“I don’t care.”

It’s an anthem of a generation. My generation.

In just three words, we sum up our philosophy on so many things. On labels, on titles, on social norms, on people, on future plans, on good stewardship, on justice, on faith, on religion, on God.

Let it be clear that I intentionally make a distinction between “my generation” and “our generation,” because I refuse to take myself off the hook on this one. I refuse to pretend I am not dirtied by the effects of a careless society where “no worries” shall be worried and whatever we tweet, goes… “Whatever.”
I refuse to claim I am innocent of creating the very same culture that I am adamant about destroying.

I’ll also be the first to say, however, that there are members of our generation who don’t belong on this hook. People that do care. People that speak volumes with their love, not just their .
I’m usually the first to say this, of course, because I know so many of those people that often I forget that I’m usually not one of them.
But I hate when our generation is defined by its self-centeredness, need for instant gratification, and entitlement. I don’t hate it just because it is so often true. I mostly hate it for the people it doesn’t define at all. There is something about our generation that refuses to be pinned down by the epidemic that most often defines it, and I admire that deeply.

There are a lot of things you can admire without truly participating.

In spite of the way I really feel, Michelangelo didn’t need my help with PietaThe Beatles somehow managed to put out a few decent records before I was even born, and that Jesus character managed to make a name for himself without ever so much as listening to me deliver a devotional thought or sing David Crowder songs…

Ah, but I don’t care… It’s so much easier not to.

That’s the great thing about beauty… even if I never get around to creating any of it myself, someone else will. That way, I won’t even have to break a sweat, and I’ll still be able to reap the benefits. It’s the perfect system, really…

The disease of my generation…

I have to start caring. Not just with my opinions, but with my hands. Not just with my philosophies, but with my soul. Not just with my admiration, but with my action.

I have to stop just agreeing with Jesus, and start being Jesus.

I have to realize that he really doesn’t need me, and start remembering that I actually do need him. I need to remember that my admiration alone will just get me spit out, but the weight of a whole heart falling in one direction is bound to drag the rest of the body with it.

I want the weight of my heart to fall — heavy with passion — towards Jesus.

I want to care.

Lord Jesus,
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be pleasing in your sight. When they are empty, may you fill them with Spirit. When they are misguided, may you turn my heart back towards you so that I may follow it with confidence.
Teach me how to listen for you, show me where to find you, and, though I hesitate to pray it… continue to break me until I am truly yours.
Teach me to care.