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.

Legacy

Last Sunday, I gave a pretty personal message. Sometimes, the most personal things can be alienating. No one is going through the exact same circumstances or situations, no 2 people are really walking the same path. However, far more often, the most personal expressions are the most universal, because we are all having this human experience and share much, much more than we don’t. When Taylor Swift talks about her ultra-famous boyfriend breaking up with her, of course we can’t relate to those specific details, but we certainly do with broken hearts. We hear the words from her diary and they feel pulled from our souls, from our own relationships.

Paul gave his farewell address to the elders in Ephesus…a wildly different place than our small town in Pennsylvania, different people, different culture. Yet, his words ring true to us, here, now, as we read them 2,000 years later on our cell phone apps. So, it’s my birthday, and it probably isn’t yours (unless you’re my cousin), but we’ve all asked the same questions, right? What would our farewell address be? I mentioned our legacy, and that’s such a pretentious word, but it just means “something passed down.” What would we pass down? Would they remember us, and how?

On one hand, we can’t spend too much time considering this, or we’ll end up thinking about how to live a beautiful life instead of actually living one. But, as with most everything significant, it doesn’t just happen. Beautiful, lasting lives require examination and intention.

I asked these questions: Do we want our last post to be a mean, nasty, cutting one? Do we want to leave with a separation, with something between us? Do we want the last thing we say to be anything less than love, grace, peace, or Jesus? Do we want the people we leave to know we love them? Have we told them today? Have we shown them today? Have we proclaimed the Gospel, with our words, hands, feet, resources, and lives? Have we been patient and kind? Have we loved? 

I often reference our social media posts, because I find them shockingly sharp and aggressive, from even the most lovely people. It seems that we don’t consider their impact, as if they’re made in a vacuum, as if they are not actual personal connection, not us at all. It’s like the coliseum, where we fight, kill or be killed. (It is not. There are flesh and blood moms and dads, sisters, brothers, behind those profile pictures and posts of perfect dinner plates.)

Anyway. Have we loved? I can think of no better string to wrap around our fingers or tattoo on our hands. That is a fitting legacy, maybe the only fitting legacy.

Or have we been annoyed, short, bothered? Did we ignore those holy moments, or were we just distracted, or running late? Maybe we scolded them, made them feel small, mocked, made fun? Do they feel inspired after seeing us, by simply seeing themselves through our own eyes, through fresh words and possibilities? Are they beaten down again, or filled with the hope of redemption? When they walk away, have they seen the love of God in, from, us?

Life can be pretty hard. Do we want to be the ones that ease pain, bring peace, extending hands instead of throwing fists? Are we the ones who are raising our arms to defend our sides, or are we taking our arms and wrapping them around each other? Have we loved, always, and in all ways? I know that last answer is no, of course it’s no, but if we can only start thinking about what it is that we are passing down, maybe it’ll be no less often. And maybe we can start singing some great new songs.

Psycho Catfish

There is a new documentary on Netflix, called Unknown Number: The High School Catfish. A catfish is an actual fish, a “diverse group of ray-finned fish,” “any of an order (Siluriformes) of chiefly freshwater stout-bodied scaleless bony fishes having long tactile barbels,” but it is also a person who pretends to be someone else online. They masquerade for lots of reasons, from self-consciousness to pedophilia, and everything in between. There is a show on MTV called Catfish, that I love, that details the search to uncover the identities of internet love interests. This search/reveal can be light and insignificant or it can be devastating.

This documentary is not the light, insignificant kind.

A 15 year old girl starts getting text messages from the same person using unknown numbers. The texts are shockingly lewd, inappropriate, mean, and bullying. They are about sex acts with her boyfriend, trying to break them up, they are hateful missives about her looks & weight, and they encourage her to commit suicide. Sometimes, there are a few, sometimes as many as 50 or 60 per day. The police are involved, and are completely ineffective in exposing the sender. Finally, it is an FBI agent who discovers that it is… (spoiler alert!!!)…the girl’s MOTHER!!!!!!!!!!! The mom makes excuses and is awfully unlikable. That’s all we’ll say about the film, except to say I didn’t really care for it (for lots of reasons.)

This post is called “Psycho Catfish,” which is what she was, right? She was awful and went to prison for around 19 months, and should probably have been longer – the text abuse lasted longer (almost 2 full years). Right? She cried hollow tears over the worst of the consequences, that she hasn’t seen her daughter – the same daughter she tormented. Can you have empathy for this woman, the best documentaries ask. Can you? How can a human being be capable of this??

Now. In Acts 9, Jesus stops Saul on the road to Damascus and says, “Why ate you persecuting ME?” Saul was chasing the early followers of Jesus, capturing them and bringing them back “in chains,” often to their death. He wasn’t persecuting Jesus, just His followers, right? Just? In the Gospels, Jesus said, “when you did (either good or evil, getting food & drinks or not) to/for them, you did it to/for ME.”

We have read these passages, sometimes many, many times. But this all happened 2,000 years ago, what do they possibly have to do with us?

Well, these verses seem to suggest that the things we do/say/think/post about people, we are doing/saying/thinking/posting about HIM. If that is the case, then what? I called that mom a psycho, decided that she should have been in jail for much longer, and rolled my eyes at what I thought were crocodile tears. Does that mean I’m calling Jesus names? Is that using Him & His Name carelessly, disrespectfully? Is that blasphemy?

Well, if we take the Scriptures seriously, it probably is. The thing this mom did was wrong and terrible. Of this, we can agree. This is just the truth. However, what is also true is that Jesus sees her exactly the same way he sees his perfect people (like you & me;), with forgiveness, grace, and endless, limitless love.

What this mom did was heartbreaking, but were her transgressions worse than Saul’s??? No way. And, if we are honest, are they that much worse than my own worst moments? Maybe they are. I think they were, but of course I’d say that. So, who am I to decide?

You know I don’t think the Bible was written to shame us, so the fact that I’m calling this “Psycho Catfish” isn’t driving me into the ground. My thoughts about her aren’t pushing play on the tapes in my head that would crush me with guilt. As He has grace for her, and for Saul, HE has for me. Maybe I can, too?

But what they are doing is asking me some very hard questions, challenging me about my perspectives, my words, the way I see those around me (and especially those in Washington D.C.). If they are Jesus, then what? What if these stories in the Bible didn’t only happen thousands of years ago? It’s overwhelming to think they are still happening today, here, and now.

Although

The note in my personal Bible, for the book of 2nd Chronicles, chapter 18, verse 1, reads, “Although Jehoshaphat was deeply committed to God, he arranged for his son to marry Athaliah, the daughter of wicked Ahab.” And as far as interesting, loaded sentences go, that’s pretty terrific.

The 2 kings mentioned were the leaders of the north and south kingdoms of, what was and would be, the nation of Israel. Jehoshaphat was a good, moral king, Ahab was not. In fact, Ahab was probably the worst of them all. But sometimes political interests are more important than religious, spiritual ones. (Obviously, we wouldn’t know anything about that, but just try to use your wildest imagination to put yourself in this ancient time.) Jehoshaphat followed the God of his ancestors, but even so, he decided this alliance was important/valuable/necessary/whatever word describes why & how we would ever rationalize shelving our principles for political viability and gain. I’ll choose “necessary,” because that is what I often hear as explanation for the ways we decide the words of Jesus just aren’t practical, here, now. So, this alliance was necessary to rebuild a powerful, re-connected Israel.

Of course, it didn’t go that way, wasn’t necessary at all.

I am not a king or a politician, so this doesn’t relate on a strictly apples to apples basis, but I do know very well about rationalization. And I do know the truth of the “although.”

Although I love Jesus, I can be really judgy, sometimes. Although I am absolutely clear on His commands to NOT judge, I can still choose to do it. Although I am deeply committed to my fitness and physical health, I often eat like a 6-year old. (I am the walking, talking, weightlifting illustration of the harsh truth, “you can’t out train a bad diet.” I wish you could. I would have the best abs.) I see other drivers on the road who have Jesus fish on their cars; although they love Jesus, so much that they’d advertise it on their bumpers, they have cut others off and raged behind the wheel. Although some pastors love Jesus and have given their careers to spreading the Gospel, they can deliver some of the most hurtful speech about others who are under His grace, just as they are. Although people love their spouses, they… You get the idea. How many ways do we live out the “althoughs?”

This is one of the very cool things about the Bible. We can’t relate at all to choosing politics over faith, but we can easily translate that into lots of other areas of our lives. It is timely – real people (Jehoshaphat, Athaliah), real times (hundreds of years B.C.), real places (Israel), and real tensions (arranged marriage between heirs, political maneuvering) – these things are specific to a time. We live in 2025 in a small town in Pennsylvania, our kids choose their own partners, we never get politics mixed up, never elevate it to an idol that would direct our steps with our friends and families.

But it is also timeless – the “althoughs” and the constant struggle in our hearts, decisions, and relationships between God and all of the other, lesser things that would take His place.

Who would guess that something Jehoshaphat did or said thousands of years ago, would have the ability to ask such vital questions of us? Isn’t it fascinating that Ahab and Athaliah have meaning in our careers and marriages, that 2 wicked characters would invite us into a deep dive into our own days and moments?

I have a book called God Is In This Place, and it dissects Genesis 28:16 (maybe I mentioned that verse before;), using 9 chapters to interpret it in 9 very different ways. It has crossed my mind to take a passage or verse, probably a parable of Jesus, and teach it several weeks in a row. The Bible is often compared to a diamond, with facets that change the look of the stone with each small turn.

There are so many perspectives of the life & rule of Jehoshaphat, but today, we’ll just be knocked out by the warning of his own “although,” and hopefully not make it our own.

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?

A List

Today’s site prompt is to list 30 things that make you happy. Maybe I’ll do that, it sounds like fun. Morrissey. My AmazonMusic Discovery Mix. Rollercoasters. Fruit & yogurt parfaits. Cool mornings. This wedding picture on our wall. Clocks. Well, maybe I won’t do it here. I do have something to discuss.

Sunday’s message asked the, frankly, terrifying question: Will they know us by our love? I know, it sounds divisive to use language like this. Who are they? Who is us? But, does it really matter? Will another person who is not me know me by my love? Will other people who are not me see/meet me and think, that man there is a walking, talking, hugging illustration of 1st Corinthians 13? If you spend more than a moment considering this question, it’s a big, convicting mirror that asks a million more questions.

I wake up with the Angel. In the summer’s, she has Fridays off, which means she goes in at 6 from Monday-Thursday, so the alarm rings at 5ish on those days. I no longer get up that early, on purpose, except in the summers. Usually, we leave together and I go to the gym, but today is a rest day. (Maybe a rest morning, maybe I’ll go in the afternoon or evening. Who knows?) Today, with all of this time, I ate my breakfast while watching an Amazon documentary called Shiny Happy People.

Shiny Happy People is a series, as it turns out, with each season digging into a new, different topic. Season 1 dealt with the Duggar family. It’s possible you’ve heard of them, they are a couple who has 1,000 children, a reality tv show and a growing mountain of controversy. Season 2 concerns the teen ministry, Teen Mania. Apparently, it was absolutely massive, and I had never, ever heard of it. Teen Mania, and it’s tentacles, were gigantic, and now does not exist, due to the many ex-members who went public with their experiences.

So, now I have a new question. We are called to bring healing, right? Are the things we do & words we say bringing healing to the broken & hurting?

This ministry (which, like most other cults, began as a beautiful community of Christian faith) was positive for many, but was a wrecking ball to others. I wonder if my words are kind of like that, if I am like that. Are my words just another instrument of damage, or do they bring peace and hope into dark places?

The documentary was unbelievably frustrating and so, so sad. The Gospel of Jesus Christ being weaponized for the ultimate end of political gain, power, and money is wildly offensive. Essentially, it was The Gospel being used in service of a different gospel, this one a false counterfeit, the gospel of me. It’s selfish and creates so many obstacles to the true, loving relationship with Our Crteator that saved so many of our lives. That I can inflict these wounds for a vote or a dollar is clear, there is no fundamental difference between us.

And THAT is why these questions are so important. This Teen Mania guy probably began as someone just like us, who loves Jesus and wants you to do the same, then he got some attention and status, then some more power, which went unchecked, which translated to more and more money, yet more power, until he was a monster with a raging, unquenchable ego who forgot our call to love, and to heal. When these people he traumatized finally spoke out loud, he lied, denied, and continued to steal money from youth groups, until he could no longer so do, and left the country to try to build the same model elsewhere.

If we don’t hold The Spirit’s Hand and ask, if we don’t examine ourselves and our motivations, if we don’t double and triple check our social media posts and messages, if we don’t pay attention to our relationships and communities, if we don’t stay on the path of Jesus, we can, and will, be Teen Mania, inflicting pain everywhere we go. The enemy doesn’t need us to follow him, just ourselves.

Our words still have the power to build or destroy, to give, or take, life. For what end will we use them? We can be creators or destroyers. Which will it be?

Now…23 more things that make me happy. Bacon. Ice cold glasses of water. GIFs of babies dancing. I bet I’ll get waaaay more than 30.

No Why

Today’s site prompt is “what bothers you and why?” That’s pretty prescient of the AI prompt generator, because I opened my iPad to write about a thing that does, indeed, bother me.

First, you should know that lots of things bother me. I am bothered when people hog equipment at the gym, then don’t spray & wipe that equipment off afterwards, rudely leaving their disgusting germs all over for the rest of our immune systems to find off. It’s a wonder that we all don’t have a perpetual case of pinkeye. But what REALLY bothers me is when (usually the same) people leave their weights on the bars. Yes, that actually happens, can you believe it?!!? We live in a society, a fact that has managed to go unnoticed by these monsters. I’m bothered by a lack of spacial awareness in public, poor sports officiating, and the New York Giants, among many others.

The last paragraph was all mostly a joke. These things do bother me – probably a better word is annoy – but it’s a superficial wound, a paper cut that is forgotten immediately after the initial cut. I don’t really care too much, I’ve never had a day ruined by any of these trivialities. The problem is that we just don’t have enough words, sometimes. The “bother” of the least paragraph is not the “bother” of the next one.

In Acts 12, king Herod Agrippa “began to persecute” some believers of Jesus. The apostle James was “killed with a sword.” Then, when he “saw how much this pleased the Jewish leaders,” he captured and imprisoned Peter to do the same to him, in a very public fashion. That night, “an angel of the Lord” appeared and sprung him from his cell. It’s a cool story, with a cool scene of Peter showing up at the place where all of his buddies were praying for him, as they were praying for him. The prayer was answered immediately, spectacularly.

Hallelujah! …except for one thing. Why was Peter rescued and not James? We can talk and put forth all sorts of hypotheses, but the truth is that we have absolutely no idea. There is no why.

Why do terrible things happen to one and not another? Why is this happening to me? Why is this not happening to him/her? Maybe you remember the singer-songwriter we hosted, Olivia Farabaugh, who was miraculously healed from a chronic disease. I’m so thankful she was, but why do others still suffer with that same chronic disease? They may believe in healing and have faith that can move mountains, too. James believed.

John the Baptizer was sitting in jail, about to be murdered, and sent word to Jesus, asking if He was the One for whom they were waiting. He answers, yes, and blessed are those who don’t fall away because of Him. Essentially, John was asking IF He was the Messiah, and IF He was going to rescue him. John was His cousin, also His friend and witness. He’d been faithful his whole life and, with everything he thought & did, pointed to Jesus and His Kingdom. Yes, Jesus was the Messiah, and No, He would not be breaking him out of prison. Why? Only He knows?

We all have some deeply loved friends who are carrying more than anyone can handle, crying enough tears to drown the world. Why them? Why doesn’t God step in and help? Why does He do it for some and not others? Why didn’t He save James from that sword? I wonder how many burned up in the same furnace where Shadrach, Meshach, & Abednego were delivered. Why? Why is this happening to me, him, her, them?

There is no why. And that bothers me. My pride and driving need for control makes me want those answers. I want to understand. I want it to make sense to me. I want there to be a why, and I want to know what it is.

The other side of my own idolatrous coin is faith. There is a why, we just might not get it. We have to faith anyway, to trust anyway. We can certainly ask, He’s plenty big enough for our questions. But there always comes that point where, even if we don’t get the answers we want, or like, or that make sense, or any answers at all, we are faced with a decision; will we still trust that He is there, that He is good, and that we are still loved beyond reason or limit. What do we do then?

Maybe we’re James and get the bad thing, or maybe we’re Peter and get the good. Maybe they’re both blessings, and maybe it just depends on your perspective. Maybe we don’t ever know why. Maybe it’ll always bother us like crazy, but maybe we just continue to follow Him anyway.

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.

Am I?

Does wisdom imply honesty? I guess it doesn’t imply anything, does it? We can know plenty of facts, but wisdom puts those facts to use. We might know how to build a nuclear bomb, have all of the information and skill, but it’s wisdom that keeps us from actually using it. Maybe wisdom could/should keep us from building it at all, but that might be a different question.

I’m asking that initial question, because Sunday morning, we discussed a passage in Ecclesiastes that was patently disingenuous. (Maybe it wasn’t technically a lie…) In chapter 4, verses 1-3, Solomon laments over the oppressed who didn’t have anyone to comfort them. If you are familiar with Ecclesiastes, you can probably guess that this is “meaningless.”

Now, this is an interesting observation from Solomon, as he had morphed into empire building, using slaves to build his palace and army. Essentially, he was the oppressor of a great many in Israel.

If I take my son’s cell phone away, can I lament his lack of a cell phone? Maybe it is terribly sad that he doesn’t have one, but if I’m the reason, then what? If this Teacher’s world is meaningless because there isn’t anyone to comfort the ones he’s oppressed, why isn’t he comforting them??? If I am heartbroken because my neighbor can’t cut his grass, and I don’t cut it for him (and I can), is my heart really broken??

So, I was angry with Solomon. Why are the people of God doing the oppressing? Why are they not comforting the oppressed, instead? Where are they???

I write another blog (lovewithacapitall.com), and there, I wrote about some Netflix documentaries. They were entertaining, (some very much so), but their root was the undeniable human impulse to act terribly to each other, if given the opportunity. I wrote: “These shows are pretty depressing, to be honest. Mirrors often are.” I’m thinking about that now, because I wonder if I was so angry with Solomon because he’s a mirror to my own capacity for 1. Hurting others, and 2. Ignoring my own hypocrisy.

If I had a country and unlimited power and resources, who is to say I wouldn’t build that country into an empire, even though most every word in the Bible says NO? Maybe I’d be so wise that I’d know every word of the Scriptures, know God would not want an empire of slaves and gigantic armies used to oppress, I’d know the right thing to do…and I’d take the other road anyway. And maybe I’d write books about how it’s so awful that there are oppressed people, my boundless wisdom would allow me to see every social ill clearly. As much as I’d like to say otherwise, I bet I would. Then what?

I know the right decisions to make in the kitchen, I am very aware what foods make me feel good and are healthy for my body. And I choose not to make them. I think I’m so frustrated with Solomon because, at least in this, he’s me and I’m frustrated with me. I see what’s wrong, I wonder why it’s happening, and I wonder why the Christians aren’t comforting the poor and broken, wonder why the Christians aren’t peacemaking… And then I realize, I am a Christian, aren’t I? Am I writing instead of comforting, posting instead of peacemaking? Am I a hypocrite?

The answer to all 3 of those questions is Yes. And this is not surprising. This kind of thing happens all of the time. The Bible opens us up in a million wildly uncomfortable ways, sends us running into the arms of Jesus, Who has already forgiven us, and Who sends us right back with a new (old) commission, call & focus. Take drinks, bring food, give shelter, visit, help. Love someone. Comfort. Make peace.

Am I? Yes, I am all of these things. I am oppressor and comforter, the idea is to be less and less of the first and more and more of the latter. Make more peace than we break. And sometimes seeing that in ourselves begins with outrage at another’s behavior.

I’m no longer mad at Solomon.