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.