Thanks for stopping by. As of this week, my blog has moved to Beliefnet:
http://blog.beliefnet.com/omeoflittlefaith
or you can use: omeoflittlefaith.com
See you there!
On Twitter last week I promised a big announcement for today, and here it is:
Beginning tomorrow, I’m shutting down this blog and moving my entire blogging operation to Beliefnet, where I’ll join a host of other writers I’ve enjoyed reading for a long while, including Scot McKnight, Rod Dreher, and Diana Butler Bass.
My new blog will be called O Me of Little Faith and the official URL is http://blog.beliefnet.com/omeoflittlefaith. If you go there now, you’ll see that all my blog archives have been moved over already.
You can also get there via www.omeoflittlefaith.com and, beginning tomorrow, with blog.jasonboyett.com.
So update your bookmarks. I’ll update the RSS feed address tomorrow, but this is the new one: http://feeds2.feedburner.com/beliefnet/omeoflittlefaith
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Why am I making this move?
Might as well be honest. It’s to increase my readership. Beliefnet offers me a chance to add to my existing platform (to use an obnoxious industry word) and reach new readers. As a writer, this is important to me. The more blog readers I have, the more people who potentially will buy my books. The more books I sell, the more likely it is I can find a home for my next book idea. Increased readership keeps me in business.
That’s the only reason?
Pretty much. Why pretend otherwise? The trick is to add readers over there without losing the excellent base of loyal readers I’ve gained already with this blog. Which is to say: I appreciate you and hope you’ll stay with me.
Will anything change?
The look and feel of my new blogging home will definitely be different. The sidebar will be on the right instead of the left, and there won’t be as many obnoxious ads for my new book at the new site. Those ads have been replaced with, if you can believe it, ads that are even more obnoxious. Like, they flash and stuff.
Beliefnet’s ads are notoriously annoying, and I might as well apologize now for that. They are indeed distasteful and pervasive, and everyone knows it. There are ads for the Mormon Church, for cornball “spiritual” products, for the DVD box set of Touched by an Angel, and ads that say YOU ARE A WINNER. But they keep Beliefnet in business and we’ll have to deal with them.
You’ll also have to get used to a new commenting system, but I hope, despite the changes, that you’ll still be just as involved with my posts there as you have been here.
But you’ll be doing the same kind of blogging, right?
Of course. I don’t plan to change my content or style at all. My first post tomorrow will be a snarky self-interview. And I’ll still do lots of giveaways and 5-sentence writing contests and interviews with interesting people. The subtitle for the new blog is “A Blog on Doubt, Christianity, Culture, and Writing.” So pretty much it’s the same thing I’m doing already.
I started this blog back in December of 2007. This is post #530 since then. I’m thankful to all of the new friends and readers I’ve discovered in the process, and hope to see you again tomorrow at Bnet. My first official post there will invite you to introduce yourself in the comments. Please do so.
Thanks for reading. See you at the new O Me of Little Faith.
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By the way, if you were one of the fine folks who got an advance copy of O Me of Little Faith for reviewing on your blog or elsewhere, would you mind also posting a review on Amazon? I’d appreciate it.
There’s an interesting little factoid in the endnotes section of Superfreakonomics. Which is saying something, because the whole book — as well as its predecessor, Freakonomics — is gloriously full of interesting little factoids.
Anyway.
In my childhood church environment, we took the offering by passing a big, shallow, flat plate from person-to-person, row-to-row. People would put their money in. It was all quite visible. People could see how much you donated and you could see what your neighbor put in, too.
Not every church does it that way. An economist named Adriaan Soetevent did an experiment in thirty Dutch churches a few years back. These churches passed a closed bag from person-to-person rather than an open plate. As part of his experiment, however, Soetevent convinced the churches to let him change the way they took the offering. For several months, on random occasions, he would substitute an open collection plate instead of the closed bag.
His theory was that the visibility of the open plate might lead to different donation patterns than the relative privacy of the closed bag.
Soetevent was right. At the end of the experiment, the stats showed that churchgoers gave more money when an open basket or plate was passed. More bills, fewer small coins, increased donations all the way around. You can download the full study here.
I’m not surprised by the results. I think people will always give more when under increased scrutiny. But I’m more interested in the larger conclusion at the base of it: that even in churches, we are so focused on what people think of us that we allow it to dictate our behavior.
On a related note, this Freakonomics blog post mentions the study in the context of answering a fascinating letter from someone who admits to faking Christianity in order to be more accepted among their social group. Wow.
How much of our religiosity is more influenced by our peers than our personal faith?
What would you do differently if you didn’t care what people thought of you?
If we’re following someone who claimed to be Truth, what benefit is there in faking any aspect of our commitment?
Please discuss.
My friend Matthew Paul Turner posted a review today of O Me of Little Faith, written by his friend Adam Ellis. (Disclaimer: I know Adam, too, having interviewed him for a Daily Beast article last summer.)
In his review, Adam brings up a very good point. Personally, he identifies strongly with the subject of the book. “On one hand,” he writes, “[Jason] seems to have unknowingly written this book about me. I am a confirmed doubter.”
But on the other hand, “…not everyone is like me. I’ve found that some people aren’t given to such incessant questioning, and that the things that are issues for me aren’t issues for them.”
So Adam is stuck with a problem: the book is helpful and encouraging to him, but he realizes that, for people who aren’t already doubters, “this book could be devastating.”
Devastating because I bring up questions for which I don’t always have answers. He’s right. In the book, I’m not defending the faith or offering much in the way of resolution. Instead, I’m sharing my journey and asking fellow doubters to share in it, too, because I hope it’ll help us return to honesty and community rather than the isolation of spiritual uncertainty.
So if you doubt, this is a book for you. If you don’t doubt and would rather not be exposed to some of the questions we ask, this may not be a book for you.
Which leads me to a question I’d like us to discuss: As believers who have questions, when we ask our questions about God out loud, do we run the risk of introducing uncertainty to other believers — who might have been just fine until we started bringing up all this hard stuff? If we express our doubts, might we unintentionally be causing other believers “to stumble” (to employ a way-overused biblical phrase)?
What is our responsibility in this situation? Or to put it more graphically, is it better to air out our wounds so they can heal? Or by exposing them could we be unleashing a potentially harmful bacteria into the air?
Yuck.
Anyway, I’m working through these questions and would love your take on it. How do doubters achieve a balance between honest questioning, personal transparency, and concern over the spiritual well-being of non-doubters?
One of the questions I get asked pretty frequently — especially with the release of a new book — is this one: What are you writing next?
That question comes from fans, family members, agents, editors, and interviewers. Up to this point, I’ve always had a pretty good answer to that question. But right now, my answer is…
I don’t know.
Really. Currently I’m working on a two-book contract for a couple of Pocket Guide-ish children’s books about non-religious subjects. They may or may not be released under a pseudonym. (I’m thinking of going with “Stephenie Meyers,” because: genius!) Anyway, once these books are complete, I don’t know what I’m doing next.
• Another Pocket Guide? Yes, there are plenty of religious/historical subjects that could easily receive the Pocket Guide treatment. Eastern religions. Greek mythology. Mormonism. I have a pretty long list. But after several years of the heavy research involved in writing these books — and I mean heavy research — I’m a bit burned out on it. And I wonder how far these books can take me, career-wise. I mean, it worked for Kenneth C. Davis and his Don’t Know Much About… series, but so far I haven’t been able to add that “New York Times Bestselling Author” tag to my book jackets. Do I keep plugging away on these until they take over the world? I don’t know.
• Another memoir? Other than the struggles of trying to write with honesty and vulnerability, drafting O Me of Little Faith wasn’t really that difficult, simply because the subject was me and not, say, the afterlife beliefs of ancient Chinese mythology. Being able to just write and tell stories without all the research was pretty liberating. I enjoyed it. Only this book sort of ends up where I am today. What else am I going to write about? If I want to do another memoir, I’m going to have to go do some more living for awhile, and then come back to it. Or I’m going to have to remember some big, exciting chunk of my childhood that has so far eluded me.
• A gimmicky A.J. Jacobs-style immersion book? I’ve had some folks in the publishing industry ask me to think of an idea in this genre — like Jacobs’ mega-selling The Year of Living Biblically and all the other books his idea has spawned — but I’m hesitant. It seems fairly derivative at this point, like trying to jump on the coattails of a successful trend. How long with the trend last? Has this nonfiction genre run its course? Why don’t I just write a novel about brooding romantic vampires? Which leads to…
• Fiction? Mmmmm…I’ve been secretly leaning this direction for a couple of years now. Part of me wants to toss away the shackles of research and truth-telling and spiritual insight in order to just sit down at my computer and tell a really cool story. Right now I’m reading a lot of children’s and young adult fiction, because that’s what my kids read. I love this genre and have always harbored dreams of being a novelist. (Ask me about the Jason Bourne-as-pacifist-shepherd novel I wrote the year after graduating from college.) But writing fiction would be like starting over in the publishing industry. Any success or platform I’ve built with Pocket Guides or religious books doesn’t exactly transfer over to YA fiction. But the freedom and creativity? It’s tempting, so tempting…
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What do you think? You guys are (hopefully) familiar my career path up to this point, so what should I do next? I’m asking this in all seriousness because you’re smart and thoughtful and I value your insight. Also because I’m hoping you’ll give me some good ideas for a novel.
Please share.
I returned last night from a great week in New York City where I had the privilege of speaking to the communities at Apostles Church (Tuesday) and Marble Collegiate (Wednesday) about faith, doubt, and living with both. Thanks to the leaders of both churches for the invitation, the shared meals, the great conversation, and the new friendships.
Now, for some housekeeping:
Congrats to Jarrod Haggard for leaving a comment and being the random winner of Monday’s contest. Two free copies of O Me of Little Faith are headed your way!
And congrats to Jessica for leaving a comment and being the random winner of Tuesday’s contest. One free copy of the book is yours…
If you’ll both email me with your shipping addresses, I’ll make sure your copies get in the mail soon.
More stuff to read until new content gets posted next week:
+ A Church Marketing Sucks interview with me about doubt, faith, marketing, and tanks.
+ A fun “Wordless Wednesday” contest at Soul Munchies in which you can win a free copy of OMOLF.
+ A review by the “J” at PJs til Noon.
+ Jen at Divinest Sense reviews the book and interviews me.
+ Interviewed by Janet O about O Me of Little Faith and our shared fondness for running.
+ Lauren Sawyer with a review and some commentary about OMOLF.
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See you on Monday, and have a great weekend.
I have posted real-life confessions in the past on this blog. Actually, several times. But you’d be surprised. I’m not some serial confessor in real life — I don’t just start admitting to things in face-to-face situations — but when I’m typing this stuff just comes out. Something is wrong with me.
So because this is the official release week for O Me of Little Faith: True Confessions of a Spiritual Weakling, I figured that I should celebrate with another round of confessions (mostly) related to the contents of the book.
Here they are:
1. Some people have spoken or written about OMOLF as if, finally, I had written a real book. Oh. Thanks. I’m not sure how to take this backhanded whatever-it-is, because let me tell you: the Pocket Guides were WAY harder to write and research than this one. I get a little defensive.
2. In some ways, OMOLF feels like my first real book.
3. In certain other ways, OMOLF sounds like a dirty acronym.
4. In chapter 5 (“Reverse Bricklaying”), I tell a story that only three people in the world knew about. Literally. And one of them is my wife. That’s the most vulnerable I’ve felt in print. Even more vulnerable than the start of the book when I admit that, on some days, I’m not sure I believe in God.
5. I love footnotes, because I think they have the potential to insert a lot of humor into the book without getting in the way of the content or narrative flow. My favorite footnote is #11 in chapter 2. The one about the preferred spelling of Occam’s Razor. If my arms were long enough, I would still be patting myself on the back for that one.
6. How to tell if you’re a history/theology nerd: you are unreasonably proud of a joke you made about Occam’s Razor. For crying out loud.
7. In the 8th grade, I once killed a hobo on a dare.
8. Chapter 6 is titled “Insanity at 900 Feet.” This is in reference to an illustration that opens the chapter. It’s related to a thrill ride atop the Stratosphere in Las Vegas, and introduces some thoughts about context and doubt. But in the first draft, the chapter was titled “Ravaging the Fetal Pig” and opened with a completely different story about when I had to dissect a fetal pig in biology class. It’s a horrible little anecdote, and a couple of my early readers told me that the story wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t adding anything to the chapter, and it was mostly kind of disgusting. I realized that I probably wanted to tell that story simply because I liked the phrase “Ravaging the Fetal Pig” and thought it would make a provocative chapter title. So I wedged it into my book outline. How dumb. After a lot of deliberation, I scrapped the pig metaphor completely, replaced it with the Insanity one, and retitled the chapter. This was a very good decision.
9. No, I won’t tell you the fetal pig story.
10. Number 7 is a lie, just in case my friends in law enforcement are reading this.
11. Number 7 is also a theft, but one made in honor of my friend Shuey.
12. On p. 83, in a jokey footnote, I connected atheists with Satanists in a thoughtless and unfortunate way. This was a poor decision, and friendly atheist (and OMOLF endorser) Hemant Mehta called me on it. He’s right. Not a good joke, and definitely a regrettable juxtaposition. I should show more respect to atheists than that, and I am totally serious.
13. There are religious people who will think I’m an idiot for the apology I just made in #12 because who cares if atheists get offended anyway? You know what? I care. I confess to having a bad attitude about the kinds of religious people who would say that.
14. When I talk to other writers about how to use blogs and social media to build an audience, I always tell them that they can’t only use it to promote themselves and their books all the time. They have to balance it out with thoughtful content and meaningful interaction and generosity toward others. Without this balance, it’s like being the guy at the cocktail party who wont stop talking about himself or his business, and no one wants to hang around that guy any longer than necessary. Yet in the weeks surrounding a book release — like these last few days — I feel like a total hypocrite, because I am recklessly ignoring my own rules and shilling all the live long day for my own book. I’m one of those sketchy kids selling magazines door-to-door so they can win a trip. Quit bothering me, kid.
15. It didn’t occur to me until the second draft of the book that my middle name, Thomas, was the same name as the Bible’s most famous doubter. Duh. My brother reminded me, so I worked it into the first chapter. How did I miss that?
16. My editor and I both worried that the long section on Zoroastrianism (and its relationship to the Christian doctrine of hell) that ends chapter 6 was too theologically and historically dense and might be a turn-off to casual readers. But we couldn’t figure out a way to get through that stuff more succinctly. So we just left it in. I’m glad we did — all that “evolution of hell” stuff remains a major stumbling block for my faith — but I still worry about how much real estate it takes up in the book.
17. I was weirdly enthused that I found a way in OMOLF to mention Mictlantecuhtli, the skeletal ruler of the Aztec underworld (p. 145). I love his name. In fact, I may try to insert his name into all my books from now on, like how Alfred Hitchcock made a winking cameo appearance in most of his films. Only instead of inserting myself into the narrative, I’ll insert a blood-spattered death deity who wears a necklace made out of human eyeballs.
18. I have no right to compare myself to Alfred Hitchcock. Forgive me.
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Now it’s your turn. Confess your own sins, failures, and annoying hang-ups in the comments. I’ll randomly select one commenter to receive a free copy of O Me of Little Faith.
It’s release week for O Me of Little Faith. I hope you haven’t gotten tired of my constant book-promoting over the last couple of week — it can be indelicate, but it’s sort of my job. Occasionally I need to hijack the public service ethos of blogging in order to convince you to buy my book.
And, apparently, I see my blogging as a “public service,” so what kind of raging egomaniac am I? Good gravy. Stop typing, Jason.
Anyway, today I’m publishing the first few paragraphs of O Me of Little Faith, right here on the blog. But I’m going to do so with my own personal commentary inserted between paragraphs. It’s like the director’s commentary on a DVD, but way more distracting.
This might be a horrible experiment, but I’m knee-deep in it now so here goes. The actual words of the book are in italics.
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I am a Christian. I have been a Christian for most of my life. But there are times—a growing number of times, to be honest—when I’m not entirely sure I believe in God.
There. I said it.
>>>What I’m trying to do here is hook you from the beginning with a startling revelation. I want you to read this at Barnes & Noble, then show it to your buddy, and say “Dude, this Christian guy totally just said he didn’t believe in God! Astounding! We must buy bulk quantities of this book for all of our friends, like we did with The Shack!”
So now you know, and we can both relax and talk about it. Confessing the presence of spiritual uncertainty in my life is a relief. I can breathe easier now because I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to hide my conflicted feelings when we talk about Jesus and the Bible. I don’t have to feel like a jerk if you, or anyone else, look to me as some kind of spiritual expert or teacher. I don’t have to tiptoe around the word most of us hesitate to use in church or around Christian friends because it freaks us out so much.
Doubt.
>>>Yes. Doubt. Have you noticed that I way overuse the paragraph-comprised-of-a-single-word-or-sentence trick? It’s like a lazy, cheater’s shortcut to emphasize something. But occasionally it’s effective.
Like in the example above.
(Dang. I just did it again.)
Now that it’s out in the open, I can strip off my happy Christian mask, climb down from whatever pedestal I’ve hoisted myself upon, and be who I really am: a committed follower of Jesus who occasionally finds himself wondering if maybe, just maybe, we’ve made this whole thing up.
>>>I really struggled with this phrasing: “we’ve made this whole thing up.” It seems so…harsh and negative and blunt. But it’s honest, and I decided to side with honesty whenever possible during the writing process.
Let’s back up for a minute, though, because there will be plenty of room in this book for me to talk about myself. What I want to discuss here, at the beginning, is you. Let’s talk about what’s going through your head right now. I have a feeling you might be thinking one of two things. The first is this: He’s not sure he believes in God? The last thing I need to read is the navel gazing of some self-absorbed, relativistic, weak-minded writer who struggles with faith. If you have so much trouble believing in God, dude, why don’t you quit writing books and start reading the Word? (You might start with James 1:6. ) Pray or something, but quit blabbing about it. It’s bad enough that you’re questioning your own faith. Don’t pull us down with you!
>>>This is me covering my butt. Because I totally know people who would say that to me, and I need them to know that I know that’s what they think. This is also me preparing myself for the one-star Amazon reviews I figure will eventually show up.
Is that your response? If so, that’s fine. Don’t worry about it, because it’s not unexpected, and I totally forgive you for calling me “weak-minded.” Also, I admit to being “a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind,” as James so colorfully puts it. I’m not especially proud of being a doubter—like treading water in the ocean during a tropical storm, it can be exhausting, uncomfortable, and fairly dangerous—but I’m not going to pretend that it doesn’t have some redeeming qualities.
>>>My first real metaphor, this “treading water” thing. It’s creative, I guess, but I’m not sure it’s necessary. Might be too cute. I wrote this chapter in the late summer of 2007, so I’m pretty sure it was around the time Tropical Storm Erin hit the Texas coast. I would not be surprised at all if that event led to this particular metaphor.
Nor am I going to get defensive. You’re a little mean, perhaps, but not entirely wrong in wanting me to shut up so I don’t mess up the current quality of your belief. I don’t want to do that. So if you are rock-steady in your faith and have no interest in reading a book about doubt, then by all means, put this one down. Put it back on the shelf. Walk away slowly and enjoy your blessings. Firm faith is a gift. I’m happy for you—I wish I could be you.
>>>Two pages into the book and I’m telling people not to read my book. Brilliant.
But I’m not. Which brings us to a second potential reaction to my doubter’s confession. It’s one of recognition and relief: I completely understand about the doubt thing. What you’re going through? Same here. I have doubts, too. Big ones. I try to ignore them, I try to fight against them, and I try to pray for more faith. But no matter what books I read or what sermons I hear, I can’t get rid of these doubts.
If you identify with me, keep reading. Maybe we’re on the same road and we can walk together. It’s not the straight, easy road to faith. It’s no smooth interstate highway with well-lit rest stops and clean restrooms and lots of gas stations. It’s not always purpose-driven. It’s not the road where the driving comes with a great soundtrack—a crisp satellite radio connection to the Almighty.
>>>Here comes another metaphor: the oft-used road metaphor! Not at all original, though I definitely like the “purpose-driven” line. What bothers me, though, is the way I’m mixing up the metaphor. I’ve just noticed this. It starts with us walking together…but we’re on an interstate highway? So are we hitchhikers or what? Oh, wait, now we’re driving. With a soundtrack. But driving! Man.
Nope, ours is the doubter’s road. It’s a winding, weird back road that never seems to get anywhere fast. This road is poorly lit, cratered with potholes, and far from flat. Every once in awhile it steers up into the mountains, where the air is fresh and the views are spectacular. But mostly it unwinds its graveled way through valleys, across deserts, and past sketchy small towns. The soundtrack of God’s voice crackles on the AM band through speakers that have had better days.
>>>I like the comparison between the certainty of hearing God’s voice as a crisp satellite radio connection and the uncertainty of straining to hear it crackling on the AM band through ancient speakers. I totally feel that way, especially around the super-spiritual folks who talk as if God is giving them instructions directly into their ears using heavenly comm units, like Chloe does to Jack Bauer. If God’s giving me those kinds of messages, I must have misread the protocols and ended up on the wrong channel. Because I can’t hear Chloe at all. So frustrating.
Wait, now I’ve lapsed into a “24″ metaphor. I think I have a real problem. Is there a word for metaphor addiction?
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This has been a long post. Thanks for reading this far.
O Me of Little Faith (without commentary) is available online at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Christianbook.com, and at bookstores near you. If you want a Kindle or audio download, those are available, too.
If you were one of the nice people who volunteered to participate in the blog tour, now’s the time to post your review to Amazon and to your social media circles.
And now for a giveaway. Here’s the deal: I want you to go tell a friend — a specific person — about my book, via email, Twitter, Facebook, text, or in person. Then, I want you to come back here and leave a comment telling me the first name of the person you told. Then I will choose a random commenter from today’s post and give them two free books. One for you and one for your friend.
Deal?
(No, I can’t prove at all that you’ve actually told someone and have therefore qualified for the giveaway. I’m just going to have to trust you.)
