If that’s a mile too far, I’d ask whether you’re a fan of Jesus or a follower. If these temporary restrictions are unbearable, I’d ask whether your greater identity is anchored in the Bill of Rights or the Gospel. If church for you is just sitting in rows on a Sunday or chatting with friends in its foyer, I’d invite you to imagine that church can be more. Much more. And it’s only two miles from where you’re standing right now.
I still believe that Jesus and his church are the hope of the world—not just my country, all nations. I’m not going to abandon my pursuit of the Way, the Truth, and the Life. I’m not going to quit trying to be more like him and to exemplify more each day the fruit of his spirit. I’m just not keen to identify myself as a Christian, because that word apparently now means a lot of things opposite to what it originally did.
I helped my brother celebrate his 30th birthday in Telluride and Ouray, Colorado—traversing via ferrata amidst fantastic autumn beauty.
We all want to be seen on our level. We all want the big people in our world to smile at us, to lower their faces to ours, to affirm our efforts. We want those further along in life to talk with us as equals. We want those who seem all done—all grown up—to treat us like we are, too. This undercurrent keeps social media afloat. These desires lead to car payments and mortgages beyond prudence. These insecurities can push us to constructive self-improvement or inauthentic personas, hard work or cheating, striving or faking.
To celebrate my good friend’s fortieth birthday, we headed west. We aren’t young men anymore, but we pretended we were for two adventure-driven days along the Washington-Idaho border.
I’m still proud of my country. I still hate that thousands of innocent and heroic people died that day. I’m still amazed at the incredible character and sacrifice of those who ran toward danger rather than away—both at the sites of the attacks and later on foreign soil. I still understand why our elected officials made the decisions they did after the coordinated foreign attacks. But I don’t want to remember the same things my Facebook connections do about September 11. Even more, I wish the world had heard something very different from America than they have over the past 19 years.
An Old Testament prophet claimed that God wants to remove our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh. He wants to make us more human, more in touch with how love and grace feel both to give and receive. He is revealing that intent and process at my counselor’s office. He is using hours in my sister’s passenger seat and at cafe tables to show me his heart—the prototype. He’s proving his adjacency on dusty trails, in cold streams, and in precipices overlooking summer lightning storms. And even in a tall station wagon parked next to mine outside a nondescript office building.
I play a lot disc golf with my friend, Nate. Nate’s a decade younger with daughters who are now 30 months and 14 months old. Over the past few years, Nora and Mabel have accompanied a large percentage of our … Continued
Before meeting Todd, I’d never been in a service where the person leading music checked out of their “duty” and just prayed on their knees until the instruments stopped. I’d never seen someone walk off the stage to comfort someone during a song. I’d never seen someone put down their mic and their ego and then shout praise or whisper prayers while everyone else kept singing. Years after these firsts, Todd lost his voice and still led our church services—just with his mic muted during the music. In every other church I’ve attended, I’d never seen anything like that. That role went to the person with the best voice, the most musical experience, or someone with the pedigree of specific liturgical castes.
What do you get when you mix together rocky trails, dirt roads, canyon detours, and no cell signal? Throw in five of your church friends and a Turo minivan rental, and you get a 1,200+ mile expedition in the Colorado Rockies. … Continued
When my heart wants to stand and demand others to conform to my wishes and my worldview, I need to get low. To listen. To ask questions. To read or watch or listen to voices different than my own. I need to hold my hands open and relinquish my ego. I need to recognize the trauma or influences that have shaped others, and I need to admit I’m a product of the same.
Kauai’s infamous trek draws adventurers from around the globe. (We met hikers from Canada, Germany, Ireland, Japan, and Russia in just a couple days.) We did it the hard way—and all proud of that. On our last day on the … Continued
In the meantime, we can dream. We can hope. We can hear the news and pray for those affected. We can ask for the Source of empathy to wrap his arms around the hurting. We can give to charities on the ground of each conflict or disaster. We can leverage the privilege of our safety to wish it for someone else.
But I’m burying the lead. Let’s not gloss over an important part of this rule: it was transcribed in the Bible. Not a fan fiction version of the Bible. The real-deal holy book. I’ve attended more than 5,000 church, chapel, and Bible class sessions and have never heard this addressed once by the person at the front of the room. Religion seems to focus on the more Flannelgraphable passages of the Bible.
If you’re looking for a theme to connect a lot of these titles, it would be self discovery. Many of these books describe personal journeys that led the authors to a better grasp of who they are and/or who God is, and how all of that intersects with cultural realities. That’s been indicative of my year, too.
Colin McRae (the youngest to win the World Rally Championship Drivers’ title) said, “Straight roads are for fast cars. Turns are for fast drivers.” For one gloriously-rainy Saturday in Snoqualmie, Washington, I got a chance to be humbled in the dirt, mud, and gravel of some slippery turns.
I walk in this darkness with “a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.” I have access to the source of all light, the genesis of all triumph, the fountain of all good things. His rivers flow in the dark. His waterfalls pound boulders whether tourists watch or not. His tides rise and fall without intervention. His purview surpasses my imagination.
Thankfully, all of us also hold enough of the antidote to heal both ourselves and the people in our lives. We can neuter the algorithm by not running it on our hard drives. We can ask questions instead of making assumptions. We can trade arrogance out for humility. We can make room for options like both and neither and somewhere-in-between. We can walk right up to nuance instead of staring at it through rifle scopes.
I was groomed to be a misogynist. Through private school, summer camps, college, and four church services per week for 15 years, I sat under more than 4,000 sermons and Bible lessons from leaders of the Independent Baptist Fundamentalist movement. … Continued
I’m glad I had these guys around me as I learned how to fly fish. They showed me a lot of patience. They answered a preschooler’s worth of “Why is that?” and “What does [that term] mean?” questions. They treated me as an equal and welcomed me with open arms into the fly fishing brotherhood.
One of my New Years Resolutions for 2019 was to learn how to wing walk. My favorite podcasters told the world that was a bit of a flex. Maybe it was. But I did it, and I’m more alive now than ever.
I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse, but I’ve been given faces for the anonymous stories of sexual assault, abuse, and harassment I’ve read online. One by one over the past few years, I’ve learned that people I love, wives of my friends, and women who worship at my church share those stories.
I got to introduce my wife to the Norway I love and complete the set: exploring in both the Arctic and Antarctic circles. We came during the midnight sun, whose light never left during our four nights in Northern Norway—north of Alaska.
Growing in our faith is a symbiotic process, an experiential education. We all mature when we lean authentically on each other and lean together into both the truth and the mystery of Scripture. When we do all of that, we create a community that people from all walks of life will crave and something no app could ever duplicate.
I’m thankful Patrick didn’t let that buzz get drowned out by commotion or by fatal news. I’m inspired by his hope and challenged by his example. For years to come, there will be a buzz in my ears, a vibration in my chest. When I’m tempted to let circumstances shroud my faith, I’ll remember Patrick. When I want to wallow in pity, I’ll think about his unselfishness. When life is hard, when it’s a battle, I’ll remind myself of the warrior we celebrate today.