership of my heart and life. You bought me, and I had no right to try to take my life back. The price You paid was Your own blood and death. Thank You that the chains with which You’ve bound me lead to true freedom. And thank You even for the difficult lesson that what I may perceive as freedom is actually slavery.

Captivate my heart again, Father. I’m weary of chasing after things that aren’t in Your plan for me. I want to pursue Your heart, no one else’s and nothing else.