The story came across the AP wire last Friday and was titled: Ohio Christian School Tells Student to Skip Prom. The first line of the story was all I really needed to read in order to be ushered into a vivid flashback of my legalistic upbringing.  It read:

A student at a fundamentalist Baptist school that forbids dancing, rock music, hand-holding and kissing will be suspended if he takes his girlfriend to her public high school prom, his principal said.

As a young boy, I was raised in a Christian culture that forbade dancing, drinking, smoking, rock music, and saying “geez” because it sounded a lot like “Jesus.”  As a matter of fact, I was told repeatedly by Christian leaders in my church who used scare-tactics that taking one sip of alcohol made one “medically” drunk, and therefore all alcoholic drinking is sin.

I went to a Christian camp as a 12-year-old that had a line down the middle of the property separating the girls from the boys.  On the last night, we all had to put on jeans and long sleeve shirts in order to participate in the coed pool water games.  It was miserable trying to swim being loaded down with 50-pounds of wet denim and flannel.  The evening’s festivities were cut short after some legalistically rebellious kid decided to make a fecal deposit in the pool.  Privately, I heralded him as a hero while outwardly displaying my legalistic disapproval of such a mortifying sin.

I never once went to a dance during the six years of my junior and senior high career, because I was told – and believed – that dancing was of the devil and dances were subtle worship services of Satan.  Instead, my church offered “dance alternatives” where a bunch of culturally afraid Christian kids huddled together in someone’s basement for board games, Christian music, sexual tension, judgment of those who were at the dance, and Doritos.

When junior/senior prom came around, my church offered “dance alternatives on steroids” called “prom alternative.”  We would all dress up in tuxedos and “prom” dresses and spend an evening eating dinner on a boat on the Ohio River or going to a dinner theater.  There would be plenty of adult supervision to assure that the teens attending were not only enjoying an alternative to prom…but also experiencing an alternative to the sinful after-prom practices as well.

And then I went to college where I had to sign a statement agreeing not to dance, drink, smoke, or (the most sinful practice of all) smuggle a VCR into my room.  Better to forbid everything than to teach young Christian adults moderation and discernment, which leads me back to the story that induced my vicious legalistic flashback.

The high school student in question did in fact sign a document saying that he would not dance, listen to rock music, hold hands, or kiss a girl, so he does have an obligation to be a man of his word.  However, I think the school needs to rethink its admittance requirements.  How are we helping young men and women learn to exercise moderation and use discernment when we forbid them to be involved in activities that are amoral like a prom dance?

Do immoral things happen at or after prom?  Yes.  But teens should be taught by their Christian parents, Christian schools, and churches to behave themselves and act like Christ’s representatives in these types of scenarios rather than avoid them altogether.

Avoidance produces fear and judgment rather than moderation and discernment.  I should know.  The biggest weight I’ve had to shed (other than my wet jeans and flannel shirt) has been a mindset of fear and judgment produced by my legalistic upbringing.  It’s been an incredibly hard mindset to overcome, and it’s done a fair amount of relational damage in my life.

The flashback was real, and it wasn’t very pleasant.  A fellow legalistically trained youth group member from my past who is also trying to recover sent me the article.  I sent him a scathing reply and we laughed.  But deep down inside, I still feel conflicted, sad, and sorry for the damage we Christians inflict on one another in the name of legalism.

Since then, I’ve been thinking off and on about getting one. My daughter, Emily, swears that I promised her that we would get one together on her 18th birthday (next May), but I have no recollection of ever making that promise.

The first time I ever really considered getting one was back in 1996 when I was at lunch with my friend, Brett Ray. I got to know him because I used to be in charge of a large summer youth conference in Ohio, and he was one of the speakers we regularly brought in. Brett is a phenomenal speaker who now does marriage conferences for Family Life Ministry with his wife, Carol. One day we were having lunch together and Brett informed me (now that we were becoming closer friends) that he had a tattoo. I had never seen it, but knowing him, I wasn’t really surprised. I asked him where it was, hoping that it wasn’t somewhere on his body that I didn’t want to see. He unhooked his watch and revealed some letters tattooed on his wrist; letters that were completely covered by his watch band. Upon closer inspection, I saw that words “bleed grace” had been ornately tattooed on his wrist. He explained that someone once told him that he was a man who bleeds grace, and soon after being told that, he got the tattoo to always remind him to make sure his life is marked by grace. I thought that was pretty cool, and it got me thinking.

What do I need to always remember? What words are so important to me that I would consider having them tattooed on my body? In the years that followed, I really couldn’t think of anything. I wouldn’t mind having the name “Michelle” tattooed on my body, but I’ve always told her that if I did, I’d have it tattooed on my rear end. She’s not really excited about that idea. And then there’s this guy I know who has all the names of his kids tattooed on his neck. I’m not a big fan of that. It looks kind of weird, and it would be hard to cover up. Plus, it’s not right to put their names on my neck when right now, I spend most of my time wanting to wring theirs!

And then, God revealed something to me. Something very profound. Something worth writing on my body. I have always been a worrier who struggles to keep everything around me under my control, and when I can’t control things, I get frustrated and angry. This has caused a lot of damage to those closest to me: my wife and kids. They’ve lived with a man who loves them dearly but who is driven by fear. This fear leads to my need to control, and it’s taken a toll on them. I used to think that my problem was anger, but the Lord has revealed to me (through some pretty rotten circumstances) that my anger is just a symptom of a deeper problem. Fear.

I’m not afraid of the dark (usually) nor am I afraid of my shadow, but I am afraid of a lot of things. I’m afraid of screwing up. I’m afraid of regret. I’m afraid of losing control. I’m afraid of losing the people and things that I love. I’m afraid to put my complete faith and trust in the Lord. And, I’m even afraid that someone will read this and think I shouldn’t be their pastor anymore.

However, God is doing a work in me, and even though I’m afraid of it, it’s been life changing, revolutionary, and really good. He’s teaching me that He can be trusted, and He’s teaching me that He’s so trustworthy that I can relinquish my need for control over to Him…and He can handle it. I think I’m starting to get it. You know how I know? I’m not nearly as scared as I used to be, and as a result, I don’t try to control things as much, and I’m not nearly as angry as I used to be. I think this is what it means to be free in Christ. It’s a freedom I’ve never really understood nor experienced, but I’m starting to get it, and I like it…a lot.

So, what words do I think just might be worth tattooing on my body? I’ve thought about this a lot lately, and I think – for me – the words “no fear” would be a good choice. And if I feel really spiritual on the day of my tattooing, I may change it to “fear not” because when Jesus spoke in the King James dialect, these are the words he used.

The other day, I was driving and came upon a car at a stop light. I looked over and saw a very old lady driving. On her left arm was a tattoo. It did not look good at all on her. I’m sure it looked just fine when she was my age, but it kind of frightened me, to be honest. Made me think. I’m not getting any younger. As a matter of fact I just turned another year older today. Maybe getting a tattoo is not such a good idea for me. I guess I’ll hold off until Emily forces me to consider the idea again in May.