Grieving ain't easy

 So, I'm going to be honest up front.  This one is raw and honest, may be a little long, and there will probably be some language.  We're all adults here, but I just wanted to give a little head's up on that.  

October 17 this year, I will begin my 28th year in pastoral ministry.  For over 27 1/2 years I have walked with people through times of beautiful celebration and also unspeakable grief.  I have officiated more funerals than any one person should, and I have witnessed just about every way someone can grieve the loss of a loved one.  In seminary, they don't teach us much about how to walk with the grieving, practicum aside.  It's just something we pick up along the way, or learn by doing it wrong.

Having just experienced the loss of our beautiful daughter, let me just say this in the beginning.  Everything we are taught about grief is Grade A bullshit.  

Some folks say there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.  In two weeks, I've already gone through all five, but it's not this nice, neat little journey like folks may think.  It's a whirlwind of emotions. Sometimes they line up to hit you one at a time, sometimes they are sucker punching you from every direction.  What's worse, is that you may think you've made it through, only to find the cycle starts over again, and again, and again.  

So, what I'd like to do for a few minutes is just talk about my experience so far.      

We have two daughters, the apples of our eyes, Jen and Hannah.  I was 26 when Jen was born and had always thought I wanted a son until I laid eyes on that perfect baby girl for the first time.  Then all thoughts of raising a son disappeared.  I was a girl dad now.  There's just something about the relationship between a girl and her daddy, and if you are a woman who didn't have a good relationship with your father, my heart breaks for you.  Hannah came along 4 years later.  Folks kept asking us if we were going to keep trying for a boy and I'd just tell them, "We have two, healthy, beautiful daughters.  I'm done.  We could have 15 girls before we had a son."

We never made a secret of the fact that Jen had epilepsy.  She had her first seizure at 12 years old on the way to school.  Recently, we'd gotten the Grand Mals mostly under control, but she would still have Absence seizures.  Over the last 18 years we were terrified that someday, epilepsy would take her from us.  It did.  

We were coming home from vacation two weeks ago and were still about 4 hours from home when we started to get suspicious that something wasn't right.  Jen hadn't answered a text in a little while.  Then she wasn't answering a phone call.  That wasn't like her.  She might not text right back, but if her momma called and she didn't answer right then, she would always call back in a few minutes.  This time she didn't.  Three hours from home and we asked Steph's sister in law to just run by and check on her.  A few minutes later, "Her light's on but she's not answering the door.  Where's your spare key?"

You know those gut feelings they talk about?  Yeah.  In my gut, I already knew.  I just hoped I was wrong.  Two and a half hours from home we get confirmation that Jen was gone.  She'd had a Grand Mal, first one in almost a year, laid down in the kitchen floor, and stopped breathing.  It was like she just laid down to take a nap.  And she was gone.  Just like that.  

Of course, our first thought, somewhere north of Mt. Vernon, Illinois was that "This can't be happening."  Stage one, denial.  This is something that happens to other people, not your own family.  We were in an instant daze, and were still two and a half hours from home.  Then the begging started and the steps got out of order.  Anger was supposed to be next, but instead it was "Please God, let them find a pulse.  Let them bring her back."  It didn't happen.  During this seizure her jaw locked and even had someone gotten there in time, the coroner said there was nothing that could have been done.  Let me stop right here and ask that no one comment with, "Well, they could have done this..."  Jen was gone.  The warmth and color had already left her earthly form.  She was gone.  

I thought the rest of that drive home that night was the longest two and half hours of my life, but damn, was I wrong.  It may have been up to that point, but in the days since, time has simultaneously gone by at light speed and stopped at the same time.  It's the weirdest feeling.  I find myself thinking, "How can it have been two weeks already," and "Oh my God, it's only been two weeks."  We get up in the morning and plan out our day, but in the back of our minds our main thought is to just make it to bedtime so we can sleep and either dream of her and happier days, or be absent from consciousness for a few glorious hours so that we can get a little break.

This week we were talking to a friend of ours who lost a baby, and it hit me, "Thank God I'm already an old man.  Thank God I'm on the downhill side of life and only have a limited number of years to carry this."  The weight of losing a child early in life and having to deal with this pain, this emptiness, this broken promise of what could have been for 40, 50, 60 years is an unbearable load to carry. But, this is our new reality, like it is for so many other members of this gut wrenching club, and we will never be "us" again.  We will only be some form of "us" that exists after our own hearts stopped beating when theirs did.  That's what I don't think folk understand.  There is no going back to normal.  There will be smiles and laughs, and we may momentarily step outside of our grief, but there is now only before and after.  Nothing will ever be the same.  

Folks have been wonderful through this, though.  I mean, seriously, wonderful.  The crowd for her visitation was so big that the funeral director had to call in help.  Our baby packed the funeral chapel at 11:00 on a Wednesday morning.  Who even does that?  The calls, the visits, the food...we have no words to express our gratitude for the way we have been loved these last two weeks.  

Now, let's get into why I got up at 4:00 on a Sunday morning when I didn't have to be at church, fixed my coffee, and sat down at my laptop.  

The way we've been taught to handle grief is bullshit, and it doesn't matter which side of the pain you find yourself.  We tell folks, "You need to be strong for..."  I'll be damned.  No, you don't.  The most comfort I found at Jen's visitation was from folks who just held onto me, didn't say a word, and just let me melt.  Grown men, friends I've had for years and some I just met recently, hugging me, patting the back of my head, and just letting me cry.  "Being strong" be damned.  You don't have to be strong when part of your reason for existing in this world has been ripped from you. Let it out.  Let it all out.  Screw anyone who doesn't like it.  This isn't about them.  This is about you finding the strength to somehow take your next breath. By damn, you do whatever you need to do to keep existing, to make it one more hour, one more afternoon, one more day.  If you need to cry, cry.  If you need to scream, scream.  If you need to rage, rage.  And that brings me to the next point.  

Rage.  

Sweet Jesus.

I have raged twice in the last two weeks.  Steph and Hannah have not yet, and that does concern me a little because I know it's in there, and it will eventually find a way out.  You think you know anger by the time you hit my age, but this is different.  This is something you never knew even existed.  This is not anger like someone pulled out in front of you, you had to hit the brakes, and the deviled eggs hit the floorboard.  This is gut wrenching, primordial.  This rage comes from places within you that you weren't even aware of.  It's raw, and it's terrifying.  I didn't know that I could possibly ever get that angry, but there it was, and for a moment, I was powerless to stop it.  I thank God that no one was in front of me during those moments.  I seriously do.  For just a few minutes you are not yourself, and you don't even recognize who you've become.         

It consumes you, the rage does, but just momentarily.  I've never been demon possessed, if that's a thing, but this has to be close to what that's like.  It takes over your body and your mind.  It is screaming from every pore and trapped inside you at the same time. It is a flood of emotion, and I realized after it was over, that this rage, this experience I just had, was really love.  But not just love.  It was love, it was hope, it was disappointment, and it was anger for what was and what would never be now, all rolled up together.  Her wedding?  I'll never get to do Jen's wedding.  Grandkids?  She'll never walk in and tell us that she's pregnant.  Our old age?  She won't be there.  All of that has to come out.  Hell's bells, let it.  

I'd say go off by yourself and let the rage out, but that's not how it works.  It chooses the time and place, not us.  It decides when it appears; and the trigger... a phone call, a package, a TV show.  Who knows?  The bitch of it is, rage isn't going to tell you it's coming.  It just shows up, and there you are, trying to not throw something expensive, punch a hole in the wall, or hurt someone.  When it comes, your goal is to survive until it passes, and it will.  Just give it the few minutes it needs.  Let it take control for a bit.  It's terrifying, but it's a release that I'm convinced we need.  For me, I couldn't have stopped it if I wanted to.  But after, there was this calm.  I can't describe it.  All of that in me that needed to just scream finally got to do so, and then I could just breathe. 

I will say that there have been beautiful moments, too, though.  The pain is a constant presence.  The depression is real.  The sadness ebbs and flows.  But then, out of nowhere, you get a memory, and you smile, or God forbid, laugh.  It's the weirdest thing.  How can we possibly laugh after experiencing this kind of loss?  But there it is, and like the rage, you can't stop it.  I'm slowly learning to cherish those moments.  

You know, in nearly every funeral service I have officiated, that's one of the things I have always said, "Cherish those memories."  But it's different on this side of things.  All of those things I've told people in their grief; what was I even thinking?  Of course they're going to cherish the memories.  Dammit, James, you don't have to tell them that.  I get it now.  I thought I had all the right words to help a family walk through this experience.  Boy, was I wrong.  Dang near delusional, even.  There are no words.  There is nothing that makes this easier.  I've heard some stupid stuff said to grieving family members over the years, and I decided that I wanted to be proactive before we got to Jen's visitation.  I wasn't sure how I'd respond if something stupid was said.  

"God needed another angel."

"God needed another flower for his garden."

"God knows what he's doing."

"God was protecting her from something worse later."

"It's all part of God's perfect plan."

"God needed her more than we did."

"She's in a better place."

"Just hold onto your faith."

Bullshit..

A grieving mother doesn't need to hear that God knew what he was doing by taking her baby.  A grieving father doesn't need to hear that God planned for him to lose his daughter.  A grieving sister doesn't need to hear that her sister is in a better place.  Grieving grandparents or aunts and uncles, or cousins don't need to hear any of that, so don't say it.  I'm not asking politely.  I'm demanding that these things not be said to someone who is grieving a loss in their family.  For one thing, it's just ineffective.  The ministry of presence is so much more powerful than any cliche'.  For another thing, it's horrible theology.  I'm not going to get into that here, but human nature is to find someone to blame, and saying these types of things gets us into what we call theodicy, or justice of God.  This is not the time for that.  Hold them and let them cry.  You don't have to say anything.  

Everything we've ever been taught about how to walk with the grieving, at least in this part of the country, is just plain wrong.  It doesn't help.  Sometimes, it even adds to the pain.

What I didn't realize is just how exhausting this really is.  I am so tired.  All three of us are.  The visits are wonderful, for a while.  At some point you want everyone to leave.  But then you're terrified for them to leave because the house is so damned quiet now.  But you just want to stretch out and watch TV and not talk.  But you need to talk.  But you want to be alone.  But you don't want to be alone.  It's all just so screwed up.  You don't know what you want, or what you need.  In the first few days, it's absolutely overwhelming, but you know that in a couple weeks, the world will still be turning, folks go back to work, the texts, phone calls, and visits get fewer and farther between.  Then, there you are, just trying to get through one more day.  Y'all, this just sucks.  

So, here are a few observations from this side of grief.  

Don't try to find the right words.  There are none.  So many people said that to us and they were exactly right.  "I have no words."  And that's ok, just hug us for a minute.  

Visit us.  Please come by sometime.  Just shoot us a text and see if we're up for company.  Maybe we've had a good day and it's an absolute "Yes!"  Maybe it's been a rough day and we just can't do it right now.  A quick text will let you know how we're doing.  

Call us.  Ok, call Steph.  I don't love talking on the phone, but she does.  Text me, call her.  Ask us how today has been, but be ready for the honest answer.  I've learned that saying, "I'm ok," when someone asks how I'm doing is a lie.  Instead, I've started being honest.  "Honestly?  I'm not worth a damn today, but I'm making it best I can."  

This one is big, and it's already happened once.  Don't dodge us in the stores.  If you see us out, apparently we're having a decent day, so stop us and ask how we're doing.  Again, though, be ready for honesty.  We may need to talk and share some stories.  We may need a hug, and to get our coffee and bread, and get the hell out of the store.  It's a crap shoot, but please don't turn the other way if you see us out.  

Food.  Oh Lord, the food.  It has been a life saver, and we are so thankful for it.  One thing we've realized though, two people don't eat as much as three or four.  Smaller portions or frozen meals are absolutely perfect.  We are so thankful for everyone who has brought meals.  You have no idea how much it helps.  I love to cook.  My kitchen is my happy place.  Was my happy place.  I've cooked once since Jen passed, and I don't know that I'll ever cook another meal in my kitchen without stepping over her body lying in the floor.  Not having to these past two weeks has been so wonderful.  

Basically, just set aside any preconceived notion of what you think people need at a time like this and just ask them.  Our son in law, God love him, asked me what I needed the weekend Jen passed.  I said, "Son, I don't even know.  The yard needs to be mowed?"  He got my lawnmower out and mowed the yard.  He's such a good kid.  Sometimes we need things.  Sometimes we need you.  Sometimes we need space.  Sometimes we need conversation.  Sometimes we need silence.  We don't even know what we need from one minute to the next, so please don't be afraid to ask.  

Ok.  I've been sitting here for two hours now, and gone through one pot of coffee already, so I'm going to stop.  

One last thing.  Just love on us a little.  Regardless of what we may think we need at any given time, that is one thing we absolutely do need.  Just love on us a little.  Grief takes everything out of you, and sometimes a hug is all you need to start recharging your battery.  

Thank you all so much for the way you've carried us through these last two weeks.  We could not have made it this far without you.  We love you all so much.     

But... but...but... Revelation says...

 Sooooo.....

After something I saw this morning, and after a nice 5 mile hike today to think about what it was I saw this morning, I thought taking a few minutes to blog would be apropos.  If you are the inquisitive type hang out with me for a few minutes.  If you already have everything figured out, go see if you can find a re-run of Gilligan's Island.  Great show, by the way.  Love it.  

Two words I'd like to throw out in the way of introduction to some, and review to others:  Eisegesis and Exegesis.  "Woah, Jamie, those are some awful fancy words."  Not so much.  Just bear with me a second.  Both of them deal with biblical interpretation, but one is more important to deep biblical study than the other.  

If your pastor isn't spending several, and I mean several hours each week doing exegesis in his/her sermon prep, he/she is doing you a disservice.  Exegesis defined is thus; "Critical explanation of interpretation of a text, especially of scripture."  Exegesis helps to answer some very important questions of the text.  Who was it written to?  When was it written?  Where was it written?  Why was it written?  What was the writer's agenda?  What was going on in the world at the time it was written?  

We need to know the answers to those questions in order to do a critical deep dive into the text.  Without taking the time to properly exegete a text, we wind up reading our own biases and opinions into the text, which brings us to the other word; eisegesis.  Eisegesis is exactly that.  Per the definition, it's a subjective process of reading our own biases, personal opinions, or preconceived notions into a text, rather than deriving meaning out of the text.  

Eisegesis, for example, is reading the book of Revelation and interpreting it ONLY as a futuristic, apocalyptic text because that is how we, in this part of the country, were taught to read it.  Exegesis, on the other hand, is reading the book of Revelation and asking quesitons like the ones I mentioned just a minute ago.  When was Revelation written?  Who wrote it?  Where was it written?  If John actually wrote it, what were his intentions in writing it?  See the difference?  

And that brings me to the real reason I wanted to sit down a write for a bit; interpreting the Book of Revelation.  And it is just Revelation, singular.  Not Revelations, plural.  That's just a pet peeve of mine.  Like Psalms is Psalms if you're talking about the whole book, but only Psalm if you're talking about one.  I digress.  Anyhoo... back to Revelation.  

It blows my mind, that in practically every church I've ever served, when I have mentioned a small group study, most folks want to study Revelation.  Actually, it doesn't blow my mind.  I get it, and I think the reason is that it has been so poorly interpreted throughout the last couple hundred years, or not really even interpreted at all.  So, let's take a few minutes for a crash course on interpreting the Book of Revelation.  

I will start by saying that I am no biblical scholar.  Not by a long shot.  In fact, systematic theology bores me to tears.  I'm a practical theologian.  Show me what Jesus says we need to do to make this spinning orb we all inhabit just a little closer to the kingdom of God on earth.  I'm all about that.  But folks want to jump into Revelation, so let's.  Shall we?  

There are four major accepted schools of thought for interpreting Revelation.  Here they are in list form, then we'll take just a minute and break each one down; Preterist, Futurist, Historicist, and Idealist.

In the Preterist interpretation, the events described in the Book of Revelation have already happened.  It's a commentary on life in the first century church under the persecutions of emperor Nero.  One of his nicknames was actually, "the beast."  Sound familiar?  For folks who read Revelation through a Preterist interpretation, all the prophecies in it were fulfilled in the first century, therefore, it holds no fear for us today.  I am of this school of thought.  

In the Futurist interpretation, the prophecies in Revelation are yet to happen.  Now, let me pause here and say a word about where this comes from .  The rapture, the tribulation are fairly new constructs.  In the middle of the 19th century, a fellow by the name of John Nelson Darby came up with the idea of dispensations.  I'm not going to take the time to get into all of that, you can do a deep dive on your own about him.  It's quite the interesting rabbit hole.  But, it was because of John Darby, and later, the Schofield Bible, that we even have the idea of Revelation as some terrifying, future event.  So, that interpretation of this most ominous book of scripture is less than 200 years old.  This means, that for 1800 years, give or take, Revelation may not have been read that way.  

In the Historicist interpretation,  the symbolism in Revelation has played out over and over throughout history.  One antichrist?  No, there may have been several.  One persecution?  Nah, could be several.  The actual definition that I found is this; it interprets the symbols in Revelation as a timeline of church history from the apostolic age to the end of the world, often identifying events like the rise of the Papacy or the Reformation.  If you get bored, jump down that rabbit hole sometime.  

Then finally, the Idealist interpretation.  This one could be the most vague, but also the most comforting.  It's all symbolic.  There is no literal interpretation of events.  There's no timeline.  There's no Hal Lindsey, no John Hagee, no LaHaye/Jenkins.  None of those guys.  According the definition, it's just a "symbolic representation of the ongoing, timeless battle between God and evil, good and wickedness."  I could also get behind this one, but then again, I read very little of scripture literally.  

Now, why is all of this important?   (The following may contain a little language, but we're all adults here)

Because today, I saw that our government has declared that this past weekend's bombing of Iran was commanded by God to put into motion the events leading to Armageddon.  Armageddon being the final end all/be all battle between good and evil as outlined in Darby's interpretation of Revelation.  I kid you not.  They actually said that.  What the hell were they thinking?  

Here is where that becomes problematic.  

One, let's begin with Matthew 24:36, which says, and I quote, "But about that day or hour NO ONE KNOWS, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father."  I'm quite certain that information wasn't leaked via signal chat to our head of the "department of war."

Two, this is Israel's war, not ours, and certainly not the church's.  I fully support and love my Jewish brothers and sisters, BUT the nation of Israel, formed in 1948, IS NOT the biblical nation of Israel.  Pretty much the entirety of the Old Testament tells us about how, time after time, the Biblical nation of Israel turned away from God, and God did this or that to bring them back.  The major prophets, the minor prophets, it's all there.  Nowhere does scripture command us to support the current nation of Israel as has been alluded to by the things we've heard from government heads in the last 24 hours.  

Third, the entire premise that God has commanded this invasion of Iran to set into motion events leading to the final battle between good and evil is based on biblical interpretation that, if it were human, is in elementary school.  Less than 200 years old, out of 2000.

But, this coming Sunday, in pulpits all across America, men and women will stand in front of their people and vomit back up the words we heard this morning from the secretary of "their wars," in total disregard to solid, scholarly, exegetical work of the text.  This should not be so, and at best, it's horrible interpretational work, and at worst, it poisons the minds of those who hear it.  

The God I serve is all about liberation, but I can't imagine that being at the cost of hundreds, thousands of innocent lives.  If war is your only option, you're not a very good negotiator,  Full stop.  

If this country wants to go to war, fine.  I don't support it.  I will speak against it.  But at the end of the day my vote is only one among millions.  

But I will be damned if I sit silently by and watch them blame their war on the God I have given my life to serving.  This week, God's heart is breaking right along with yours.  

So, if you want to support this war, go ahead.  I'm not going to try to stop you.  If you want to post the memes, the flags (and remember that John Prine said your flag decal won't get you into heaven anymore) go ahead.  If you want to share the videos, and applaud the bombings, knock yourself out.  Don't expect me to agree.  Don't expect me to be silent.  And by damn, don't you dare bring the God I serve into your war.  Own it yourself.  

  

 THE ROAD TO ROME: A THEOLOGICAL REFLECTION

I'm going to say up front that this is a long one.  Grab a cup of coffee, get comfortable, and hang out with me for a little bit.

For 26 years I've been a theologian, actually a practical theologian.  Systematic theology exhausts me.  I focus on the gospel stories instead of arguing semantics over Paul's eschatology, or what he thinks about the end times.  Personally, I think the Church in America puts entirely too much emphasis on Paul and not enough on the teachings of Jesus; i.e. feed the hungry, welcome the stranger, proclaim release to the captives, heal the sick, those kinds of things.  

Having said that, though, I've noticed lately how some folks focus on one particular thing to the exclusion of many of the things Jesus actually taught about.  It's no secret that we are a divided nation, and unfortunately, also a divided Church.  One of the things that divides us as the Church is human sexuality.  

Now, before you stop reading, I'm not going to get into that whole discussion, because it's exhausting, but what hit me this morning was the one chapter in our Holy Writ that folks love to use when they are discussing it; Romans 1.  It starts out innocently enough.  

"Paul, a servant of Christ Jesus, called to be an apostle, set apart for the gospel of God, which he promised beforehand through his prophets in the holy scriptures, the gospel concerning his Son, who was descended from David according to the flesh and was declared to be Son of God with power according to the spirit of holiness by resurrection from the dead, Jesus Christ our Lord, through who we have received grace and apostleship to bring about the obedience of faith among all Gentiles for the sake of his name, including you who are called to belong to Jesus Christ."

Dang, though.  Paul wears me out.  That's all one long sentence.  Take a breath every now and then, brother.  But, then we start getting into the good stuff.  He goes on, "For I am not ashamed of the gospel; it is God's saving power for everyone who believes, for the Jew first and also for the Greek.   For in it the righteousness of God is revealed through faith for faith, as it is written, 'The one who is righteous will live by faith.'"  It's the next section, though, that hit me this morning.  Verse 18 is where it starts.  

"For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and injustice of those who by their injustice suppress the truth.  For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has made it plain to them.  Ever since the creation of the world God's eternal power and divine nature, invisible though they are, have been seen and understood through the things God has made.  So they are without excuse, for though they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their senseless hearts were darkened.  Claiming to be wise, they became fools, and they exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling a mortal human or birds or four footed animals."  Ok, let's stop right there for a second.  

Now.  in that section, Paul has laid out the sins of the Church.  We may not think that to be the case, and may choose to believe that the sins in Romans 1 are actually in the next section, but they're not.  It's right there.  Without excuse.  Knew God but did not honor God.  Futile thinking.  Darkened hearts.  Exchanged the glory of the immortal God for other images.  The sin in Romans 1 is idolatry.  The next section, the one folks love to quote, lays out the results of that sin.  

"Therefore..."  One word that speaks volumes.  "Therefore God gave them over..."  

Not to be cliche'd, but any time you see a word like "Therefore," in scriptures, you have to stop and look at what it's there for.  

For years, the church has argued sexuality and became divided over it, while the world burns down around us, totally ignoring (in some cases) the commands from Jesus to love God with all we are and to love our neighbors as ourselves; to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, give drink to the thirsty; to fight the oppressor, to stand up for the vulnerable; to flip over some danged tables.  We have allowed our stand on sexuality, or our politics, or our favorite candidate or politician, to become our god, and that's putting us in a dang tight spot.  We are in dangerous times, my friends.  If you don't believe me, let's keep reading. 

Verse 28, "And since they did not see fit to acknowledge God, God gave them over to an unfit mind and to do things that should not be done.  They were filled with every kind of injustice, evil, covetousness, malice.  Full of envy, murder, strife, deceit, craftiness, they are gossips, slanderers, God-haters, insolent, haughty, boastful, inventors of evil, rebellious toward parents, foolish, faithless, heartless, ruthless.  They know God's decree, that those who practice such things deserve to die, yet they not only do them but even applaud others who practice them." 

Paul is about to make me cuss.  Dang.  That's rough, but does it sound at all familiar? 

Our Constitution is clear that we are not a Christian nation, although a great number of our population say we are.  The problem is, we have become a Romans 1:28-32 kind of Christian nation, a "therefore" kind of Christian nation.  

Listen, I'm not here to cast stones, Lord knows I have to drop mine.  All I'm saying is that we are headed down a very dangerous road.  I don't know at what point it will be too late for us as a nation and as a Church to turn back, but my guess is that we're getting close.  

So, as a theologian, I'm thinking it's time to sound the alarm, to be a prophetic voice, calling the Church back to her one true love.  It's time to take a stand, and I don't care if you're red, blue, or neither, if we claim Christ as our captain, it's time to fall in rank.  

But... we do not grieve as those without hope.  We have read the end of the book and we know how the story ends.  It's the right now that worries me.  How will the Church behave in the right now?  How will we stand up to the systems that are literally taking food off people's tables next week?  How will we defend the vulnerable and/or fight for the oppressed?  Will we say, "As the nation goes, so goes the Church?"  Or will we say, "As the Church goes, so goes the nation?"

It's time.  May the "therefore" in the next chapter of the Church's story in America lead to repentance and be the answer to our own prayer, "Thy kingdom come on earth, as it is in heaven."

Still, I hope...

 Have you ever had one of those days when you woke up and thought, "Nope.  I just cannot do it today.  There is nothing left."?  (I'm not sure how to punctuate all that)

That was me this morning.  For the last three months, it has been one gut punch after another.  Nothing huge.  More like a water boarding session, where you're strapped down and that one stupid little drop of water keeps hitting your forehead.  Drip... drip... drip...  You can't move.  You can't stop it.  You can't do anything but lay there.  I can handle the big things in life.  It's the little, minor inconveniences and frustrations that send me over the edge.  

I needed to work.  I needed to go look at a couple jobs.  I needed to do some things on the house we have on the market. (Don't get me started on that one.  See minor inconveniences and frustrations reference above.  Ok, it's not all been minor, but still.) I needed to do all those things, but I just didn't have it in me anymore.  This week, I am at my limit.  My breaking point.  One more text or phone call that is less than stellar and I may just disappear into the woods.

Which is exactly what I did.  

Hiking is my escape, my sanctuary.  It's one of the few places in my life where I can get away from the noise and stress.  It's also where I find hope, and I'll get to that in a minute.  I hiked last Wednesday, and it was wonderful.  Somewhere between 6-7 miles over right at 4 hours, but it's never enough. Today, I didn't know where I was going to go, but I knew I was going somewhere, so I tossed some snacks in my day pack, filled up my water bottles, grabbed my socks, (My hikers stay in the car) and took off to Land Between the Lakes.  

I didn't actually hit a hiking trail, like I usually do.  I've hiked almost every trail in LBL.  Instead, I walked Jones creek for a while, came back to the car, drove down the road a piece, and walked an old abandoned and gated road.  I knew the odds of running into any other humans back there was next to zero and that was exactly what I needed.  I needed some fresh air, some quiet.  I needed to hear the wind in the trees and listen to the birds and squirrels.  I needed to just be alone.  

Funny thing is, even when I am, I'm not.  My thoughts never go completely quiet, and I'm never really alone.  Pink Floyd was playing the soundtrack in my head, "I wish you were here," "Dark side of the moon," songs like that.  Other worldly.  Ethereal.  Music like that can transport me to another place and time.  Unlike some songs that make me want to drive fast, this made me want to slow down, and I just walked.  I'd never been back there before, which is odd, since I feel like I've hiked pretty much every trail in LBL.  This one road, though, I hadn't.  There's an abandoned campground at the end of it, Cedar Bluff campground, and I spent some time wandering around it, as well.  It was a beautiful walk.  I can't really call it a hike because the road was paved all the way back, covered in leaves at times, but still paved.  

And here is where the hope comes in.  Don't laugh.  I hike for the fresh air, yes.  And for the solitude, exercise, quiet, and the sounds of the forest.  But I'm also looking as I go.  

See, here's the thing.  With the world, and our country in the shape they're in right now, we all need something to hope for, to look for.  We all need something to believe in, something bigger than we are.  Maybe even something as yet undiscovered.  Don't laugh.  You have to promise.

For me, that's Sasquatch.  You promised you wouldn't laugh!  I know, I know.  "But Jamie, be serious.  You cannot believe that's real."  Oh yes I can, and I do.  At least I hope it is.  How cool would it be to find out eventually that there is a species in our world that has existed just outside the range of discovery?  Just living its life, totally unconcerned about the news, or social media?  Just being... unstressed, unbothered?  And that at a time in our history on this planet when we think we have all the answers and have it all figured out, there is this entity just hanging around in the background, saying, "Nah.  You don't."  I have to admit, I'm kind of jealous.  I think that's why I love to hike so much.  

I'm always looking as I go, watching the ground, looking up into the trees, checking each shadow, listening to every sound, hoping that there is a creature out that who has actually figured out what living is all about.   Just be.  Let the world do what the world is going to do, come with me, and just be.  Damn, that sounds heavenly.  

I guess, maybe, I could say I'm living vicariously through a mythical creature, but still I hope that one of these days, I'll round a curve in the trail, and there he'll be.  Tall, stinky, unkempt, and not really caring about anything other than finding something to eat and a place to take a nap.  Doesn't that sound nice?  

I mean, since the Fall, humankind has had to work to eke out a living in this ol' world, but what if?  We bust our tails for 40-50 years at work, finally get to an age where the government says we can stop working (even though they're trying to raise that age again,) but by then we're too dang tired to enjoy anything.  Meanwhile, this mythical creature has spent the same number of years tromping through the woods, snacking on mushrooms and berries, and just not caring about governments, or pensions, or Fridays.  It gives me hope that maybe I can figure out how to do that, too.  

Yeah, I have the "Believe" stickers on the back of my car.  I've experienced things in the woods that I can't explain.  I've heard sounds that I've never heard before, and I've found bare footprints 6" longer than my boot, but I've never seen one.  I may not.  They may not exist.  But what if?  

See?  It's not just about Sasquatch, Bigfoot, Yeti, whatever you want to call it.  It's about anything that we don't understand but hope for anyhow.  Waking up not stressed in the morning.  I hope for that one of these days.  Going to bed and not hurting all over.  I hope for that.  Seeing folks start being nice to each other again (Actually, it's easier to believe in Bigfoot than to believe that will ever happen.). All those things I may never see, but I still hope for them.  

So, I hike... and look... and listen... and hope.  

Last weekend, we were anchored out on the boat, and just as the moon came up over the trees, we began to hear these long, low howls in the distance.  Maybe a mile away.  My first thought was there were Bigfoot hunters afoot, making calls.  Then we heard a second one, about a half mile away from the first one.  And these creatures, whatever they were, one would howl and then the other would answer.  For 20 minutes we listened to this in the dark.  It was pretty cool.  What was it?  I don't know.  I know what I hope it was.  I know what it wasn't.  It wasn't a coyote, or an owl, or a wolf.  It wasn't a bear, or an elk, or bison.  It wasn't a big cat.  I can tell you what it wasn't, but I can't tell you what it was.  I will say that I know what I hope it was, because, if it was, then my hope for all things is bolstered.  

Laugh at me, if you want.  I don't care.  Then go hiking with me.  You'll see.    

THE MILE THAT IS GREEN

 I got rained out at work today, so I went to the hot tub for a few minutes to soak my old joints before getting the day started.  I was sitting there, sipping coffee, and scrolling social media when I saw a friend's post, and it made me think about something.  

If I could pick only one character from a movie with which to relate, who would it be?

So, I started going through the list.  I'm not a huge movie buff anyhow, it's just too much of a time commitment, but there are some that I love.  Sometimes, I can relate to Clark W. Griswold, Jr, but that's not what hit me, even as much as I love Christmas Vacation.  

I'm a huge fan of Middle Earth, and I've seen all the cuts of all the movies, but it wasn't the elves, dwarves, hobbits, Gandalf, or even Aragorn.  

I waited with bated breath for each of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies to come out, but it wasn't any of those characters, either.  I even have a Jolly Roger tattooed on my foot.  That hurt, but I had to have it.  

It's a character from a movie that I could only bear to watch one time, but once was enough to leave a lasting impression on me.  John Coffey, from the Green Mile.  It's a beautifully tragic movie, and the casting was about as close to perfect as one could get.  I don't remember a lot about it, again, because I could only watch it once, but there is one scene that I will never forget.  I don't remember if Tom Hank's character, Paul Edging, was the prison warden or not, I think he was, but he walked those last steps with several inmates, and in this scene there was a moment that was almost holy.   

The lights are low, the music is somber, and it's such a tender moment between two characters who have been brought together by fate and a crooked legal system.  You can see the feelings in Paul Edging's face and see the tears streaming from John Coffey's eyes.  It's so beautiful, yet so heart breaking.  John knew his time was coming to an end, and even though he was wrongly convicted, he was ready.  Then he says it...

"I want it to be over and done with.  I do.  I'm tired, boss.  Tired of being on the road, lonely as a sparrow in the rain.  I'm tired of never having me a buddy to be with, to tell me where we're going to, coming from, or why.  Mostly, I'm tired of people being ugly to each other.  I'm tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world, every day.  There's too much of it.  It's like pieces of glass in my head, all the time.  Can you understand?"

Tom Hanks looks at him with pain and understanding on his face, and says, "Yes, John, I think I can."

I've blogged about this before, years ago, but it just keeps coming back, and the fact that it came to me today is not surprising in the least.  With our current reality, trying to lead the Church as one news story after another unfolds, I'm tired, too, John.  

I feel you.  I understand.   I hear you.  And I can relate.  I can't empathize because I've never been in that situation, but I can sympathize, and I do.  

The calling to pastoral ministry, ministry of Word, table, and order, is a life long dance on a knife's edge.  We have to be in the world but not of the world.  We have to pay attention to what's going on around us, keep ears open to the leading of the Spirit, and push back against social injustice and corrupt systems without running folks off.  For 20 years of my career I heard so much about numbers.  We had to track and report attendance, baptisms, professions of faith, and weekly at times.  But I don't remember ever being asked to track the times we stood against evil.  

If I push too hard for the kingdom of God on earth, I run the risk of alienating church members.  If we're complacent about things that matter, we're not doing our job.  If I preach a vengeful God, waiting with God's finger hovering over some cosmic smite button, I can fill up the building on Sunday morning.  But if I preach too much about a loving, inclusive, forgiving God, a God who wants hungry people fed, sick people healed, lonely people loved, and excluded people included, I'm getting too political.  I'm tired.  

It's like glass in my head, all the time.  Can you understand?

Now, I know some folks are going to read this and say, "There he goes again, whining about everything."  Except, I'm not.  It's my reality.  It's my calling.  It's the work I've given my life to, moved my family for, put my kids in different schools for, sacrificed holiday meals and vacations for.  And, I don't mind that part.  I knew it was going to be like that going in.  

What I didn't expect, though, is so many of the actual teachings of Jesus seemingly falling on deaf ears, even among those who are part of the Church.  That, I didn't expect.  

I thought, naively, that as a pastor, I'd point out some injustice in the world, or the country, especially now, and say, "Here's what Jesus had to say about things like that," and everybody would be, "Yes, John, I think I can understand."  But that's just not the case so often.  Instead, I get called a libtard, and a host of other names, but I'm not going to name the ones who have said that to, or about me.  I find myself actually having to double down and say, "But these are letters in red!  They are words out of Jesus' mouth!"  I just don't get it, and I'm exhausted.  

I could actually understand if I were quoting Paul, or James, or John, or Peter, any of the authors of the epistles, because those are hard to understand on a good day.  But, letters in red, the Beatitudes, John 13:31-35, those kinds of things... I never expected to have to defend those.  Giving up is not an option, neither is leaving the ministry.  I've tried, twice, and it called me back both times.  

I think that what I need now, if I'm being open and transparent, is for someone to say, "I think I can understand."  What I get instead, are folks I know and love, cheering for and celebrating the cruelty that we are watching unfold.  They post comments or send me texts defending it, and saying things like, "I hope you can see the truth," or "Just give it time," or "Maybe if you'd think more about it you can see it's a good thing."  NO!  IT'S NOT!

I have thought about giving up, not in the sense that John Coffey was ready to, but I've thought about just not...  not saying anything about it anymore, and hope there is something left when the ashes settle.  I've thought about distancing myself from people who support the cruelty, mass deportations, cuts to aid, and things like that, and to a degree, I have.  I've withdrawn, and I admit that.  I don't text as much as I used to.  I don't respond as much as I used to.  It's safer that way.  

But, I wasn't called to be safe.  I was called to take a stand, and take a stand I will.  

I want to go back and watch the Green Mile again, and I think I have a copy on DVD somewhere, but for now, I think I'm just going to hold space for that one scene.  While I'm doing that, I want to keep the Beatitudes close...

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted.  Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.  Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.  Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.  Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.  Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.  Blessed are they who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

And, as I write this week for Sunday morning, I can't promise this scene from the Green Mile won't make it into the message, because our text for Sunday is really a pretty simple one, and I'm tired.  There aren't many that are cut and dried, black and white, but this one kind of is, John 13:31-35...

Let me give you a new command: Love one another.  In the same way I loved you, you love one another.  This is how everyone will recognize that you are my disciples - when they see the love you have for each other.  

HEAD IN THE SAND

 I started this blog in 2010, and dang, does that seem a lifetime ago.  I think it was actually a Lenten spiritual practice that led me to begin writing as a form of spiritual meditation.  Most of what I write about does indeed have a theological bent to it, and for that, I don't apologize.  I view everything through the lens of theology, and that has caused me, at times, no small amount of heartache.  

I'm also an empath, but a classic Type A personality which is an odd combination to me.  I love the arts, but there is a certain satisfaction in sitting down to get our taxes ready for the CPA; organized, orderly, numbers all in a row.  My wife teaches Special Education and has told me, more than once, that if I were in school today I would be in her class.  Not because I'm not intelligent, but because she says I'm classic ADD and borderline ADHD.   Sometimes, I'm not completely sure that I don't have a few autistic tendencies, because I get overstimulated in crowded spaces, I hyper focus on some things and totally ignore others, I'm compulsive, and anxious, sometimes to my detriment.  

I've said that to say this, my mental health has always been something I've been aware of.  Some days, it's better than others.  Recently, not so much, and our current political climate is not helping.  My anxiety is through the roof and I feel helpless to bring it back under control.  I had one friend tell me, "Jamie, I'm worried about your mental health."  To which I replied, "Dude, so am I."  I had another friend tell me, "You just need to stop watching the news.   It's not healthy."  I agree that it's not.  I had another acquaintance tell me, "You've let your hatred for this man totally consume you."  I simply said, "I don't hate him,  I hate his actions."  

In 1998, I felt called into pastoral ministry, and that's when the wrestling match began.  Before 1998, I want to think that I was aware of the struggles of others, but I can't promise that.  I've never been intentionally mean to someone else, except this one time in middle school, and then this other time over a girl, also in middle school.  As an adult, and especially as a pastor, I've paid more attention to how my actions affected others, and the reality that their experiences have possibly not been the same as mine.  

You've heard it said "We're all on the same ship," followed by "No, we're not.  We're in the same storm, but you're on a cruise ship and I'm in a canoe."  I think there's a lot of truth in that.  Privilege is real.  I've never really noticed that until lately.  

Here's the thing, though.  I could stop watching the news, and I could stop scrolling social media.  I could turn off the reels, set down my phone, and pick up the third book in the Game of Thrones series that I was reading last winter.  I could do that.  I could tell the friends in my group chats, "Look, y'all, please stop sending updates in the group chat.  I'm trying to stop paying attention."  That wouldn't help.  It wouldn't solve any problems.  I don't even think it would help my anxiety.  

Yes, we are resurrection people.  I know this.  That is our hope as people of faith.  "Well, Jamie, if your faith is strong enough, it shouldn't matter."  It does matter.  A lot.  I quoted one of my seminary professors yesterday in the pulpit, "You do not have to fear those whose only power over you is death.  The absolute worst thing they can do to you is kill you."  I get that, and I have allowed that to guide me in my faith for the last 15 years.  But, still...

Sometimes I wish I had never answered the call to pastoral ministry.  I think life would have been so much easier.  I think had that been the case, I might just not care.  Immigrants getting deported?  So what? They shouldn't have come here in the first place.  Immigrant kids separated from their parents?  I don't care.  Their parents put them at risk by coming here illegally.  Drug overdoses?  So?  They shouldn't be doing drugs.  Cuts to programs that benefit the poorest among us?  That doesn't affect me any.  I work hard for what I have.  They can, too.  Trade wars?  So what?  Buy American.  We've alienated all of our allies?  That's no big deal.  We're the greatest country in the world.  

None of that, however, not one single thing, even gives a nod to the kingdom of heaven, and certainly not to the kingdom of heaven on earth.  "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be your name.  Your kingdom come, your will be done, ON EARTH as it is in heaven."  Almost every congregation I have ever served has prayed that prayer, as a body, every single week, but just look at where we are now.

Few things in this old life are certain; death and taxes being two of them.  I would also add this, it is certain that our faith will direct our politics, or our politics will direct our faith.  At the very least, our faith SHOULD direct our politics.  I will never, and I'll repeat that, never bring bipartisan politics into the pulpit.  Any pastor who does, and any church who allows it should lose their 501c3 standing.  That is not the place.  I will, however, continue to proclaim the teachings and examples of Christ, and if that seems political, it's because it very much is.  Another professor told us that all religion is political.  We are called to take a stand against oppressive systems and governments on behalf of those who have no power to stand for themselves.  We are called to speak out against injustices and resist evil in whatever form it presents itself.  Those, I will continue to do, even though it may carry some yet unknown cost.  

So, for those who wish I weren't so outspoken, allow me just a second for rebuttal.  

I wish I didn't have to be.  

I wish we lived in a world where we take seriously the teachings of Christ, and it shows.  I wish we lived in a country, that even though we aren't, acts like a Christian nation.  I wish the stranger was welcomed, the hungry were fed, the prisoners were visited, the thirsty were given drink, and the sick were healed.  But, we don't.  I'm not sure we ever have, or ever will.  That does not give me, or you, permission to stick our heads in the sand and pretend that what's happening around us, isn't.  It is.  And Jesus weeps.  

Jesus was a revolutionary and a radical, but it got him killed.  And therein lies the rub.  

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.