This issue must, at some time or another, be not only noticed by everyone but addressed as well. It’s funny because I go to a University where the majority of the 23,192 of us can be separated into two main categories: granolas and Greeks. Obviously there are many subgroups in the two main groups, such as; climbers, hippies, athletes (usually lean towards the Greek side of things) and so on and so forth. But what is interesting here that both groups, no matter who some might be all make fun of hipsters. And I have to ask the question: why? And then it goes father, why do hipsters exist? What is a hipster? What makes someone move from the rank of “insert group here” to hipster?
(disclaimer: I am not saying I am or am not a hipster, I am simply writing this from a Universal view. Bear with me.)
Hipsters strive to be unique. They go out of their way to make sure that they don’t look like other people, dress like them, or listen to the same music. Hipsters are famous for their horn-rimmed glasses and rolled up jeans while sporting moccasins or rope sandals. Why? I believe that hipsters are a beautiful and intricate snapshot into the human desire to stand out. We all want to recognized, we all want to be different, and we all want to matter.
I recently finished reading Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk, which is famous for the “space monkeys” of Project Mayhem running around repeating, “I am not special. I am not a unique snowflake. I am not my job. I am not my car.” I read those words with a sick feeling in my stomach knowing that, although this was just a book, people honestly go their whole lives believing that. It’s as though people have those words subconsciously tattooed on their hearts, and it kills me. If we weren’t supposed to all be different, special, and unique than God would have made all 7 billion of us exactly the same. If we weren’t supposed to shine then why would God have so carefully crafted every single one of us differently? He knit each of us together with completely different chromosomes and atoms and genes. None of us are the same. So how could we not be unique?
Okay you theologians out there don’t crucify me for using this point (I’m using it simply because it paints a majestic picture of Love). In Ephesians 2, Paul calls us the workmanship of God. The Greek word for workmanship is “Poema” which we derive our word, poem from. I know that I can’t take that point with white-knuckles, but the glorious and unshakable principle holds true: we are God’s poetry and He is writing us into existence. I write poetry every now and again and with each poem I write, I can remember where I wrote it, why I wrote, and I have the majority of them memorized. Not because I am a super genius, but simply because it is my creation. The poem formed not only from the movement of my hand but also out of the inmost places of my heart and mind. I can go so far to remember when I scribbled the first rough verses of some of my poems on a napkin in some random coffee shop. And if we are God’s poetry, then He knows each of us in an intimate and deep way that is incomprehensible to us. We are known; wholly and profoundly known by the Master Poet.
If any of that holds a single strand of truth, then we have something monumental to live for. We are special and unique and every one is sewed with a different color fabric by the fingers of the Living God.
Hipsters might just be on the verge of something beautiful.
It breaks my heart that most people on this earth go through each day with no intent. When I walk into the cafeteria and see the ladies who swipe card after card with a blank expression on their faces, only to watch it illuminate when one student takes the five seconds to acknowledge their existence. What if we let people know that they were worth something in this world? What if we believed we were worth something in this world? What if each one of us caught onto the irresistible dream that each of us has a distinct and creative role in God’s perfect plan for humanity? What if we fell into the embrace of Glory and knew that we belonged there?
If only we knew, if only we believed that we were meant for amazing things.
If only you knew, if only you believed that you were meant for amazing things.