2025-05-20T14:55:29+00:00

Marrying Juan Soto

May 20, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

Juan Soto is an outfielder for the New York Mets. According to his stats – his career batting average is .283, he finished 3rd in MVP voting once, this year, he’s hitting under .250 – he’s an average Major League Baseball player. But his contract says different. The Mets signed him in the offseason for all the years and all the money. So, according to his bank account, he’s the greatest to ever play the game.

Yesterday, he lined a ball off of the fence, stood in the box smiling it, and loafed into first with a 350 ft single. When reporters asked if he thought that was a problem, he quickly responded, “No.” Now, the Mets manager is going to “talk to” him about his lack of effort.

There is a lot about that paragraph that is distasteful, but the one that stands out is that the team will “talk to” him. For what? For being Juan Soto. By most accounts, he’s not exactly a high character guy, he’s not winning Man of the Year awards anytime soon, he’s his own biggest fan. If you believe they’ll actually talk to and/or discipline him for his actions and attitude (and that is a very big IF – it’s likely just something that upper management thinks is a good thing to say, condescending to us, as if we’ll scoop up whatever they toss our way, no matter how silly and nonsensical it is), my question is why?

I have the honor of officiating many weddings every year. Some feel like they’ll last forever, and some don’t. Some men will be great husbands, but other boys shouldn’t be getting married at all. I also do a fair amount of pre- and post-marital counseling (mostly listening and allowing each the space to be heard by the other), and what I find in stressful situations is usually pretty similar.

They marry Juan Soto, and then, when Juan Soto does Juan Soto things, behaves like Juan Soto always has, they appear to be shocked and dismayed. But they married Juan Soto. Do they expect him to be Derek Jeter or Nolan Ryan after the wedding day?

It’s very strange. Let’s say girl X is having an affair with Juan Soto, who is dating/engaged/married to girl Y. Juan Soto ends up probably being found out by Y (because Juan Soto’s don’t usually turn on a dime for less), and leaves Y to be with X. She finally gets to have him to herself, to build a life together. He’ll change, he loves her, whatever. Then, when he is discovered to be having a new affair with girl Z, X is absolutely shocked! How could he do this to me?!!

If you marry Juan Soto and he doesn’t have a job, has never had a job, and you are the one who pays for everything, maybe getting married expecting him to be a different person, one who works and pays, might not be the best idea. Maybe you still want to marry him, who am I to judge? You can marry who you want, it’s the expectation that’s the problem. The Mets hired a guy who turns doubles and triples into singles, and is incredibly surly about the suggestion that he might have any responsibility to his team to hustle out an extra base. After marrying him and giving him the GDP of most countries, why would they dream they’d end up with Mike Trout?

Why would girl X think Juan Soto would be faithful to her, when he’s not evidenced faithfulness as a characteristic he values too much? She wouldn’t. And neither would the Mets. That’s why it’s sort of offensive to pretend to mind, 50 games into the first season of the marriage.

Maybe he’ll change, hopefully he will, but isn’t it a little unfair to him to assume he will, and hold it against him if he doesn’t? He’s Juan Soto, and being Juan Soto got him 3/4 of a billion dollars, or the spouse, or the job, or or or.

But aren’t we made to grow and mature, to transform? Yes, of course, but we choose not to lean into everything we’re made for all the time, for a lot of reasons, some much less than 3/4 of a billion reasons. And that’s why we should be very careful who we marry.

People

May 12, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I finished a book last week, called Mastering Fear, by Dr Robert Maurer. It’s probably the 10th time I’ve read it, and it never fails to change me in some pretty significant ways. One of the main ideas is to emphasize that, in stressful, anxious, difficult situation, we are created, hard-wired to find others. The best example is when a child is scared, (in healthy environments) they climb into their parents bed for comfort. As we grow, that positive impulse is conditioned out of us. We believe we are on our own, we hold up independence as THE primary characteristic to success, not to mention the myth of the self-made anything.

Friday, my boys and I all knocked off of work/school and went to the theater to watch the Thunderbolts*. It’s the latest offering from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and the asterisk is a totally intentional plot point that I won’t spoil for you.

The MCU has followed the law of diminishing returns since Endgame, this multiverse business is boring and hollow, an excuse for cheap gimmicks, and has effectively eliminated consequence. Whatever. It’s fine. Disappointing, but fine. I see the movies when I do, but they are no longer vital to me, like The Winter Soldier or Infinity War was. (I have heard a “reboot” is coming to rescue us all from this nonsense, and it is desperately needed. Fingers crossed.)

Thunderbolts* is an exception, it’s fantastic, really great. At their best, superhero films are about big, real life issues, just in a science fiction context. When critics bemoan the explosions and unrealistic elements, as if those bells & whistles are the only reason for their existence, they have missed everything authentic and important and meaningful.

Yes, I recognize that I just called these movies ‘important,’ and they can be. I am not sorry. This is one of those times. Thunderbolts* is the modern human experience laid out before us. It’s super soldiers, enhanced superhumans, and genetic freaks. It’s also about mental illness, isolation, loneliness & crushing depression. Mostly about those.

And, like Maurer’s book, the solution is a team of super-people. Those who show up to hold our hands and help us lift giant pieces of falling skyscraper, to listen, and to save cities. (Of course, that is somewhat simplistic – a buddy isn’t a cure for mental illness, but a buddy always helps. Always. Someone who cares, someone to turn to, to climb into bed alongside of when we’re scared, and sometimes someone who will remind us that pharmaceuticals aren’t a flashing neon sign of weakness or faithlessness or anything else other than a crutch for an injury that may or may not be temporary. Depression and mental illness are complicated. They are also nothing to go through alone.)

These people in our lives are complicated, too. They can be full of contradictions and drive us crazy. The more we allow them in, the more power we give to wound us deeply. They can annoy. They can just be the worst. And they are also the ones who make this life so wonderful.

We don’t save worlds from “the Void” alone, and we don’t build beautiful lives alone, either.

New Ways

May 5, 2025May 5, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

Before we dive in, I wrote a post called Characters a few weeks ago, and received this super-sweet comment from a reader named pealsabdallah: “beautiful! AI-Powered Stethoscope Detects Heart Disease Early 2025 alluring.” Thank you, pealsabdallah, I think I’ll check out this AI-powered stethoscope that is so alluring, for sure.

I’ve heard that many accounts buy “followers” to boost their numbers, thus making them appear more attractive to advertisers. Maybe I’ll do that, too, if all of these pseudo-accounts are as kind as pealsabdallah.

I knew almost nothing about Twitter before last weekend, when I watched a documentary (on Max) called “Breaking The Bird.” It was very good, like the best soap operas. Founders were fired through back room shenanigans, only to be fired themselves through back room shenenigans, oodles of money was made & lost, everybody received death threats, and it all finally ended (as many things do) with Elon Musk.

I have a Twitter account, but never made one tweet. I was only a tourist. I’m mostly a tourist on Instagram, too. Now, though, I do wish I had engaged. It seemed to be a very interesting experiment, vital and alive. Maybe it failed. Whether it failed is hard to define. As Vision said to Ultron, (referring to humanity itself) “a thing isn’t beautiful because it lasts.”

Now Twitter is X and, sadly, nobody cares anymore. I missed the window.

One of the creators, Jack Dorsey, said, “I wanted to show the world a new way to see itself.” That quote is the primary reason I wish I had participated in Twitter. (I think that’s what we’re all doing, every day, with any work of art. I think it’s what the Bible does. It’s definitely what Jesus did.) It speaks to an extraordinary naïveté that I find incredibly refreshing and commendable, worthy of it’s inclusion in the history books.

This naïveté spurred these 3 to build a space where people could connect and discover themselves and their environment, without a trace of awareness that we can’t be trusted at all. If there is a thing, we will ruin it. Everybody knows that. Except for these 3, apparently. How could they have guessed that politicians would use their platform to espouse the most extremely nasty, venomous lies? Easy. A better question is, how could they not???

Is it reasonable to think killers would post videos of themselves killing? Of course. Or to believe people full of hate would direct that hate to ooze all over this platform? Obviously.

Now. I do have a new question, one that’s far more interesting to me. (Though, admittedly, that’s not that big of a deal. People being awful and lying their faces off is one of the least interesting things going.)

But first, do you remember Jeff Goldblum’s character in Jurassic Park, who said, “Yeah, yeah, but your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could that they didn’t stop to think if they should.”

Do they have to think about if they should, based on our propensity for evil? Does everything have to be considered through the filter of the lowest common denominator? If I invent a hammer to build, is it my responsibility to realize that we’d hit each other with it? Was it up to the Twitter founders to plan for the worst of our behavior? Isn’t it enough to make something beautiful, out of pure motives? Maybe not, but then that would mean nothing new would ever happen. No one would paint or sing or write. We ruin everything…does that mean we shouldn’t have anything??

And, with that kind of pessimism (realism?), where is the hope for us? Who will call us up? Into what? Can we evolve into better versions of ourselves?

And then I think of Oppenheimer’s bomb. Maybe it is true, maybe we shouldn’t have anything.

Confession

April 14, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I have an embarrassing confession to make, and a subsequent renewal of my personal ethos. (I’m writing/posting it as a way to work out my actual circumstance and gain some accountability. I don’t feel the need to live my whole life online. In fact, I think this can lead to a certain modern narcissism…maybe that’s what I am. A lot of these sentences begin with “I.” I can probably reason all of this away, convince you I am not, and sound super spiritual about it, without it being the truth. I don’t know if I’d know the truth, either way. Does a narcissist know he/she is a narcissist? Or is it just reality, how the world is, to him/her? Whatever.)

I was asked by a very good friend to help him coach baseball. I have been a baseball coach before, he hasn’t, and asked for my help. I love him 3,000, so I said yes. My previous team (which you may have read about ad nauseam) was comprised of 14, 15, & 16 year olds and was probably a unicorn, when it comes to the nexus of ability, effort, & character. This team is for 10-12 year olds. A 10 year old is different from a 16 year old in so many ways. That seems like a super-obvious thing to say, right? It is and it’s not. They’re different in way you know, ways that are obvious, and they are different in a million more, subtle, striking, ways.

I don’t like it.

And as I drive to the field, I think about how I don’t like it. The kids are sweet and funny, and they’re soft and wild, like squirrels released from a trap, running as fast as they can to nowhere in particular, screaming as loud as they can, about nothing in particular. I speak to them as if they’re 16 year olds, as if they’re my unicorn, and when they respond as not-unicorns, I am easily frustrated and (hopefully unnoticeably) discouraged.

I do not like this, even more.

I believe we show up and offer all we are, in every situation. This blog is my raw, honest heart, I pour my soul into every word, even if it gets 3 views (which it sometimes does.) You see, we are called to live at a certain level, as if working/living “for the Lord,” instead of anything/anyone else. This is awesome, because that means every person and space (no matter how insignificant we might consider – which is an absolutely WRONG perspective to hold, nothing and no one is insignificant. No moment, no interaction, no invitation, is insignificant, when we consecrate – which is a fancy church word that just means give – it unto God) has infinite value.

I hope it’s been unnoticeable, because those squirrels deserve so much better. And I’m going to give it to them. I’ll give them no more and no less than what I have to give, which is all of me, everything I have, my authentic self, just Chad. I won’t always be able to be there, I won’t always feel good, I might yell at them to “PAY ATTENTION!!!!!” but they will have my heart, undivided and untainted, from now on.

This space isn’t always for overt religion, but today requires some explicitly spiritual conversation. I repent of my actions. I’m embarrassed. I ask for, and receive, forgiveness. Now it’s just a matter of changing my behavior.

Confession & Renewal, this is an awful lot of what our lives are. An endless cycle of transgression & repentance, wrongs & rights, ups & downs, seasons of growth (sometimes uncomfortably stretching growth)… Maybe I wish it wasn’t quite so endless. Maybe I wish I would always get it right, not as much confession or transgression. Oh well, not yet, I suppose. So that leaves just one thing: to keep showing up.

April 2, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I know, I usually write that there aren’t any monsters, that we often draw our battle lines with the false belief that “they” are so different, so wrong, and “we” are so different in our goodness, our right-ness. Republicans aren’t monsters, people who voted for them aren’t monsters, and neither are Democrats and the people who voted for them. (I could use any examples of enemies, but that one seems to always connect.)

Having said that, maybe Sean Combs, “Diddy,” is a monster.

We’ve all heard the story of his rise, lifestyle, and spectacular fall. We all know about the thousands of bottles of baby oil and “freak offs.” We probably all wish we didn’t.

I love documentaries, and there are several on Diddy. Last week, I finally watched the one on Max. You might have thought I’d have watched one before now. I would have thought that. It has most of the elements I instinctively move towards: culture, excess, media, image, lies, absurdity.

It also has violence against women; manipulation, sexual assault, rape, abuse, perceived power dynamics, and lives ruined simply because some animal thinks they can/are entitled to.

As my instincts pointed me, my soft heart and nausea led me away. I finally did watch it, and I’m very sorry I did.

I’m not too interested in this story. A self-obsessed maniac who preys on those he deems weaker than, less than, him is pretty boring. There have been countless before him, mostly all the same. There isn’t one thing unique about P. Diddy. So, now I’m left wondering why I selected what I knew was abhorrent to me, what I knew would tear my soul & spirit to pieces. Why?

I guess we all do things that we know aren’t good for us. We eat food that isn’t healthy for us, and will make us sick. We stay in jobs & relationships that crush us. We keep pushing on our bruises, and tonguing the sores on our gums. And we watch details of the disgusting behavior of rappers.

There are a million psychological reasons to explain this, I’m sure. But I wonder, in this case, if they matter. Maybe it would be easy enough to simply say no and scroll on by the things that mean us harm. Sometimes, there doesn’t have to be a reason, or, I don’t have to know it. It can certainly help to know when & why I eat the foods and spend time with people that/who are mean to me, but is it really necessary?

I should have continued to watch episodes of The Residence or Reacher instead of this horror show. I sure will next time.

Political Disease

March 24, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I fully recognize that part of this post will, most likely, be met with angry indignation. As a population, almost 99% of us voted to affirm the American 2 party political machine. We voted that we do not, in fact, deserve better. I disagree with this affirmation, but that makes complete sense.

My generation has not seen one day when our government has been a source of integrity, positive change, comfort, or hope. (The possible exception is Jimmy Carter, who, by all accounts, was a good man, if not a terrific President, but what happened in Washington D.C. before we were in grade school doesn’t really count as an influence.) Instead, it has been an abysmal embarrassment in an otherwise great country. (We can no longer conflate the government with the country – the country is the people that make it up, and not the entity that sits in the “high” places, thinking themselves gods.) We have never known a moment when it has been the answer, it has always been the problem.

That’s what has made the past year so difficult to take. In my line of work, I have seen (and cried with) beautiful humans who have had relationships crumble and fall, who have left groups and organizations, based solely on who may or may not have received our vote. What this means is that we have exchanged those folks who bring us soup when we are sick, know our kids names and where they’re going to school, who pray for us, help us move, share our meals and homes, who laugh & cry with us, for a group of people who not only don’t know us, but don’t like us, and would kick us instead of step over us if we were in their way.

I heard someone say, “the ocean doesn’t care if you drown or not, but God wants you to swim.” If this is true, why would anyone turn from God in favor of the ocean? Why would we leave the ones we sit with at youth sports games, or who live next door, in favor of the ocean? That analogy breaks down quickly when we realize the political system is not the ocean. The ocean is indifferent. The ocean will be the ocean with or without us. The government is not indifferent, faking smiles while using us to sustain their power, and if we happen to not agree, will do anything/everything to squish us. Of course, a poorly kept secret is that it will squish supporters, as well.

This is an abusive relationship that we refuse to leave. “But he looooves meee.” No, he doesn’t. If actions are a true reflection, an overflow of the heart, he quite clearly hates us. And 99% of us simply won’t leave.

If you believe in a spiritual enemy, like the devil, you know that one of his most important tactics is division. There is a God of unity, and an enemy of division. What does it say about someone/something that uses that same method of attack? Does it say anything good?

Why do we continue to fight so bitterly to support this hell-ish downward spiral of violent abuse? And, again, why would we throw away those who care for us to defend the aggressively destructive elephant and/or donkey?

Now. If the politicians are not the solution, if the government is not the answer, then what is? I think about this a lot, and I am more and more convinced that there are 2 answers.

In a time-less, eternal sense, Jesus is. The God of the Bible gives freely & abundantly, (no matter what we may have heard elsewhere.) He cares for us, rescues us, wants us all to swim.

And in a temporal, earthly sense, The Church is. This one is a bit more complex, due to all of the damage we have caused throughout the years. But It’s origin is as a community of people who follow a God Who loves without cause or reason, who brings us all inside, accepts, forgives, encourages, gets drinks for the thirsty, food for the hungry. These people pray for, care for, serve, and will teach us to swim, and until then, will put us on their backs and swim for us.

Yes, obviously, The Church has not been all it could, or was supposed to, be, but if you’ve been inside for any length of time, a second or a lifetime, I guarantee you’ve seen at least one example of selfless beauty that gave you hope for a better world. When have any of us seen an instant of selflessness in the political realm?

As my optimism for reclamation of our government is dashed on the rocks of reality over and over, my resolve for The Church gains strength. My vision for politics is hopelessly naive, broken into tiny shards of unrecognizable debris, and is only shared by 1% of citizens, so I’m finally willing to let it die. This is what we get, politically, this disease.

However, as human beings, created by a loving God in His own image, in/by/for love, our future is assured…and it is wonderful. There are several passages that “set a choice” before us. Choose life or death. Choose this day who we will serve. And those several passages urge us, in the strongest possible language, to choose life, to swim.

I don’t know why or when we decided to choose anything else, but I do know (and have 1 zillion reasons) why it’s time to let that go and, instead, choose life, choose The Church, and, especially, choose Jesus.

Hunchbacks

March 18, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

All 4 of us (the Angel, both boys, and myself) spent Sunday afternoon in a local high school auditorium watching their spring musical, The Hunchback of Norte Dame. I’ve seen them perform Mary Poppins and Anastasia the 2 previous years, and you would think I’d start to expect a certain level of excellence. Yet, every year, I am left awed. We go to see a student actor who we just love to pieces, and I am always surprised by his talent, too.

I was unfamiliar with The Hunchback of Norte Dame (as I was with Mary Poppins & Anastasia). If it was a book, I didn’t read it, I never saw the Disney cartoon, so I walked in blissfully blank. It’s pretty dark, to tell you the truth. There is religion, sex, assault, death, gypsies, and, obviously, a hunchback. (I won’t spoil anything about it, just in case you haven’t seen it – you probably should.)

The last song ended with these lyrics: “Someday. Life will be kinder. Love will be blinder. Some new afternoon. Godspeed this bright millennium. Hope lives on. Wish upon the moon. Let it come one day.” You can already guess it’s not the feel good hit of the summer. Then, “And we wish we could leave you a moral. Like a trinket you hold in your palm. But here is a riddle to guess if you can. Sing the bells of Notre Dame. What makes a monster. And what makes a man.”

Everyone in the story is a label; Father, brother, gypsy, hunchback, soldier, stone, martyr, villain, and on and on. And all of them prove greater than the box in which they are relegated. They all transcend, for better or worse, becoming more and more human (for all that means.) I even thought the musical did the same, giving us the respect to not leave it too tidy and glossy, to leave us wide open, questioning, wondering, confused, broken and angry with a world that is hardly ever tidy and glossy. We’re all kind of broken and confused with our own world, looking for happy endings and finding few.

What makes a monster, and what makes a man? The question reminds me of a song that asks, Is evil something we are, or something we do? We’re all monsters, all men, or at least all have the capacity to be everything. We’re all villains, sometimes. Maybe the real danger is in our blindness to that fact.

But we’re also all heroes, too. Both/And. Quasimodo had choices, all throughout. Stay inside, watching a world on fire, watching Esmeralda burn, or leave, engage, act. Of course, he makes that choice. He braves a cruel, cold society for just one reason: love. It’s probably the same reason that impels any of us to act in a positive direction. We can choose our own selves, comfort, power, or we can choose to try our very best to bring healing to others, to a creation crying out in pain.

(I’m about to write something that is going to sound – and totally is – embarrassingly cheesy, but one of the blessings of being as old as I am is that I don’t care at all;) We are the hunchbacks of our worlds. We want to cower from a harsh, often nasty environment that sees us as hopeless outcasts. This environment protects itself, at any and all costs. It stifles beauty it doesn’t understand. But the divine can’t be extinguished, beauty perseveres, it’s just so hard to see sometimes. Some new afternoon, love will be blinder, life will be kinder, right? I left that show with tears in my eyes, but a big strong overflow of hope in my heart.

Great art does that, over and over- stretches the limits of the possible. Yes, sure, now can feel dark and overwhelmed, but the dark isn’t forever. If this can happen… If a person can create this loveliness in a high school in central Pennsylvania, with a huge group of teenagers that have been gifted hand over fist with this sort of passion and heart… If Quasimodo can affect the culture of his world, with his own gifts, despite his flaws, then anything can happen. Anything. So, we hunchbacks sing the bells of Norte Dame. Let it be one day. Let it be today.

1982

March 11, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

The site is asking me what animal I would compare myself to, and this is something I’ve never considered. I guess I’d like to be something big, strong, and awesome, like a lion or a gorilla or something like that. What does that say about me? I wonder if it says anything good. Probably not. It might say I only value physical strength or predatory dominance, but I don’t. At least not consciously. Maybe prompts like this are designed to unconsciously reveal the conscious. Or maybe they’re just trivia. Who knows?

I like to watch The People’s Court, and now since we don’t have cable, I watch on YouTube. This is an infinitely better situation. There aren’t commercials, so cases are very short and tidy, in and out, easy peasy. Yesterday, I happened upon a case from 1982, presided over by Judge Wapner. In the hallway, Doug Llewelyn was a young man, and Rusty was our trusty bailiff. It was terrific, but the coolest part of it, by a wide margin, was the inclusion of 1982’s advertisements.

I saw McDonald’s offering a Christmas tree ornament, some kind of canned Danish ham called Dax, long distance phone calls (!!!!), and holiday jazz festivals at a mall in Rochester. I’m under no illusion that society or culture were perfect, but I do have the familiar twangs of nostalgia. It happens when I see original GI Joe or Star Wars toy packaging, or hear tv sitcom theme songs. The opening notes from Diff’rent Strokes or Facts of Life take me right back to my living room, holding a cassette recorder to the tv speaker. Thriller is brilliant, but it gains layers of depth with the memory of all of us sitting in our neighbor’s house for the world premiere of the music video, then trying to pretend I wasn’t a little scared to walk home.

I was 7 years old in 1982.

I wouldn’t want to go back there, necessarily. The Angel isn’t there. My boys aren’t then. Almost all pop art now is preferable. I loved “Mickey,” by Toni Basil, I still do, but, sheesh, it’s not exactly an artistic masterpiece. We just watched the 2nd episode of Daredevil, released last week, and it might be. I really like the internet, am very happy to Google in half of a second instead of consulting the Encyclopedia Brittanica at the local library.

What it was then is simple. That’s what I miss. Maybe it wasn’t actually simple, you’d have to ask my parents or other grown-ups about that, but it was simple to me. We played together, hung out together, drove to the mall to sit, talk, and watch people. These things are simple, easy, and filled us in ways our cell phones just can’t. “Friends” or followers aren’t friends. A Zoom meeting isn’t the same as face to face across a table, reading expressions, tones, and emotions.

I don’t want to snap Zoom or Instagram out of existence. I don’t want to bring back the overt racism & misogyny of the ‘80’s. You can’t take my Amazon Music from me, or my Disney+ (even though the monolithic corporations that created the AI that knows me more than my own mom are a giant part of the problem). I might want to just build a sort of hybrid.

1982 wasn’t paradise, any more than 2025 is, but there are certainly elements of heaven in every moment. These elements, I sometimes think, have been lost only because we weren’t paying enough attention to fight for them. Malls are mostly gone, and sure, they weren’t everything they are in my head, and we can agree the loss of a collection of stores isn’t anything to mourn, in and of themselves. But they facilitated something much much deeper, much more significant than retail transactions. They gave us a space to be, a context where we could gather.

When we exist only in our homes, we become avatars and screen names instead of flesh and blood. We become carefully curated characters, and real life becomes virtual. Hate becomes imaginary, and the ability to empathize is left behind because we/they are somehow less than human. The truth about 1982 is that it’s infinitely harder to cling to the idea that others are monsters when they’re enjoying a holiday jazz festival next to us, each with a shared free tree ornament from McDonald’s.

[That was supposed to be the end, I liked the last line that ties all of it up nicely, I am satisfied. But what I’m thinking now is that this is probably just more imagination, more nostalgic romanticizing. We had monsters then, too. Maybe it wasn’t infinitely harder. Maybe mall and jazz festivals weren’t the answers. I wonder what is…]

[That was now supposed to be the end, but there’s one more thing: even if we don’t know what the answer is, we can’t stop asking the questions, and searching for new answers. The only way we lose is if we give up. That’s the end, for real this time.]

2 Kinds Of People

February 28, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

A senior in high school, my youngest son is navigating the college process. He is a very sharp young man, an extraordinary basketball player with a terrific GPA and a truckload of talents and gifts, so he has a wide variety of options. That, however, does not mean that his decision is without stress or anxiety, so we were very happy when he was able to choose an institution and release that weight.

Drew University in northern New Jersey was the early front runner, by a country mile. Everything about them was subpar, to my superficial eyes – the unprepared, hurried tour was a waste, the facilities were in disrepair (compared to all of the others), etc – but they offered a program to study in New York City that comfortably set it apart. We ordered t-shirts and informed family that he’d be a Drew bear, or ranger, or whatever.

Drew slowly fell back to the pack, through their inattentiveness. They were mostly uncommunicative, and when they did connect, seemingly put out and bothered to have to answer any questions. But they did have a stellar business program and that NYC opportunity, so they remained ahead, though the margin was not quite as wide.

We visited many other schools, some of them were great, some not so much. Lycoming College (I have no idea what the difference is between a college and university – I imagine it’s easy to find, but I really couldn’t care less. What is true is that there are universities and colleges and there is little noticeable difference between the 2) nosed it’s way into the no. 2 spot, but still, the space between Drew and Lycoming was huge. We scheduled visits on consecutive days in October, after which, he would make his decision.

Honestly, we figured the first (Lycoming) was a formality. He was going to be a Drew bear. We arrived at 8:30ish to find the basketball coach standing outside, waiting for him. This coach would be our guide, spending the whole day with us. We met with professors, prospective teammates, and admissions (where he was awarded a gigantic scholarship), finally ending with basketball practice and formal meeting in the coach’s office. Everywhere we went, on campus, the administration knew and correctly pronounced his name (something the doctor’s office where he’s been a patient since birth can’t yet figure out). The players on the team went out of their way to welcome him. The entire day could best be described as a celebration of my son. He was cared for and clearly valued. The coach asked us to text when we got home, like he was our dad, and when you’re entrusting one of your most prized blessings to another, you want a man who asks you to text when you get home.

As Drew fell back, Lycoming made a deeply compelling argument. As much as we loved Lycoming, the next day was Drew, and it was still theirs to lose.

Again arriving at 8:30ish, this time to an empty silence, we were on our own to find admissions for our appointment. Also again, he was awarded a gigantic scholarship, but this time it was with little significance. Just a folder slid across a desk. They asked for questions, woodenly answered, and sent us on our way to tour the campus by ourselves and, later, find our way to practice. My boy asked for a detailed breakdown of classes in his major, which they quickly, carelessly sent to his email… but of course, the attached document was for the wrong major.

Drew is a little over 2 hours away, so we drove 2+ hours there, sat for 30 min, and immediately returned to the car for the 2+ hours home, and on that drove home, we informed the coach that we were Lycoming Warriors.

There are 2 different kinds of people in the world, Drew’s and Lycoming’s. Lycoming affirms your humanity, treats you with dignity and respect, waits for you outside, makes time to share a meal, and values who you are. Drew condescends, is busy, impressed with itself, is sooooo very important, and might make time. Drew is better than you.

And, as is always the case, the Drew’s are arrogant and self-obsessed…and convinced of their inadequacy, in every way. Their fragile ego is afraid of your greatness, so they hide behind pretense and a curated image. Lycoming’s are humble in their excellence, secure enough to make you the focus. Lycoming believes you are awesome, and wants everyone, everywhere to know it, too. Drew cares only about Drew, Lycoming’s interest is in others, in building a beautiful community and world that is based on shared experience. Lycoming asks what they can do for you, Drew wants to know what you can do for them. Lycoming listens, Drew waits to talk. Lycoming loves, no matter what, Drew might like, as long as you’re useful.

The world needs more Lycomings in campuses and grocery stores, on the road, and in office buildings & churches. We already have plenty of Drews.

No Subject

February 25, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

The site is asking me what word I’d excise from existence, and it’s actually a pretty fun, interesting question. It’s also one I couldn’t care less about, now.

You see, I finished the new Netflix documentary (called American Murder: Gabby Petito) on the murder of Gabby Petito and the suicide of her murderer/boyfriend Brian Laundrie. Apparently, there is “backlash” over something in it. It could be anything, really. I have found that wherever something exists, there is someone who is outraged about it. But that’s our culture, isn’t it? We get more attention (what used to be called “ratings” but is now “views”) with a higher volume – on our opinions, emotions, and voices. So we’re MAD, RAWRRRR!!!!!! Something feels a little askew when we’re angrier about the documentary than the deaths, but what do I know?

This couple – perfect on social media – began a YouTube “vanlife” vlog when they bought a tiny white van and hit the open road. He was abusive, I guess she thought that was ok, and then he killed her & left her body in the woods. He, then, drove home to his parents house, who promptly hired a lawyer and refused to talk to the police. They obstructed all investigations, while another’s child lay dead. The culture reached a fever pitch, as news of gabby’s disappearance blanketed all news outlets. She was young, pretty, and white, and if you don’t think that matters, I don’t know what to tell you. Anyway, under all of the guilt, stress, conscience, and publicity, Brian walked into the woods and shot himself, and his parents had to search for their own son with the same law enforcement team they so recently fought.

I also recently watched the new OJ Simpson documentary, where a domestic abuser eventually murdered his ex-wife. (We can now drop this “alleged” nonsense, can’t we?)

I don’t pretend to know what every abused person feels or why they stay, if they believe it’s ok, or that they deserve it, or if they don’t have any other options, or if the abuser lies to convince them it’s ok, they deserve it, or they don’t have other options. I know we have some pretty misguided understandings of what love is. OJ certainly didn’t love Nicole, and Brian Laundrie didn’t love Gabby Petito, no matter how many times he cried and told her he did.

I’ve been too close to too many of these violent, destructive relationships. I’ve cried more tears than you could possibly imagine. Well, maybe you can, you are, likely, well aware of my hyper-sensitivity and nature as, what is currently being labeled, an empath. I feel everything all at once. So, when I watch this sort of doc, it leaves me torn & exhausted. I see the parents eyes and know the toll this has exacted upon their fragile hearts. (We don’t see Brian’s parents, but they have lost their son, and even monsters hearts break with this kind of pain. – As I write that, we all know they’re not monsters, they’re myopic and selfish, but not monsters. They’re parents, and parents sometimes get things so wildly wrong, it’s impossible to know what they could have been thinking, don’t they?)

I finished coaching youth sports, and have had many hours of thought, many conversations on what I’ll do now. We all need to be in our communities, loving each other, or we begin to assume we are alone & unloved. This is an assumption we cannot allow. But what will I do? Who will I see? Where will I go?

And I’d like to go into the domestic violence field, to care for the battered while they hopefully can heal, learning different stories about worth & value. If I were Batman, this is where I’d give my time and attention – finding OJ’s, Brian’s, Gabby’s, and Nicole’s in time, working to end cycles with fresh words and forgiveness. However, the idea of a man in those spaces is mostly forbidden, probably for good reason. Just because I am trustworthy doesn’t mean everyone is.

I don’t know what my point is. Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe this is a very good example of not having any idea what the revolution looks like, but knowing where it starts. We all know where it starts. With love. (Real love, agape love, not the hollow meaningless hi-jack & redefinition we’ve been sold) This looks different in every situation, but it has always been the answer. We go one at a time, changing the world in baby steps. It’s slow and maddening, but we didn’t create this mess in an afternoon, it’ll take time to reclaim our humanity. But it’ll be so worth it.

Love With A Capital L

A journey towards living an inspired life of love in the modern world

Tag: culture