Life and Death and More Life

"Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place.

But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's

allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over.

And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want

you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!

- Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s final sermon

 

"So put me on a highway, and show me a sign,

and take it to the limit one more time."

- The Eagles, Take It To The Limit

 

 

"God, I know you're wanting to put on a kickass show, but could you maybe slow it down just a bit?" Those were the words a friend of mine posted tonight on Facebook following the news of Glenn Frey's death -- which came on the heels of the deaths of David Bowie and Lemmy Kilmister, and not all that long after the death of Scott Weiland.

 

Many good words have been written about celebrity deaths and why we mourn them -- one of the very best pieces I've read was posted here by my friend Stacy -- so I don't feel particularly qualified to wade deeply into those waters. But I have been thinking a good deal about the subject, especially tonight, when the news of Frey's death hit me surprisingly hard -- largely, no doubt, because it occurred on Martin Luther King Day and the fifth anniversary of my stepfather's death.

 

Brian McLaren proposes that the phrase translated in most of our English Bibles as "eternal life" might be better understood as "life of the ages" -- a life that outlasts our limited time on this planet. Bruce Springsteen perfectly captures this phenomena in his song "We Are Alive."

 

I'm sure you, like me, can think of funerals you've attended where the deceased had made an indelible impact on many lives. Sadly, like me as well, you can probably also remember going to a few where the sense of a wasted life hung in the air so heavily you thought you could almost touch it.

 

That indelible impact is, I think, why so many celebrity deaths affect us so deeply. The ones that move us, that shake us to our core, are very often the ones who used their celebrity for something more than pursuing accolades or making money. They're the ones who spoke out, the ones who stood for something.

 

Martin Luther King's impact cannot possibly be overstated. More than 50 years later, we still get goosebumps as we read his sermons. We still celebrate the grace and prophetic power with which he articulated his dream, and we still join him "in our desire to see the world become a place in which our children can grow free and strong," as James Taylor poignantly expressed.

 

Glenn Frey, likewise, left a legacy that is bigger than some great music. Like his bandmates, he was known for his support of conservation and environmental causes; a portion of the royalties from the tribute album Common Thread: The Songs of The Eagles was donated to the Walden Woods Project. He was also a vocal supporter of Parkinson's research.

 

In much smaller ways, my stepfather did this - in the way he helped my mom rediscover love she thought she'd never have again after my parents divorced, in the way he was quick to respond if I needed help with a project around the house, in the way he'd patiently explain to me for the 12th time how to fix something. My grandparents, my uncles, my wife's best friend: all lived lives that live on even as they no longer do. All, in some beautiful, cosmic way, remain alive.

 

And I realize that, when we say things like this, it can sound like we're trying to make those people seem superhuman. It sometimes sounds like we're trying to sweep their flaws under the rug and nominate them for sainthood.

 

But honestly, I'm not interested in how "good" their lives were. I'm interested in how full and how meaningful their lives were.

 

Yesterday, I read Luke 16, which includes one of the more unusual stories Jesus tells in the gospels. It's a story about a crooked manager who is misusing his position and mismanaging his master's funds. The master eventually finds out and fires him.

 

Before an audit takes place, the manager decides to curry favor with some of his master's debtors in hopes of having a place to stay when he is kicked out. He goes to the debtors, one by one, and has them pay back a portion of what they owe.

 

And, here's the weird thing: Jesus holds the guy up as a positive example of sorts. "The master praised the crooked manager ... because he knew how to look out for himself," Jesus says, going on to encourage his followers to follow the man's example of how to live: "I want you to be smart in the same way -- but for what is right -- using every adversity to stimulate you to creative survival, to concentrate your attention on the bare essentials, so you'll live, really live, and not just complacently get by on good behavior."

 

I wrote the following in my journal yesterday morning after reading this parable:

 

"Perhaps there's a difference between being good and living well, wisely and humbly; they're not mutually exclusive, but they're also not one and the same. I think of Rich Mullins as an example; he seemed to live fully, a beautiful, rich, meaningful life, but he was known for having a bit of a playfully naughty streak. I would rather live a life that is full and whole and occasionally messy than be a timid sheep my whole life. I would rather accept that I'm saint and sinner and spend my life rising to the challenge of dying to myself day by day than to pretend and be known as a 'good guy' who doesn't cuss or drink or whatever. I'd rather be known as a man who wrestled his way out of the trenches, who fought tooth and nail to put his demons to flight, than as a man who tiptoed through life."

Johnny Cash was a prime example of this. His demons were never far from him, but he took them on, like Hugh Glass dragging his mangled body out of a makeshift grave in "The Revenant," like Andy Dufresne refusing to back down from Bogs Diamond in "The Shawshank Redemption." As Morgan Freeman's Red said about Andy, "Sometimes he was able to fight 'em off, sometimes not."

That's how Johnny Cash lived.

That's how we all live, whether we admit it or not.

I was just looking for a little backstory to my favorite Eagles song, "Take It To The Limit." The song was originally led by Randy Meisner, but eventually Frey began doing lead vocals on the song and Meisner left the band.

Meisner explained the song like this:

"You reach a point in your life where you feel you've done everything and seen everything - it's part of getting old. And just to take it to the limit one more time, like every day just keep punching away at it." 

One more time.

An open letter to Kim Davis

September 2, 2015

Kim Davis
Rowan County Clerk
600 W. Main St., Room 102
Morehead, KY 40351

Dear Mrs. Davis,
When you opened this letter -- if you opened it at all -- I'm sure you did so with much trepidation. As you well know, your approval ratings have taken a bit of a tumble in recent months. I'm certain you have received plenty of angry letters from the LGBT community and from progressives.

Well, let me tell you up front that I am a progressive as well. I am a straight, married father of two living in the southeastern corner of the state, not all that far from you, and I am a passionate advocate for marriage equality. I have a number of LGBT friends, and I love them dearly. I am (probably too) protective of them, and I believe they should be able to make the same commitment to one another that I made to my wife.

I am also a Christ-follower (I generally refrain from using the word "Christian" because it has been hijacked and lost so much of its original meaning), and that is why I am taking the time to write to you.

I want to first apologize. I'm sure you are aware that many in the blogosphere are offering snarky comments regarding your appearance. This is small-minded, petty, and needlessly mean-spirited. You are a human being, and words have the capacity to hurt. So on their behalf (and mine, to the extent that I have participated), I am sorry.

Many are also commenting on your multiple marriages. I understand from reading your statement yesterday that you have been a follower of Jesus for about four years. It is unfair for anyone, and especially for other Christians, to throw this up at you as some sort of "proof" of hypocrisy. I gather from reading the statement that you are married now, and I wish you much happiness and success in that relationship.

That said, I do want to gently challenge you. I'll be honest: Until yesterday evening, I was quite cynical about your position on this issue. I thought it more likely than not that you were aiming for a book deal or something similarly lucrative out of this whole thing. Then I read your statement. I now believe that you are sincere in your beliefs; however, I believe your beliefs are hugely misguided.

First, you state that issuing marriage licenses to same-sex couples would "violate a central teaching of scripture." I must strongly disagree with your use of the word "central." On several occasions, the early church fathers convened to hammer out what was essential. Look up the Apostles Creed and/or the Nicene Creed; both came from such conversations. I will bet my house that gay marriage was not part of their discussion.

The Church for centuries has debated and disagreed on any number of issues: Women in ministry, adult vs. child baptism, appropriate clothing, proper hair length, speaking in tongues, tithing, what kind of music should be played in church ... the list is virtually endless. Over time, we have agreed to disagree on these things; that's why there are so many denominations. Surely you can concede that we can agree to disagree on this topic as well -- and if so, then it must not be "central."

You also refer the teaching of "Jesus Himself regarding marriage." I assume you are referring to Mark 10, in which Jesus speaks of a man leaving his father and mother and becoming one flesh with a woman -- I assume this is because this is literally the only time Jesus spoke of anything even remotely related. However, if you don't just lift that verse out of its context, it's crystal-clear from the surrounding sentences that this is a statement on the commitment and permanency of marriage and not a statement about who should marry. Rather than condemning same-sex marriage, Jesus is condemning divorce. I am assuming that you weren't previously refusing to issue marriage licenses to divorced people; I hope you can appreciate the irony here.

I'm going to assume for the moment that you do not have any LGBT friends. If you did, I would hope that it would impact how you view this situation. Several years ago, I heard a famous pastor speak at the University of Kentucky, and someone in the audience tried to bait him into stating whether or not he believed it was a sin to be gay. His response was, "Well, I think before any pastor preaches on this topic, they ought to go out and make a gay friend." What he was insinuating was that a person's perspective changes drastically when they're talking about an actual, flesh-and-blood person rather than an abstract concept or principle.

To be clear: I do not believe that it is a sin to be gay. If you research the very few verses of scripture that condemn homosexuality -- if you dig into the historical context and original translations -- you find a quite different picture. Mark Sandlin has written a wonderful, well-researched piece about this, which you can read at http://www.thegodarticle.com/faith/clobbering-biblical-gay-bashing if you choose -- and I do hope you will. You don't have to agree with me; I have plenty of friends who don't agree with me, and I'm happy to still call them my friends.

But the practical implication of your disagreeing with me on this issue is that you are inflicting injustice -- and that is not acceptable. And as a follower of a God who is on the side of victims throughout scripture, I can't pretend that it is OK.

Let's think about this using another scripture for a moment. In Luke 17, Jesus heals ten lepers. This was much more than just healing a sickness; in that culture, Jesus essentially gave them their lives back. Lepers were isolated from everyone else -- if these men had families, they hadn't seen them since they got sick. In healing their skin disease, Jesus restored their right to live like human beings.

Only one of them came back to thank Jesus -- only one did the proper, scripturally correct thing. But ten men went home to their families. Jesus didn't undo this restoration of their lives; he allowed them to enjoy the benefits of what he had given them, even if they weren't "orthodox."

I'd also point out that many scholars believe that the Roman centurion's servant Jesus healed in Luke 7 was possibly the centurion's lover. We can't know whether this was the case or not -- but if it was, then the fact that Jesus healed the man without question speaks volumes.

My point is this: Your "participation" in allowing your gay and lesbian neighbors to enjoy the same benefits as the rest of us is not unbiblical. Even if you continue to believe their "lifestyle" is sinful, this is no reason, biblically speaking, for you to deny them that opportunity. To do so, quite frankly, is selfish -- and I know that's a sin.

I know you think you are protecting religious liberty. Please understand that you are not. Religious liberty says that a minister doesn't have to officiate, or a church doesn't have to host, a same-sex wedding. Religious liberty does not say that an elected official doesn't have to perform a duty of her office. You have a fundamental misunderstanding of the situation.

And I don't think that's all your fault.

You are listening to some nasty, dangerous people. I promise you that Mat Staver and his cohorts are secretly licking their chops at the thought of you going to jail. Oh, they will stand in front of cameras and talk about what a tragedy it is, but internally, they will be loving every minute of it. They will be loving every minute of it because nothing gets the media, and the money, flowing like perceived persecution.

You are merely a pawn in their game. They will be profiting from your pain -- from your family's pain. That is disgusting. I am extending grace to you because I believe you to be sincere; I have no such beliefs about Mr. Staver or the Liberty Counsel. They are political opportunists interested only in advancing their own cause.

You deserve better than that.

I hope that you have a change of heart and begin to issue licenses to same-sex couples wishing to marry in your county. I hope that you will stop choosing this course of action that is causing so much division. But if you cannot find it in your heart to do that, I hope that you will resign from your position and allow your county, our state, and our country to move forward.

Grace and peace to you.

Respectfully,
Jarrod Sherman

Christmas, Faux Wars, and What Really Matters

"In this life of hardship and of earthly toil

There's a need for anything that frees us

So I bid you pleasure and I bid you cheer

From a heathen and a pagan

On the side of the rebel Jesus"

-- Jackson Browne, "The Rebel Jesus"

I used to be a real jerk.

Once upon a time, my opinions had a hair trigger. I'd spout them on Facebook, I'd pontificate in newspaper columns, I'd speak them loudly in restaurants; and the more people I pissed off in the process, the better.

But that was a few years ago, before fatherhood, age, and maybe a touch of disillusionment mellowed me. As I've gotten older (and, hopefully, a little wiser), I have learned to choose my battles more carefully.

Thus, you can safely assume, if I take the time to write at length about something, it's something about which I have pretty strong feelings.

Like this:

A minor controversy blew up among the locals on my Facebook news feed earlier this week. It seems that a local school is having a program just before Christmas break that ... brace yourselves ... doesn't include any Christmas music.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you that my wife teaches at this school, and my daughter attends and will be part of said controversial program.)

Apparently, this school is the latest battleground in the alleged "war on Christmas." People who still live here and people who have moved away, people who have kids at the school and people who don't, were quick to weigh in on how this is just another example of society "taking Christ out of Christmas."

I don't have a particular interest in defending this particular school in this particular case; while I absolutely do support the administration and have no problem with the program, that's not really what I feel compelled to write about tonight.

I feel compelled to write about how completely silly and misguided this whole controversy is -- whenever and wherever it arises.

In Brian McLaren's book Everything Must Change, he wrote about the four main religious/political groups of Jesus' day and their attempts to co-opt Jesus and his message.

First, and best-known, were the Pharisees -- strict adherents to rules who, in fact, made the rules even more stringent, with the reasoning that Israel's lack of adherence to those rules was surely the reason they were still under Roman rule.

Then there were the Sadducees -- liberals, if you will, who felt that the key to freedom from Rome was to participate as fully as possible in Roman culture.

Third was the Zealots, who believed the only way Israel's people would ever be free was to take up swords and bring down the evil empire that oppressed them.

Finally, there were the Essenes -- but we don't hear much about them, because their strategy was to withdraw into the desert, separating themselves completely from the culture at large.

All these groups wanted Jesus' stamp of approval on their approach -- but Jesus never gave it, choosing instead to transcend them all and offer a fifth way. Not only did Jesus not endorse the way of the Pharisees, Sadducees, Zealots, or Essenes, he individually called them wrong.

I think of this every time I hear the "war on Christmas" or "take back Christmas" rhetoric, whether it's because of the absence of "Silent Night" in a school program or a store employee who wishes shoppers "happy holidays." The talk inevitably goes back to Christians' rights.

I find this highly ironic, because here's what Jesus said about our rights:

"You have heard that it was said, 'Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.' But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you."

Jesus didn't say, "Stand for what you believe;" Poison did.

Now, I can already imagine somebody loading up some scriptures to fire back at me (which really isn't necessary, because I'm not trying to shoot anyone). Maybe you're thinking of reminding me that Jesus said, "If you're ashamed of me, I'll be ashamed of you."

Except ...

I don't really think being ashamed is the question here; it's really more a matter of having respect for people of other faiths. In virtually all cases, people who are accused of "taking Christ out of Christmas" are simply trying to avoid doing or saying something that would offend a person of another faith, or no faith.

I can't find any examples in the gospels of Jesus personally interacting with people of other faiths; some lived their faith out better than others, but the people with whom Jesus crossed paths were pretty much exclusively Jews just like him. So we don't have any hard evidence here; we do, however, have examples of how Jesus' followers interacted with people of other faiths. Paul, for example, spoke to a group of philosophers at Mars Hill in Athens, and did so quite respectfully -- and that was when he was invited to share his beliefs.

Trampling on the rights of the minority to not be forced to accept your way of life doesn't make you a defender of the faith; it makes you kind of a jerk.

Or maybe you're thinking about our mandate to "love the Lord your God with all of your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength," and you're under the impression that this love for God should prompt us to defend our faith.

I'm going to extend a bit of grace here. I imagine that it's very likely that some of those who take this kind of stand do so out of spiritual immaturity or lack of understanding. All of us who are followers of Christ have most certainly said or done things we later regret. No less a spiritual giant than Peter showed a propensity for saying the worst things with the best of intentions.

But many -- I'll go ahead and say most -- should know better. I'll say something stronger than that: For most, I believe that being right is the motive.

If you believe that love for God prompts you to launch a counterattack against the "war on Christmas," there's a good chance you are lying to yourself to validate your inner Pharisee.

I promise you that Jesus doesn't mind people saying "happy holidays." Really, he doesn't; he appreciates the spirit of peace and goodwill behind it (you might remember that peace and goodwill were kind of important at his birth, what with the angels singing about them and all).

If you want to be upset about something this Advent, don't be mad that someone is using different words than you in their greetings. Don't be mad that a school program isn't "Christmasy" enough, or that some city decided not to have a live nativity.

Be mad that Americans are expected to spend more than $600 billion on Christmas this year (more than the entire GDP of the nation of Sweden), and this after ponying up $7.4 billion for Halloween -- while more than half the world lives on less than $2 a day.

Be mad that there are 30 million slaves in the world today, and that 3 million children are sold into slavery every year -- many of them to be used for sexual purposes.

Be mad that homelessness increased in 20 states last year.

Be mad that the United States military budget is bigger than the next eight countries combined.

Be mad about things that really matter.

And don't just be mad; do something about it. Advocate for change -- with your time, with your checkbook, with your choices.

A friend of mine told me recently that someone had wished her, "Merry Christmas -- and merry everything else too!"

Let's try something like that, and see if we can't dial this war rhetoric back a few notches. I'm thinking we'll end up being something a lot closer to the salt and light Jesus instructed us to be. After all, it's his birthday; shouldn't he get what he wants?

Far be it from me to defend the Osteens, but...

"In conflict and dissent, we divide

But you defend and keep your bride

In purity and peace

So there will always be

A place at your table for me"

-- Derek Webb, A Place at Your Table

Let me say up front that I am not a fan of Joel Osteen. If you know me at all, you probably know that that's kind of an understatement.

If you've follow the Christian blogosphere over the past month or so, you've probably seen coverage of comments Joel's wife and co-pastor, Victoria, recently made from the stage of their Houston megachurch, Lakewood Church. She said, in part:

"When we obey God, we're not doing it for God...we're doing it for ourself (sic). Because God takes pleasure when we're happy. Do good 'cause God wants you to be happy. When you come to church, when you worship Him, you're not doing it for God, really. You're doing it for yourself because that's what makes God happy."

The response from Christians came quickly and loudly, and much of it involved the use of the word "heretic." You might have seen a video clip that featured Victoria's proclamation followed by a snippet from the pilot episode of "The Cosby Show" in which Cliff says, "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard in my life!"

A small minority of voices have rallied to Osteen's defense -- including blogger and college chaplain Morgan Guyton, who took issue with the wording but upheld at least part of the sentiment he believes she intended to convey. Recording artist Derek Webb also defended Osteen via Twitter, or at least pushed back against the vicious response from the Christian community:

"the way christians publicly mock their own when they disagree (see @VictoriaOsteen ), it’s no wonder it’s a club hardly anyone wants to join"

Then, a day later:

"troubling when folks vehemently defend their right, responsibility even, to shame & judge others. it’s like we don’t realize we’re all sick."

Webb's comments were also posted to Facebook, where they were met with more vitriol, as several pointed out that a number of Webb's early songs were openly critical of the church over doctrinal and other issues and asserted that Christians have a responsibility to respond to false teaching.

I've been chewing on this for a while, and finally feel like I have my thoughts organized enough to weigh in.

First, I agree with Guyton that Osteen's sentiment has some validity, while she probably should've put a little more thought into how she articulated it. To think of "worship" (by which I mean, for these purposes, a physical act of expression as you might find in a church like the Osteens' -- lifting one's hands, singing out loud, dancing/jumping, and so forth) as something that makes God happy for any other reason kind of reduces God to a baby who responds to a game of Peek-a-Boo with giggles. God does not need our attention or our validation; God is all-powerful and infinite. What God appreciates, it would seem, is the expression of one's joy -- just like any parent smiles at the sight of their child laughing at something or dancing. I don't see how this is dangerous theology. Perhaps the way Victoria worded it was shallow, but I'm certainly not going to throw the "h" word at her for that.

More than that, though, I share Webb's concerns about our propensity for rushing to judgment of whatever doesn't fit within our idea of "truth." We hear poll after poll showing that people are leaving churches in droves. There are lots of factors that contribute to this, but the ugliness Christians exhibit toward one another is certainly one -- and not a minor one.

Christians have disagreed for years about dozens of issues -- women in ministry, church music, appropriate attire, and adult vs. child baptism, just to name a few that quickly come to mind -- and have mostly managed to do so with civility and grace.

I once heard Shane Hipps, former teaching pastor at Mars Hill Bible Church, share a brief history of the Mennonite church (Shane pastored a Mennonite congregation in Arizona before going to Mars Hill). He noted that one of the trademark characteristics of Mennonite theology was humility. I couldn't find the exact quote, but essentially he said that a Mennonite might tell you something he strongly believes with every fiber of his being, and then say, "But I might be wrong."

That's not a sign of weak faith. That's not watering anything down. It's simply realizing that:

1. You're not God;
2. The Bible is anything but crystal clear about most things; and
3. You just might actually be wrong.

You know who else might be wrong?

Me.

In his seminal book "Blue Like Jazz," Donald Miller wrote:

"At the end of the day, when I am lying in bed and I know the chances of any of our theology being exactly right are a million to one, I need to know that God has things figured out, that if my math is wrong we are still going to be okay. And wonder is that feeling we get when we let go of our silly answers, our mapped out rules that we want God to follow. I don't think there is any better worship than wonder."

An Open Invitation

My name is Robert Neville. I am a survivor living in New York City.

I am broadcasting on all AM frequencies. I will be at the South

Street Seaport every day at mid-day, when the sun is highest in

the sky. If you are out there ... if anyone is out there ... I can provide

food, I can provide shelter, I can provide security. If there's anybody

out there ... anybody ... please. Your are not alone.

--Robert Neville (Will Smith), "I Am Legend"

 

 

I was spinnin' 'round a dead dial

Just another lost number in a file

Dancin' down a dark hole

Just searchin' for a world with some soul

This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?

--Bruce Springsteen, "Radio Nowhere"

 

 

On Easter Sunday, I wrote a piece that was, in part, about my current church "free agency." My family and I have not regularly attended a church since last summer, for a variety of reasons. If I had to boil them down to one basic reason, though, it's simply that I don't feel like I belong.

 

As I have made peace with that realization, I've also become firmly convinced of something else:

 

I can't be the only one.

 

There have to be others right here in good ol' Harlan County, Kentucky, who crave community and some element of spirituality in their lives, but who don't find what they're looking for at area churches. Maybe they consider themselves Christians, and maybe they don't; I don't care. I only know that there are others. There simply must be.

 

To those people, I say: I hope you're reading this. I hope you're finding your pulse picking up a bit; maybe you're realizing for the first time that you're not alone.

 

Maybe your political views are similar to mine, and maybe they're not. Maybe you have similar tastes in music and movies, and maybe you don't. Maybe you're gay, and maybe you're straight. Maybe you enjoy a drink every now and then, and maybe you're a teetotaler.

 

Either way -- I would love for us to hang out.

 

Starting this Sunday evening at 6:00, my family will be opening our home for people to come and hang out. We'll maybe have a snack. We'll talk. We'll have a little (laid-back) Bible study -- the good kind, where questions and doubts are allowed and we can talk (and even disagree) with humility and civility. We might play a board game. It'll be great.

 

We'd love for you to join us.

Easter Autumn

I typically post an Easter-themed blog. Most years, I find myself with some thoughts that are just bursting to come out -- something beautiful and hopeful, something about how love wins, something that evokes joy.

I don't have that this morning.

I have to admit that, this year, I feel quite disconnected from Easter. I didn't wake up overflowing with joy today at the realization that Christ has risen from the dead. I'm frustrated with this feeling, or lack thereof -- but here we are.

I think there are a couple of reasons for this. One is that we find ourselves church-homeless this year (more on that in the second part of this post). Deciding where to attend on this holiest of holy days has been a regular topic of discussion in our home over the last few days, and something about that admittedly takes some wind out of my sails.

The second reason is a bit harder to explain. I recently finished a book by Brian McLaren called "Naked Spirituality." In the book, McLaren proposes that the spiritual life is best understood as a succession of seasons -- a "spring" of rebirth and new life, followed by a "summer" of strengthening and growth, then an "autumn" of waning and questioning, and a "winter" of quiet reflection -- which then gives way to another spring, and so on.

The book has yielded some important insights, the most notable of which is that we aren't made to "feel" the same way all the time. People who try to do this typically end up spending much of their time in performance mode, not to mention beating themselves up for not really feeling like they're "supposed to."

Maybe that's why I feel like acknowledging that, today, I find myself in something more akin to autumn than spring. This is disappointing, especially on the day when we celebrate the new life that springs out of death. Today, of all days, should be a "spring" day; today, of all days, should be a day when we are bursting with joy and hope.

But the season we're in, is the season we're in. All the effort in the world to change our season is futile. My first order of business this morning has been to simply accept my autumn.

Luke 24 tells the story of Jesus, shortly after his resurrection, meeting a couple of followers on the road to Emmaus. They didn't recognize him as he asked why they were so down in the dumps. They explained what had happened, and how their expectations were shattered. He spoke to them for a while, explaining why things had to happen the way they did. Eventually, they stopped for dinner, and as he blessed the food, they suddenly recognized him.

I think it's pretty clear that those followers found themselves in autumn as that day began. But by the time they laid down to sleep that night, it's safe to say they were feeling a whole lot of spring bursting forth in their overflowing hearts.

Maybe that'll happen for me today. Maybe my autumn will turn to spring. Maybe I'll find joy erupting, seemingly out of nowhere, through no effort of my own.

And maybe not. Maybe I'll feel the same way tonight and tomorrow and the next day as I felt when I woke up this morning.

Either way ...

Jesus is alive. Jesus is just as alive and present in my autumn as he is in my spring and summer and winter.

And for that, I am happy and filled with gratitude.

* * *

"Religious refugee."

I read this phrase a few weeks ago in a post by Rachel Held Evans, relating her reaction to the news that World Vision -- faced with the threat of dropped child sponsorships by the evangelical community after news broke that the organization would change its policies to allow for the hiring of Christians in same-sex marriages -- was reversing course. The phrase has stuck with me ever since, and certainly seems an apt description of me.

I started attending church when I was 2 years old. Over the past 32 years, I've been part of a small Baptist church, a Holiness church, a Pentecostal/charismatic church, a seeker-friendly non-denominational church, a progressive hippie church, and a formal Presbyterian church.

Now, at 34 years old, I have come to the conclusion that I don't belong at any of the churches in Harlan County.

Before going on, let me clear up a few misconceptions. First, please don't read the above statement and think that I'm trying to sound superior. This is not Sheldon Cooper looking down on those whose understanding isn't as advanced as his. And, for what it's worth, I'm sure there are a few (probably mainline Protestant) churches whose theology is reasonably in line with mine -- the response I received to sermons I shared at the Presbyterian church sort of confirms that. I'm not too good or too wise for the churches around here; I'm only saying I don't fit in.

I'm also not writing this so that you'll contact me and say things like, "Oh, no, you'd be more than welcome at our church -- we welcome all kinds of people, just as they are. Come and give us a try!" I'm sure I would be welcome at many churches in the area, and I appreciate the hospitality. But the fact remains: to "fit in," I would very likely have to swallow my opinions about a number of issues. My Obama bumper sticker would be reason enough for shunning at a good many churches; and, once you pile on my support of gay rights and my appreciation for a good beer -- well, let's just say I'm not getting many invitations to stand behind a pulpit.

It's OK. I've made my peace with it. It hasn't led to a faith crisis; in fact, I feel that my faith is stronger than ever.

It's also made me more aware of another reality:

I am not the only one. I am not the only religious refugee in Harlan County.

I am convinced that there are plenty of others who are in this same boat. Plenty of others who are following the way of Jesus, or who are at least drawn to the idea of Jesus, but who simply cannot feel at home in any of the churches here. Plenty of others who crave spiritual community, but who need it to be authentic community -- the kind that allows for diversity of opinions, that encourages wrestling with difficult questions about God and the Bible, that is even OK with leaving those questions unresolved.

If that is you ... I would love to hang out with you. Starting June 1, we're going to open our home on Sunday evenings for anyone who might want to spend some time having a snack and discussing the Bible. It will be fairly laid-back, it will be open to all -- conservative and liberal, black and white, "broken" and "together." The only prerequisite is a willingness to be respectful of other people's opinions and to agree to disagree.

There might be 20 of us. There might be 10. There might be 5. There might only be 2. It's OK -- we'll be here regardless.

You are welcome to join us.

Thoughts on Phil

OK, here's the deal: I haven't written a blog in forever - like, eight months, literally. But like anybody else with a Facebook account, I was hit this morning with countless images of a haggard, bearded face that belongs to the man who was easily the most talked-about person in America today. Of course, it's not like his face wasn't already ubiquitous; Duck Dynasty pitches everything from coffee cups to sunglasses to feminine hygiene products (probably), in stores ranging from Walmart to Macy's (again, probably - I haven't actually been into a Macy's in many years).

Of course, the news broke today that Duck Dynasty family patriarch Phil Robertson was suspended indefinitely by A&E after GQ posted an article that included an array of, er, incendiary comments by Robertson about topics ranging from homosexuality to race relations. (I couldn't begin to link to all of the material out there about the controversy; typing "Phil Robertson suspended" into Google yielded 193 million hits.)

The responses have been predictable, with social and political conservatives lambasting A&E and rallying around Robertson and those of a more progressive bend (hi there) praising the network and decrying the remarks. The culture war, sadly, has intensified in the last 24 hours, and it's a safe bet that a number of friendships are among the latest casualties.

I simply cannot avoid writing about this. I want to avoid it; I want to hide from it and wait until it goes away. And maybe you're sitting there thinking, That's exactly what you should have done; you're only fanning the flames if you write about it now. But I feel compelled. I can't help it.

I have given the issue a fair amount of thought throughout the day, and I wouldn't say my thoughts are altogether organized. Fair warning: This post will seem random and non-linear; the thoughts expressed below are, for the most part, in no particular order. I might come back to some of them later in another writing if I feel so compelled.

But before I start, a disclosure: I have watched exactly five minutes of Duck Dynasty ... ever. I don't get the appeal. I don't believe these characters are in any way authentic; I believe they are media creations who are getting paid very handsomely to be caricatures. Aside from that, I have zero strong feelings about the show. I don't love it; I don't hate it; I have no interest in it. It's kind of like my feelings about spring in Norway (never been there), or whether you should buy dill pickles or bread and butter (I don't eat any kind of pickles). I'm not interested in defending the show, and I'm not interested in destroying it; I'm simply not interested in it.

I am, however, very interested in the conversation Robertson started - for reasons I can't really explain. I have a fair number of gay friends, but I wouldn't say I've ever really had an in-depth conversation with any of them about their sexuality, and don't really intend to. But over the last few years, this has been become an issue about which I am deeply passionate.

With that said ... let's roll up our sleeves and get to it.

* * *

1. Is this a freedom of speech issue? Absolutely not. I've seen that phrase thrown around a dozen times today, and almost no one seems to understand that a constitutional right to freedom of speech only means that the government can't punish us for something we say. Unless I missed part of the report, Phil isn't in jail; he was only held accountable by his employer after saying some ugly things that reflected badly on that employer. This is not a violation of his freedom of speech; it's simply a consequence of the choice he made to say the things he said.

2. This post on Red Letter Christians stole my thunder, but I had this thought earlier today, even before I read it there: Today was an interesting day for the LGBT community. In one 24-hour period, this whole Phil Robertson fiasco exploded, New Mexico became the 17th state to allow same-sex marriage, a Methodist minister was defrocked for officiating at his gay son's wedding ... and, perhaps least surprisingly, Brian Boitano came out as gay (I know, I know -- I thought this had already happened, too).

The point is this: Today underscores that how big this issue is in our world right now. It's not a marginal issue; it's fairly inaccurate at this point to say it's a growing issue. It is, indisputably, front-and-center. The pendulum has swung; as of July, it was reported that a majority of Americans (again, hi there) are in favor of same-sex marriage being legal. You can like it, you can hate it; but it is inevitable. It is going to happen. Eventually (and I think sooner rather than later), it's going to be a non-issue; just like my generation thinks nothing of white and black people sharing a water fountain, my daughter's generation will not blink at the thought of same-sex couples. To borrow from one of Bob Dylan's very best songs, "The times, they are a-changin'."

3. It will always baffle me why Christians have to be right about this one issue. We can agree to disagree about almost any other biblical topic -- women in ministry, the role of music in worship services, the King James Version vs. newer translations, adult vs. child baptism, et cetera, et cetera -- but there is no room for disagreement here. Anyone who won't say that homosexuality is a sin is labeled a heretic, a relativist, a liberal (hi again).

But Jarrod, you say, the Bible says ... . OK. Depending on who you ask, the Bible has things to say about all those other issues as well, but we don't draw lines in the sand on those? Why must we do that here?

4. And furthermore, if you're convinced it is a sin, why is it necessary for you to tell everyone that? Are you equally compelled to point out gluttony? Pride? I'm guessing no. Pardon me for being so blunt, but this is a classic Pharisee response -- picking an easily identifiable "sin" and using it to draw an easy distinction between who's right and who isn't.

5. Yesterday evening, while driving home from Lexington, I heard a DJ talking about same-sex marriage (I missed the first part of his rant, but I assume it stemmed from the news about Robertson). What I did hear was something like this (obviously, I'm paraphrasing a little): "I will always prefer that people be heterosexual. Now, if you're a homosexual, I'm not throwing rocks at you. I'm not saying that we can't be friends. I'm not saying I won't go to your house for a party, or that you can't come to my house for a party. You're asking me to accept you; why won't you accept me?"

You're not saying you can't be friends with a gay person? Um, yeah ... you kind of are. It's hard to be friends with someone you view as less human than you.

This is where the comparison breaks down. Conservatives are fond of accusing liberals of hypocrisy when it comes to issues of tolerance. The problem with this is that there is a fundamental difference between criticizing what somebody says and criticizing who somebody is. To take exception with this DJ's remarks, or Phil's, isn't damaging to them; it's simply disagreeing, which we're allowed to do in this country. A person's sexuality is an intrinsic part of who they are -- far more so than a belief they espouse -- so to indicate that a person's "lifestyle" is wrong is to say that there is something wrong with them, something less than human. (Phil Robertson, incidentally, took this to a disgusting level with his homosexuality-to-bestiality connection.)

I can hear the response already: But who I am is a Christian who believes what the Bible says about homosexuality. You cannot possibly think that a belief is intrinsically who you are. If Christianity is a set of beliefs -- you're doing it wrong. If the core issue of your faith is whether or not homosexuality is wrong, you have a problem. Really: Take a deep breath, sit back and think about that for a minute.

6. I look forward to a few days from now, when all of this has disappeared from our news cycle and we're on to the next media firestorm. But at the same time, I dread that moment because I fear that my confession of faith will cause me to be lumped into Team Phil. I love Phil Robertson as a person (while maintaining that I couldn't care less about his show), and I accept him as a brother in Christ who is just as flawed as I am, and whose theology has as many holes as mine does (and yours -- sorry to be the one to tell you). But I must reject his words, and I must apologize on behalf of Phil and the rest of the Christian community for the immense hurt that has been inflicted on the LGBT community. We don't all share the same opinion. We don't all share the same beliefs about this particular issue (or many others, for that matter). To my friends in the LGBT community: Please know that you are loved and affirmed and accepted -- by me, and by many others who strive to follow the way of Jesus.

* * *

Post script: I've read no less than eight or 10 blog posts on this controversy today. The best ones can be found here and here.

Rights

"This may not work, and I don't guarantee that it will

But I've got no choice unless you tell me who Jesus would kill."

-- Derek Webb, I for an I

Nothing has sparked as much intensely passionate debate over the last four months as gun safety measures, or gun control (you might call it either, depending on your political leanings).

All of the hoopla culminated earlier this week with the U.S. Senate rejecting a bill that would've required tougher background checks -- a measure that recent polls have found was supported by 86 percent of Americans, according to CNN. The Senate's decision prompted a loud outcry from many, including President Obama and former congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords, who was a victim of gun violence at a public appearance in Tuscon, Arizona, back in 2011.

I have largely been silent on this issue for a number of reasons. For one, I tend not to be as outspoken as I used to be; my inner activist is tired, and perhaps a bit disillusioned. For another, I don't have particularly strong views on guns. I've never owned one; I've never fired one; and I see no reason to change that. For me to get my hackles up about whether I'll be able to purchase a semiautomatic weapon would be about as silly as me getting in an uproar if Jheri curl were unavailable.

But in the wake of yesterday's decision, I would like to offer a couple of thoughts: One common-sense, and one spiritual.

* * *

Most reasonable people would agree that, at face value, the proposed measures were good ones -- although some would argue they didn't go far enough. People who cannot pass a background check and buy a gun through a licensed dealer should not be able to bypass that background check by purchasing a gun online or elsewhere; this is not a difficult concept to understand. I haven't heard too many people dispute this; to be honest, I don't know how anyone could.

In fact, most of the opposition I've seen has been based on "slippery slope" arguments: The completely unfounded ideas, primarily put forth by people and corporations with something to gain (I'm looking at you, NRA), that background checks will ultimately lead to Big Brother confiscating our guns -- or a zombie outbreak, or a Billy Ray Cyrus resurgence, or something similarly ridiculous.

Perhaps there's a lesson to be learned in how easily otherwise sensible people have swallowed such hogwash. Perhaps it's a commentary on how woefully ineffective our government has become; as someone opined on NPR one day this week, if Americans can't trust the government to do something like agreeing on a budget, why should we trust the government to properly handle something like gun safety? Perhaps it simply highlights how polarizing President Obama is; sometimes, one gets the impression that many Republicans would insist that the moon is made of cheese if the president publicly stated otherwise.

But, whatever the reasons, some people bought the hype. Throughout the debate, my Facebook news feed has been littered with lies, half-truths, and quotes taken out of context. In the last 48 hours, it has been filled with posts about "victory" and "defeat" -- this from a country that takes such great pride in a system that is all about the will of the people.

In a blind test, with no identification of the issue in question, everyone would agree that something supported by an overwhelming majority of Americans should be put in place by the people we elect to govern on our behalf. Everyone would agree that our leaders failed us miserably Wednesday, and that they deserve to be held accountable.

We can only hope.

* * *

I was considering whether or not to weigh in on this topic when a Facebook post caught my eye this morning that stirred up enough anger that I could no longer keep silent. It seems that Bob Davis, a conservative talk radio host in Minnesota, recently offered the following rant directed at the families who lost children in the Sandy Hook school massacre -- unconscionable even by conservative talk radio standards:

"Just because a bad thing happened to you doesn't mean that you get to put a king in charge of my life. I'm sorry that you suffered a tragedy, but you know what? Deal with it, and don't force me to lose my liberty, which is a greater tragedy than your loss. ... I would stand in front of them and tell them, 'Go to hell.'"

The crux of his argument is beyond appalling: His rights are more important than someone's life.

The truth is, we often extol this attitude as a virtue. Braveheart, the story of William Wallace's bloody quest to lead Scotland to "freeeeeeeedoooooom!," is on many a list of favorite films.

But I think there are some additional thoughts that must be considered, particularly by those of us who are followers of Christ. (By the way, the rest of this piece is directed solely at Christ-followers, who have an extra level of responsibility in how we deal with this and any other issue. We must look through the lens of the kingdom of God -- God's dream and design for how our world is meant to operate.)

The first is the issue of guns in general. Somehow, a piece of metal has taken on inordinate importance for many. The argument over gun rights has, at least temporarily, surpassed even the old standbys -- abortion and gay marriage -- as a flashpoint for those on the right.

Meanwhile, even a cursory search of the scriptures finds the psalmist proclaiming, "Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God" (Psalm 20:7); Isaiah envisioning a day in which the nations will beat their swords into plowshares (Isaiah 2:4); and Jesus himself admonishing his followers that "all who draw the sword will die by the sword" (Matthew 26:52).

Certainly these scriptures, and others like them, do not mean that it's sinful to own a gun; that is not what I am suggesting. But in light of these passages, can those of us who follow the way of Jesus not agree that, if guns aren't the world's greatest evil, they also aren't a virtue?

The recent gun rights controversy is only symptomatic of a larger problem in the American church: Entirely too much focus on our rights.

We vehemently assert our right to public prayer. Our right to post the Ten Commandments in schools and courtrooms. Our right not to be contaminated by the sinful world we live in. Our right to say things that others might take as hateful or bigoted -- after all, we're only telling them what the Bible says ... and besides, we really love them, we just hate their sin.

All the while, we profess to follow Jesus, who laid down his rights -- "made himself nothing by taking on the form of a servant," as Paul described it (Philippians 2:6). We profess to follow Jesus, who was executed willingly because he didn't fight back when he was the victim of injustice.

Am I saying that our rights do not matter? Of course not. Even Paul invoked his rights as a Roman citizen to ensure that his trial was conducted properly when he was jailed.

But I am saying this -- and prepare yourself, it's strong:

When our rights as Americans take a place of preeminence in our lives, we have made ourselves Americans first and Christ-followers second. We have made our flag, or perhaps our Constitution, a graven image to which we bow. We have become idolaters.

We should discuss, and even debate, issues. We should question our government's decisions when we disagree with them. Dialogue is healthy. Disagreeing on issues is OK. I believe there are gun-toting, flag-waving, right-leaning members of the NRA who are sincere in their commitment to the way of Jesus; I would hope that those people believe the same about me.

I don't want to pretend that I know exactly where the line should be drawn; but I think it's clear we have crossed it. That seems obvious when Bob Davis can claim that his own personal liberty matters more than the lives that were lost in Connecticut in December. People of faith from all across the political spectrum should condemn Davis' comments for the vile, rotting garbage they are.

I think it's important to make a distinction here. I haven't heard anyone make an argument against gun safety measures on the basis of how they affect someone else; the argument is always about my rights or our rights. As followers of Jesus, we are called to advocate for justice for others. We are required, in Micah's words, to "do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God" (Micah 6:8). Our mandate is to be others-centered; Paul, again, admonishes us, "In humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others" (Philippians 2:3-4).

What if we could take all of the energy that's been exhausted on the gun debate -- and the money the gun lobby has spent to buy senators -- and apply them to advocating for the rights of someone who is the victim of injustice? What if we pushed that hard for something that would change the world for the better? Heck, what if we just loved our neighbor as much as we love ourselves?

Doesn't that seem like a better way forward?

Honesty and Healing

Better late than never: Here's my sermon from last month. Our pastor has taken some vacation time each of the last two months, and I've been blessed with the opportunity to fill in a couple of times. The lectionary readings for my October sermon were Psalm 22:1-8, 19-31; Job 23:1-12; Hebrews 4:12-16; and Mark 10:17-31.

* * * *

Probably my favorite new TV show this season has been a sitcom on NBC called “Go On.” Matthew Perry plays Ryan King, a sports radio talk show host. As the season began, Ryan was returning to work after the death of his wife in a car accident. He insisted that he was ready to move on, but his bosses required him to attend a support group for people dealing with loss.

At first, Ryan was skeptical. He tried to manipulate his way through the required sessions, but later realized that he actually was in need of help. As the season has progressed, he has become more and more aware of the depth of his grief and the fact that he can’t deal with it alone.

In our gospel reading this morning, we find Jesus having a conversation with a man who’s very much like Ryan King. The rich, young ruler, as he is known in the King James Version, is a wealthy, successful man, a man who seems to have it all together – and he thinks so, too. So he comes to Jesus with a simple question: “What do I need to do to have eternal life?” In other words, he’s asking, “What do I need to do to be pleasing to God? What makes God happy?”

I find Jesus’ first response interesting. You see, Jesus is asked this same question, or very similar questions, in other parts of scripture. Sometimes he answers by telling a story. Sometimes he condenses a complex idea down to one simple concept, as when he said the greatest commandments were to love God and love others. But when the rich, young ruler asks the question, Jesus gives an answer that’s sort of out of character for him: He quotes from the Ten Commandments.

He says, “You know what makes God happy: Don’t murder. Don’t commit adultery. Don’t steal. Don’t lie. Don’t cheat. Honor your parents.” It’s one of the very rare times in his ministry that we find Jesus really seeming to endorse the law.

But I would argue that Jesus said this because he was anticipating the man’s response. He’s setting the man up for one of his life’s most pivotal moments.

When I envision this conversation, I imagine the man doing this Barney Fife kind of thing – trying to look modest, sort of sticking his hands in his pockets and looking down and kicking a rock and saying, “Well, I’ve … done that.” And I imagine that his pride was still shining through, despite his best efforts; and he stood there, waiting for some affirmation or a pat on the back from Jesus.

And he was shocked when Jesus said, “Great! Then give all of your possessions to the poor, and come follow me.”

Now, I’ve heard this passage interpreted as sort of a universal command for those who are wealthy. I’ve heard it used to suggest that everyone should live simply and give more away – and I don’t really disagree. But I don’t think that’s really the point here.

I think Jesus’ words to the rich, young ruler are not so much a commentary about wealth or greed or materialism; they’re about highlighting a dysfunction in this man’s heart.

There’s a great scene in “The Wizard of Oz.” It’s after Dorothy and the Scarecrow and the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion have defeated the Wicked Witch and returned to the Emerald City to give the Witch’s broom to the Wizard. Instead of sending Dorothy back to Kansas and giving the Scarecrow a brain and the Tin Man a heart and the Cowardly Lion some courage, the Wizard tries to intimidate them – until Toto runs in and pulls back the curtain, revealing that the Wizard is really just a man.

This is what Jesus does to the rich, young ruler. With one sentence, Jesus pulls back the curtain and exposes who he really is: A man who thought himself good and holy, but whose heart really belonged to his stuff. And the man walked away, sad because he was unwilling to let go.

Jesus later told the story of a self-inflated Pharisee, who offered a public prayer boasting of all his goodness, and a broken tax collector who humbly admitted his brokenness. In Jesus’ judgment, the tax collector was the one who went home made right with God. I think maybe, as he was telling this story, Jesus thought sadly of his encounter with the rich, young ruler who thought he had it all together.

On the other hand, we find a completely different attitude reflected in our Old Testament and responsive readings. Both Job and David came to God, not with boasting about their goodness, but with an acknowledgment of their desperate need for grace.

I have never spent a minute in seminary, so I don’t know much Hebrew. But the one word of Hebrew I know is “Tsa’aq.” It means to cry out, to call for help. It’s the cry of a victim, the desperate plea of one who demands justice. “Tsa’aq” is exactly what we find Job and David doing.

They come to God with their hearts ripped open, with their emotions laid bare. They don’t mince words; they cry out for rescue.

The writer of Hebrews urges us to “come boldly to the throne,” promising “that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” Job and David are proof of this.

See, what I really love about these passages is that they don’t end with “Tsa’aq.” The desperation, the need, the frustration – they don’t have the last word.

Over the past few months, I’ve spent quite a bit of my driving time listening to Bruce Springsteen’s latest album. “Wrecking Ball” is very much a theme album – it‘s primarily about the economic problems American people have faced over the last four years or so, and the factors that caused this. The album follows a pretty clear emotional pattern: The first several songs are expressions of anger or sadness or frustration; then, the album begins to give way to clarity and, finally, unbridled hope. And the emotional hinge, right in the middle of the album, is a song called “This Depression.”

Like the passages from Job and Psalms, the song begins with an honest cry for help, as Springsteen sings, “I’ve been down, but never this down; I’ve been lost, but never this lost; This is my confession, I need your heart; In this depression, I need your heart.”

But by the last verse, something has changed; something starts to shift, and he sings, “I’ve been without love, but never forsaken; now the morning sun, the morning sun is breaking.”

This is exactly what we find in the Job and Psalm readings. After their pleas for help, after their cries of desperation, after their “Tsa’aq,” both Job and David find that “the morning sun is breaking.”

Listen to how instant David’s transition is – literally from one verse to the next. In one passage, in The Message paraphrase, he says, “You, God – don’t put off my rescue! Hurry and help me! Don’t let those mongrels devour me. If you don’t show up soon, I’m done for – gored by the bulls, meat for the lions.”

In the very next passage – in the next breath – this is what he says (again, from The Message):

“Here’s the story I’ll tell my friends when they come to worship, and punctuate it with Hallelujahs: Shout Hallelujah, you God-worshipers; give glory, you sons of Jacob; adore him, you daughters of Israel. He has never let you down, never looked the other way when you were being kicked around. He has never wandered off to do his own thing; he has been right there, listening.”

David apparently has this instant moment of clarity, this reminder that God is present – that God has always been present. And it changes his entire perspective.

So, by acknowledging who they really are and what they really need, David and Job are able to move past their desperation to a point at which they find sufficient grace. And by refusing to acknowledge his need, the rich, young ruler remained unchanged.

I was asked back in the summer to serve as an assistant coach for the Harlan County High School cross country team. Our course has a big hill, and one of the things that we have tried to instill in the kids is the importance of coming down the hill at full speed. It’s normal to want to hold back and tiptoe down the hill. But the fact is, getting down the hill fast is a great opportunity to gain some ground, and the momentum you have when you come off the hill can make all the difference in how you get to the finish line.

In the same way, by not holding back – by letting go and being honest about their need – Job and David were able to come through their pain into a place of clarity and healing and wholeness.

I said earlier that maybe Jesus had the rich, young ruler in mind when he told the story of the boastful Pharisee. But maybe he thought of us, too. It’s so easy for us to think ourselves stronger than we really are. Being honest about our need for grace is not easy; but until we do it, we’ll never be who we were meant to be.

So, what is the dysfunction of your heart? Is there something you can’t let go of? Is there a person or group of people you are unable or unwilling to accept? Is there pain that hasn’t been acknowledged?

We have an amazing opportunity. We have a friend who knows what we’re going through. We can come to him just as we are, and we can find the help we need.

This is also the hope that our world has – the hope that the way things are isn’t the way things will always be. I’d like to close with the words of a song by Andrew Peterson, titled “After the Last Tear Falls.”

                After the last tear falls, after the last secret’s told

                After the last bullet tears through flesh and bone

                After the last child starves, and the last girl walks the boulevard

                After the last year that’s just too hard, there is love

                After the last disgrace, after the last lie to save some face

                After the last cruel jab from a poison tongue

                After the last dirty politician, after the last meal down at the mission

                After the last lonely night in prison, there is love

                After the last plan fails, after the last siren wails

                After the last young husband sails off to join the war

                After the last “this marriage is over,” after the last young girl’s innocence is stolen

                After the last years of silence that won’t let a heart open, there is love

                And in the end, the end is oceans and oceans of love and love again

                We’ll see how the tears that have fallen were caught in the palms

                Of the Giver of love and the Lover of all

                And we’ll look back on these tears as old tales

So let us come boldly to the throne of grace, that we obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need. May we acknowledge our need for help and discover the healing that lies on the other side of that acknowledgment.  And may we cling to the hope that after the last tear falls, there is love – for us, and for the world.