Punitive Justice: From Butt Cheeks to Barracks to Prison Yards

Joel and I will be recording an episode in the next few days on the American penal system. One of the intriguing and possible through lines is how corporal punishment (hereafter referred to less politically correct as “spanking”) might derive from and feed into a system of retribution. You do something wrong; you must pay the price/face the punishment.

Spanking kids may be a time-honored tradition. It may provide short-term, positive results. But is it the best way to treat children? Is it moral? Does it actually produce the kinds of behavior in the short and long term that we want? For more on the topic of whether or not to spank, I refer you to a great website with tons of helpful, educational resources. It’s Home - End Corporal Punishment of Children.

The desire to punish a wrongdoer, particularly one who has wronged us or our loved ones, is human. It is visceral. The question Joel and I want to pursue in this episode will be: how do we get the results that we want when dealing with the harm that is done from crime? If spanking a child produces short-term compliance but long-term anger and physiological pathologies, is it worth it? Similarly, if we punish severely those who have committed crimes, will we get to the result we want?

James Conway, retired superintendent of Attica Correctional Facility in New York, visited Norway’s seemingly luxurious Halden Prison in 2014. I watched a YouTube clip of parts of his tour. The look on his face was not one of amusement. He described what he saw during the tour as “prison utopia.” “I don’t think you can go any more liberal—other than giving inmates the keys,” said Conway.

Well, Mr. Conway, how do you feel about the quite liberal recidivism rates in the US: about two-thirds of released inmates get rearrested? In Norway, it’s at 20%. Wow, American prisons are doing a bang-up job of preparing inmates for their return to society.

We have two options. Number one: when someone commits a crime, we can imprison them for life, or we can off them. This is irrespective of what crime they’ve committed. Or, number two: we can get serious and as smart as we’re able to create places where at least some offenders can prepare to eventually go back to society and be productive and pleasant. Personally, I don’t want to be the victim of a criminal who didn’t learn a damn thing in prison, because the prison system was too good at retribution and not quite good enough at rehabilitation.

If Norway’s prison ethos seems indulgent or not punitive enough, okay. That’s not nothing. But they are getting the one thing that American exceptionalism champions above just about any other virtue: RESULTS. What works? I always thought that was what we had over other countries: pragmatism. But our prisons suck. They don’t work. We might ditch our mid-pubescent, adolescent national arrogance on this topic and seek to learn from countries that are getting better results than us.

LIDE Unpublished Book Pt. 2

Disclaimer: Over a decade ago, I spent a year writing a book about the church I was co-pastoring with my ex-wife (Life in Deep Ellum). I had a ton of fun writing it, but also found that over time things kept evolving - both my views and our circumstances. I always mourned that my work never saw the light of day. Until now! I’ve decided to share snippets of it. Two disclaimers: 1) I am speaking only for myself and not for the organization that I’m no longer affiliated with, and 2) I don’t actually believe some of the things I wrote back then anymore. So please read it with those two factors in mind. Hope you enjoy!

Below is some of the first chapter. I trimmed it down for this blog.

STARTING POINT

Dirty: We Call Them Friends

“All great literature is one of two stories; a man goes on a journey or a stranger comes to town” 

~ Leo Tolstoy

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What upcoming Christian leader doesn’t fantasize about being famous? Consider the advent of the celebrity-pastor. We all know it’s not healthy, but we can’t help it. We read their book. We’re blessed by their book. We adapt a sermon or staff training day from their book. Yet, we’re also secretly jealous of their book. “Why couldn’t I have written that,” we think. An image of our name in bold Helvetica font with New York Times Best Seller written underneath flashes through our imagination. We try to dismiss it. We’re unsuccessful. 

We watch celebrity-pastor deliver another home run message at the latest fancy conference. Their stories are incredible. Their church is incredible. Their white teeth are incredible. We intuitively know that Christian leaders all across the auditorium are being inspired. Yet, we also feel sad. Why? Because we want to be famous, too. And when compared to celebrity-pastor, we’re obviously a dismal failure.

But what if fame took on new meaning for us? Our desires for notoriety need overhauling. However, perhaps those desires don’t need to be obliterated, but redirected. This is a silly analogy, but I like it. You know how most American celebrities have short shelf lives? However, once they are quickly jaunted out of the spotlight, some of them figure out how to keep the ball rolling by “going international.”

“What ever happened to fill-in-the-blank-band?”

“Oh, they’re done. But I hear they’re big in Japan.”

I lived in the Philippines for six months in 2006, for some reason everywhere I went I’d hear American country music or 80’s pop. REO Speedwagon and Journey were karaoke favorites. When one of our taxi drivers learned I was American, he asked if I knew George Strait. Ummm...nope. It was insane. Somehow, these strictly American musicians found new life in a context beyond their origins. They were famous, just not in their native circles anymore.

I say all that to say this: what if Christians stopped caring about whether we were famous among Christians? What if we stepped outside our native circles and started developing PR strategies to build a positive reputation outside the church? Bottom line: we need to re-engineer our desires for fame and redirect them. Let’s stop caring about impressing other churches. Stop putting stock in your appeal to the Christian market. Learn to be content with other kinds of notoriety. What if, like Jesus, we were mostly popular among the irreligious and marginalized?

Jesus was a friend of sinners. We want to be big in Japan.

(… … …)

Several years ago, we had the staff together on a retreat discussing the next calendar year and establishing our mission and values. To get the team talking, I asked the question, “What do you want us to be remembered for?  What do you want people to say about us 50 years from now?” People gave standard answers about our love and our compassion. But one of our staff members gave a rather unanticipated reply: “I know this sounds weird, I want people to say we were dirty.” It was Tanner, of course. Collectively, we scratched our heads and I invited him to expound. “You know, that our biggest critics would be other Christians...that the religious world would think we were too close to the wrong kinds of people.”

I thought I knew where Tanner was going so I added: “You mean like in a old-school battle, how people standing in the back rows are watching the skirmish on the front line and if they look close where the fighting is the fiercest, it’s hard to tell who’s fighting for who?” It struck a chord with us. We all nodded our heads as it sunk in. Yes! We want to be dirty! That is to say, we want to live so close to non-believers that Christians in the bubble sometimes wonder whose side we’re on.  

Think about Jesus’ reputation among the religious. He was considered the friend of sinners and tax collectors and prostitutes. His teachings certainly were at odds with the government leaders of his day, but they weren’t who he chose to confront. His biggest disagreements and criticism came from fellow religious leaders. They didn’t like his rogue affiliation with outsiders. Therefore, try to give little concern to what other Christians think about our friends. So we regularly ask the question: are we in relationship with the people Jesus would want to hang out with if he came to visit our neighborhood? 

(… … …)

Jesus has always been drawn to the marginalized. When we read the Gospels, there are many overlapping stories - especially in the Synoptic Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke. But when we see unique stories in one of those Gospels, we are given a glimpse into the perspective of the author. For example, Matthew includes more references to the Old Testament than the other Gospel writers. This was likely because he was writing to a Jewish audience, and as someone who grew up in the Jewish faith, the Old Testament was vital for communicating the authenticity of Jesus’ messiahship. But what might be the personal interest of a Gentile author like Luke? Someone who did not grow up inside the club, but someone who found Jesus later in life and had to learn about all this Jewish stuff as an outsider. When we look at the unique stories and parables in Luke’s Gospel, we find:

• The story of Zaccheus the tax collector

• The parable of the Good Samaritan

• The parable of the Pharisee and the Publican

• The stories of Elizabeth’s birth, Mary’s song, the prophetess Anna, and the group of women who followed Jesus that likely funded his ministry

All of these passages are only found in Luke’s Gospel. See any pattern? Despised tax collectors, filthy Samaritans, and women who were seen as property in the 1st century. Luke emphasized the marginalized. He made sure to include stories of Jesus’ ministry to the downtrodden. Another group that Luke emphasized were the lepers. The unclean people.

In those days, people feared lepers like the media reacts to Ebola and the West Nile virus. But guess who touched lepers? Guess who reached into their prisons of rejection? Jesus did. Luke tells another amazing story in his Gospel. One time, a man covered with leprosy threw himself before Jesus and begged him to heal him. “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.”

Imagine the setting. It’s probably fair to say the people standing around were appalled. How dare this man come near the Rabbi! Why bother asking for a miracle? God has obviously already judged him with this disease! And while everyone else was cringing back in disgust Jesus leaned in and he said, “I am willing.” He reached out and touched the man. He got dirty.

(… … …)

Gwyn is a homeless man that wanders the streets of Deep Ellum. As long as we’ve been here, Gwyn has been around. Personally, we’ve found that interacting with the transient homeless population is a complicated endeavor. Rachel and I both sit on neighborhood boards that promote economic development and one of the biggest obstacles our urban community has faced is aggressive panhandling. So our staff has had to figure out how to have boundaries with the homeless population while also giving dignity and showing compassion. 

When it came to Gwyn, we decided to let him sleep on our stoop in the alley next to the dumpster. Every morning he comes into our coffee shop and sits for a little while. He respects our rules about panhandling and typically doesn’t smell so terrible that he drives away customers. He looks in his mid-50’s and is small in stature, but his scraggly beard and cataract eyes give him a hardened look. Still, he has become a fixture of our Cultural Center. The baristas all love him, our faith community worships alongside him, and even the cops who we hire during large building rentals know him by name.

For the longest time, we used to call him Quinn. This is because Gwyn’s garbled speech threw us off. Even when sober, accurately interpreting his mumbling and exaggerated gestures proves difficult. One day, Gwyn pulled out his birth certificate to show me. I’m guessing he had it ready to show police officers who regularly ask loiterers for identification. It was then that I realized his name was not, in fact, Quinn. It was Gwyn. I also learned he was born in Delaware. And according to my best interpretations, he was a Vietnam veteran and is 100% Native American. It sounds like he’s says “Blackfoot.” But seriously, who knows?

One day I was walking down our alleyway and saw Gwyn asleep on some cardboard next to our building. For whatever reason I was feeling sentimental, and it struck me that we may not have Gwyn with us much longer. It made me sad that we had developed this relationship with Gwyn but did not have anything to really show for it. So I began planning some way to commemorate him.

It started out as plans to shoot some simple video or photos of him on the street, but over time it evolved into something way bigger than imagined. What you need to know is that if Gwyn is sitting down, the odds are that he is probably drawing. His ever changing backpack will always contain markers and pens. He sits and draws on paper, or cardboard, or wood he finds. These sketches all look similar. The content is a simple design that he repeats over and over again in various colors and textures. Then, as people walk by, he gives them out as a sign of goodwill. Over the past 6 years, I accumulated hundreds of these drawings. 

Then it hit me. We have an art gallery. Why not do an entire exhibit featuring the sketches of Gwyn? So I got to work. I contacted a photographer buddy of mine whose talents have gotten him into many reputable publications. I scheduled a time at his studio and drove Gwyn over there where my buddy took some of the most amazing photos of Gwyn. We blew them up and had them printed. Then I convinced several of our staff to help with framing about 50 drawings from my personal stock in small black frames. When we finally installed the exhibit, Gwyn happened to walk in. 

I had been trying to prepare him for the exhibit because I didn’t want it to shock him. I had been telling him that we were going to display his artwork for sale and that we would do the typical gallery/artist split that we give to every artist. I didn’t want the show to be about pity. I wanted Gwyn to be seen as an artist, not a homeless man. Mostly, I just wanted the exhibit to tell his story.

The night of the closing reception, people from our faith community and the neighborhood gathered. We drank wine and one by one people bought Gwyn’s framed artwork and took it home to hang on their walls. It was a magical night. The following Monday, I gave Gwyn his first breakdown of cash. As we owed him nearly $500, I couldn’t just give that all to him at once. First of all, he didn’t have a bank account in which to keep it in. Secondly, he would surely get mugged carrying that around. So I gave him a couple $20’s and said every Monday I’ll give him smaller portions to make it last longer. His face broke into a fantastic smile as he grabbed my hand in a grasp of brotherhood. I’m pretty sure he said something like, “You and me, you and me.” But again, who really knows. I smiled feeling quite good about my St. Francis-like solidarity with the poor.

Later that same week, I was in my office when one of our baristas came back to say they were having issues with Gwyn. Sometimes, I am needed to get Gwyn to stop being loud or ask him to give the coffee shop a break from his particularly strong smell that day. This time it was because Gwyn was drinking straight vodka right by the register. He knew we didn’t allow that. So I went to talk to him.

Immediately, I knew something was wrong. He was drunker than I have ever seen him. He didn’t even recognize me. That’s probably why he grabbed my outstretched hand and violently squeezed my fingers. Geez, he had serious old man strength. I thought they were all going to snap in his grasp. I felt like shouting, “Mercy!” The situation instantly changed. A couple bystanders started to intervene, but I waved them away knowing they might only make him feel threatened. So I got down on his level and tried to talk to him. But every time I got close he started kicking at me and swinging fists. One time, his hand connected with my jaw. 

So after 15 minutes of trying to convince him to leave, I resigned myself to the truth. I had to call the police. It was a hard thing to do, especially since this was right after the gallery exhibit. But I knew it was the right thing to do. They would take him to the drunk tank at their station and let him go the next day. He’s probably done it a hundred times. Unfortunately, a drunk homeless man isn’t high on the priority list of Dallas PD so it took them a solid 45 minutes to get there. I should have told them he was waving a machete. That might have got them there faster. Then what happened next might not have happened.

As we waited for the police to arrive, Gwyn decided to lay down on one of our benches, unzipped his pants, and proceeded to take the longest pee I have ever witnessed. Right in the middle of our coffee shop. That’s right. The man I just honored with a solo gallery exhibit had just assaulted me and was now trying to break the record for the largest puddle of urine created by a single human.

The next Monday, he was sitting in his usual spot in the coffee shop like nothing ever happened. But the problem was that something did happen. Things had to change after that. Even though Gwyn did not remember hitting me, he did act embarrassed when I explained that he had. We were forced to refortify our boundaries with him. Conversations were had. New rules explained. I still gave him his money, but it would be in even smaller portions and some of it would be given as gift cards to 7 Eleven. A few people felt I was being too harsh. Doesn’t compassion trump one incident? Should I not literally turn the other cheek...and perhaps kneel down to wash his urine stained feet? Others felt like we needed to be harsher. I shouldn’t give him money that he could easily turn into booze. Are we trying to enable his addiction? Honestly, it did cross my mind if we should ever let Gwyn back into our coffee shop. We did. We still do.

The point is that our relationship with Gwyn is messy. Walking away from it and solely engaging with easy-to-deal-with-types-of-folks feels safer. Safer. More efficient. Exactly what gains come to the Church by continually interacting with people who will likely never change? Hmm...good question. From some perspectives, perhaps none. No gains. But from a Kingdom perspective - the realization that Jesus announced a new economy of grace and forgiveness and compassion and justice - I think the gains might just be immeasurable. Incalculable, albeit messy, gains. When we accept people as they are we reflect Jesus. And when we reflect Jesus, little pieces of redemption leak into our world.

Agonizing Discussion: A Key to Biblical Interpretation

What if you discovered that the Bible’s intertextuality, that is, its conversation with itself, could produce uncertainty rather than clarity?  Clarity is the cornerstone of evangelical biblical interpretation, but I think it represses some glaring realities within the Bible.

Consider the juxtaposition of Psalm 8 with Job 39.  Psalm 8 contains verses that support the notion of stewardship.  God gave humankind the privilege and responsibility to rule over the animals in his world.  Psalm 8:6-7 says, “You make him to rule over the works of your hands; you have put all things under his feet, all sheep and oxen, and also the beasts of the field.”

However, in Job 39, a different picture appears.  God, in the so-called “divine speeches”, says, “Will the wild ox consent to serve you, or will he spend the night at your manger? Can you bind the wild ox in a furrow with ropes, or will he harrow the valleys after you?  Will you trust him because his strength is great and leave your labor to him?  Will you have faith in him that he will return your grain and gather it from your threshing floor (39:9-12)?”

Psalm 8 is an affirmation of the human domestication of animals, Job 39 a seeming mocking of it.  Carol Newsom, in The Book of Job: A Contest of Moral Imaginations, says, “Similarly, the wild ox is represented in such a way as to mock the logic of domestication (246).” So the question arises: does or does God not intend for humans to serve as stewards of his creation?  The clarity of Scripture, a doctrine which conservative scholars cherish, struggles to reconcile these two passages.  And these two passages are the tip of the iceberg of the interpretive difficulties when reading Psalms alongside Job.

I have no advice for those who cling to an interpretive model which presupposes the clarity of Scripture.  I feel your pain, because I once was there.  Yet, after extensive study of the Bible, I cannot read it in such a restrictive way anymore.  The Bible, as I see it, engenders discussion and ambiguity much, much more often than it does clarity.  I do not see this as a weakness.  Discussion in the presence of uncertainty can produce wisdom.  If you’re after being doctrinally correct, clarity is what you’ll require.  If wisdom, agonizing discussion. 

LIDE Unpublished Book (Pt. 1)

Over a decade ago, I spent a year writing a book about the church I was co-pastoring with my ex-wife (Life in Deep Ellum). I had a ton of fun writing it, but also found that over time things kept evolving - both my views and our circumstances. I always mourned that my work never saw the light of day. Until now! I’ve decided to share snippets of it. Two disclaimers: 1) I am speaking only for myself and not for the organization that I’m no longer affiliated with, and 2) I don’t actually believe some of the things I wrote back then anymore. So please read it with those two factors in mind. Hope you enjoy!

This was the Introduction in its entirety.

“We may ignore, but we can nowhere evade the presence of God. The world is crowded with Him. He walks everywhere incognito.”

~ C. S. Lewis, Letters to Malcolm

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A former team member, Tanner, was invited to consult with a church in the Midwest. He had started out in the mega-church context, but now he was busy making no money helping plant a church in Texas. The other church wanted to bring him in to learn more about our efforts in Deep Ellum, an urban neighborhood near downtown Dallas. Specifically, the pastoral staff wanted to explore our “model” for building relationships within our community.

I wasn’t there, but as I have sat through many similar meetings, I imagine a spacious and soundproofed conference room with plush carpet. Central to the room is a thick mahogany table covered with a layer of glass - you know, to protect the rich wood from the water rings left by sweating cans of Red Bull. The swivel chairs situated around the table smell of synthetic leather. They comfortably lean back for occasions when the Executive Pastor gets too long-winded about the value of excellence. And there sits Tanner touting his shaved head and tattoo sleeves. His presence creates ironic juxtaposition in the otherwise pristine atmosphere.

The pastors begin the conversation with a simple question: “How do we engage our community?” Tanner considers their goal and responds with a diagnostic question: “Well, where do you guys live? How close are you to the homes and communities you are trying to impact?” The question seemed to ruffle feathers, adding even more tension to the air. So the pastors went rounds justifying why their homes stretched 20-40 miles from the communities they desired to engage.

Imagine with me, if we had put up a map and plotted where these pastors lived, we would have seen a glaring disconnect between their intentions to reach their context and where they had chosen to do life. “You see, our target audience isn’t just this community,” they reasoned, “it’s the whole metroplex.” 

This is when the prophet side of me wants push back a bit. Since when do community and target audience mean the same thing? A community is a brick-and-mortar reality full of freckled faces and actual pain. A target audience is an abstraction of said community. A target audience doesn’t need real people. It just needs pie charts and vague generalizations about demographics. Corporations like Apple and Nike think in terms of target audiences, but does it then follow that churches should think the same way? The problem is that a marketing strategy for a target audience will likely sail over the heads of our surrounding communities. You can’t generalize a community. You have to get to know them.

I like to imagine that the Holy Spirit is constantly at work in our world, you know, like the Bible says he is. I imagine that if God looked at a map, he would see his Spirit covering entire neighborhoods, cities, even metroplexes. Think of his Spirit at work whispering guidance at a political rally or convicting sin to a gang of hipsters. He’s always at work.

But what if church leaders came up to the map and put pins down where we were at work? I sometimes wonder if there would be a disconnect. Would not our ministry efforts consolidate around a single building rather than a community? Would not that building primarily be operational only on weekends? And wouldn’t it be haunting to see all the empty space between our building and the surrounding community where the Holy Spirit has clearly staked a claim?

This represents one of the many downsides of our established Christian sub-culture: disconnection and isolation. We establish nice buildings for our church, a place for visitors to become disciples, but over time the structure we use to attract our target audience becomes a barrier to engaging community. We find ourselves reduced to a bunch of people who worship in the same building rather than becoming unified in the Spirit’s work of engaging and impacting our neighbors with love and service.

And the cultural barriers are not limited to our architecture. It shows up in almost every cultural aspect that matters - our art is different, our language seems foreign, our music requires a separate selection aisle at Barnes and Noble and its own awards ceremony on TV. It’s insane. On a personal note, despite being woefully monolingual, I’m told that one of the hardest nuances to learn when studying a foreign language is the the humor of another culture. Have you ever felt the need to explain Christian humor to someone else? Yeah, me too.

Of course, some will argue that the Church ought to stick out and be set apart. “We are a peculiar people,” the preacher will sometimes boast. But please do not misunderstand me. I do not criticize a difference in ethics or morality. That is often admirable and sometimes honors God. I just get worried that our zeal for holiness often makes our missional efforts infertile. What’s the point of being a life transformed by Jesus if the only people we can effectively share it with are people who suspiciously look and think just...like...me?

I’d much rather be incognito. Cultural camouflage. 

Malcom Muggeridge, one of this century’s most renowned journalists, took an interest in seven men who embodied this ethos. He had originally thought that they simply represented seven men whose fascinating search for God had deeply impacted the world. However, when he was forced to convert their stories into a book (The Third Testament), he began to see a common thread that held them all together: “all quintessentially men of their time, they had a special role in common, which was none other than to relate their time to eternity.” He came to see them as God’s spies.

Spies don’t spend their lives at headquarters. They feel comfortable out in the mix of things. They live among the people, outside the high walls of our Christian sub-culture. Why? Because someone has to faithfully incarnate the Gospel in ways that speak to an ever shifting culture. This is why our staff thinks every pastor ought to stop thinking like a pastor and start thinking like a missionary. Make no mistake, missionaries still have to think like pastors. Missionaries also require skills of preaching and disciple-making. But on top of their pastoral hearts, missionaries intuitively know that their context influences their methodologies. They start with a blank canvas, build relationships, establish a rapport, and try to see things from the shoes of their irreligious friends.

So we begin our book with our philosophical starting point: our view of people. Then we get theological. Part one of this book explores our story and how our context literally forced us to ask new questions. In one sense, Deep Ellum was our tutor. Because this neighborhood would not respond to pre-packaged religion, we were forced to adapt to our environment and learned many valuable lessons in the process. We call this Flexible Ecclesiology. After evaluating our methodologies, part two explains our commitment to listening. Our world doesn’t neatly break down into teams of the good guys and the bad guys. So if connection with our surrounding communities matter, listening becomes paramount in order to shape our “outreach.” Communication is not only about what we say, it is about what others hear. We call it Empathetic Missiology. Lastly, part three is about relationships. Programs designed to enhance proselytizing often violate the most sacred parts of being human. In the church’s zeal to win souls, we simply overlook that the image of God is in every person...God made them first...and he loves them more than we do. Therefore, our faith often doesn’t relate to others because we’re too busy propagating our “wonderful solutions.” We try to reverse engineer salvation for people and forget that it isn’t even our job to begin with. We call this Patient Soteriology. For us, it’s been a learning process. And to be honest, we’re still learning.

That’s what this book is about. It’s about our story of missteps, frustrating lessons, and marrying our pastoral hearts to a new vision of missionary intuition. This is not a book of models. My instincts actually push against that word. Models feel lazy. They encourage the practitioner to apply a pre-manufactured blueprint without considering their unique context. A model feels like it disempowers me from doing the more important work of thinking, listening, and developing a consistent philosophy. So if you’re looking for a model, this ain’t the book for you. Instead, this is a book of principles - of asking good questions, of taking intelligent risks, of caring about those empty spaces on the map where the Spirit is waiting.

I Hate Sleeping on the Ground, but I Love Camping

Sometimes we forget that life is survival. No, I didn’t almost die on my most recent camping trip. But an unplanned obstacle reminded me how important it is to face challenges and overcome them.

My buddy and I were early arriving to the mountains for a weekend camping trip. We overconfidently tried to drive over a downed tree trunk blocking the road. In the process, we high-centered the SUV.

Now, we had to shift gears from a leisurely mindset to a git-er-dun, problem-solving one. After some failed attempts to drive forward and backward, or to dislodge the trunk, we started to feel screwed. But we had to come up with a plan, or we had a long, cold walk ahead of us to get help.

We used the car jack to raise both tires and get big rocks underneath them. This cleared some space. Then, we used a sawn section of the same tree trunk as a battering ram to clear away the trunk. Et voila! We were free.

Although I didn’t go camping in search of that experience, I was glad that I had it. That was the best part of the weekend. Facing a moderate crisis and finding a solution was exhilarating. The feeling after the event was pure calm.

Though I love being outdoors, sitting for hours by the fire, smoking a cigar, having great conversation, and eating a delicious meal, I hate sleeping on the ground. I hate peeling out of the tent in the middle of the night to go pee, as I wonder how close I am to a bear or a territorial moose. I hate not having a hot shower. However, I keep coming back for more punishment, because I love the kinds of primal obstacles you have to face when you brush up close to the elements. I love the camaraderie achieved from shared struggle. I hate sleeping on the ground, but I love camping. And I’ll ante up for more of this nonsense before too long, no doubt.

One Time, I Met Stormy Daniels

I was at a birthday party for one of my daughter’s friends. They were in Kindergarten together. I didn’t really know this friend’s family, but it was my turn to take my daughter to the next thing so I buckled up and drove my 6-year old to a place called Jump Street. Imagine a land of trampolines and sprained ankles. You get the picture.

After checking in and signing the appropriate waivers, I sat down at a long table next to the little ones play area. While the kids were frolicking, I made acquaintances with the father of the birthday girl. He was a friendly man. I told him about my work as a pastor, he told me about his work in the world of entertainment - primarily music if I remember correctly. I just remember him saying something about his distribution company and Taylor Swift. Now this was 10 years ago, but her name already had star power. So I was impressed.

Apparently, he was friends with a lot of different people in the entertainment industry. I thought he was pretty cool. And my daughter was having a blast. So I didn’t mind too much that I was drinking Hawaiian Punch out of a Solo cup and developing cavities on the spot.

Then another couple entered with their daughter. The young gentleman and the girl both went directly to the jump area. The woman sat down with me and with the father of the birthday girl - she obviously knew him as they started exchanging pleasantries. There was something about her. While she wasn’t wearing makeup, she was definitely pretty. And, she was clearly comfortable with her body as she was wearing the kind of clothes that I usually see fit women wearing at the gym.

We started talking, and I felt my brain trying to put some puzzle pieces together. I recognized her, but the context of screaming kids and birthday cake was making it hard for me to make the connection. She told me her name was Stephanie, but that didn’t help. Then she was complaining how a bag of hers got stollen in Deep Ellum (a neighborhood in Dallas). Apparently, in the bag she had several video tapes with the original footage of a movie she was working on and needed it back. As I was listening to her relay this story to my new acquaintance, some of the details started to coalesce.

• The video had sensitive footage

• The police investigation were embarrassed by the content of the videos

• One officer actually asked her if she went by a name other than Stephanie

And then it hit me. This was Stormy Daniels. Yes, I’ll admit that I knew her name before the Trump scandals. I mean, she went mainstream in her appearance in Steve Carrell’s 40 Year Old Virgin! It turned out those video tapes were for a late night Skinemax movie that she had directed and produced. All the pieces came together.

Her boyfriend meandered over and we had a lovely conversation. They apparently lived in a small city east of Dallas. They were really into horses - like competing with them - and they were also very expensive. The boyfriend laughed, “yeah, they eat money.”

Not much of note happened after that other than a fun conversation with the father of the birthday girl once they both left. He looked at me, “Stephanie is her real name, but most know her as Stormy.” I nodded, not sure I wanted to reveal to this new acquaintance that I have, in fact, seen some porn in my days. He then told me a story of how his wife and some other couples often hang out with Stormy and her partner. When others approach his wife asking how she can be okay with her husband’s friendship with Stormy, she just smiles. “Stephanie is a sweety! She’s just doing a job,” she reasoned.

It was a twilight zone moment. You ever had one of those? Well, that was one. The reason it was a twilight zone moment is that at the time, I was attending a 12-step program for men and women struggling with watching pornography. So the first phone call I made when I left Jump Street was to my sponsor. “You’ll never guess what just happened!”

Sidenote: As grateful I am to those friends I made in those rooms, I do not attend a 12-step group anymore. I also do not believe that I am an addict anymore. I do believe that I am a human who struggled with typical addictive behaviors (everyone has their version be it fried food, social media, excessive exercising, nicotine, or trying to control the people in their lives via manipulation and intimidation - yes, that is an addictive behavior in my book!). Thankfully, I am in a relationship with my partner who doesn’t see my humanity as an attack on her sense of self. That’s another topic for another day. :)

Ten years removed from that incident, I see ol’ Stormy in the news now. Apart from the bizarre nature of a former President blustering his way through a long line of lawsuits, I smile. I think about Stephanie who, like Trump, was an opportunist. She was born with a certain kind of body and eventually found herself using that asset to make a career. Some may judge her for her choices, but not all do. Later, after her hard work and accomplishments, she caught the eye of a rich and famous man. I do not doubt that Donald Trump propositioned her. Some do. I don’t. I doubt he was the first or last to proposition her. The #metoo movement has proven the regularity of these matters when it comes to men in power. So what does she do? She says yes to this famous man. As I said, like Trump, she’s an opportunist.

It’s hard for me to find empathy for a man like Donald Trump. I’ve seen people who have been cut from the cloth he comes from. His privileged perspective. His cunning ability to manipulate others. His lack of conscience when it comes to what his pursuit of power costs others. I have never seen a single ounce of genuine compassion flow from that man. I’m sure compassion has flown at some point, but probably only to forgive his daughter for not snuggling with him in bed (see the many sexualized comments he’s made about her).

It’s not hard for me to find compassion for Stephanie. She made her money, for sure. Then she moves to rural Texas, raises a daughter, enjoys her horses, and like most celebrities who find their spotlight is fading, she tries to squeeze some attention and security out of a situation. Trump wasn’t just a John, he became the President! Did she need to pursue these charges with Trump? Nope. Does she have reasons other than money for pursuing these charges? Probably. Still, I would bet my whole life that Trump has done what Stormy is doing a hundred times over. That man has played the legal system for decades…and he’s honestly a genius at it.

Reportedly, Stephanie attended some of her court appearances with a bullet-proof vest. Sadly, the enemies of Trump are far less likely to own rifles than the supporters of him. And he knows it. And I think he uses that to his advantage. Like I said, he’s an opportunist.

Listen, I don’t “hate” Trump. He’s just a guy in a long list of powerful men in history who have temporary holds on power. What I hate is what Trump has done to confuse us as a society. I hate how his tactics mixed with our already messed up political climate have scrambled our brains and made us less loving, and more judgmental. I hate that people like Stephanie found their way into that weird system of money and power and now are trying to tell their truth in the face of physical danger. Supporters of Trump might argue that she should bow out and disappear. But these same supporters would never suggest that Mr. Trump should step down and let other capable people lead. In my opinion, her actions are to be applauded. It’s true bravery in my opinion. I saw her daughter. I saw how she loved and cared for her. I witnessed a rather down-to-earth person who wasn’t interested in making a fuss. Yet, she is making a fuss. And I must admit, I’m a sucker for underdogs taking on the man.

On Friendship

I have lamented the state of busy-ness in American society for several reasons. One of those is the lack of time we devote to friendship. We often treat it as a luxury that we’ll get to when time permits.

One of the reasons Joel and I started the Lead Balloons Podcast was to maintain and build our friendship. We were having interesting discussions and felt that other folks might want to listen in. Although we’ve been seeking to understand how we can appeal to what our audience might like, we’ve made it a priority for our podcast to continue to be a source of enjoyment for us.

When you take time to survey your own life, do you find that you are making time for the friendships that really matter to you? If not, why not? You may not regard friendship as that important to you. But I suspect that most do.

Understand that our culture militates against your esteem of simple pleasures. It will goad you towards the twin poles of self-abnegation and big-ticket consumerism. That is to say, “Work long, stressful hours, denying yourself daily pleasures like long chats by the fire, so that you can buy that shiny toy to show off to your neighbors.” Beware!

Consider, rather, the invitation to enjoy long, sumptuous meals; engaging conversations; or game nights with friends. Appropriate daily pleasures instead of being convinced that accumulating more and more stuff while working frenetically is the key to the good life.

The Church Bubble

I’ve always been fascinated by the metaphor of living in a bubble. It’s not a literal bubble – with the obvious exception of the “bubble boy.” How does one describe it? It seems to be a cultural phenomenon without tactile boundaries. To “live in a bubble” is more of a state of mind than a state of geographical location. 

We’ve all seen this at work within groups of people. Whether it be Hollywood celebrities or a community living in abject poverty, it seems the culture reinforces beliefs about itself that would never stand up in the wide world. Celebrities aren’t infallible gods and impoverished people aren’t utterly powerless. But for some reason, this invisible bubble seems to keep those beliefs alive. It’s an insidious feedback loop where the bubble perpetually reinvigorates the inhabitants’ state of mind. The groups develop insider language and a herd mentality. Often, the bubble encourages a serious us vs. them mentality – which often engenders fear (and occasionally hate) of outsiders.

This phenomenon most concerns me when it occurs in the Church. You know, the infamous Church bubble. Honestly, I think it is most prevalent within American Evangelical churches. Not that other faith traditions don’t fall prey to this, too. However, when the bubble is at work in Evangelical churches, it draws the believer into a sub-culture with behavioral expectations and insider language. Religious beliefs get reinforced, but are often mixed in with unwelcome influences like legalism, guilt, pressure to conform, and often a not-so-subtle us vs. them mentality. 

Obvious examples of toxic bubbles include rigid communities that operate like cults. They demand absolute conformity externally and internally. Most churches aren’t like this – thankfully! However, a more subtle form of the bubble can manifest in even the best of churches. It’s a slight insulation from the world – tipping their hand to an assumption that God wants them to be completely separate - holy. Or maybe worse, God wants them to identify with a very specific political ideology and stand with the righteous underdogs in a war against dominions of darkness. Hence, the bubble has spiritual justification. The bubble is what keeps the faithful from being tainted by the outsiders. Us vs. them.

My estimation is that this kind of church bubble has some positive and negative ramifications. I’m sure many of my friends who serve in churches with a bubble would gladly explain the benefits. I, on the other hand, want to point out three simple downsides:

Awkward Welcome: As hard as the megachurches have worked on making their environments feel welcome, they can only go so far. They pour money into marketing, train teams of greeters, and give intentional effort to hospitality. However, they have something working against them: the bubble. 

A bubble represents a shift in cultural environments like walking through a threshold into another realm. No matter how friendly the bubble is, it immediately sets the visitor at disease. Imagine going to a foreign country and being greeted by a smiling family. Their enthusiastic welcome feels nice, but it also feels off. Now that you have crossed the line into their cultural bubble, there is a gentle pressure to stay - and to conform. Eat what they eat, and don’t complain. Wear what they wear, and don’t ask questions. Talk like they talk, and don’t worry about the queasy feeling you get when their plastic smiles draw you deeper into their sphere. The question I have always wondered since I was a boy is this: “is it really loving to pressure someone else to be more like you?”

Evangelistic Amperage: We can try and fight the us vs. them mentality all day long by quoting Jesus’ “love your enemies,” but if the church culture is built on the understanding that we are guarding ourselves from the evils on the outside of our high walls of religion, than those efforts will likely end in futility. 

Still, Evangelical churches will never give up on reaching out. It’s in their name. Evangelism is their culture. So despite the subtle us vs. them mentality, they reach out of their home base and attempt to connect with potential converts. This creates a tense dynamic.

People don’t feel free to simply engage in meaningful relationships. They feel an invisible urge to either shrink from conversations with non-Christians or they turn into brass salespeople driven by a moral obligation to “witness.” In short, they get weird. They literally don’t know how to talk about their faith because they’ve only been trained to think and talk about it with insiders. With bubble folk. 

Wouldn’t it be much more effective (and biblical) if Christ followers engaged the world with no strings attached? Loved unconditionally? Conversed naturally and authentically? And what could hinder this goal more than training people to live bifurcated lives – one in the world, and one in the bubble? 

Spiritual Superiority: I was at a church recently that is admirably inclusive. However, I heard multiple messages about the “specialness” of their community and how people cannot find this experience of belonging elsewhere. Honestly, it felt like the marketing tactic of creating psychological scarcity so that people would be afraid to leave.

This is the sort of sordid consequence of the bubble. The Us vs. Them mentality engenders self-aggrandizing - a unique mixture of egoic Kool-aid that we willingly drink…and encourage others to drink. Nothing feels better than feeling better than other people. When people are struggling with their sense of self-worth, the quickest way to gain compliance is to offer moral superiority. “We know the truth.” “We are Bible-believing.” “We are _______.” It’s the dirty secret of leadership. Most of it is actually just manipulation.

As you might guess, I hate the Church bubble. And while it takes energy and intentionality to dismantle it, the results are welcome. Now you can come to a gathering with your faith community and it feels no different than how you live your life at home, at work, while playing golf, or eating at a restaurant. And when you engage people, you don’t feel pressured to spout Bible verses or talk about your church. Your spirituality is just part of who you are. And if those topics do come up, you can talk about them without nervously gulping or relying on proselytizing sales tactics. 

Bubbles make sense for children. They aren’t ready for the complex world, yet. However, I would hope adults might have the skills to venture outside the bubble and breath the air of the real world - God’s world. Be warned though, this might make it harder to create thoughtless mass of people who conform to a bunch of arbitrary rules.

Who Makes the Rules?

“Who says? Who makes the rules?” said some provocateur to me when I was 20 years old. Those questions stuck with me. That’s a damn good point, I thought.

Lately, I’ve been applying this skeptical attitude to the topic of masculinity. Lots and lots of men running YouTube channels weigh in emphatically on what it means to be a man. Often they mention making lots of money, getting fit and muscular, wearing certain clothes, talking to women in particular ways, etc. Much of what gets emphasized is relevant and useful. However, the undercurrent is that men should get their cues for masculine behavior from the broader society of men.

Now, we’re communal creatures, so we do take after one another. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. But I also hear many of these advocates for masculinity urging us to become “alpha” males. Why we should consult wolfpack hierarchies is a topic for another blog, but I digress. Now, if being an alpha male means seeking dominance, being confident, and leading, is it possible to achieve that status by looking to the direction of other men? Wouldn’t you achieve alpha status by taking direction from yourself and your own inner compass?

Does an alpha try to fit in? If driving muscle cars enhances your masculinity, but you don’t like muscle cars, should you still get one? If working 80-hour weeks helps you make more money so you can woo a girl with your bank account, but you disavow the grind, should you do it anyway? See what I’m driving at? Who’s making the rules for you? If it’s not you, should we think of you as an alpha, or a beta?

Personally, this alpha/beta duality is bullshit. How about this: why not see what occurs to you to do with your life, then do that thing? Who cares what others think. If you want to do certain things with your life, and you don’t do them for fear of society’s disapproval, you are weak and cowardly. And you know this, don’t you? You might think of yourself as the manliest man of men, yet insecurity plagues you sometimes because of the unexplored regions of your life experience. You haven’t ventured outside margins for fear of others. That ain’t manly; that ain’t alpha.

Modern Folly

Do you remember Gak? It’s that neon mucus slime that kids loved to gross each other out with. Nowadays, it comes packaged little plastic cylinders called Flarp. Plunge your fingers into the goo and melodious farts noises will fill the air. Kids giggle. Adults (like me) chuckle. It’s plain good fun. When used for its designed purpose, Gak/Flarp is perfectly harmless.

Well, many years ago, my two girls decided to pull the slime out of its containers and run around the house experimenting with different uses. I was fine with it. I want to encourage creativity. I want them to “think outside of the plastic cylinder.” My oldest, Selah, then took it to a new level by stretching the slime into a long thin line creating a path throughout our home. It took several minutes to work it up off our laminate floors and area rugs. 

I was standing in the kitchen when my youngest daughter came up to me crying. It’s not an unusual event. Crying is sort of a hobby for three-year-olds. So I turned casually to see what the new hullabaloo was. That was when I saw something very unexpected.

My eyes widened as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. “Haven Alethia (pronounced Alaythia)! Why did you do that!?” Perched in her dark brown hair was a thin rope of fluorescent pink Flarp encircling her noggin. Selah took one look and went off screaming to Mommy. I stood there…frozen…admiring how the Flarp and her hairy scalp wove together in perfect harmony. And I knew – as only fathers of two young girls know – this was going to be drama. A new level of drama.

Over the next hour, Haven’s mom and I methodically untangled the slime from her hair. You might be wondering how one gets Gak out of a child’s hair. Here are the essential ingredients: patience, a screaming child, vegetable oil, and a comb for lice eggs. Followed by a thorough bath. Oh, and more crying because the Flarp is being thrown away. 

It turns out, Haven was trying to make a “headband” with the Gak. It also turns out, Gak does not make an effective headband. This is where imagination crosses a line. Creativity was not meant to bring unwanted drama into my home. What I’m saying is that creativity is different than foolishness. 

Wisdom Literature in the Bible (Proverbs, Job, Ecclesiastes, and some Psalms) says a lot about fools. Here’s one of my favorites: A fool trying to say something wise is like a drunk trying to pick a thorn out of his hand. (Prov. 26:9)

I’m obviously not saying my daughter is a drunkard or a fool. She was 3. She had a good neurological reason for not being wise. Her brain had not developed high cognitive faculties yet. But imagine her saying this: “But daddy, I really wanted to expand the Flarp’s potential. And I really wanted a headband. Why not? Don’t put limits on me! I’m a bird, I’m meant to fly! But in the meantime, could you please remove this slime from my hair because it’s starting to hurt.”

Does that not sound a like a drunk person trying to pull a sticker out of his thumb? Utter foolishness. Foolishness is never more evident than when we take something designed for a specific purpose – and especially when there are clear warnings on the box that say NOT to use them inappropriately – yet we pervert their use for our own pleasure. Be it sex, or cheeseburgers, or work, or bourbon, or whatever. We stubbornly utilize them beyond their good purpose. Words are wonderful things, except when they’re used to harm. Anger is a holy emotion, except when it manifests as violence. Critical thinking is a God-given gift that helps lead us to truth, except when it sours into cynical nihilism. The fool trades beauty and joy for indulgence and addiction. It’s a lesson I’ve personally had to face. Trust me, it’s no fun acting a fool. 

In the end, I knew my daughter would grow up. One day, she wouldn’t want to adorn her hair with a floppy pink tiara. She would eventually know better. Spoiler Alert: she has been Gak-free for almost 10 years now.

Three-year-olds rightly get some grace. But what about adults? The hard truth is that as we age, personal responsibility becomes more relevant. It’s like what Theodore Roosevelt once said: “If you could kick the person in the pants responsible for most of your trouble, you wouldn't sit for a month.”

If that doesn’t sound like a fool, I don’t know what does.

Hygge and “Trib”: The Hunger for Comfort and Intimacy

The Danish/Norwegian word “hygge” roughly translates as cozy or contented. It describes a state of warm comfort and conviviality. We know the feeling, even if we don’t have the English equivalent term: a meal with friends and family, a warm fire with wool socks and a blanket, peaceful music in a room with comfortable furnishings and warm yellow lighting.

I’ve thought lately about great moments I’ve shared with friends and family. These moments are usually comprised by groups of ten to twenty people, often at a house party or reunion. Multiple conversations are going on at different spots in the house. Laughter envelops one room, an intellectual conversation another, and drunken game-playing the next. I find myself feeling safe, included, appreciated, and intrigued. Time passes without my noticing it. Anxious thoughts are long gone.

Could this be the kind of tribal intimacy that we need and love? There is sexual intimacy between two partners. That is a dyadic intimacy. Then there is group intimacy, which I label polygonal intimacy. It’s multidirectional, the kind in which I may not be the object of attention, but nevertheless feel inextricably part of something strong, warm, and comforting. I’m working on a word for this experience. For now, “trib” will have to do. I want to live a life full of trib. I want others to value trib as much as I know their deep down animal instinct does. We humans are strong in small groups. We’re safe there, clever there, creative there, overjoyed there. Seek out some trib as soon as you can!!

The Humble Will See God

Can any of you remember the first time you looked in a microscope? I’ve heard that science teachers never get tired of witnessing the first time a child looks in a microscope. It’s like this entire new world is opened up to them. A world that is all around them all the time, they just didn’t know it.

The same analogy could be applied to a telescope. Not only are we blind to the microscopic happenings around us, we are also oblivious to the goings-on of our galaxy. Our perceptions and perspectives are profoundly limited. We don’t even really know what’s happening in the room next to us. That’s how ignorant we are.

Years ago, I volunteered with a group called Creative Mornings. We hosted these free breakfast lectures for  creatives - architects, graphic designers, and the like. This particular event was at a cool townhouse in Uptown Dallas that had been turned into offices for a design firm. The event went great, and afterwards I was just lingering outside when this random guy started chatting with me and another volunteer. 

He asked us if we knew about the building across the street. We didn’t. It looked like an old church building. It wasn’t falling apart, it just didn’t look like it was being used as a church anymore. He said something was quite extraordinary inside that building. So he persuaded us to try and peek in the windows. 

I was intrigued. We walked across the street, but when we walked up the steps we saw that the windows had been papered over on the inside. That only made me more curious. I tried to look through a corner where the paper had peeled back. I only saw darkness. Then the stranger - whom I never even got his name - started knocking on the door. “I kind of know the guy,” he said, “maybe he’ll let you guys come in.” I was dubious.

To my surprise, within seconds the giant wood door opened and a disheveled man peeked his head out. They chatted for a second and then I found myself being escorted inside. As I walked into the old sanctuary space, I slowly started walking in slow motions as astonishment cascades over me. You could have given me 10,000 guesses of what was inside this old church building and I wouldn’t have come close. It was dinosaurs. 

Not posters or plastic toys. Real, 25 feet tall, millions of years old, dinosaurs. Turns out, the disheveled man was a legit paleontologist and he was storing his prize possessions in this old church. Along with other specimens, there were two complete fossilized skeletons of a Triceratops and a Tyrannosaurus Rex. My brain seemed to clog as I tried to compute what I was seeing. There were dinosaurs in Uptown! Not in a museum. But in a random building that I was haphazardly standing by in midmorning on a Monday. That’s real. That happened.

This is what I’m trying to say: there is so much going on of which we are unaware. We are limited and humility is appropriate. But also, sometimes we see the matrix - the curtains get pulled back and we catch a glimpse of the extraordinary. Like catching the iridescent colors shining through a tree canopy in the fall. Or looking back to see someone singing in their car at the top of their lungs in pure ecstasy. Or the way I can feel a slight tingling sensation in a singular muscle of my body when I sit very still. Wonder is all around us. It reminds us that we don’t live in a boring world. And for those curious enough to look, the miraculous emerges. It evades the busy. Those who know too much will likely never see. Yet, I assert that the humble will see the Divine. Though it might take an intentional practice of taking second glances.

A Few Words on Work

What are we working for? Why are we working so much? I suggest that our national addiction and enslavement to work is partly a result of our failure to ask: what kind of life do we truly want? So many people mindlessly obey a script given to them by society and family. They have kids because that’s what you do; they buy the luxury SUV to tout their status; they get buried in student-loan debt to chase a career they’re supposed to have.

And the result is we’re all so damn busy. When people ask how you’re doing, you don’t dare say, “I’m great…not working too hard, relaxing, playing hooky.” No, we know the drill. We must be busy to justify our worth. But do we want to be this busy?

I want to work less. To this end, lately I am developing a habit. When I make a purchase, I ask how long I’ll have to work to pay for it. This achieves two things: 1) it prevents frivolous purchases, and 2) it reminds me of my desire to work less. Am I not ambitious? Quite the opposite. I am ambitious for more time free of work; free of bosses, schedules, and bullshit tasks. My definition of success is: doing the things you most enjoy, with the people you most enjoy, most of the time.

Back the the Bible: Mark 4

Mark 4

Growing up Pentecostal/Charismatic, Mark 4 was a regular passage quoted in sermons about faith and prosperity. In fact, I can recall multiple chapel speakers while I was at Oral Roberts University citing the Parable of the Sower (4:1-20) as evidence for a magical formula of giving money away so that you can receive hundredfold returns from the heavens. They called it “seed faith.” In the end, I mostly witnessed wealthy preachers with airplanes manipulating the masses to invest their limited resources into their ministries. “I’m good soil,” I heard more than one evangelist declare. This codependent power dynamic seemed to work for some believers. They wouldn’t hear a word against the perceived Man of God they admired. For me, I thought it was all very gross. It’s always been angering to observe genuine faith being taken advantage of for financial profit.

Mark 4 includes several other parables and a powerful story of Jesus calming the storm on the boat. However, I’ll keep things short(er) by focusing on the Parable of the Sower. What I’ve always found so intriguing about this passage is that Jesus preaches a sermon to the crowds who have gathered, but apparently the meaning of his words are so opaque that his disciples take him aside afterwards and ask him to explain it. I think that’s hilarious. Here are the literal “chosen ones” and they aint got a clue as to what their Rabbi is talking about.

To add another layer to the enigma, it seems that Jesus is hiding the meaning ON PURPOSE. He all but says it. “Yeah, to the crowds I speak in parables. I’ll tell you disciples what I mean, but for them, I’m going to make them work for it.” In fact, according to his own parable with the four types of soil/people - 2 that fall away immediately, one that struggles and falls away, and 1 that receives the word - only 25% of people will understand. Most will be “seeing but never perceiving, ever hearing but never understanding (4:12).”

If we put ourselves in the shoes of the original listeners, the promise of 100x yield of crops is astronomical. Some scholars say a 7:1 yield is normal with 10:1 being an unusually good harvest. A farmer will work the field for the landowner and will have to pay for the land. This may leave him with barely enough profit to cover food and any tithing or debts he may have. But if he gets a hundredfold, well, that changes everything. That means he can pay for all he needs and buy the land outright. Some scholars say this is Jesus’ point: the Kingdom of God envisions an economic reversal where oppressive systems no longer govern society.

I just finished reading a book by Dr. Gabor Mate called, The Myth of Normal. It’s a rich dive into our society’s approach to medicine and disease. What struck me was Mate’s bold criticism of our systems of healthcare and showing how they ignore the root problem for so many ills we face as a country. He cites dozens of medical and academic studies to buttress his position, but the common sense explanation is what got me: we can’t expect a system designed to treat symptoms to address root causes. In essence, we have a country drinking from a river polluted by toxins (read toxic culture) while pharmaceutical businesses make profits off selling drugs to treat the sickness we all necessarily experience. Of course, our society’s love for money (read capitalism and consumerism) makes healing almost impossible. That system is not incentivized to help prevent disease. It needs disease to stay in business. So common sense says the answer is to address the mouth of the river and to mitigate the poisons that we all ingest on a daily basis - deeply rooted toxins like sexism, racism, ignoring the role of trauma, and predatory/unethical business practices, to name a few. But that will take people’s willingness to hear a message they likely don’t want to hear. A message that rejects the status quo. A message of change. 

I see Mate doing what Jesus was doing - challenging people with a message that they likely won’t want to hear. Jesus’ messages challenge cultural assumptions about religion, identity, and the established power structures of the day. Is it any wonder that 75% of the seed sown fails? They are hard pills to swallow. Therefore, Jesus spoke in parables - in riddles that evoked confusion and knocked people off balance. The hope is that some of the seed will find a welcome home. Jesus seems to trust that some of his parables will find fertile soil - people who are sick and tired of being sick and tired. People who are willing to not only change personally, but reject the stories of our society that prop up unjust and harmful systems.

This isn’t a blogpost romanticizing social activism. I actually don’t put a lot of faith in many activist agendas I see at play. I mostly see a lot of “bad ways of doing good.” After the Parable of the Sower, Jesus told another parable about the Growing Seed. Basically, he said God’s economy is like a man who scatters seed, cares for them, and one day harvests the product. But he doesn’t make them grow, nor can he really understand how they do grow. In essence, the growth cannot be manufactured, only tended. I read that parable as saying our evolution as a society is mysterious and uncontrollable. My part isn’t to manufacture the vision through angry advocacy, labeling people, or evangelistic tactics that rely on shaming or bullying. But I can become aware of my role in the systems that aren’t helping, and with effort and courage, step out of those systems to offer a different way of being.

I liken it to “seeing the Matrix.” Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. I can stop overidentifying with the system and create a new identity apart from it. Or as the the Oldtimers in my church used to say, to be in the world but not of it. While I don’t see it in the same way they were talking about it, I like the distinction they made. I want to be good soil, which means for me that I need to be open to messages that my ego and my culture will not want me to explore.

Why I Still Love Keith Green

“Do you see, do you see, all the people sinking down?  Don’t you care, don’t you care, are you gonna let them drown?  How can you be so numb, not to care if they come?  You close your eyes and pretend the job’s done.”  That was Keith Green singing his eyeballs out about how Christians neglect evangelism.  This song hit me like a thunderbolt in high school.  I felt so moved thinking about how my classmates were going to hell, and I wasn’t doing a thing to keep them from it.

I’m not a Christian anymore, and I don’t think people are going to hell, a place for which no evidence exists.  But I admired and admire Keith’s fanatical passion for saving souls.  You see, he took it seriously.  If there is a God, and if hell really exists, what could be more pressing than sharing the gospel to lost people.

Yet, nearly all the Christians I know hardly ever share the gospel.  They’re too busy being respectable, grinding at work, building a home, storing up for retirement, and noshing on bagels and coffee at Sunday School.  How is it possible to live so placidly if you really think unsaved people are going to suffer eternally for rejecting God?

I’ve got some street cred to be critical here.  About ten years of my life, I took Christianity more seriously than most people I’ve known.  I went to seminary.  I tried sharing the gospel with people, often making a fool of myself.  I turned down job opportunities, opportunities to build wealth, and sexual liaisons so I could serve God.  I went door-to-door witnessing.  I attended church multiple times per week.  I distanced myself from friends and family because of their lack of interest in spiritual things.  I read the Bible and prayed almost on a daily basis.

This is why I find it so hard to stomach the multiple personality disorder of most Christians.  They live with one foot in heaven and one on earth.  They build their earthly kingdoms while casting aspersion on those whose ways aren’t worthy of God’s eternal kingdom.  They can’t be bothered to study the dogma they dogmatize about.  They can’t be bothered to act a little silly to talk to their neighbor or coworker about the claims of Christ.  They can’t be bothered to cultivate the fruit of the Spirit, instead devoting endless hours to their political hero d’jour.  They can’t be bothered to memorize Proverbs to grow wise.  

Now, I’m not saying one must stay busy with the above activities.  Here’s what I’m saying: go buck wild for the heavenly life, or go buck wild for the earthly.  Don’t pussy foot.  If there’s a hell, go warn people.  If there ain’t, dive deep into earthly delights.  It’s a one-shot deal.  I think the great mistake is going halfway with each.  That’s my “Pascal’s wager”: wager that going all in for one life or another might be better than fobbing God off with some half-hearted nod of assent to avert his wrath.

Back to the Bible: Mark 3

I have to be honest here. This practice of going back to the Scriptures I spent most of my life studying and teaching has been uncomfortable. You see, long ago I began to let go of the unhealthy attachment to the Bible my faith tradition taught me. As a pastor, it was discouraging to talk with so many intelligent, genuine Christians who blindly worshiped the Bible. It’s one thing to academically hold to “inerrancy” (the Christian Scriptures are without error), but it’s another to intentionally hold oneself to the murky and squishy interpretations of dozens of manuscripts written thousands of years ago. I mostly witnessed a sort of Rorshach exercise (the ink-blot test) where people read the Bible and saw what they wanted to see - their personal opinion all within the distinct boundaries of the “truth.” I did try as a teacher and a pastor to challenge people’s insecure attachment to St. Paul’s words because I believed it was getting in the way of what the Christian faith is truly about: trust. This is my opinion, of course.

I’m no longer in the pastoring space where I was considered the expert in the room concerning the Bible. But that part isn’t the uncomfortable part for me. What’s uncomfortable is the dramatic shift of my relationship to the Bible. I still feel ripples of the deep love I forged for these worn pages. Yet I’m also aware that most will continue to relate to the Bible as their god. This isn’t a judgment on my part, merely an observation. An observation I would hope lands for some so that new space can be opened up to trust. I share all this for one simple reason: I prefer authenticity, and that people would hear where I’m coming from.

MARK 3

I see three things in this chapter that continue to interest me:

1. Jesus tells the impure spirit to not tell others about him (3:11-12)

2. Jesus’ parable of the “strong man” (Mark 3:22-27)

3. Jesus’ reframing of family (Mark 3:33-35). 

Don’t Tell Anyone (3:11-12)

Why does Jesus tell the impure spirits to be quiet about his identity? It’s confusing! This is hardly the only instance of it, too. Jesus says similar things in all the Gospels, but particularly here in Mark. I’ve heard preachers and read commentators who speculate. Some say it’s because Jesus would never allow filthy, unclean mouths to speak of his divinity. I despise that interpretation. It’s the kind of nonsense I’ve heard from my Reformed friends who are obsessed with Yahweh’s glory. They always sound like they want to go back to Mt. Sinai and teach everyone to shudder in terror before a god of lava and lightning. Jesus looks nothing like their power wielding bully-of-a-deity.

I heard some preachers explain that Jesus was doing a little reverse psychology. He told them to remain quiet about his great deeds, so they did the opposite and went out to tell anyone who would listen. That’s also a weird interpretation for me. I’m skeptical about Mark painting Jesus as a burgeoning social engineer. Jesus feels like he’s more about direct honesty than playful manipulation. 

The interpretation that rings truest for me is the one that suggests Mark had a literary purpose for Jesus’ “strict orders.” In essence, Mark wants to portray a slow reveal of Jesus’ destiny. So he plays with Jesus’ commands and the crowds’ responses to create a story arc culminating with Jesus’ crucifixion. That makes sense to me. For some, this feels too much like Mark isn’t reporting Jesus’ exact words. I shake my head. Do you think Mark had access to a recording device to fact-check his quotes? Hell no. Listen folks, the manner in which the New Testament has been distilled into your leather bound book with golden glitter on the edges of the pages was a messy process. There is a reason why scholars who delve into biblical criticism (e.g. textual, form, redaction, etc.) often come out “losing their faith.” I don’t think losing one’s faith is necessary though - unless the faith they’re losing is in their unhealthy idolizing of the Bible. I prefer to keep my trust and adjust my understanding of the Bible. Personally, I think Mark’s Gospel is rather trustworthy - largely because we have so many manuscripts as evidence - but that doesn’t mean Mark wasn’t telling a story about Jesus and that he took creative license in the telling.

The Strong Man (3:22-27)

In the Gospels, Jesus is regularly in conflict with the religious leaders of the day. I’ll spare you a deep dive into all the various groups which go by names like Scribes, Pharisees, Sadducees, and teachers of the Law. The main point of all of this conflict is that Jesus’ teachings were threatening to the power brokers of his day. These Jewish leaders sometimes get a bad wrap among churches as pastors compare people’s hypocrisy and arrogance to a Pharisee. The problem isn’t unique to the religious leaders of Jesus’ day, the problem is a human problem. Read church history. Christians have mixed religious and political power in utterly disgusting ways - all in the name of Jesus by the way.

Here’s my interpretation: the religious leaders - teachers of the Law/Scribes - accuse Jesus of being in leagues with evil forces based on his ability to exorcize unclean spirits. They literally demonize Jesus. And what a stupid accusation! Clearly, these guys are threatened and now are relying on the ignorance of the crowds in hopes to stir up a mob. Jesus calls out their bullshit. “How can Satan drive out Satan?” Indeed.

He gives a parable of a thief entering the house of a strong man. In order to plunder the house, the strong man must be bound. That hardly puts the thief and the strong man on the same team. It’s just silly. This parable actually inspires the title of Ched Myers’ commentary on the Gospel of Mark. In the 80’s, Ched offered a revolutionary view of Scripture by reading it through a political lens. It’s brilliant. Here, the “strong man” represents any kind of power that oppresses, manipulates, and causes harm. Jesus is claiming that he is not only not in league with Satan, but that his view of Heaven has come to overthrow the political powers of this world. Is it any wonder that the political powers of his day concocted a mockery of a trial and sentenced him to a humiliating death meant to not only kill him, but discredit him, too?

How could the thief in the parable overcome a “strong man?” Well, I think it’s clear. It means the thief is stronger. This is where my faith is living today. I see so much icky-ness in our society. It’s honestly really discouraging at times. However, two things give me hope: one is that I’ve read enough history to know that the icky-ness of the day is not new nor unique. This has happened before and will likely continue to happen after I die. Second, I choose to believe Jesus’ message of love, forgiveness, service, and action can neutralize all the gross manifestations of insecurity and fear I see today. I choose to believe that the “strong man” isn’t the strongest person in the room.

The Idolatry of the Family (3:21; 31-34)

This last part might be the most “lead balloony” of my triad of observations. I learned as a pastor that my sermons would be more effective if instead of letting people wrestle with my opinions, I got them to wrestle with the words of Jesus. And here they are: “Who are my mother and my brothers?” (3:33).

I call this the idolatry of the family. This shows up in collective cultures where intricate rules of honor/shame dictate proper behavior for children who essentially become extensions of their parents’ (usually the father’s) will. It’s hard to watch people I love try to live under the weight of moral duty their families place on them. And it isn’t just collective societies that do this. Here in America (the most individualistic society on the planet), Evangelicals and Catholics hold up the family as the height of good. Just do a google search and you will find hundreds of ministries with the word “family” in them. “Blood is thicker than water,” they say. I think they say that at least. It sounds like something they’d say.

Jesus disagrees. In this instance, Jesus’ family doesn’t approve of his choices. They think he’s crazy and intend to reel him back to his proper place (3:21). After that verse, we get Jesus’ confrontation with the Scribes and the parable of the Strong Man. But then Mark circles back to the question of family ten verses later. Jesus’ mother and brothers arrive and send someone to interrupt him while he’s teaching. We don’t really get many details about this encounter, Mark just says that Jesus replies: “Who are my mother and brothers?” Then he looks away from the messenger and addresses the crowd: “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does God’s will is my brother and sister and mother.”

It’s so beautiful! In one quick encounter, Jesus breaks down social structures of survival and moral duty. It’s not that Jesus is anti-family. Clearly not! He is simply widening the definition to encompass all who love. For me, I’ve been invited into hundreds of intimate spaces where people share their complicated relationships with their family members. Some were abandoned as children. Others have been abused. Many simply find themselves as adults who don’t feel their parents or siblings are trustworthy. And all of it grieves me. However, here is the good news! Family isn’t just blood - according to Jesus, that is. 

Ancient humanity needed families to survive the dangers of their environment. There is a reason we are biologically inclined to attach to our immediate caretakers. But survival wasn’t the case anymore for Jesus, and certainly not for us today. Spirituality necessarily moves us beyond unimaginative matters of survival. Now, stories of moral obligation to family aren’t all harmful. Honoring your parents feels super helpful. But notice that’s not simply a rule; it’s a manifestation of love. And Jesus expands that love even to our enemies (Matt. 5:44; Luke 6:27). This is a significant reframe of family. Yes, we all need guidance and support at times, but unfortunately our immediate families are not always the best resource. Personally, I am blessed with a family that is supportive and slow to insert their opinions about how I should live my life (which makes me more inclined to listen to them by the way!). But not everyone has a family that chooses to demonstrate trust and belief by offering loving support. And for them, I point to Jesus’ words. 

Personally, I desire for our society to evolve in the direction Jesus is promoting. Our biological impulses to care for our immediate families aren’t the end goal; instead, they should serve as blueprints for how we love everyone. There is a deep connection that binds all human beings, even all creation if you care to look for it. And when our blood relatives aren’t able to control their impulses to control you, Jesus just showed us that you have permission to ignore them. If your family is more manipulative than loving, I recommend, for a time, loving them from a distance.

I know this was a long entry. I guess I had a lot of thoughts! I hope to keep it shorter in the future. We’ll see. Thanks for joining me on my journey of re-encountering Mark’s Gospel.

He Who Desires

“He who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence.” -William Blake, “The Proverbs of Hell”

I’m tempted to write, “This means that…” But this quote is too moving and enigmatic to yield so easily to interpretation and application. I feel impelled to marinate in it a bit, don’t you?

Desire can be dangerous, sometimes fatal. A pestilence pervades society and threatens all. Blake suggests that unacted desires might be a greater harm than fulfilled ones.

What inner or outer law keeps us from acting? It could be a parent’s order, a biblical command, taboo, or conscience. These prohibitors know the future all too well: do x, and y will surely follow. But we begin to suspect that life might be more than compliance. That unwieldy desires give us no rest, or turn up as displaced obsessions, steps removed from desire’s original object.

This quote from Blake is unsettling, and it is somehow irresistibly inviting as well. I find that his words are acting upon me, bypassing my command center, even as I seek to understand them more fully. They speak of that two-sided coin of desire. We sense that we do less than we ought, and we wonder about the unfulfilled lives we might leave behind us. There are tolls to be paid regardless of the road we choose to travel.

Back to the Bible: Mark 2

I have been “in the ministry” since I was 22. I have two degrees studying theology and the Bible. While my views have evolved over the decades, I have always loved the Christian Scriptures and teaching them both in the classroom and in churches. But I haven’t been reading them lately due to a needed hiatus.

So I’m picking them back up again. Feel free to join my re-engagement. Should be fun.

Mark 2

When I was in undergrad, my major was theology with an emphasis in the New Testament. That means I took a lot of Greek classes and courses with titles like: Luke-Acts, Johannine Literature, and Pauline Epistles. However, a prerequisite for those classes was one called Jesus and the Gospels. We studied what are traditionally called the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) due to their similarities which almost certainly stem from utilizing common sources. I remember my professor using an analogy for the four Gospels that stuck with me. He said Mark is quick and action-packed like a movie. Matthew and Luke are more like novels. They take more time to lay out the setting and the surroundings. John is its own thing altogether and is akin to a painting, textured and still in its story-telling.

In the second chapter of Mark, this analogy applies. I see four quick interactions - bam, bam, bam, bam! I’m not sure if you knew this, but the chapters and the verses are not original to the Bible. They were arbitrarily added centuries later. While I find them useful for referencing purposes, I remember that they have nothing to do with Mark’s intentions. So with that in mind, I will also include the first six verses from the third chapter (Mark 2:1-3:6). It makes more sense to me. So add one more interaction…bam!

On the surface, these five episodes don’t seem to have anything in common: healing a paralytic (2:1-12), hanging out with Levi and other unsavory characters (2:13-17), reframing the practice of fasting (2:18-22), and two instances of challenging the Sabbath (2:23-3:6). Yet when I read it, I saw a through-line. Jesus is confronting the status quo. Aggressively and intentionally. While he authentically embraces the Jewish tradition, he purposefully ruffles the feathers of the power brokers: they who deem themselves righteous protectors of the faith. It becomes obvious when immediately after these five episodes Mark tells us that the religious leaders decide it’s time to get rid of this rogue Rabbi. Kill him.

And what was Jesus challenging exactly? To be succinct, I think it’s something like this: religious superiority, and holiness codes. 

Now, some will say that Jesus didn’t come to destroy the Law (aka Torah), but to fulfill it. He did say that one time (Matt. 5:17). And the writers of the Bible (except Luke/Acts), were certainly all writing from a Jewish perspective. But when I read passages like this, I do not sense that Jesus agreed with most of the religious leaders’ interpretations of the Law. I do not even sense that Jesus sees himself as a mere reformer - someone that is guiding a movement back to the purity of their origins. If I’m reading his imagery about the cloth patches and wineskins correctly, I suspect Jesus is slyly alluding to more than a makeover. It’s more like a systemic overhaul. Tear down the building, scrap the old materials and blueprints, and start again. Hence, a new wineskin will be required. Something to hold the new wine.

Sadly, I do not think Church History reveals the sustained birth of the new wineskin Jesus imagined. Instead, I see Church History repeating the mistakes that Jesus openly criticized - egoic religious superiority and unnecessary holiness codes. Mark’s Gospel gives us a plot-driven, action-filled story that is clearly leading up to the startling conclusion of Jesus’ crucifixion and, most surprisingly, Jesus’ calm acceptance of this unjust death sentence. Mark’s Gospel shows me a man (the Son of Man as Jesus likes to say) who fiercely loves people even if that love looks like calling out systems of abuse run by trusted leaders who have deluded themselves with their own self-righteousness. 

I could speak for quite a while about the ways I believe today’s Christianity would be equally criticized by this rogue Rabbi. Perhaps that’s why I asked Trent to start a podcast with me. Hahaha!

When God Made

When God hung Andromeda In the night sky Did he blush cause he had outdone himself? When the votes came in that he would be king Did he make a run for the desert? Did he wish they would see him In his workshop engrossed in his work? Or on a walk with his friend? Or sleeping alone though he craved a woman And they were there for the taking?

He tired of the blue ribbons The parades and the banners and the portraits And the vows of allegiance And yearned to be listened to And argued with To be treated like a man Not a tyrant who slices necks on a whim

He did all the wonder-working But wondered what it would be like To be loved Even if he had nothing to offer Nothing in his gift And no reputation of terror.

Back to the Bible: Mark 1

I have been “in the ministry” since I was 22. I have two degrees studying theology and the Bible. While my views have evolved over the decades, I have always loved the Christian Scriptures, teaching them both in the classroom and in churches. However, I haven’t been reading them lately mostly due to a needed hiatus.

So I’m picking them back up again. Should be fun.

Mark 1

I like how Mark begins. It comes in clear and with guns blazing: the GOOD NEWS (1:1).

When I was reading this passage to my fiancé (now wife!) - who grew up Hindu and has never read the Bible - I felt compelled to stop and explain to her that this phrase is pretty meaningful. It actually wasn’t original to the New Testament but was a known statement in the ancient Western world. There is an inscription in Greek referring to Augustus Caesar announcing the good news of his birth. Basically, the good news is the start of a glorious kingdom of peace and prosperity. It’s a statement dripping with political dogma and religious devotion.

I think about the history of the Hebrew people and how many kingdoms they saw come and go. If we start with the Golden Age of Israel during Solomon’s reign, the list goes like this: the Assyrians, the Babylonians, the Persians, the Greek, and then Rome. And that says nothing of Jewish run-ins with other Empires after the destruction of the Temple (AD 70ish). Here, Mark is writing about an obscure Jewish Rabbi that he reportedly watched die, resurrect, and then ascend. The good news is a different kind of kingdom. An economy built on radically different principles.

Then Mark just jumps right into it. First, Jesus is thrust into the wilderness and tempted by the Accuser (1:12). Like Batman Begins, Jesus survives boot camp, exits a legit ninja, and starts getting down to biz-ness. He exercises a demon (1:26). He heals Simon’s mother-in-law (1:30). Then he answers a leper’s plea and cleanses him of a stigmatized disease (1:41). I love that short part where Jesus pulls away for some solitude (1:35). I mean, who wouldn’t need some me-time after all that work. You can’t keep burning the candle at both ends, Jesus!

I grew up in the faith tradition commonly referred to as Pentecostal-Charismatic. Yeah, we are the ones who speak in tongues and gave birth to televangelists who ask you to stretch your hands towards the TV screen. And I believed it all back them. I grew up with a semi-obsession around miracles and supernatural beings. But I don’t see things that way anymore. While I try to hold onto some humility around these matters, for the most part I don’t believe they are real. I believe in demons/angels as much as I believe in ghosts. Which is to say: maybe they’re real, but probably not in my opinion. Ironically, I would love to find out ghosts are real. It would just be the best. But I’m not holding my breath.

Does this mean I believe the Bible is making stuff up? Nope. I interpret the New Testament in its context, not within mine. For me, I believe in evil and beauty. I believe in mental illness and the power of the mind. And mostly, I believe in our human capacity to create stories, superstitions, and conspiracy theories to fill the gaps of missing information. Humans are masters at weaving tales to help describe an indescribable experience. When Mark speaks of demons and healings, I don’t doubt his experience. I just don’t feel the need to project his experience forward 2,000+ years. 

Instead, I try to enter the story that Mark is telling. A story of good news. Here is a story of an untrained Rabbi recruiting untrained disciples (1:16-20), and crazy shit starts to happen. These people who are suffering and longing for some semblance of freedom find something new. It’s unlike anything they’ve ever seen or even heard. I witness hope, healing, cleansing, and humility. This man from Nazareth spoke with authority (1:22) and at the same time told the evil spirits to stop marketing his greatness (1:27).

Most Evangelicals have boiled the Good News down to a sinner’s prayer. It’s a disturbing story in my opinion. Some angry god in the sky is genuinely disgusted by humans - whom he incidentally created that way - and he needs to balance the scales with judgment and sacrifices. Because this stickler of a god also supposedly loves these humans, he sends his son to brutally die for them. His wrath being satisfied, he now feels relief when he looks at his bloody son whom he was finally able to release his caged rage upon. And we, despite our unholiness and innumerable sins, can now be loved by this god in spite of our inherent depravity. Yuck. That story sucks IMO.

Mark doesn’t have a sinner’s prayer in mind when he wrote, “this is the beginning of the good news.” For Mark, the Gospel (which is what “good news” means in Old English) is not a story of a cosmic transaction to atone for sins, it is a story of Jesus the Christ interacting in space and time. This Jewish Rabbi is announcing a glorious kingdom of peace and prosperity. He calls it: the Kingdom of God. But strangely, it’s not one of dominion, it’s one of healing. It’s not one that starts with political rulers or wealthy lords, it starts with uneducated fisherman, ostracized lepers, and the town crazy folk. It begins with the lowly and the marginalized. It grows from there.

Personally, I like where this story is going.