gratitude

Wings

One day last week, at a college basketball game, the Angel and I watched our boy play. He played very well; unselfish, aggressive and with an intensity that may have been surprising if you had not watched his commitment over the past several years, alone in the gym, in the driveway, or outside on the local courts before the sun came up. This was awesome, but it was not the best part of our evening. We were also relayed stories of how he is fitting in, as a great teammate, and an “even better human.” Then, after the game, we walked to our car with him, his girlfriend, and his best friend. Once we were on the road (following a really terrible route from the GPS), I texted how beautiful I thought this circle of friends was, that he’s creating….How beautiful this life was, that he’s creating.

The next day, the Angel and I attended our older son’s workshop for a family dinner party. We sat, barely getting time to eat, as we were flooded with stories of who our boy is. He’s kind, respectful, funny, strong, and sweet. When we got home, I told him how proud of him I was, about this man he’s becoming, this life that he is creating.

You see, he has always been this person. He has always been kind, respectful, funny, strong and sweet. He’s one of the best I’ve ever had the privilege to know, how much more to live with him and watch him every day. My prayer has always been that he fully step into who he is, every part of himself, authentically, and let that out, just open himself and get it all over everyone. It has been my prayer for his brother, too.

The boys we know so well have not always been public. To use a phrase from the Bible, they have sometimes hidden their blinding light under hesitant buckets. We want the world to experience the blessings we have.

It’s hard, probably impossible, to fathom Who God is – His patience, forgiveness, grace, and love. Sometimes, all we have is our own experience. And this is sort of how I imagine God feels, when we put on our authentic selves and start to become all of who He has created us to be.

My boys are different, sometimes wildly so, in their personalities, desires, ambitions, talents and gifts. Who they are growing into are not clones of each other, there aren’t molds they comfortably fit. It’s like that with us, too. You are not me. We are not carbon copies of anyone else. (We are all equal, in Him. He loves us all the same, as sons and daughters. But loving us the same is not the same as making us the same.) I love Morrissey and Fight Club, and you love… well, that’s a bad example, we all love Morrissey and Fight Club, but you get the point. The Angel likes hikes and I like to lift weights, she likes mashed potatoes and I like anything but mashed potatoes. None of us are alike, and that is absolutely the design. We are all the way we are, for a purpose.

And when we start to step into that purpose, to take these new wings that we’ve always had out for a test flight, I think Our Creator rejoices. I think He says, “YES, finally!! Wait until this world gets a taste of (Cathy or Diane or Trish or Josh or whoever, anyone, everyone)!” It’s like He’s painted a masterpiece and just can’t wait for us to remove the curtain, so that everybody can see it.

In this scenario I imagine, you are the masterpiece. So am I, and so is your neighbor and your enemy.

Of course, it’s a flawed analogy. God is not like us. He’s waaaayyyy better, better than we could possibly dream, by miles and miles, by infinity. He is the One that gave us these wings, He wants us to use them. Sometimes, we don’t. Sometimes, we hide. Sometimes, we pretend to be someone else. Sometimes, we don’t know who we are, we don’t know we have these magnificent wings.

And, in my limited human perspective, I imagine that when he sees us find them and stretch them out, it’s a lot like how I felt last week.

Do I?

I behaved abysmally this morning. Now, what exactly happened isn’t important, but that it happened is. Poor behavior mostly all comes from the same place, and I am no different. I read a book that suggested that those times when we get ourselves into trouble stem from a clever acronym of emotional states: Hungry, Angry, Lonely, And T (I don’t remember what the T stands for…Tired!! That’s it!). HALT: Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired. I am currently a combination of all of those, and the book used its clever acronym to ask us to halt, instead of making a mess. I did not halt; I made a mess.

[I hesitate to write this post, because it’s very possible to read these posts and miss the meaning. I am not fishing for encouragement, do not need cheering up. This is different from reading a post written by someone you don’t know personally. You are beautiful, you deeply care for me, and may feel concern. I am ok. I would reach out, if that were not the case. This is not simply an overshare, I do have a specific reason for writing, and oversharing just provides the context;) You’ll see why I am ok, at the very end. Now.]

I do not behave abysmally very often, anymore. Honestly, this morning was wildly out of character, surprising me and the other involved parties. It is not a lifestyle, I didn’t recognize myself at all. It was an embarrassing momentary catastrophe, and will have virtually no long-them effects (except in my own head & heart).

That’s not an excuse – I have no excuses, and don’t need any. But it is important, because how we respond to ourselves and our actions depends on if it is a sin, or a lifestyle of sin. Did we fall in a hole, or are we choosing to jump in that hole and live there? I fell. Now what?

Sometimes, we encounter mirrors that contain an important question about our beliefs and values. We say we believe these things, do we really? Do I?

If you were to relay the same story to me, if our roles were completely reversed, I would tell you how loved you are. I would not judge, I would acknowledge the punishment you had already inflicted on yourself, recognize your contrite repentance, immediately forgive, and encourage you to give you a break and move forward. I would do all of these things, because I whole-heartedly believe Romans 8, that there’s no condemnation in Christ Jesus, that God takes our sins as far as the east is from the west, and remembers them no more. I think He accepts our repentance with joy, seeing growth and a heart that wants to beat for Him (even if it sometimes can’t help to beat for itself, with disastrous consequences.) And I think He asks us to love each other in the same way. I would recognize the roots (the HALT situation) and try to address those, together.

I believe those same truths apply to me, too. That is my theology. And when I come upon this mirror of conviction that asks if my theology is my application, is my practice, I wonder what my answer is. Do I? And do I so much that I would continue to work to undo an entire lifetime whipping myself with my self-loathing. When faced with cracks in my character, can I have grace for me, too? Are they actually cracks, at all? Can I move forward as a new creation, forgiven from my human fragility, and made holy, in Him?

The mess I made took about 5 minutes, beginning to end, but it only took 3 seconds to be sorry about it. Right at the start. The rest of the 5 minutes was an apology and explanation, an attempt to halt, call timeout and come back in to shore, back home.

The lie says that the mess is me, and the rest of my whole life is the illusion, a construct that was bound to fall at some point, that I could only fake for so long, and the real me would eventually emerge. The truth is that these holes we all fall in, from time to time, do not change our identity. I am not perfect, I was never supposed to be. I am a work in progress, He is transforming me every moment, every day.

It’s sometime an attack to our ego to admit that we are still becoming, that we have not arrived, that we don’t have it all perfectly together. But, attack or not, it’s true. So now what? What do we do?

I knew what I would do, and as I ran to Him by opening my Bible, I read a short line on Hezekiah in the book of Isaiah. A foreign power threatened him and his people, and he was afraid. (That was the lie he heard, all lies aren’t the same for each of us, not even the same for ourselves, at different times.) He freaked out, and immediately ran into the Temple in prayer. Me, too. I freaked out, and ran right into His arms, hoping He’d be merciful and tell me the Truth, about this, about me, and in that, most importantly, about Himself. I found just what Hezekiah did, that He is very willing to do that, over and over again.

I guess I’m not supposed to tell you any of this, I’m supposed to carefully cultivate a bulletproof image. Of course, I don’t struggle, don’t fall in any holes, am never hungry, angry, lonely, or tired. But what I could never get through my thick head is that, if I pretend to actually be that ridiculously dishonest image, I am saying it’s just you. I would be building false walls and blasphemous hierarchies.

We are all on this journey, to Him, WITH Him. Of course, we’re at different places. Someone is always further along. We’re just walking each other home. And I think we all have these holes, questions, and mirrors. It’s what we do when we face them that matters, that shows where our faith is, and if what we say is really what we believe. Probably, living a life of faith is just a series of steps closer to answering that question with a “yes.”

New Words

I wrote a book called Be Very Careful Who You Marry (The other one I have written, so far, is Chronicles, Nehemiah, and Other Books Nobody Reads. I love that title, but I like Be Very Careful Who You Marry even more, mostly because my dad unknowingly titled that one 40ish years before I wrote it. I think he’d be very, very proud how careful I was; like him, I married well out of my league. Anyway.) and in it, I included several words that created the foundation for a marriage, the fabric of our Bridge community and my life. These are words like Intention, Attention, Respect, and Communication.

Last week, I think I added 3 more. This was not actually my intention, but as I gave the message, they felt vital, and since then, as I consider them, they gain even more weight.

We discussed the Grace we have been extended, and that we extend to each other. The Grace that recognizes that we are made in the image of God, and covered with the love of God, a love so great that it would lead Him to the cross. If those are all true, how could we not give it to each other??? How could we look down or dismiss those whom He has made? How could we speak such venomous words to anyone, when He says, “when you did it for/to them, you did it to me?” (That’s a paraphrase, but you can read the actual passage in Matthew 25.) Grace doesn’t recognize “them,” only “us,” because in Christ, their is no “them.” Grace sees us all as His, and behaves as if we all have the honor that comes from being children of The King.

Then, well, it’s not just one word, it’s more of an idea, but we can call it Perspective. There is a BIG story we’re in, not just here, now, to us. It is His story and it extends forever in all directions. Have you ever heard that helpful question, “will it matter in 5 minutes, 5 days, 5 years?” It helps us put this moment, which we so easily elevate into massive proportions, into perspective. How about adding, “will it matter in/for eternity??” Maybe the record of the 2025 Dallas Cowboys won’t, right? Then maybe it shouldn’t matter quite so much to us.

This is a fascinating paradox, because, taken with the first one (Grace)… Yes, it is His Story and not ours. Yes, the time line is infinity and not measured in days and months. Yes, the Dallas Cowboys record isn’t of eternal significance. BUT. This God loves us so much, loves His creation so much, that all of it matters. Everything that matters to us matters to Him, so it actually elevates the value of each moment. His love turns the tiniest blink sacred & holy. Cool, right?

The last one is Gratitude. I’m listening to a song by Briston Maroney, called “Paradise,” and it is soooo good, loudly singing along while I’m wiggling in my chair, eating an Asian pear. This house, this chair. Tonight, I’ll eat cheeseburgers with my wife and oldest son, then we’ll probably watch the new Jurassic Park movie. What could possibly be better than any of this? Now, a song called “Better Than Love,” by Hayley Kiyoko. The hook is, “Somebody tell me, what’s better than love?” This Hayley is so right, what could ever be better than love? Yet we forget so often, don’t we? These miracles go unnoticed because we are sleeping through our lives. Everything is a gift. And if everything is a gift, if we don’t deserve anything, if nothing is ours, then we can simply say “Thanks” and be content with whatever it is that we are able to hold, for however long we get to hold it. We could even share it, or give it away.

How could we transform our lives, families, neighborhoods, countries, our world, if we truly adopted these principles, and took them out into every day, every relationship, every policy, every procedure? It’s staggering to imagine. We’d eliminate envy, worry, the headache of having to remember each offense and keep score. We’d be able to stop trying to get even, or to get more. Our words could create a brand new reality. We’d be present and aware. Kisses and hugs would take on new meaning, we could begin to listen, we would show up. I really, really love to dream about these kinds of things, the transformation of the entire world that begins with 2 people giving each other our undivided attention, remembering that they are made in His image, that this day & this breath are wonders, that we are loved and have nothing to do but stop running and receive it. Remembering that we get to love each other, too.

And, honestly, what’s better than love?

Last Saturday’s Wedding

I get to officiate weddings, fairly often. [I never like the word “officiate,” it reminds me of referees and umpires, which inevitably leads me to associate an embarrassing level of incompetence. Ha, I’m just kidding. But I do think calling balls and strikes and joining 2 people in one of the most wonderful gifts God has ever created are wildly different, and absolutely should not share the same word. Anyway.] This weekend was a unique wedding, it was a surprise.

Every time I have mentioned this ‘surprise’ wedding, I am asked, “Is it a surprise to the couple?” I can’t tell if they’re joking when they ask. Is this a thing? Could I have sprung a roomful of our closest family & friends on Angel, to marry her? Do people ever do this? I guess they do, but this was not that. There were 4 people in the room who knew, the soon-to-be husband and wife, the Angel and I.

The room itself was packed and noisy, as the ruse was a family reunion. Now, not only were we not technically part of this family, it was even more noteworthy. This was a very Hispanic family, and as you may be aware, we are not Hispanic. We were the only white people, whom no one knew, in this “family.”

[Another thing of which you may be aware, is that I do not ascribe to the tenets of the modern religion of tolerance. I do not call myself colorblind. I see colors, races, and cultures very clearly. And I do not tolerate them at all. As a matter of fact, I think to simply tolerate another human being (no matter their demographic) is much, much less than adequate. We are called to love, in no uncertain terms. We love our neighbor, not, as it is defined, “allow the existence without interference…endure (something unpleasant or disliked) with forbearance.” This is not progressive thought, it is holding our nose and ignoring something we don’t like, and refuse to like. I am blissfully intolerant. Instead, I am a lover. So, this party was loud, affectionate, beautiful, and they easily welcomed me with open arms.]

We pretended to begin to play a game, which quickly was revealed to be not a game at all, and instead was the first day of the marriage of 2 of the coolest people you’d ever meet, who had been together for 30 years! I was not only the game show host, not only a guest of their family, but I was the pastor that had the honor of marrying them.

Usually, weddings are a fairly subdued affair. They’re quiet and ordered. I often get the feeling that the ceremony is seen as the entrance fee to the reception. But, either way, everyone is mostly quiet and might be listening. This wedding was not one of those. It was raucous and fantastically joyful. Everyone was crying, taking pictures, dancing. Of course, they were listening – though it did require an adjustment on my part, more pauses, and significantly more volume.

Do you know what liminal spaces are? They are places in time where we imagine the distance between ourselves and God shrinks, where God comes near and the separation disappears. As I write it, it’s kind of a clumsy term/metaphor. It implies separation at all other times. This is not at all accurate, but you understand the idea. There are moments where we are totally aware of the Divine, His boundless love for us, and we are given a picture of what His creation could be. This was one of them. Sunday mornings are another. Well, there are a lot of them, if I’m honest, if we just can stay awake.

SO, this place was noisy and awesome, and right in the middle, everyone stopped talking, no one moved an inch. I saw them holding each other, each pair of watery eyes on me. And what was it that caused this sharp, shocking contrast? I was reading the Bible, 1 Corinthians 13, to be exact. The Word of God filled us, and no one could move, overwhelmed with reverence and His presence.

And that’s the point, isn’t it? We are all different; different geography, experiences, ideas, different lives and perspectives. But God brings us all together, bridges every divide, until we are finally able to clearly see that those wonderful differences pale in comparison to the one thing we all have in common, which is that we are all brothers and sisters, children of the One True Living God.

A Dallas Cowboy Win

The Dallas Cowboys are the official NFL team of the Bridge Faith Community, I’ve decided, and yesterday they barely eked out an overtime win over the hated rival New York Giants. To be honest with you, it was pretty disappointing, and as I am examining why that is, I am finding that it speaks to a reality that is far mare important than some dumb game in Texas.

Every year, I think the Cowboys will win the Super Bowl, and every year since 1995, I am wrong. This no longer ruins my year, season, month or even day, like it did when I was a teenager. They are just my favorite team. I am not a player, I have no stake in the team whatsoever. Yet, I would say I love them. [Obviously, not in the way I love my wife or any other person I actually know. I’m not an insane teenager anymore.] This is, I recognize, a ridiculous reality, but it is a reality nonetheless.

Now, let me tell you about a family beach vacation, about 10-15 years ago. One evening, we were on the boardwalk and my sister and I began to argue – I don’t remember what it was about, more than that I wanted her to say and/or do something, and she wasn’t saying or doing that thing, that way. She wanted the same from me. We had pictures in our heads of how the evening should go, and when they didn’t, we were frustrated and angry.

(If you have a sibling, you know the kind of ‘frustrated and angry’ I’m talking about. There is a certain safety in screaming out of frustrating and anger at someone you’ve lived with since you were born.)

Why were we arguing on a beautiful night on a boardwalk in Ocean City? For the same reason I was (am) disappointed in a nice win. It’s also the same reason the Angel and I usually have conflict, in our relationship. When I’m shockingly mean to me, in my head, it’s for this reason, too. And it’s also why I don’t buy, or listen to, the new Counting Crows albums. While we’re on the subject, it’s probably why we all hate each other on social media.

My sister and I fought because we had an expectation for the evening, we expected something from the other. I expect the Dallas Cowboys to win every game, comfortably. When I listen to new Counting Crows records, I still have August & Everything After in my head, and this new one is never that! I walk into these conversations with my wife with expectations that she will see it my way, or respond to me in a particular way.

Expectations are about what they should do, what they are supposed to say, how this should go, who should win, how you are supposed to see the world, and on and on. And when they don’t, when it doesn’t, I am disappointed and petty. I lash out, or pout (in other words, I say mean things or nothing at all.)

That night on the boardwalk opened my eyes to a new question, instead of why she didn’t participate in my mental construct for a perfect evening. Who in the world was I to decide how she should be, what she should say???? What gave me the right to be the all-knowing arbiter of what is supposed to be?

And when I finally asked that question, and searched my super ugly parts for the truth, it’s easy to see that I gave me that right. It’s simple arrogance, the same idolatry that is so commonplace all over the Bible and still is, today, in every corner of all creation. I didn’t like that answer, but what I like or don’t like doesn’t really matter when we’re talking about the truth.

What if I could have allowed my sister to be and do only what she wants to be and do? What if I didn’t have to control every aspect of all people and circumstances? I’ll tell you what happens – I am free to enjoy the time. I am surprised by the kindness, care and thoughtfulness of people, and the stunning beauty of my life, when it can unfold naturally, without my need to write everyone’s story by the blinding light of my own altar. Most importantly, without expectation, I am free to be grateful.

I can’t always do it (like yesterday’s NFL game, for example), maybe I never will be perfect, but I’ll sure keep trying. It’s totally worth it. Those Counting Crows albums probably aren’t so bad, after all.

A Genesis 28:16 World

Genesis 28:16 reads, “When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it.”” I reference it often, the most recent of which being just last Sunday, telling the story I’m about to tell again, here & now.

This verse is inextricably tied to the death of my dad, because it found me as I was raw and in such pain, struggling with his absence, mourning the hole he left. The truth that I was also mourning the hole I allowed while he was alive was almost too much to bear – I was very unaware. This warning changed the rest of my life, as I vowed to never be unaware ever again, never miss the divine in others, never sleep through the sacred moments & people (which is, of course, all of them) in my life.

You know how vows are, though…I have still missed far too much. But I’m trying, and I’m getting better, more awake, all the time.

Anyway, we moved my youngest son into his college dorm room last week. The school, Lycoming College, then, held a Convocation. I had never heard the word before, (and I really like words, and I like to know lots of them!!), so I didn’t know what we were in for.

A Convocation, according to our great, all-knowing sage, Wikipedia, is “a group of people formally assembled for a special purpose, mostly ecclesiastical or academic. The Britannica dictionary defines it as “a large formal meeting of people” It’s just a gathering, or the act of calling people together for a gathering. (There is such a cool thing coming, in about a paragraph or 2.) This convocation was a “welcome, new students,” gathering, and was moving, emotional, and charged with all of the weight of beginning a new stage of life, for all of us, students & parents alike.

Well, not all of us. There were many students listening to music, watching TikTok videos, or messaging others. Then, a few rows from me, 3 students were loudly talking (I still don’t know if they were talking to each other or their phones – I’m pretty sure it was certainly about the content on their phones.) Did I say “loudly?” LOUDLY. They were so loud, not using their inside voices at all.

Now. Of course, this awful behavior, and these 3 people, is/are rude and disrespectful. Elementary children are less obnoxious than these college students. BUT. What struck me was how depressing it was, and how depressed I was, for them.

They were taking their first steps into a brand new world. They are beginning their adult lives, full of promise and possibility. They are becoming the people they will be, and this process starts with this beautiful ceremony. What could be more significant??

And they missed it. And I don’t think they’re unique in this, I think it’s probably a Genesis 28:16 world.

Now, can you guess where the word Convocation comes from? Leviticus!! In Leviticus 23, God instructed His people to set aside holy times to gather, worship, and refocus on His covenant. Convocation actually means a “sacred meeting!!”

Surely the Lord was in that place, and they were unaware.

My heart breaks, even now. They’ll never get another convocation as first time, incoming college students. God was there, filling that gymnasium, whispering His call on their lives, through the 6 people who addressed them, and through the other students who will be the iron that sharpens them.

The thing about the burning bush was not that it was burning, bushes burn all the time, it’s that it wasn’t being consumed. That takes presence and attention, awareness when the Lord is in this place, wherever “this place” is. These 3 were like what was surely countless others who walked on by, unaware, until Moses noticed and his life, and the lives of a nation and a world, changed.

And my next thought is always, I wonder where I have been unaware. Where have I missed it, missed my life, missed the sacred in my midst? I really hope those kids wake up, and I hope we all do, too, so we never again suffer the crushing ache of having to say, “and I was unaware.”

Creativity

The site prompt, today (or yesterday, since I didn’t finish it last night), was, “What do you enjoy most about writing?” I’ll tell you the truth, reader & AI program that chooses these prompts, I love almost everything about writing.

I embrace the possibility of the blank page/screen – at least, usually I do. Of course, sometimes, it’s terrifying, but I read this book by Stephen King once and he said, just write something, anything. That’s been great advice, because then, after a few words that are banal and meaningless, voilà, the page is no longer blank and far less intimidating.

I value the time. I write by myself, listening to music, in a fluffy recliner. While it’s not silent, it’s quiet, peaceful.

But to answer the prompt, what I enjoy most is the self-discovery. There have been countless times where the words & ideas flow in unexpected ways, opening my eyes to how I really feel and believe. I just start with questions and feel around in the dark for myself. This is what I’ve heard called an “inward journey.” There are no rules or judgment in writing like this, just the free expression of a person in progress. Maybe this writing is why I enjoy the “in progress” part of me so much. (Not the actual stretching, but the growth…maybe just in hindsight.)

Another thing I like most is the creation of a new thing (whether fiction or non, novel, short story, poem, post, or sermon). What did not exist, now does. We breathe life into work that will outlive and outreach us. I can get people I will never meet from all over the world reading the words I type from my fluffy chair. The pages and pages I’ve written, my boys could read long after I’m gone. (Probably they wouldn’t, but they could, right?) I don’t think this is a delusion of a narcissist, it’s much closer to our divine design. We are created in the image of a wildly creative God, with the purpose of spreading His love, His word, His Story, to the ends of the earth. Why wouldn’t that be what we do, however we do it?

So, I see now that the last paragraph could be called connection, and writing, especially in an immediate, interesting format like this, does that in a way few other mediums can. I can do this, open my heart in an authentic, vulnerable way, and we can find the common ground we’re all searching for.

My son goes to college in 2 days. This is the most wonderful pain I have experienced. It’s a new set of emotions. The order of things that I’m used to is: 1. I feel pain and wish I didn’t. 2. Later on, (months/years), I see how valuable that pain was, and become resigned to my own gratitude. This one is different. I am fully, overwhelmingly grateful as it is tearing my heart out and breaking it. I am proud, excited, would not even consider stunting this very natural, beautiful part of his becoming, his own journey. I will just miss him terribly.

At funerals, I have come to find that those who are only broken hearted are the luckiest. Some (most?) of us have some complex mixture or regret, anger, frustration, and on and on. What a gift it is to simply grieve. Those sad tears are a blessing that is pretty rare, honestly.

This is like that. I’m not afraid or hesitant. There isn’t mourning over times I’ve missed. He is all I could have ever hope for, our time has been better than the best, and he is ready to change this whole world by simply being in it. The Angel & I are healthy. We cry and we laugh and we encourage, all in it’s time, whenever it comes. I was mushy in line at Hersheypark yesterday because I felt mushy in line at Hersheypark yesterday. Then, we had an awesome time of joyful presence. We’re just here.

Having said all of that, do you know what I mean? Of course, you do. We’re not the first to do this, won’t be the last. Maybe you know about funerals or fear or regret. Maybe you understand me in ways you didn’t, or maybe you understand your neighbor or co-worker in ways you didn’t. Through these posts, we see that we are all human beings, created by the same loving God, sharing so much more than there could ever be different. And maybe that’s why God made us in His image, with the ability to do our own creating. To grow closer and learn how to love each other. It might not be writing, it might be cooking, organization, interior design, or anything else. But what it is is an offering, to each other and the God that so made all of this beauty.

Wedding Clothes (extended)

The site prompt for today is, “What brings you peace?” That is something fun to write about, but not today. Maybe later. Today, I want to share with you some of what I wrote for my other blog:

“I sometimes get the privilege of officiating weddings, of getting to say “dearly beloved, we are here today,” and “kiss your Bride,” and filling out legal paperwork that ties people together forever. I fully recognize the statistics that say we have about the same chance of forever as a quarter has of landing on heads, I just don’t care. I don’t have to acknowledge it, I can believe it’s forever.

This couple had been together since the 8th grade, through braces, high school graduations, college in different cities, injuries, long distances, COVID, and Trump, twice! Their book had the sweetest pictures you’ve ever seen of every awkward, beautiful step.

Their guests filed in, early and immaculate. 

I mention it, because this is not as usual as you’d like to think. Some are late (some significantly so), some come in jean shorts & cut off t-shirts, and some take the opportunity of someone else’s wedding to make a mess. I had one Bride’s mother show up late for an outdoor wedding in a park, and drive by slowly, uncomfortably close to the people, and through, never bothering to stop and attend. This isn’t only guests. Once, a Groom wore a tank top and gym shorts to his own wedding to a woman in a perfect white dress. 

I would tell you I mind, and I probably do. But that tank top wedding was awesome, some underdressed guests were wonderful surprises to the couple, and really, who cares how you are there, as long as you are there, right? I don’t necessarily like our casual culture, where every time & place is the same as any other. We “come as we are” everywhere we are. Of course, I’d like some separation. I’d like to set apart some moments. A wedding isn’t a ballgame. A first date isn’t video games with buddies. I’d like to bring back church clothes. But I’m the pastor and I wear shorts and untucked shirts all summer long, so there’s that. 

We can agree that some things are just more important, like heart postures. Clothes aren’t everything, are they? Nope. But they can certainly tell a story, (not the whole story, obviously), and give a window to the posture of the heart. They can speak volumes. The look of the guests at this wedding sure did. 

I imagine that the women bought new dresses and shoes (who cares where they bought them or how much they spent???) for this day, they started doing their hair and makeup in the morning. The men bought new ties, shaved, and wore fancy socks and pants that fit. They reflected on this couple, who they desperately love, as they did it all, and respected them, the day, the amount of money and time that was invested in the ceremony, and the grace of the God who made all of this possible. That’s what I imagine, and you can’t convince me otherwise. They came and gave their very best to this moment…because this moment deserved it. 

Now. That sort of implies that some moments don’t, and I don’t believe that, either. Maybe that’s the justification behind our super-casual, dressing down. And maybe that’s where I can argue. Maybe instead of bringing everything down to the level of picnics and McDonalds, maybe we can acknowledge the significance of every second, every place, every person. Maybe McDonald’s shouldn’t be eaten in the car and maybe we shouldn’t show up late to anything. Maybe we could eat on the fine china for sandwiches with our spouses? Maybe we should raise the consciousness and treat everything like the blessing it is? Maybe we can just start with this moment and go from there?

And that’s where that post ended. To tell you the truth, I still don’t like how I wrote the ending. I think it’s clumsy and confusing, to read. I could speak it, and my tone & pace would clear it up, but Kae Auhild (for example – I know that she is actually reading it, because she “liked” it when I posted it yesterday) is reading it, wherever Kae Auhild is reading it, and can’t hear my voice or see me at all. Anyway. What I meant was that, instead of choosing a sort-of least common denominator, where all things sink to the same at the bottom of the scale, we could try to bring them up, where everything is infused with the Divine energy. We would bring the same care and mindfulness to a spontaneous slice of pizza with a friend as we do for a funeral, instead of the other way around.

This is partly the first fruits idea, in practice. As Dave Grohl of the Foo Fighters sings, “is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best, of you?” Is someone, is anyone, getting the best, the best, the best, the best, of us? What does get the best of us? Does a Tuesday evening family dinner? Or are our phones on the table with the tv on in the background?

The other part is the answer to the question, “what is sacred?” and maybe, to us, to Easter people, everything is. Or it can be.

We all know this world is hurting, and it probably feels so hopeless sometimes because we’ve chosen to disregard the sacred in the everyday (maybe even the sacred in the extraordinary, too) and in each other. We too often treat our lives, our world, and the people in it, as if we/they are disposable, as if we/they are anything less than miraculous. We watch (and participate) in the devaluation of all things.

If we treat others (and ourselves) as if they are actually made in the image of God, and wildly loved (as we are), then what is possible??? If we use the fine china for fast food, maybe it could carry new meaning, and if we can turn a gross McDonald’s hamburger on an “ordinary” evening after work into something deep and priceless, with gratitude and respect, then we can surely do that for everything else, too. Maybe it’s gone too far and there’s no turning back, but like the marriage statistics, I don’t have to acknowledge or accept it. And besides, faced with the bleak alternative, it’s sure worth a try, isn’t it?

No More Donkeys

Sunday’s message featured the age-old cage match between envy and gratitude. Envy confronts us, again, with the question of why we do what we do. Are we doing it to get that person’s whatever, or for another reason? Are we giving our time, money, or energy to get that better thing/model, or for more and more of what we have? Everything about envy is diametrically opposed to the tenets of gratitude, which says, this (person/thing/situation) is enough, I am enough. Then, there were lots and lots of ways to practice gratitude: presence, appreciation, focus, simply saying the words, “thanks.” The topic is as important as any we speak about, as far as it’s impact on our daily lives.

Our relationships dissolve because we take what we have for granted and allow our eyes and minds to wander elsewhere, to a new relationship we guess would be better. Our jobs are unsatisfying because we have lost interest in our own and would rather have theirs. Envy is a lifestyle of perpetual lack.

And a lifestyle of lack is a lifestyle of lack. It’s what we deserve, what we are supposed to have – it’s a selfish perspective, and that directly impacts our understanding of Jesus Christ, the Gospel, and the Bible. It was an important, and deeply personal message to give.

Now. The message had its roots in the 10th commandment, Do not covet your neighbor’s anything. I always use the “neighbor’s donkey” part, and it is used to describe anything of our neighbor’s that we want, whether it’s their car, house, new windows, or wife. Sunday, I carried the donkey metaphor over into our marriage relationships, referencing David & Bathsheba, even using the phrase, “the vows we made to our donkey.” This is a husband or wife. It just so happens I have a wife, and the metaphor spilled onto her. It was perceived that I was calling my wife a donkey. Many turned around to see her reaction. It was a little bit funny, and to be honest, I used the metaphor on purpose.

Metaphors are not usually meant to be realistic, they can make their greatest impact if they are absurd, wildly exaggerated, or shocking. Like using the word donkey in discussion about spouses and covetousness. Of course, it can also obscure the point. Maybe we all forgot how destructive envy is or how valuable gratitude is, because we were thinking about donkeys and the Angel. (*More on that in about a paragraph.) Maybe we were thinking about her and I instead of our own vows. Maybe we forgot to say thanks, about our own donkeys (whatever they are).

The joke was that I was in BIG trouble. I wasn’t. She understands metaphor and she understands the art form, and being with me requires a certain willingness to live fairly publicly (and have some stories told out loud in a room full of her friends). She lives her life with understanding and tons of grace.

AND, there is another thing…

The vast majority of the message contained many, many (too many, I was afraid as I began) examples of the things I loved, and continue to love, about her. The things I never take for granted about her. How I remember asking her out on our first date, and every second of that date and most after.

In speaking about searching for & reflecting on the beauty in our lives, I used a study about how the negative prints immediately on our souls and the positive takes 15 seconds. It’s why 100 likes & compliments are overshadowed by the 1 thumbs down or pointed jab. We rarely hear, and almost never remember, “that’s a nice shirt.” We ALWAYS carry “why would you wear that shirt?” sometimes for months, sometimes forever.

All you know of how I feel about being married to the Angel, over the years you know me, and the avalanche of appreciation and gratitude on Sunday were eclipsed by what sounded like an off handed comment (but wasn’t an off handed comment at all). I know, right?!!? Every week, it’s gross how I look at her with hearts in my eyes, open her doors, speak behind her back as if she’s the girl of my dreams (because she is), and lose my train of thought because she looks so rad. And one metaphor puts me in the metaphorical doghouse?

Sheesh. What does that mean about how we speak to each other, our children, the people online or at the store? What does that mean about our social media comments? It says, fair or not, it can be pretty easy to be a wrecking ball, crashing and undoing years and years of building.

I don’t want to be a wrecking ball, or an obstacle to anyone taking the terrifying honest journey of self-reflection. (This is so much of what Paul writes about – sure, you can, you have the right, but if it hinders one, it’s not even close to worth it.) We’re building something wonderful here, at the Bridge, in our relationships, and with our lives. And my intention was obviously, clearly misunderstood. I assure you I will take chances with examples and metaphors that stick, but I can also assure you I will not use that donkey metaphor again.

13 Years

13 years ago, this week, the Bridge was born out of the ruins of our previous church, which had closed its doors the previous week.

Including our flood-ravaged home, this was the 2nd home we’d lost in 10 months – I don’t know how much you can lose before you break forever… The cliché is that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle, and I don’t believe that, at all. I think we get more than we can handle all the time. I have a very great friend who has much more than anyone can handle. I think the cliché is, or should be: God gives you more than you can handle, and that’s why He also gives you the Church. Together, there is nothing you can’t handle.

As we walked away from the final New Song service, I invited our friends to my house to mourn out loud, together. They came, we mourned, and after several hours, I said some of the most hopeful words I would ever speak: Next week, if you want to come back, we’ll open our Bibles to 1st Chronicles 1:1. Not everyone came back, but some did, and that’s exactly what we did. They didn’t know, then, what I did, that we were being called to build something new. We all were just faithful in listening to what each of us were given, and no more. Just the next step. Maybe it was doomed, maybe we had misheard, maybe we were all very foolish, but we took these fresh new steps.

People came, stayed, left, more came, more stayed, more left. (If you think you ever get used to the leaving, and it stops hurting, you would be fantastically wrong.) We tried lots of different things. I played the guitar and sang “Stand By Me” one time, handed out mix cds another time. One service was only us reading chapters of the Bible outside, with our shoes off and our feet in the grass. We canceled another as a living, breathing, illustration of grace. One homework assignment was to give away our offering to someone in the community, face to face. We ate so much food together. We prayed. We moved 3 times and grew each time. We referenced so many movies and songs. We danced. We love The Most Spiritual Movie Of All Time, Fight Club, together (even though most of us, thankfully, haven’t actually seen it.) I made you mad, didn’t respond as quickly as I should have, we disagreed. There were marriages and babies. We cried, laughed, fought and made up.

The growth was/is slow, with what looked like a plateau each time, but was actually regaining equilibrium before the next bump. I am thankful for that, now. The Angel still believes it was God’s grace, keeping my soft, mushy heart from exploding. I also believe it was God’s grace, but for a different reason. You see, I could never wrap my head around my own transformation. I often found myself waiting for everyone to wake up to the fact that I should not be here. (As you probably already know, I did the same thing with the Angel. You’re not the only one who asked, what is she doing with him??) I don’t wait anymore. Once I did the waking up, not to my inadequacy, but to the searing disobedience & idolatry of constantly questioning what God has created (or was creating, if I would only stop being an obstacle and step into His mercy and love), I could finally see me, as I am (which is changing all the time).

We sometimes do that with the Gospel. It sounds amazing, super-spiritual, to brag that we are too bad, too far away, for Jesus to cover, accept, rescue, to love. But it’s not spiritual at all, it’s mean. Instead, it’s saying, “I’m so special, He/His sacrifice/His resurrection aren’t enough. I was saying, “I can’t be (whatever), He can’t make dry bones live, He can’t bring healing, He can’t He can’t He can’t.” But I was terrifically wrong. He can. I’m not too special, but I am wonderfully made by the Creator of the Universe, in His image, and, to paraphrase Nick Fury in The Winter Soldier, “it’s about time I get with that program.”

I asked those of us who were there that first week to reflect a little, remember these last 13 years. Every year, I teach what I call a manifesto to never forget our purpose. We may not be called to have 25 different services in a weekend on screens all throughout America. We may not even be called to have 2. My books might not get the sales of Joel Osteen’s (I don’t have his hair or perfect teeth, either). We might end next week. But this thing that God has built through us, it’s so much better than the best case scenario. I have no idea what could possibly be next, but what I do know is that the ethos of the Bridge has never changed – we’re still listening and taking just the next step. We exist in Him, through Him, by Him, and for Him. We are, and will remain, a Gospel church (which, if you ask me, is the only kind of Church to be).

He’s given us all of this, grace, kindness, forgiveness, righteousness. He’s given us a home. He’s given us each other, to walk with, to listen to, to hug, given us hands to hold. He’s given us the people who will pick us up or will simply get down on the ground with us until we can stand. He has given us a call, given us The Church, and He’s given us this Bridge.

I am overwhelmed. I am honored to belong to it, honored to be your friend, honored to get to watch you, really blessed to love you. I am grateful. Happy Anniversary.