What did you learn?

They usually looked at all weird and confused.  I think they were wondering why I was quizzing them on the stuff they had just finished.  What I actually meant, though, was, “What did you learn about life?” Well, I just finished my first semester at school in 9 years, so I figured I’d ask myself the same thing.

What I learned:

1.  Everyone should take some sociology classes at some point in their life.  I took four classes this last semester.  Sociology, Philosophy, English Composition, and History.  I learned a lot in my sociology class.  I learned more in there than I did in my all other classes combined–that may have been because I’ve read a lot within the other subjects throughout my life, but I learned a lot.  First, I learned that a lot of the theory’s within the discipline are over simplified.  They’re generalizations are not quite as severe as some other fields (psychology), but they still exist.  Secondly, poverty and many of the social ills now affecting the world are deep-rooted.  The statistics about poverty, social class, and sex were astonishing to me.  The Church has a long way to go in its awareness of both the problems and their solutions.  I think many of us look at a lot of the poverty around us and blame the individual, which is surely partially true, but there are also systemic problems that encourage the spread of more destitution.  I have fallen in love with sociology because I believe it can show me, and the Church, how to best help orphans and widows within our society, and how to decrease the chances of being orphaned and widowed in the first place.

2. Henry David Thoreau was a huge influence on Gandhi.  Who knew?

3. College is still the same, but I’m a lot different.  My first attempt at college was a disaster.  I received a scholarship for academics, then quit going to class within two weeks.  All of them.  By the end of the semester I had a 0.92 GPA.  Yes, that’s a zero in the front.  the only class I passed was English, and only because the professor and I hit it off and she made come to class and work.  I’ve always been grateful for that.  My second attempt was in 2002 at a local community college.    I finished with 2.0 GPA and one ‘W.’  Neither of those experiences were good ones for me.  As much as I love to learn, I’ve loathed schooling.  It seems so full of busy work and trivial.  I went to my Psychology twice in 2002 because he didn’t count attendance in the grade.  I was both nervous and excited for this time around.  I was excited to keep moving forward in my life and to open up some doors for my family and me.  I was nervous because I wasn’t sure I would stay disciplined enough to do the busy work.  I wasn’t sure I had matured enough to stick with it when it became too boring.  But I made it.  Emily, Harper, and Phin all made the trivium worth the boredom for the future it held.  I finished this semester with a 4.0.  I’m proud of that.  Not because it means I’m smart, but because it means I was disciplined.

4. I want to work with orphans and widows.  This was something I was already pretty sure of, but my sociology class confirmed it.  I know that I have a compassion and empathy for them that a lot of people don’t.  And it’s something I’m becoming passionate about.  I don’t know that I’ll be the guy living in ghetto (I want to want to be that guy), but I’m confident my future lies in that direction.

5. I see why people think they hate history. I love history.  I love learning about where we came from and how we got here.  My history professor may forever ruined me ever taking another non-required history course in college.  He removed all of the fascinating parts of it and turned it into the boring doldrums.  I worked harder in history than other class, but learned less academically than in other class.  Including English.  And that was a writing class.  That’s saying a lot.

All in all, I loved it.  It felt good to be doing something productive all of the time.  I work two jobs, took a full course load, and had another baby in the last 4 months.  I was busy, but it was very rewarding.  I get a month off now.  Then it’s time to do it again.

I was going to do the same thing this year.  Did you notice the “going to” phrase?  My reading this year has been intermittent at best.  My prayer and meditation even worse.  I’ve been noticing a huge lack of discipline and drive in my spiritual life, and last night I decided to stop being tired of being lazy, and to just do something.

I opened up my Bible app and opened the reading plan I had started on Jan. 3, so I could be reading the same things Emily was reading.  It was from 2 Kings 22.  The story of Josiah.  One of my favorite people in all of the Bible; I’d name my son after him if Emily would let me.

His story opens up like this:

He did what was right in the eyes of the LORD and followed completely the ways of his father David, not turning aside to the right or to the left.

After reigning for 18 years, Josiah tells his servant to go to the temple and count the money in there. While in there, the High Priest “found the Book of the Law in the temple of the LORD.”  Then the servant takes the Book to Josiah and reads it to him.

When the king heard the words of the Book of the Law, he tore his robes…Then the king called together all the elders of Judah and Jerusalem. He went up to the temple of the LORD with the people of Judah, the inhabitants of Jerusalem, the priests and the prophets—all the people from the least to the greatest. He read in their hearing all the words of the Book of the Covenant, which had been found in the temple of the LORD.  The king stood by the pillar and renewed the covenant in the presence of the LORD—to follow the LORD and keep his commands, statutes and decrees with all his heart and all his soul, thus confirming the words of the covenant written in this book. Then all the people pledged themselves to the covenant.

When the king heard this he tore his clothes?  He was so distraught that he did something that a proud, powerful king should never do.  His heart broke.  He then proceeds to go throughout all of Judah and destroy all of the idols.  And they were everywhere. There were even altars to Baal, Manasseh, and Asherah in the Temple. How did this happen? As I was reading I kept wondering how the chosen people of God could become so lost and confused. It even says that Solomon, the wisest man, had built altars for other gods.  Including Molek. Molek demanded human sacrifices worship.

The people of Israel were so lost they were offering human sacrifices?

Then I figured out how it happened.  They stopped reading.  Just like me. I stopped reading and I noticed my thirst and desire to commune immediately waned.

I love God’s humor.  The first time I set time apart to read my Bible in months, I read a story about what happens to people when they stopped reading His word. I read a story about the things that could happen to me.

I pray that my response to this reminder will not be more excuses and laziness.  May I rekindle my hunger for growth, my thirst for holiness, my yearning for an ever-deepening relationship. May I emulate Josiah and his desire to know his King, Savior, and Friend.

Neither before nor after Josiah was there a king like him who turned to the LORD as he did—with all his heart and with all his soul and with all his strength, in accordance with all the Law of Moses.

May we all live in the obedience, trust, and love that Josiah did.

Love Wins was no different.  I thought Bell brought up some provoking points and new thoughts.  But this post isn’t about Love Wins.

It’s about Francis Chan’s Erasing Hell.

A friend of mine got me this book to read. I highly recommend it to anyone and everyone.

There are two main halves to Erasing Hell.  The first half is clearly a response to Love Wins.  Bell is quoted often in each chapter and there are several end notes that include thoughts that Bell has had.  It seems to me to be a more scholastic attempt at discovering the Bible’s teachings on hell.  Chan co-authored the book with Preston Sprinkle who has studied first century Palestine in much depth. The co-authors seem to systematically tear down each of Bell’s main arguments for postmortem repentance.  They critique Bell’s (dis)use of hermeneutics and poor exegesis.  For specifics, read the book.

I’m not recommending the book for its conclusions or its theology or its (dis)use of hermeneutics and exegesis.  I do believe that a sound doctrine of hell is important. I would not, however, say it’s vital to the Christian faith. I wouldn’t even put it anywhere near the top of things that should take up a follower of Christ’s time.  And I think Chan agrees with me.

When Love Wins was first released, there was a backlash like I’ve never seen in the American Church.  Pastors were being fired. Theological giants were casting people out of the church. Friends were arguing.  It was amazing, no, heart-breaking, to see all of the disunity that was apparently just under the placid surface.  I heard people calling Bell an universalist – before the book was out.

I saw every response, but love. Ironic for a book entitled “Love Wins”.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from Chan. I’d read some of his other books, and he seemed like a nice guy. Erasing Hell only enforced this idea.

While reading it, I felt like Bell and Chan had gotten together for coffee one day, discovered they disagreed about the doctrine of hell, and decided to write books about their conversation. Not argument. Not yelling match. Not name calling. But conversation. It was refreshing.  Chan approached this subject with love and grace and patience and understanding, all while acknowledging the chasm between their beliefs.  It was an example of how the Church should have reacted to Bell’s Love Wins.

But even that isn’t the reason I’m recommending it.

I recommend Erasing Hell because it asks the question, “So what?”

The first half was a response to Bell.  The second half was a book about the things we all agree on.  Things like life is pointless and hopeless without Jesus.  Or that hell exists, and the only answer, the only way to escape hell, is through the grace that Jesus provides.  Beliefs that one of the Church’s responsibilities is to spread the Good News.

Instead of stopping with arguments and defenses, Chan spurs us to do everything we can to help people avoid hell.  No matter what we believe hell is. It’s a challenge to stop sitting in coffee shops debating whether hell is eternal or just for a time, and run out into the world, screaming at the top of our lungs that we know the cure for all things not good in this world. This is why I say I believe that Chan doesn’t really care what we believe about hell, so long as we believe that it’s the opposite of goodness and beauty and that it’s a true reality.  And that many, many people we know are destined to experience it unless they come into grace.

And we are to be the messengers.

So read the book.  But not to defend your beliefs.

Read it only if you’re willing to be pushed to become more.

Coming face-to-face with these passages on hell and asking these tough questions is a heart-wrenching process. It forces me (us) back to a sobering reality: this is not just about doctrine; it’s about destinies.

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.

It’s been bugging me for a long time. Mainly because I don’t know if James was talking about the American version of trials.  Not to trivialize the troubles we do face.  We do experience struggle, stress, and sometimes even hunger. It’s not often, but it does happen. You only have to spend an afternoon at a food bank to see it.  There are many people who work hard and are honest, yet they still don’t have enough. I’m just not sure James is talking about those types of trials.

And what more shall I say? I do not have time to tell about Gideon, Barak, Samson and Jephthah, about David and Samuel and the prophets, who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained what was promised; who shut the mouths of lions, quenched the fury of the flames, and escaped the edge of the sword; whose weakness was turned to strength; and who became powerful in battle and routed foreign armies. Women received back their dead, raised to life again. There were others who were tortured, refusing to be released so that they might gain an even better resurrection. Some faced jeers and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were put to death by stoning; they were sawed in two; they were killed by the sword. They went about in sheepskins and goatskins, destitute, persecuted and mistreated—the world was not worthy of them. They wandered in deserts and mountains, living in caves and in holes in the ground. Hebrews 11:32-38

This is what I think James was talking about.  Prison, torture, and death. He was writing to first century Christians who were literally being pursued, singled out, and martyred.This has very little to do with the experiences of modern America.

I read a story recently about a man who was traveling through southern Asia.  He was training pastors of underground churches.  By training I mean teaching them about the Bible.  Because they had never heard it before. Some had probably never even seen one before. They spent hours upon hours every single day basically reading through the Bible and asking questions about it; this way they could return to their hidden churches and teach others about Jesus. The thing that qualified them for pastoring? Being a believer that was surrounded by persecution and threats. When the man was being dropped off at the airport, the pastors asked him how they could pray for him.  He asked, in turn, how they usually prayed for America.  They got these awkward looks on their faces and then told him they prayed that the American Church would face more persecution.  They said that we were weak and lazy in our faith.  They believed that persecution was the best way to solve the timidity.

It’s hard to argue with them.  When I look at my life, I’ve never experienced true struggle. I would guess I’ve struggled more than the average American.  I have been to the point when I wasn’t sure where my next meal would come from, or if I was going to have a roof over my head.  God always provided.  But it was only a season.  The biggest leap of faith I’ve ever had to make was to move my family to California and then back to Colorado.  Relative to most of the Church, though, I imagine that’s laughable.

I guess the point is that my faith has never cost me anything.

Never.  I’ve never been threatened with death or arrest or torture. I’ve never been worried that someone would blow up the church I was sitting in. I’ve never even been teased or disrespected for my faith. Jesus has never cost me anything.

Sometimes this fact scares me.  Jesus talks, often, about how following him won’t be easy.

When Jesus saw the crowd around him, he gave orders to cross to the other side of the lake. Then a teacher of the law came to him and said, “Teacher, I will follow you wherever you go.” Jesus replied, “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.” Another disciple said to him, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” But Jesus told him, “Follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead.” Matthew 8:18-22

If following Jesus is supposed to be, in the very least, uncomfortable, why have I been so comfortable.  It would be very easy to go to an extreme at this point.  Very easy, particularly for me, to say we should all be poor and give everything away, or all abandon the comforts of the 21st century and return to third world conditions.  I don’t think that’s the answer, though.  If we force ourselves to become uncomfortable, to struggle, for the sake of those things themselves, then they will bring nothing but pride. We’d be no different that the monks of old were so dedicated to struggling for Christ, that they never spoke a word about Christ to anyone.

But what do we do with these in passages in a nation that is free from persecution?  Free from struggle as a result of our faith? Should the Christian faith still cost us something?

It’s hard in my brain to sync the teachings of the New Testament with the modeling of the American Church today.  I sometimes wonder if it’s even possible to truly experience Faith in America. When James talks about trials producing perseverance, what does he mean? If we take “trials” to mean the things listed in Hebrews 11, I would say that it makes the Church stronger because only those who are truly believers will be part of the community.  72% percent of Americans say they have made a personal commitment to Jesus, but only 16% say their faith is the most important thing in their life. (source)  Barna, who conducted the survey, draws this conclusion,

It appears that most Americans like the security and the identity of the label ‘Christian’ but resist the biblical responsibilities that are associated with that identification. For most Americans, being a Christian is more about image than action.

What happened to taking up our crosses and following Christ? That’s not some pretty little image to describe carrying around our job we hate and to do it smiling.  If Christ were alive today that sentence might sound more like

Live with so much abandon and selflessness and faith, that the governments and people around you will be so moved by your life that they’ll either have to join you or execute you.

So what does this mean for us?  The 16% who claim that faith is most important.  I don’t know.  I’m tempted to pull a Rob Bell, ask a bunch of questions and walk away. My first inclination is to do the same as the pastors in southern Asia.  To pray that I will be persecuted.  That’s a terrifying thought to me.  I once heard someone say that if you pray to God for patience, He doesn’t give you patience, but the opportunity to be patient.  What happens if I pray for stronger faith, perseverance, and persecution? Will  I be faced with opportunities to preach the Gospel boldly and at great risk? Will I lose some of the comfort I’ve grown accustomed to?

And Why? Why would I want to experience struggle? If those prayers are successful, and I do begin to experience true trials what would be the point?  For me, and this a truly personal, anecdotal conclusion, it would bring about a discipline and assurance that I’ve never experienced. I would no longer be distracted by things like TV.  I wouldn’t have time to sit around and debate the end of the world.  Or the end of each person.  I wouldn’t care anymore if hell was real or eternal.  I would only care about talking about Jesus.  I’ve been reading a lot of Martin Luther King Jr.’s writings lately.  In all of his speeches, essays, interviews, and books he never really dives into the issues the “higher” church seems to be struggle with.  His entire theology could be stated in one sentence.

Love your neighbor.  Even when they hit you. Even when they persecute you. Serve them.  By enduring their injustice, we are helping them because we are forcing them to face their sin and become whole. All people are equal in the Lord’s sight, so we must not consider ourselves better or worse.  But only serve and love.

That sounds a whole lot like Jesus to me.  And Dr. King suffered for his faith.  It wasn’t his race. It was his faith that caused him to be thrown in jail and assassinated. The Bible describes how we are refined by the fires.  That our faith, and thus our lives, will become more pure.  That true struggle will bring the perseverance to truly love our neighbor and enemy in the face of all kinds of evil.

What do you think?

May we all take an honest look ourselves, measuring our heart’s desires, not to our neighbors, but to those of Christ.  May not we not be satisfied with a “personal commitment” that costs us nothing.  May we not join those who say we have faith, but have no works.  May our assurance be that we daily are growing in love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. May the things in our life not keep us from experiencing true freedom.  May we hold onto everything we own with hands open and heart humble.  May we remember that comfort is not a good thing when it comes to Jesus.  May we be willing to face trials of all kinds for His glory.

Above all, may we be willing to pick up our crosses daily and follow Him; so closely and faithfully that we are covered in His dust.

We sat in the back.  Which really wasn’t that far.  We were closer to the stage than we are to the screen when we go to a movie.  We sat in the back for several reasons.  We’re old and the hot, sweaty floor just isn’t appealing anymore. I enjoy being able to see the whole band at once. And Emily is 7 months pregnant, so a chair is a nice thing for her. So we sat in the very front of the balcony.  We were there for over an hour before the show started which gave us time to get to know the guy who was standing next to us.

His name was Jeremy.

Jeremy was a pretty cool guy.  Easy to talk to.  Pretty funny.  He was chatting with Emily at first because I was downstairs talking to some friends.  When I came up he left to go get some refills on his beers. He was gone for probably 20 minutes. He came back up and complained about the price of the beer.  Then he asked us if we had ever seen Manchester before.  We said no and he got really excited.  Like abnormally excited.

Then he asked if we wanted to meet the band.

We tell him most definitely.  I ask him if he knows them.  He says, “I’m the co-manager of the band, but it’s a secret so don’t tell anyone.”  He then proceeds to tell us all kinds of stories about the tour and the stuff the band does for fun.  He talks about the band he used to be in.  He mentions that he’s not like most managers because he likes to go out into the crowd and get a feel for the show. All of these stories are full of little details that seem like they wouldn’t be made up.  But Em and I just aren’t buying it.  No concrete reasons.  He just doesn’t seem like a manager.

Then the first band comes on stage.  I was expecting Cage the Elephant because that’s who I’d heard was opening.  I don’t know much them, and I was pretty sure that wasn’t them on stage, but I wasn’t positive. I’ve been wrong before. They only played four songs.  Jeremy takes a phone call that lasts for about ten minutes.  Then he disappears for a few more.  He comes back and tells us that Cage the Elephant was pulled because the crowd just wasn’t into it, plus the singer’s throat was hurting and he was just done.  Jeremy talks about how they are an immature band and that’s something they’ve been working on.

Then Andy Hull comes out.  He ‘s the lead singer of Manchester.  Jeremy still talks to us about him for awhile.  Tells us how he loves his wife and misses his daughter so much.  Says Andy is a really good guy.

At this point Em and I just are not sure if this guy is for real or not.  I know some stuff just doesn’t add up.  I know Andy is divorced, but I think, maybe Jeremy knows he shouldn’t be talking about personal stuff with a complete stranger.  I’m pretty convinced Jeremy is lying about everything, but he’s so good I keep making excuses for him.  I am amazed by this guy.  Either way.  He’s either an incredible liar or a really sloppy band manager.  Neither at this point would surprise me.

Andy sings four or five songs, then the rest of Manchester Orchestra comes up.

Here’s where the truth is revealed.

The other guitarist, the bassist, and the drummer were the same three guys from the opening band.  We come to find out that the original opening band had to cancel so Manchester thought it would be funny to have a faux band open up for them.  And we all fell for it.  Even Jeremy.

Suddenly Jeremy got very thirsty, I guess.  He offers his seat (which he had been very protective of up to this point) to the girl behind him.  Then slowly inches into the background until he’s gone.

Emily and I are glad we’re not confused anymore about whether Jeremy was for real or not, and we proceed to enjoy the show.  Which was excellent.

Here’s the kicker.

Jeremy comes back about an hour-and-a-half later and tells us he didn’t forget about us.  “Just hangout here when the show is over, and I’ll come get you guys and we’ll go meet the band,” he yells over the music.  Em and I were both pretty dumbfounded, but at this point I’m excited to see if he’s really going to follow through.

He didn’t, though.  I waited there for about 15 minutes after the show to see if he’d come get me.  I just had to see how far he’d take this lie.
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We weren’t mad at Jeremy.  We weren’t frustrated. We didn’t make fun of him.

We were confused.  Why would this guy try to look so important to strangers?  My wife is pregnant, wearing a wedding ring, sitting next to her husband. I don’t think he’s looking for sex. He knew we were together before he brought any of this up.  And why come up after your lie has been very obviously exposed?

I don’t know Jeremy’s motive was.  It was entertaining. And it was an interesting glimpse into the psyche of a stranger.

Jeremy, if you ever see this: You are a cool guy.  You don’t need to be a manager or important or something you’re not.  Just be you.  I’m pretty sure it’s good enough for us.

My sister-in-law, Mary, has stage 3 ovarian cancer.  (Read more about that starting here.)  It has been a learning experience for our whole family.  The emotions have run from extreme fear to total hope, from desperation to elation.

The questions for us are the same as the questions for the father of 8.  Will we believe and trust that God is good?  Not when things are the way we want them.  Not when we’re comfortable.  Not when we’re at ease.

Will we believe and trust that God is good when our plans fails?  When we are confused?  When we are lost for words?

When our family dies?

The place that Emily and I keep going back to, the idea that we are living in, is that every day, every moment is a gift.  The family that was driving down the road had no fear of death.  Yet they died.  Their days were numbered.  How many other people died yesterday that weren’t expecting?  How many people have died while I wrote this?  as you read it?

Why fear death at all?  It’s a fact.  We will die.  I will die.

You will die.

Mary will die.  It may be tomorrow.  She may outlive every person who is reading this.  She may die from cancer.  She may die in a car accident on the way to chemo appointment. She may die giving birth to her child.  Maybe pneumonia will kill her.

The thing to remember is that no matter what happens through this cancer and chemotherapy and surgeries, is that Mary will die; so each moment for her and with her is a gift.

Just like it is for you.  Not the proverbial you, but you.  This moment is a gift.

In James, it says our lives are like a mist. “Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.”

Mary used to have a pretty severe fear of bees.  Anytime she saw one, she would run if she could.  The other day we were standing outside, enjoying the sunshine, and a bee came near us.  Emily started to get scared, but Mary just shrugged.  Em asked her why she wasn’t scared, and Mary said, “After I’ve faced cancer, bees don’t seem so scary anymore.”

Perspective.  If we all keep the perspective that we will die, and accept it, life seems pretty easy.  It’s easy to give up the things we want to cling to like our anger and fear and insecurity and stuff. It becomes to sacrifice the dreams we have for ourselves, and instead pursue the dreams of our Christ.

I don’t know the father of eight.  I don’t know how he is handling all of this.  I can’t imagine losing Harper, let alone my wife. I hope and pray that he savored the time he had with them.  I pray he soaked up and held onto every joy they brought into his life, and quickly forgot the frustrations and anger that being a parent and husband naturally bring.  I hope his family did the same. I hope they gave everything they could with the time they had. They couldn’t hold onto any of it, so the only things that mattered are the impacts they made on others. That’s the only thing that lives here on Earth of theirs.

I pray that I don’t let this lesson sneak by me. I pray that you don’t either.

So may we be more patient. Slower to anger. More kind. More gentle. May we keep things in perspective. May our hearts be soft and wide open.  May we make the best of every moment; it may be our last.

“Life’s too short to hurry, and life’s too long to wait.  Life’s to short not to love everybody, and life’s too long to hate.”– Todd Snider

It was, of course, the announcement that Osama bin Laden had been killed by American special forces.

I went to Facebook and Twitter to see what people were saying. And I was very disturbed.  You see, most of my friends on these sites are members of the Church. They speak of loving others, turning the other cheek, and praying for their enemies often.  But, with bin Laden, I overwhelmingly saw jubilation and celebration at the news of his death.  Something about this didn’t sit right with me, but I’ve sort of figured it out.

Bin Laden was evil.  He planned, plotted, and motivated many thousands of deaths.  He not only called for attacks on America, but led an organization that executed attacks on people of many nations and several faiths. He was not just an enemy of America, he was an enemy of the world.  He caused mayhem, destruction, paranoia, fear, racism, bigotry and the destabilization of many diplomatic ties.

If we celebrate the death of bin Laden, where does it stop? We’re told that all have sinned and deserve death.  If that is the full scope of our understanding, then we should celebrate every person’s death.  They got what they deserve. If we look at bin Laden under these laws and these laws only, then shouldn’t hold the same standard for everyone else?  That would mean that with every death we should have a party. If they are not believers, then they go to hell and experience justice. If they are believers, then they get to go to heaven and experience grace. Every death. Children, military, mothers, fathers, brothers, challenged, ill.  Celebrate them all.

But when Jesus is asked what the greatest commandment is, he responds with love God, love others. Then He tells a story about a Jewish man who is beat up, left for dead, and rescued by a Samaritan man.  When Jesus tells the story of the Samaritan that helps the beaten man on the road, he picks the Samaritan for a reason. To the Jews, the Samaritans were less than human.  They were dogs.  They were disdained.  They were enemies.  Sound familiar? And Jesus uses this as an example of the greatest commandment being followed.

But if we truly love our neighbor, we should mourn their death if they are not believers, shouldn’t we?   Shouldn’t look at ourselves and evaluate if we have done everything we could to show him the love and grace of our Savior?  Shouldn’t we mourn the fact that we call ourselves a Christian nation and yet we seek vengeance? the fact that when someone attacks us our immediate response is to rally the troops and drop bombs? Why did it seem that 10 years ago nearly every Christian I knew called for war and retaliation and destruction? Why did we not stop and pray for our enemy? Why didn’t we mourn for all of the lives lost on that day-not just the lives of Americans?

Our neighbor, bin Laden, is now eternally separated from God.  From love, from peace, from hope, from joy, from beauty, from all things good.  Why would we celebrate that? Why would we be happy that someone has gone to eternal agony.

He was a man in need of grace. Just like you. Just like me.

All photos by Becky Kyle.  She’d love to take some for you.

I was asked to find pictures of lots of famous people; both honorable and disreputable. It was pretty easy to find images of men who fell into the honorable category.  MLK, Billy Graham, Ghandi.

It seemed nearly impossible to find some women.  Not because they don’t exist, but because I had to find women that people would recognize and universally (nearly) agree they were “good” people.  The closest I could get were political figures, e.g. Hilary and Nancy.  But to find recognizable women who were known for they upstanding moral character was very hard.

Especially within the Church.

I actually had to type “famous evangelical women” into Google.  And I found…nobody.  Not that most people could recognize.

Again, the men were pretty easy. Mark Driscoll, Rob Bell (especially lately), Jerry Falwell (polarizing figure he is), MLK, Billy Graham.  Even C.S. Lewis would be recognzable to a lot of people.

But not many women.

Which made me despondent. Who will my daughter look up to?  Lady Gaga or Beyonce or Miley Cyrus or Selena Gomez or whatever little girl Disney is objectifying in twelve years?

Where are the examples of women being beautiful for who they are not for how well they make a pouty face? Where are the women who serve the Church and serve the orphans and widows?  I know they are there. This isn’t a chastisement of women. This is an indictment on our culture. The Church’s culture.

Why do we not have women we hold up as examples to our little girls? Why when I looked up Christian artists and performers, the ones who are marketing themselves to us, did I not see any real differences in the way they were presented? Why don’t publishers release books by Christian women and thinkers and theologians?  Is it because they know we won’t buy it?  Are we too obtuse to realize that women can teach us so much? That if we allow the women of today the same type of celebrity we allow to men, we’re only strengthening our children.

Go find a woman who is admirable and make her recognizable.

For Harper.

None of which I enjoy feeling.

I recently began the interviewing process for an associate worship pastor position at a church in the Springs.  I led worship for them once, which went really well, then I had an interview two weeks later.  The interview went really well.

Mostly.

I answered all of their questions satisfactorily, and told them how I would a great asset for their team.  Then I told them I was married to a woman who has been divorced.  And their jaws dropped.  It was a surprise to me that they were so surprised.  It was like they’d never met someone in this same situation before.  Like the Church doesn’t have 50% percent divorce rate and that most of those people get remarried. I was surprised.

About a week later I get a call from the senior pastor.  He wants to ask me more questions.  He asks me if I was responsible for the divorce-I wasn’t.  He asks me if my conscience is clean about the whole thing-it isn’t.  I didn’t do everything I could and should have done to help save their marriage.  I was wrong.  but I believe with everything in me that God’s grace allows me to be freed of the guilt. He asks me how we dealt with the sin of divorce before we were married-we didn’t.  We were in love and we wanted to be togetether forever so we wed. He asks me if we would be willing to come in and talk to the personnel committee about it.  I say yes, knowing it’s going to be a very hard, uncomfortable thing for us.

About 3 days after that, I get a call again.  He asks me when we were engaged. I say July ’07.  He asks when we were married. I say October ’07. He then asks me if Emily is Emmy Jean. I say yes.  At this point I’m totally confused.  Why is he asking what my wife’s middle name is? How does he even know it?

Then I figure it out.

“I’m looking at a blog here dated from August of 2007,” he says.  I immediately know which one he is talking about.  I had read two days before.

I chose to leave it up.

He then begins to read some excerpts. The title is “A Drunk Girl is an Honest One.” It describes how my wife, 4 years ago, was drunk, lying on the grave of dad’s fiancé, and how she all of a sudden isn’t scared.  She uses some F-bombs, maybe some others, I don’t know. He then tells me that if the committee had seen this, they would have taken me off the candidate list already.  He then suggests I take it down.

Silence.  I say nothing.  Two reasons.  1.  I’m speechless.  Totally and utterly flabbergasted.  What does something my wife wrote about 4 years ago have to do with today. 2. I’m furious.  Any words I do say will not be kind ones.  They will be venom and anger and rage.  And wrong.

So I say nothing until he asks me if I agree with him that I take it down. I say no. Now he’s confused.  Why would you leave something like that up, he asks.

Because it glorifies God, I say.  That blog, and the dozens before it and hundreds after it, are the story of God’s saving grace and redemption. I’m not ashamed of that, my wife isn’t, and I don’t understand why anyone else would be.

I am now fairly certain that I am not going get the job.  I am more certain that I would accept if it was offered.

I want ask this pastor what he thinks grace is.  Does it mean being ashamed of who we’ve been?  At what point do we stop being ashamed?  In 4 years, I pray that I can look back at this time of my life, and think about how far I’ve come.  I pray that I grow by such leaps and bounds that I would seem almost unrecognizable to the future me.  If that does happen, should I then come back and delete blogs? Should I delete the pictures from that time?  Should I deny that I was the way I was was [am]. Why should Emily, who has the purest heart of anyone I’ve ever met, delete her mistakes?

Maybe it’s generational thing.  Maybe he doesn’t understand why we would have a blog at all, let alone one so “condemning.” To me, to us, it’s no different than if someone were to ask us our story.  Yes, we used to to get drunk. Yes, we use foul language. Yes, we were fornicators. When someone asks me those things to my face, should I lie about it?  If not, then why delete my blog.  It’s no different.  It is a place of utter honesty for us.

I wouldn’t lie if you asked me about it, so I won’t lie if you want to look at who I was 4 years ago, online, in a snippet of time.  One night.  I would hope, however, that you would take the time to read the whole story, where it is now, the denouement. Not just the bottom of the barrel, the darkest time, the climax, and assume that is normalcy.

The worst part of all of this to me, is that we were honest.  We didn’t have to be.  We could have kept it hidden.  We didn’t have to tell them where we’d come from.  I could have answered all of their questions and gotten the job.  I could have denied the journey that God has had us on.  I could have pretended to have never struggled with my faith.  To have never doubted the goodness of God.  I could have ignored how faithful Jesus has been to me.  How even when I have turned my back on him, he still rescues me.

Instead we told the truth.

And were told we’re not good enough. We can’t outrun our past. God’s grace only extends to secret sins.  If you tell people the mistakes of your past, then you only shine a light on those mistakes.

Not on the glorifying, magnificent, amazing, awesome, overwhelming, indescribable love and grace and mercy and patience and yearning and protection and kindness and hope and healing and redemption of our Savior.