You saw me hungry...

 I know that I haven't done this much lately, but every now and then, I just need to write.  Today is one of those days.  I process through writing, and have for most of my adult life.  During the darkest season of my life nearly 7 years ago, I was given the option of going to therapy to help process my life situation at the time, but I simply said, "I'm ok.  I just wrote a book."  And, I did.  I just haven't published it yet.  That being said, and since this is my blog, would you allow me a few moments to vent?  I will say up front, that it is exactly that.  I need to get a couple things off my chest, so if you're uncomfortable with that, I invite you now to stop reading.  

If, however, you would like to journey with me for a few minutes, let us begin.  

It's no secret that I'm a theologian.  I obtained my Master of Divinity from Memphis Theological Seminary in 2009, under the guidance of some of the most wonderful people I have ever met in my life.  Before I began my seminary journey, a well-meaning parishioner told me, and I quote, "Don't you go and let that seminary change you."  But I realiz
ed very quickly in my theological education that change is the very object of the whole process.  MTS is a fairly progressive seminary, nestled in the beautiful mid-town section of Memphis, and I dove head first into the process.  My theological education changed my life.  Allow me to repeat that, my theological education... changed... my... life.  Literally, not figuratively.  

For over 25 years, I have been engaged in pastoral ministry.  17 of those full-time.  In 2018 I made the decision to serve the Church part time, put back on my tool belt, and went back into business for myself.  I have served small rural churches.  I have served a county seat church.  I have served a fast growing congregation.  All of that has led to experiences that have shaped and molded me into the man, and pastor, that I am today.  

Add to that the fact that my wife and I have a daughter with a disability, and the result is that I may be more empathetic than what some would find comfortable in a 54 year old man from the middle of nowhere Western Kentucky.  And that, my friends, is the reason I needed to write today.  

I've had friends push back at me because I tend to post political things on my social media, but here's the thing... my theological training has caused me to look at everything, and I mean everything, through a theological lens.  My homiletics, or preaching, professor in seminary told us in class one night, "If you keep your homiletical minds on, everything you see will preach."  He is a giant among men, and when he takes the pulpit, he takes the whole room.  He was not wrong.  

Every social media post, every news article, every video clip... for me, is seen through the lens of theology.  I can't help it.  My education, my training, took place in a more progressive seminary than some, and because of that, I will never be the same.  Nor, will I ever view things the same.  

For example, people who are pro-life... So am I.  I loathe the very idea of abortion, unless there is a medical necessity which would cause harm to the mother, or being the father of two girls, other horrifying situations.  Yet over and over for the last two months we have seen one move after another from our government that is anything but pro-life.  We want the baby born, but we don't give a damn about what happens to it after that.  Let's just call it what it is.  We are pro-birth.  Forget medical care, or food programs, or education.  We just want it born. 

Dare I even mention immigration?  My ancestry is English/Irish, and maybe a little Scottish.  I'm white, except during the summer.  Being caucasian offers me opportunities that others have had to fight for, just for the simple fact that by some stupid, random act of nature, I was born with less melanin in my skin.  Somewhere around the early 1700's my ancestors emigrated to the U.S.  I don't know why.  I can't ask them.  They're dead.  But because I am Anglo by ancestry, there are certain struggles in life that I will never know.  It's stupid.  Racism is stupid.  Legal.  Illegal.  Undocumented.  Whatever.  I don't really give a damn what you call it, we are all part of the human family, and that by itself should be enough to merit humanitarian treatment.  

And what about "Well, we are a Christian nation"?  Don't even get me started.  I have friends who are atheist who are more Christian than many Christians I know.  You cannot, let me be clear, you cannot claim to be a follower of Jesus Christ and support mass deportations, or reductions in food programs, or removal of DEI policies.  You simply can't.  And I'll pause here to allow a moment for rebuttals.  I'll be waiting for scripture references, words in red, that show otherwise.  I'll wait.  

All of that reminds me of the scene in Christmas Vacation where Clark and the family had kidnapped his boss, Frank Shirley, and Cousin Eddie had brought him to their beautiful suburban home, or what was left of it, and when Mrs. Shirley showed up, she said to him something like, "You cut Christmas bonus?  Of all the lousy ways to save a buck."  

And that's what it boils down to, my friends.  Money.  Listen, I pay taxes just like everyone else.  I don't want my hard earned tax dollars wasted anymore than anyone else does, but here's the thing.  I don't mind paying taxes if it's going to help a single mom with four kids, or someone's grandma who needs surgery, or someone who's diabetic deal with an amputation.  I don't mind paying taxes to support our national forests, public parks, police, fire fighters, EMTs.  I certainly don't mind paying taxes to drive on roads without having to get a front end alignment every time I drive down I-24.  

What I do mind is my tax dollars going to folks who are running roughshod over the Constitution and the rule of law.  I mind, greatly, paying taxes that will give the top 1% huge tax breaks while I'm busting my tail to put supper on the table.  I mind paying taxes when I see the video of a mother, bawling, because her son is Type 1 and she can't afford the $1000 a month for insulin.  I mind that a hell of a lot.  

So, to my friends who have pushed back when I've posted something I felt to be counter to the teachings of Jesus, thank you.  Thank you for helping me solidify my faith.  Thank you for reminding me of my baptismal vows; to resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever form they may present themselves.  Thank you for making me stop and think about why I do/say the things I do.  

Here's the thing, though.  I'm not going to stop.  My training and my baptismal vows simply will not let me.  I'm going to keep speaking out when our country is behaving like Gilead, and if you missed that reference, check out "The Handmaid's Tale."  I know that I'm probably already on some government watch list, but I'm not going to stop.  I simply cannot.  

When I knelt at the chancel rail in Lynnville UMC at 10 years old, and Paul Peck poured water over my head then said these words, "James Darren, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and The Holy Spirit.  The Spirit work within you so that you may become a faithful disciple of Jesus Christ," I took it seriously.  When Bishop Morris and Bishop Wills placed their hands on my head at my ordination and said, "James Darren, take thou authority to lead the church," I took it seriously.  

So, yes, I have chosen sides, and I don't apologize.  I will always stand with the oppressed and speak against the oppressor.  I will always stand with the down trodden and speak against injustice.  I will always stand with the excluded, and speak against those who would exclude.  But do you know what?  When I lay down at night, my conscious is clear.  I may not have been able to fix anything, but I know in my heart that I've done what I could.  My only hope is that one of these days, no matter how the rest of my days on earth go, I'll hear, "Well done, good and faithful servant.  Enter into your Father's rest."    

And, if you're more upset that I said damn twice and hell once in this post, than what the post was about,
thank you for making my point.  

I have a question...

I haven't done this in a while, almost a year, apparently, but this week there has been a lot on my mind, so I thought I'd write for a spell.  Folks who know me know that I grew up in a pretty good home.  I had a great childhood.  We grew up out in the county, theologically conservative, and middle class.  We never went without but we weren't wealthy by the country's standards.  We hunted, fished, grew a garden, played little league, visited our grandparents on Sunday afternoon, and church attendance was rarely an option.

When it would snow, mom would make snow cream for us, and there was pretty much always a meat and three with some kind of bread for supper.  Her biscuit bread is still the best.  We made homemade ice cream under the pine trees at my grandparents' house.  Mom and dad taught us right from wrong, dad taught me how to treat the girls, and more especially, how to not treat them.  We didn't take many big vacations, but I remember several camping trips and day trips.  Life was good, then.  However, there is one burning question that I've been wrestling with this week, and I'd love to ask my parents.  

"Why did you take us to church?"

I mean, aside from the fact that, at that time in history, pretty much everyone went.  It was just what you did.  I remember that little blonde brick building being packed on Sunday morning with neighbors, friends, and family.  I remember the women who taught me the stories of our faith when I was a kid, and then how Scotty continued those lessons when I was a teen.  I remember that day in June of 1981 when Paul Peck poured water over my head and said those words, "James Darren, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  The Spirit work within you that, being born of water and the Spirit, you become a faithful disciple of Jesus Christ."

What I don't remember is ever asking for any of that.  

Now, as an adult, and having answered the call to ordained ministry over 25 years ago, I wonder how different life would be had my parents taken us to the lake on Sunday morning, or hiking, or to the park instead of that little United Methodist Church.  Here's why...

I might not have ever asked to go to church, but apparently I listened while I was there.  I remember the little felt board in Ms. Marilyn's class that told the stories of the flood, Adam and Eve in the garden, and Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego walking through the furnace and not even smelling like smoke.  Or, the little study books in Ms. Mildred's class as we got a little older that gave us some of the other stories of our faith.  Or, Ms. Dortha's class in middle school, and Scotty's as I got old enough to start grappling with the reality of what it all meant.  I remember them.

Then God called.  

And I answered.

And I said, "I will give my life to serving you if that's what you want of me."

And I took it seriously.  Very seriously.  But, it is so very hard.  Which makes me wonder, if mom and dad had never taken me to church, and I had never heard, or never believed, would my life be easier?  In some ways, the answer has to be a resounding, "Yes."  It would be easier, because I just might not care.  

So, Mom and Dad, why did you take us to church?

Without actually asking them, here's the answer I've come up with this week.  The world needs kids who are taken to church whether they've asked for it or not.  Had they not taken me, and had I not heard, or believed, or answered the call to pastoral ministry, I might not care that the call of Jesus to love God with all that we are and to love our neighbors as we love ourselves is not being lived out in a lot of places or ways.  I might not care about the cries of brothers and sisters from south of the border whose lives are in danger.  I might not care about the plight of the LGBTQ community.  I might not care that systematic racism is still alive and well in one of the leading countries in the world, or that some basic human rights are being ignored.  I might not care about the vitriol being spewed by some, or the division in this country, or the fact that 90% of the world lives in poverty.  I certainly wouldn't care about some kid halfway around the globe that didn't get enough to eat today.  

But...they took me...

...and I did hear...

...and I do believe...

...and I did answer the call to ministry...

...so I do care, and that is the source of most of my problems as an adult.  I care.  

I care that people are hurting or scared.  I care that some are still being excluded.  I care that we call ourselves a Christian nation but outright deny the call of Jesus to welcome the stranger.  I care so much, that I'm willing to call BS on the whole notion that we are a Christian nation.  We are not.  If we were, the examples of Jesus would be more visible in our society.  They are not.  

I've wanted to hole up this week and hide, because dang.  I've written posts and then deleted them.  I've typed out text messages and deleted them.  I've probably posted some things I shouldn't have because those posts have caused problems, but I do it because I care.  I know that I won't change many minds, but if I can change even one, it's worth it.  I do it because I want folks who feel they are alone to know that they are in fact, not alone, and that someone cares.  I know I can't fix any of the problems we're facing now, and honestly I fear that it's only going to get worse, but mom and dad took me to church, so I care.  And because I care, I'm not going to stop fighting the good fight.  

Because mom and dad took me to church, I will continue to be an advocate.  It may be all I can do, but I can do that.  I can speak up for folks who feel as if they have no voice.  I will continue to take my baptismal vows very seriously, to resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves.  

As long as I have breath, or until God tells me to stop, I will keep going because I care...because mom and dad made me go to church.  

And as hard as it may be sometimes, I am so glad they did.     

       

Grief is holy

It's been a while since I did anything with this page.  For the last 15 or 20 years, I discovered that I processed through writing, but life got busy and time for that became less.  

Yesterday, my wife lost her mom.  She was the matriarch of the family, friend to countless people, Momma, Grandmommy, Gaga, sister, wife, and as the saying goes, the glue that holds the family together. We are all broken-hearted, and we grieve, but as resurrection people, not as those without hope.  

As I laid down to go to sleep last night, a thought hit me...grief is holy.  Let me explain.  

We grieve much because we love much, correct?  I think we can all agree on that.  If we grieve because we love, and if God is love, then God also grieves with us.  If God grieves, and if God is holy, then, by extension, I feel safe in saying that grief is a holy experience.  

At the death of Lazarus, Jesus wept.  He didn't pontificate.  He didn't offer platitudes.  He didn't pat the folks in the crowd on the shoulder and say, "This is part of God's plan."  He wept.  Jesus, the Second Person of the Trinity, the Firstborn of all creation, the Prince of Peace simply wept.  He grieved the loss of a very close friend.  It was a holy moment.  

Now, I understand that in times like our family is experiencing right now, and that your family has experienced as well, it's not easy to find any amount of comfort or peace.  We are way too human to be expected to find anything else.  Grief is a very human emotion, and very much merited when someone we love enters the church triumphant.  Yet, there they are.  Standing in the background, quietly off to the side, peace and comfort are watching and waiting for just the right moment to walk up and put a hand around our shoulders.  For me, that moment hit when I went to bed last night.  

It had been a very long day.  We've known this was coming for over a year, but didn't think it would come this soon.  I've been distracted at work this week, and it showed.  Steph, my wife, had been with her mom as much as possible for the last 10 days, hoping against hope that the doctors were wrong and that mom would rally.  She had gone home to take a quick nap when her sister called me.  I dropped my tools, closed the doors at the job site, and headed home to tell her.  As I sat beside her on the bed and whispered, "Mom's gone," what I saw was holy grief.  She wept, as any of us would, and she grieved much because she loved much.  Still, it was a holy moment.  God draws near to the broken-hearted.  

To a grieving family, folk will say things like, "You know heaven is celebrating today."  I get the sentiment, I respect what they're trying to do, but it's not helpful.  Heaven may be celebrating, but we're not.  And, do you know what?  That's ok.  It's ok to hold on to our humanity during times like this, even though, as the saying goes, we are spiritual bodies having a physical experience.  It's ok to allow grief to flood over us as we say goodbye to someone we love.  It's ok to weep, uncontrollably even.  It's ok to ask hard questions, like; "Why?' or "Why her?" or "Why now?"  or even "God, why did you let this happen?"   Yes, we are people of the resurrection.  Yes, we have the hope of eternal life.  But, and please hear this, we don't know anything about those things from personal experience.  What we do know, is that someone we love will never pick up the phone and call us again, and in our case, Steph's mom will never make her famous beefaroni again, or her Christmas lasagna, and that hurts.  

Now, to every coin there are two sides.  Grief is holy, but grief is not part of God's plan.  At least, I don't think it is.  And I know, with every fiber in my being, that it is not part of some perfect plan.  I'm convinced, and I may be wrong, but I'm convinced that in the first days of creation, God did not plan for us to grieve.  God planned and created the day and night, the fish of the sea, stars of the sky, sun, moon, animals, plants of the land, and finally us, but I haven't read in that account where grief was figured in.  Perhaps it's there and I just missed it.  However, after the fall, grief and loss found their place in the world.  

As a pastor, theologian, husband, father, and now grieving son-in-law, I ask this one thing of any who would offer their condolences, now or at any time in the future.  Don't say it.  Just don't.  I know you mean well, I know your intentions are pure, but please don't say things to us, or any grieving family, like "You have to accept this as part of God's perfect plan."  No, we don't.  I cannot believe this feeling was part of some original, divine plan.  Or, "God needed her/him more than you did."  No, God didn't.  We need them here with us, at least for a little longer.  We need to hear their voice, hug their neck, or drink coffee with them.  Please don't say, "God knows best."  I don't argue that theologically, but contextually it doesn't hold water.  Please don't say, "God needed another flower for his garden."  No.  God didn't.  If God was able to speak the entire world into creation, God could do the same with one more flower in the garden.  In fact, you don't have to say anything.  Just be there.  Be that peace and comfort standing off to the side, just waiting for the right moment to slip an arm around a grieving child's shoulders.  Just hold them and let them weep.  Be a safe space for them to be honest with the things they're feeling; with the unknowns, the pain, the anger, the denial.  Allow them the space to process as they are able.  

Why?  Because I feel that is exactly what God would do.  Weep with us.  That's all we ask.  And, actually, God, in the person of Jesus, did just that.  

As for me and my house...

Have you ever had a friend, family member, or someone else you genuinely cared for who was about to do something that you knew was going to be painful, but there was nothing you could do but watch and hope for the best?  If you have ever experienced that, you have a basic understanding of how it feels to be clergy in the United Methodist Church right now.  

Unless you've been living under a rock for the last couple of years, you've no doubt heard about the mess that is currently going on inside the United Methodist Church.  Some folks are saying we're splitting, but we're not.  We are, however, splintering, and the splintering is leaving shrapnel stuck in people I know and love.  

I am one of those life-long United Methodists.  When dad was discharged from the army and mom and dad moved back here from Columbia, South Carolina, I was a mere nine months old.  The cross and flame is all I've ever known.  When Steph and I married, we embarked on a journey to find "our" church; not mine, not hers, but ours.  We went to mine for a while, a little country UMC.  We went to hers for a while, a small town southern baptist church.  We had plans of visiting others.  Her church turned me away from the communion table one day and I told my new bride, "I'm going back to my people and I'd love for you to come with me."  She did.  That was 30 years ago.  

Five or six years later, I had an experience one night coming home from a fishing trip.  A few days later, after I got home from work, I sat there reading the newspaper, folded it up and put it in my lap.  Then I looked at my wife, and mother of my daughter, and said, "I have to go back to school."  She said, "Oh yeah? What for this time?"  I looked at her, not believing the words were even coming out of my mouth, and said, "I think I need to go to seminary."  

"To be a preacher?"

"Yeah.  I think this is something I'm supposed to do."  

"Then I will follow you wherever this leads."

So, at 28 years old, in 1999, I wasn't only a member of this denomination, I was about to begin the journey into ordained ministry as a United Methodist clergy.  I began the process, and in 2011 was ordained as an elder in full connection.  I have served small country churches.  I have served county seat churches.  I have served large churches.  A few years ago I cut back to part time, we bought a house in our home town, and I decided that my girls had lived in their last parsonage.  Now, I'm serving part time and believe this is where God wants me for this season in my life.  So, as I said before, this is all I've ever known.  

Now, to the mess.  

"Disafilliation." It's a word that's on everyone's mind right now who calls themselves United Methodist.  It has recently found its way into the church I love and am currently serving.  When a church begins the conversations about leaving the denomination, that leaves the clergy appointed to serve that church having to decide what they are going to do.  Are they going to leave the denomination and stay with that church?  Are they going to leave that church and stay with the denomination?  It's a painful decision to make and one that must be done prayerfully, considering what is best for the kingdom and our own families.  

See, United Methodist clergy are not like Baptist clergy or Church of Christ clergy.  We are not hired by the local church.  We are sent by the Bishop to serve a particular community through a particular congregation.  We are appointed (sent) one year at a time, and each summer, either reappointed to that congregation, or sent to another one.  It's a system with its advantages and disadvantages, and some days, it's flawed at best.  But, it's a wonderful way to mix the gifts and graces of each pastor and each congregation.  

That being said, I, like several of my colleagues, find ourselves in a state of limbo.  We want to remain faithful to our calling, and now we're just waiting and watching for God to let us know how that's going to play out.  We love the congregations we are serving, but we can only serve them as long as they remain United Methodist, or... we surrender our credentials and leave the denomination.  We have to choose.  Let me just tell you from personal experience, that is a gut wrenching decision to have to make.  

It's gut wrenching because it doesn't have to be like this.  Because of personal agendas, strong personal opinions, false information, a myriad of "what if"s, and good ol' American individualism, no one is asking what is best for the kingdom of God in all of this.  It's only about what I want as an individual.  Churches are being split.  Witnesses are being damaged.  The world is being proven right about the "C"hurch in many instances because selfishness is leading many of these decisions.  Conversations are being had in our parking lots, behind closed doors, and in secret, and it is causing damage that only the Holy Spirit can heal.   

In the words of Paul, my brothers and sisters, this should not be so.  

Hopefully, it is not too late for the church I love and am currently serving.  Hopefully, we can see that we are better together.  Hopefully, we can become the home for all of the United Methodists in our county who did not want to leave the denomination, but their churches had the 2/3 vote anyhow.  But if not...?

Well, if not... I have a decision to make.  No, my wife and I have a decision to make.  

It reminds me of Joshua 24, and this may get me into trouble because someone, somewhere, is going to read my next few lines the wrong way.  

In Joshua 24, Joshua has gathered all the tribes together and begins to tell them what God is saying to them.  If you flip over to Joshua 24:1 and read through verse 13, you get a good list of all the things God had done for the people of Israel.  Then in verse 14, God throws down the gauntlet: 

"Now, therefore, revere the Lord and serve him in sincerity and in faithfulness; put away the gods that your ancestors served beyond the River and in Egypt and serve the Lord.  Now if you are unwilling to serve the Lord, choose this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your ancestors served in the region beyond the River or the gods of the Amorites in whose land you are living, but as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord."  

Now...  before anyone starts throwing things or calling my bishop, allow me to tell you why that's the verse that came to me when I began to write today.  

We have become distracted.  We have lost our focus.  And by "we," I mean many in the United Methodist Church.  We are not necessarily serving the gods of our ancestors or the gods of the Ammorites, but the gods we are serving are our own wants and desires and our own agendas.  In short, the gods we are serving in all of this, is ourselves.  

Some disafilliate over the issue of homosexuality, but don't want to talk about the numerous scriptures about second marriages leading to adultery.  We want to point out the speck in others' eyes without paying one iota of attention to the log in our own.  We want to judge others as long as no one brings up our pet sins.  Etc.  Etc.  Etc.  

My brothers and sisters, this should not be so.  

After Jesus had left the Mount of Olives one day and was teaching in the temple, a group of angry men dragged a woman who had been caught in the very act of adultery to him.  How did he react?  They knew how they wanted him to react, but how did he react?  "Let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone."  What happened?  One by one, they quietly slipped away until there was no one left but she and he.  "Where are your accusers?  Didn't even one of them condemn you?"

"No, Lord," she said.

"Neither do I.  Go and sin no more."

As for me and my household, we have decided that there are way bigger things to be upset about.  We have decided that it is not our place to judge others because we cannot throw stones either.  We have struggled, prayed, and cried, trying to decide where we feel God may be calling us next.  With 23,000 people starving to death in the world every day (approximately) and the church arguing over the things we're arguing over, we (the Church) have left our one true love.      

Adding to that the fact that many of the churches that are disaffiliating are doing so because they have been fed false information, forced onto them by some with an agenda, just makes it even worse.  Folks aren't even leaving over legitimate reasons.

What's the answer?  I honestly don't know.  Folks are going to leave.  Folks are going to stay.  But that's the beauty of being a Wesleyan people; we don't have to think alike to love alike.  

So, if disafilliation is a conversation you are having, I implore you to listen past the rhetoric, gossip, half truths, and blatant lies for that still small voice of God calling to you through the chaos and inviting you to step away for some quiet conversation.  

As for me and my house... we're United Methodist.  

 

After the storm

 It’s been 6 days now since our little corner of the world was turned completely upside down.  The initial assessments have been made.  Debris is being cleared.  Rescue and recovery have been going nonstop.  Volunteers have come in by the droves to assist us and help where they can.  Water and electric are being restored. Donations are continuing to pour in, and for all of this I am grateful.   

This morning, I woke up with heat and lights for the first time since Friday morning. Like so many others, I’m experiencing a certain amount of survivor’s remorse because we were so close to the main path, but relatively unscathed.  This has caused no small amount of theological wrestlings and reflection.   So, as I’ve done for years, permit me a few minutes to process all this through my keyboard.   

Why?   Why did the storm track shift a little less than a half mile from what we were expecting?   The original track was taking the tornado directly over our house, instead, it came by less than a half mile to our south and east.  

How?   Surviving this storm was certainly not because of anything I did.  No one can stand against winds knocking on 200 plus miles per hour.  I did everything I knew to do in order to protect my family, but short of installing an underground bunker, there was really nothing I could do.  It seemed to be the luck of the draw, and even typing that makes my stomach turn.  

As we listened to tornado rip through neighborhoods and downtown as it passed our house, my first thought was “Thank God.  We survived.”  It was all I could think to do.  Now for the theological reflection.  

Paul, writing to the church in Thessalonica told them to give thanks in all things, because that was the will of God. (Paraphrased). We should.  Sort of.  

A lot of people are struggling with the events of last Friday night, and rightfully so.  I’m struggling with it.  I do give thanks for many things that did or didn’t happen last weekend, like so many others are right now, and I do believe that there is much, for which, to be thankful. However, there is one phrase I keep hearing that haunts me.  

“I’m thankful that God protected me.”  I appreciate the sentiment behind statements like that, but I’d like to take a minute to unpack some of the theology in it.  

“I’m thankful that God protected me,” alludes to the idea that God picks and chooses who receives protection and who doesn’t.  We don’t mean anything by it when we say things like that, other then genuinely offering thanksgiving that we’re still here.  I totally get that.  I would encourage us to reflect what it says to others, though. 

As I came out of our hallway after the immediate threat had passed, I stopped and said “Thank you.”  Meanwhile, in the couple minutes it took to pass by us, lives were lost not a half mile away.  The thought of that is gut wrenching.  If I were to say I was thankful God protected me, it would insinuate a divine hand redirecting the path of the storm away from my house, and directly over others.  I can’t serve a God who does that.  I just can’t.  A god who picks and chooses who survives and doesn’t is not worthy of our worship.  

It was just a fluke of nature that I’m even here to write this morning.  

That being said, theology is messy.  Part of the curse of a theological education is that, in our training, we are forced to recognize and wrestle with things of this very nature.  The “Why?” questions.  The “How?” questions.  And, to do so in a way that honors our God and our fellow humans.  

So, for all those who feel this week that God’s hand of protection has been removed, let me assure you that God’s heart is breaking right along with yours this morning.  Nature is a brutal force at times, and were God to directly intervene, saving some while others perished, the theological ramifications would be endless.  

The sucky part in all this is that there just aren’t any easy answers.  A friend of mine said something yesterday that stopped me in my tracks.  He said, again paraphrasing, “God wasn’t in the disaster, but lives in the response of the people to the disaster.”   

This week I encourage all of us to find something in the aftermath of this storm for which to be thankful.  I encourage us to let empathy guide our words and actions.  

God is here.  Now.  With you.  With me.  With us.  

What if?

 I'm tired.  I know you are, too.

Everywhere we look, COVID is there.  For the past 18 months it has pervaded basically every aspect of daily life.  Who has it now?  Am I going to get it?  Mask?  No mask?  Vaccine?  No vaccine?  What's working?  What isn't?  Am I essential?  Why are they essential and I'm not?  If I can't work, how will we pay the bills?  Then, add to the mix the number of social media medical experts telling us their opinions of why this or that does or doesn't work.

I'm tired.   

I have never really been a people person, and have always preferred my bubble to be fairly tight, only letting in the closest of friends and family.  Now, I find myself cringing when someone stands too close behind me in a checkout line.  Are they COVID positive?  Did they just cough?  I can actually feel my anxiety levels rising in certain situations that used to just be mildly uncomfortable.  

I remember in February of 2020, when we first started hearing about this new strain of SARS and thinking, "Oh, this isn't going to be good."  I started reading everything I could find on it, and trying to stick with articles that were from reputable medical sources.  Infection rates were higher than we usually see.  Transmission rates were higher than we normally see.  Mortality rates were already alarming.  From the looks of things, early on, it was going to get much worse before it started getting better.  We masked up in public, kept our distance, limited gathering sizes, and it seemed to be working. 

Like most folks, the idea of a two week quarantine, were one of us in my house to be exposed, was terrifying.  Also, like most folks, we didn't have funds in reserve that would carry us through two weeks, four weeks, or a couple months into some unknown future.  It was a very frightening time.  I switched back and forth from supporting one government mandate to thinking this was all an overreaction.  I mean, how could we expect to survive if we completely shut down the country?  It's a legitimate concern, and unfortunately, one that we could be facing again.  Then, earlier this year, the numbers did start dropping, slowly.  Hospitalizations were down.  It seemed like we were beginning to turn the corner, so the country started opening up, and restrictions were relaxed. 

Then, like many viruses do, this one found yet another chink in our armor, mutated, and tried again.  The new variant is more infectious, seems to be more easily transmitted, and is affecting the younger among us.  Yet, even with 18 months of COVID restrictions, infections, and loss of life behind us there is still a growing amount of resistance to methods that might slow the spread.  

See, I'm not a doctor, so my approach to this whole ordeal has not been from any type of medical background.  I do have a degree in biology, with a basic understanding of genetics, mutations, etc, etc, etc, but I'm not a doctor.  I didn't even sleep in a Holiday Inn Express last night, nor do I play a doctor on television.  

I'm not an economist, so I have very little understanding of the long-term effects of last year's shut down, but I am a business owner, and I've seen how it has impacted my business.  

I'm not a historian, so I haven't studied in depth the long term effects of events like the 1918 Flu epidemic and can't liken that to our current situation with any amount of authority.  

What I am, though, is a theologian.  My response to this current global threat has, from the very beginning, been rooted in my study of scriptures.  I'm not talking about Revelation kind of stuff, like some folk who are claiming this is some end-time, apocalyptic, get right or get left behind, wrath of God event.  That's not what it is.  I'm likening it more to the leprosy that is mentioned so often in our New Testament.  I don't mean we shun folk, like they did with those who had leprosy, or send them out of the city, or cross the street to prevent even the chance of coming into contact with them.  I'm talking about how quickly this can spread, and what our response as Jesus followers should be.

Leprosy was a horrible disease.   Do a quick google search this afternoon if you'd like to see some pretty horrific pictures.  I can't imagine what it must have been like to contract that disease, and know what that was probably going to mean.  No one touched a leper.  Well, except one person.  They were no longer able to work, and had to depend on the charity of others for their survival.  Isolation would become their new normal.  Then along comes this guy, Jesus, who treated them as the humans they still were.  

Then, this morning, I'm sipping my coffee and scrolling through social media when one post after another starts popping up from folk I know to be Jesus followers, about "my rights," "resist the mandates,"  and "my kid isn't doing that."  I wanted to weep.  Not because I'm a huge supporter of emergency approved FDA vaccines, and certainly not because I enjoy wearing a face mask in a grocery store (because I'm not, and I hate wearing a mask,) but because I'm a theologian, and the first thought I had was, where has the church gone wrong in her teaching?  What have we missed?  What aspect of life as a Jesus follower did we not present often enough?   All of that led me to a reflection on one little question: 

What if?

What if they're right, and masks don't work?  What if the emergency approval of the FDA was premature?  Then, if that's the case, I probably looked the fool for wearing one into every store I entered last year, and there may be some long term side effects from the vaccine I took that I may not realize for years.  But...

What if? 

What if they aren't right?  What if masks actually are at least somewhat helpful in preventing the transmission of this virus?  What if the vaccine is safe and we just may not know for sure for a while?  Is it worth the risk?

As a theologian, as a father, husband, son, friend, and member of society, all I can say in answer to that is this, "To me, it was worth the risk."  You may ask me why, if you'd like, and I'll say this.  In all of the study I've done of the New Testament, the stories we have about the physical life of Christ as he walked among us, I can't find anywhere that says that I'm to look out only for myself.  It may be there and I've missed it, but I haven't found it yet.  Over and over we hear Jesus talk about loving others as we love ourselves, and how the first shall be last while the last are first, and how we're to care for the weaker among us.  We see examples of Jesus putting his own health and safety aside to reach out and care for those society had discarded.  I don't know why he did that.  Maybe he knew that, as the Second Person of the Trinity, it wasn't something he needed to worry about.  I don't know.  I do know, though, that for me (and I can only speak for me) deciding to follow Christ as I walk this world means that I have to, at the very least, consider the other's welfare as I do my own.    For me, and again, I can only speak for me, that meant two things; wearing a mask when I was around others, and getting the vaccine when it became available.  One was mildly frustrating, the other terrified me, but in the end, it was worth the risk to me.  

Back to the question, though.  What if?  What if we all who claim to follow Christ took it upon ourselves to do all we can do to stop this virus simply because the examples we have of the life Christ led compelled us to?  What if, we put our trust in our faith and not the opinions of those on social media?  What if we approached this virus through a New Testament lens?  And to narrow the field a bit, what if those of us with Wesleyan roots actually began living into the three rules?  Do no harm.  Do Good.  Stay in love with God.  Would that have any impact on the way we approach day to day life in a COVID world?  I certainly hope so.  

The reality is that we live in a country where we have taken our rights to be sacred, and they are.  It's one of the beautiful things about our nation.  But, we who follow Christ are not citizens of this nation alone.  Our ultimate citizenship resides in the Kingdom of God.  So, as a theologian, not a doctor, not a economist, not a historian, but as a theologian, I implore you to consider the examples of Christ in your wrestlings with the decisions we face as a society, for the greater good.  

I fully expect some push back from this, but even that was worth the risk.  I'll stand by my convictions that I have done what I could to follow the example of Christ in looking out for my fellow human.  What if I'm wrong?  That's always a possibility.  Will I be seen as self-righteous?  Hopefully not, and this will, instead, be taken as intended, written out of a concern for the other.  What the cost may be to myself down the road, I don't know, but whatever it is, I'm ok with that.  I've had a good run. 

Peace,

Jamie   

Am I loving my neighbor...

 So...

It's Sunday morning, and since I'm on leave from active ministry for a season, my Sunday morning routine has changed.  I used to get up around 4:00 on Sunday, fix my first cup of coffee, grab my laptop, and spend the next couple hours doing my final edits on the day's theological ramblings, then get ready and head out to lead worship.  Now, I don't.  

I do, however, still spend a good deal of time waxing theological, usually just in conversations with myself, but occasionally it is through social media.  Yesterday was one of the latter, and it bit me on the tail.  I woke up this morning thinking about it, and wondering what it was about the post that turned out to be so upsetting.  Looking back, I think the original post, and I'll share that in just a second, was laden with connotations that I didn't initially see because, after 20 plus years of pulpit ministry, it resonated with me.  

Basically, it was about labels, and labels can be dangerous.  Although I'm not a fan of labels except on the homemade jellies in my jelly cupboard, maybe they can be helpful for reflection purposes.  If we find ourselves more aligned with one group or another, sometimes putting a name to that, although divisive to a degree for some, builds a sense of unity for others...good, bad, neither, or both.  Still dangerous.   

The post was from a group called Nazarenes for Peace, and although the Nazarene Church shares my Wesleyan roots, or so I'm told, I know nothing about this particular group.  Here is what it said, quoting their post: "Who would have ever thought that loving your neighbor would be considered liberal theology?"

Let's just let that one marinate for a second.  

Here's where my reflections came in this morning.  One of the comments, and the one that made me delete my post until I'd had time to reflect on it, and one from a brother whom I love dearly and have for nearly 40 years, was something to the effect, "So because I'm a conservative I don't love my neighbor."  Ouch.  I immediately took the post down because that was not my intention at all, and I didn't want to send a message that I hadn't thought through completely. 

That is the problem with labels, and in our current environment, particularly when applying the conservative/liberal label to another.  See, I grew up in a very conservative home, in a very conservative county, in a red state.  I was taught conservative values, (i.e. the importance of family, honesty, loyalty, etc, etc, etc.)  I was raised on conservative theology, with a very literal reading of scripture, and strongly conservative ethics taught in all of my Sunday School classes.  But...that was nearly 50 years ago.  Now, though, after 50 trips around the sun, 21 years of pastoral ministry, a Master of Divinity degree, and being forced to think outside of myself to earn that degree, I've shifted.  

Maybe it's not that I've shifted.  Perhaps my definition of liberal/conservative has shifted.  See, whether we want to admit it or not, we cannot separate our personal theology from our personal politics.  One will definitely shape the other.  We get to determine which does what, though.  Does our personal politics shape our personal theology?  OR...does our theology shape our political leanings?  For me, it's the latter.  I believe what I believe politically because of what I believe theologically, and I think that most of us do.  What I have noticed over the years is that things I used to believe in, politically, are on a completely different plane from where I am now, simply because I was forced, in seminary, to get outside of myself.  

My last post was about how seminary had ruined my life, and while that was satirical in intention, it wasn't completely untrue.  Until I was forced to begin thinking in ways I never had to before, I was perfectly comfortable in my literal interpretation of scripture and the conservative theology in which I was reared.  Then I found out that scripture wasn't written to be taken literally, that Jesus was indeed a radical that bucked every system in place at the time, that Paul's letters were not even intended for us to read, and that God's unconditional love for all of humankind is utterly ridiculous (in a good way.)

Which leads to the reason I had to write this morning.  

Back to the social media post in question from yesterday.  Since it brought up the divisive nature of liberal/conservative labels, and since it implied that one loves their neighbor while the other doesn't, I would like to try a little exercise this morning.  Given the hot button political issues with which we have been inundated of late, let's play a little game.  (And I'm trying to do this as equitably as possible)  I am going to list some of the hot button issues we've seen in the headlines lately, then I'll ask if you think they are conservative/liberal ideologies, then I'll ask if they lead us to love our neighbors.  I'm doing this here because I've already spent the morning doing it in my head.  Understand, going into this that I'm not trying to persuade one way or the other, just offering some points to ponder.  I also know that this is probably going to get me into trouble, but I never shied away from the tough questions, even when they caused some very tense moments in my career.  Here we go, and this is just for fun, and a little self-reflection. 

Pro-birth:  (In this instance, only means anti-abortion, regardless of the circumstance)   Do you think that's a Conservative/liberal ideology?  Does it lead us to love our neighbor?

Pro-choice: (In this instance, means a woman has a right to choose what happens to her body)  Conservative/liberal stand?  Does it lead us to love our neighbor?

Pro-life: (In this instance, anti-abortion, care of the child {and all human lives} taken into consideration)  Conservative/liberal?  Does it lead us to love our neighbors?

Immigration:  We need to break this one down a little.

    Closed borders: No one gets in unless they follow our laws.  Conservative/liberal?  Does it lead us to love our neighbors?

    Separating familes to discourage border crossing. (detaining parents and children separately) Conservative/liberal?  Does it lead us to love our neighbors?

The pandemic:  Let's break this one down a little, as well.

    Face masks: Conservative/Liberal?  Does it lead us to love our neighbor?

    Social distancing: Conservative/Liberal?  Does it lead us to love our neighbor?

    Possible Vaccine:  Conservative/Liberal?  Does it lead us to love our neighbor?

Individual rights: Conservative/Liberal?  Does it lead us to love our neighbor?

Death Penalty:  Conservative/Liberal?  Does it lead us to love our neighbor?

Universal healthcare: Conservative/Liberal?  Does it lead us to love our neighbor?

I think I'll stop there before I really get into trouble with things like gun control, racism, gender equality, human sexuality, and a host of other questions we could raise.  

If you're still reading, what thoughts crossed your mind?  Without offering any of my answers, I've had to really stop and think about how the things I believe in call me to love my neighbor, or if they even do.  Hell, even thinking about whether I should write this or not made me ask myself, "Is doing this loving my neighbor?" I don't know. 

The easy answer is that there are just not any easy answers.  I know what I believe theologically about who Christ was in the world, then and now, and that has forced me to rethink some of the things that I thought I always believed politically.  Joseph, the guy who got to be dad to Jesus, loaded his family up one night and left the country to keep them safe.  That affects my stance on immigration.  Jesus, dying at the hands of the state as a rebel leader, affects my stance on capital punishment.  I loathe the very idea of abortion, but I can't imagine the pain of having to decide between my life and the life of my unborn child in an impossible pregnancy.  Face masks...I hate them, but if there is something to their benefit, and if wearing one MIGHT help save a life, then I'll do it.  There are too many questions with too many different answers for us to be trying to box them into just two categories...yet that is exactly what we have done.  

So, after much reflection this morning over a few cups of coffee and a keyboard, perhaps it was the words in the post, save one, that resonated with me.  Perhaps Nazarenes for Peace would have done better to say "Who would have ever thought that loving your neighbor would be considered RADICAL theology?"  Because, my friends, it is very radical.  It goes against basically everything we are taught as citizens of this world, and this country.  

I think it was Stephen Mattson who said, "Sometimes, being a good Christian meant being a bad Roman."  There is some truth to that.  Sometimes you can be both, sometimes you have to choose.  It was Joshua, in our ancient Hebrew text, who said, "As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord."  Doing that will sometimes make you look like a terrible citizen of this world.  I'm okay with that.  

Labels are so dangerous, and perhaps what triggered my self-reflection this morning wasn't the fact that the original post was about labels, though it was, but instead about a very fundamental question we all need to be asking ourselves.  That question is not "Do I see myself as conservative or liberal?"  Instead, maybe we should be asking, "Does the way I feel about this particular issue honor the love of God through the person and life of Christ?  And does it show the world that I love my neighbor?"