2025-02-04T15:42:55+00:00

Cherry Pie

February 4, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

This will probably be a little lengthy, and might get a little NC-17. We’ll start with the post I just wrote for the church site:

“In the 2nd chapter of Titus, the word sober-minded was used, and that doesn’t sound like too great of a catch phrase. No one is probably getting a “sober-minded” tattoo, or using it on their dating profile. We don’t throw it around easily in conversation, it seems like an adjective that was used often in the late 1800’s, and not much since. See? The Bible is hopelessly outdated, right?

But the term, as it was written, suggests a person that “knows the value of things,” and as I look around, live and breathe, I can’t think of a characteristic that is more necessary and less common.

Have you ever reached out to someone about something that is heavy, that is taking a toll on your heart, that is painful or wildly significant, that we aren’t meant to carry alone? It’s an unbearably vulnerable space, and we wait. Then, the person, obviously uncomfortable, makes a joke. Or answers their phone. Or changes the subject. Your authenticity is discarded and disrespected. That person, who made you so sorry you reached at all out and especially sorry you reached out to him/her, has no idea of the value of things.

Not only do they not know the value of the circumstance you entrusted to them, but they do not know the value of your open heart, not do they know the value of a human being. This last one is, sadly, the real loss. We treat each other as disposable, as means to ends, as items to be used, for what they can bring to us, instead of recognizing who they are for no other reason than who they are. We are, to each other, too often, tools.

We have things to do and boxes to check. We have been sold the idea that our productivity is more important than our relationships. We have lost the value of things.

When I see people show up to weddings in t-shirts (a more and more common occurrence), I always shake my head. I speak to my boys of “time and place,” and now I know that I actually mean, “sober-minded.” A wedding is different than a ball game is different than bedtime. When we go to the gym and go through the motions, we have forgotten how extraordinary it is that we have been made in such a fantastic way that we are able to do these amazing things with our bodies. Instead of worship, it is a torturous obligation. When we kiss our wives or hold another’s hand without thinking, as simply routine, we have missed the value of this shocking intimacy. What could be more wonderful than the soft, slow, unhurried kiss of your beloved? Or more loving and trusting than another person offering their hand to you, searching for care and closeness?

Right. We’re, of course, talking about Genesis 28:16, “Surely God was in this place, and I was unaware.” When we lose the value of things, we are consistently unaware.

Last night, we drove an hour to what is likely to be the very last away high school basketball game for my youngest son. Do you know how many away games we’ve traveled to? A lot. Do you know how many times they were a nuisance? If that answer is equal to or greater than 1, we were ignorant of the value of things.

I think the concept of “ordinary” is the language of a culture that does not know the value of things. Maybe Paul’s letter to Titus is exactly what we need. Maybe we need more “sober-minded” tattoos, so we can all remember kisses and away games, remember to be grateful, so we can remember to stay present and wake up to our lives and the overflowing blessings all around us.”

Now cover the kids ears. 2 days ago I heard the Warrant song, “Cherry Pie.” True, this isn’t a classic, in the sense that it is a particularly great song. But it is a classic in the sense that we all know it, you probably smiled when you read it, you probably can hear it in your head right now. It means exactly what you think it does, Warrant was never very subtle (not much of the hair band era was) or nuanced. Anyway, there is a line that says, “put a smile on your face 10 miles wide.”

I am a married man, so there is a physical act that my wife and I alone can enjoy (which is the subject of “Cherry Pie,” which is the reason we’re discussing it), and over the course of my life, I have seen, heard, read, and thought more about that act than almost anything. So, one of the things I notice is that there is a certain pressure to, um, finish, and without that… Well, wherever there is pressure, there is weight, which can steal focus and joy. We go somewhere else in our minds, our attention is split any number of ways.

When I marry couples, I give very strict instructions to not try to memorize their written vows. Write them down. Because a wedding is one of the most profound experiences of our lives, and if we drag along the pressure of memorizing the words, the ceremony ends and we discover that we remember little, if anything, of the moment.

The value of the thing Jani Lane of Warrant is singing about is not the finish, it is in the connection, intimacy, love, exclusivity, the dace between souls expressed through our bodies. It is selfless giving & receiving, it is pleasure, this blessing, and to reduce it to (roughly) 15 seconds of release is to miss the most significant parts. And if those 15 seconds don’t come (newsflash for those raised on popular culture and pornography: they don’t always, even in the best circumstances), we can feel other ways that don’t include 10 mile wide smiles. What a sad illustration of Genesis 28:16.

And another illustration of the modern lie: that we are only what we produce. That our worth is based entirely on our performance. That the value of things we have been taught since birth is hopelessly warped and twisted. Warrant had it right, maybe for different reasons than I think they did, but right nonetheless.

The point is to be there. Here. Now. Wherever we are, whenever we are. Whether it’s a cherry pie situation or church, tears or 10 mile wide smiles. This life we have been given is too beautiful to miss.

Gongoosmos-ing

January 30, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

What do I complain about the most? That’s what the site is asking this morning, and that’s almost too prescient. I wonder if the site prompts are different for everyone, and this AI algorithm is listening through my phone/tablet/tv set for who I am and what is, specifically, on my mind. Because I have been complaining this morning, and it happens to be what I complain about the most, in this season of my life.

I’m calling this post Gongoosmos-ing, because gongusmos is the Greek word for complaining, used often in the Bible. (I add the -ing because we can do whatever we want – I’ve never pretended to be a Greek scholar, I just love the word and want to use it.) It’s used to describe the behavior of the Israelites after they have been liberated from Egyptian slavery, and as they walk in the desert, they gongusmos. It’s the words uttered (or muttered) that are simply the outflow of the heart. “We deserve better,” that sort of thing. They lose sight of the blessing, or any hopeful vision for the future, exchanging it for an entitled sense of misplaced arrogance. We have been given less, we are lacking something, it sucks, and I’m going to tell you, tell everybody, about it again and again.

But some things do suck, right? The trick is to figure out the kind of perspective that can see the suck in a redemptive way, looking for solutions (this sucks, what can we do about it to make it not?), instead of just seeing the suck as static and impossible to affect any change (this sucks and will always suck).

I’m going to be honest with you, here, in a way I may regret. Maybe some things shouldn’t be aired in public. But maybe that’s it’s own form of despair and resignation to the toxic “it is what it is” status quo mentality.

(I’m going to use sports, but as we have learned, this isn’t only about youth sports. Not by a long shot.) We’re at the tail end of my son’s high school basketball season (maybe I’ve mentioned it;). The referees are embarrassingly inept. If the things that happen on the court, the way the players punch and push and harass, are within the rules, they should not be. (To be clear, they aren’t. When I say ‘if,’ I don’t really mean if.) It’s hard to watch a game. I gongusmos about that, and I’ll tell you why in a paragraph.

There are 2 sides of youth sports coaching. First are the x’s & o’s, wins and losses, the actual game, teaching positions, skills, plans, strategy – where the players learn the game and grow in it. The second are 3 C’s: character, connection & care – the players spend so much time with the coach, they are taught much more than the game. They are taught sportsmanship and all of those characteristics that come with becoming men and women. The best coaches have both. They relate and win, the players trust them and play for them. They exit the program as better versions of themselves in so many ways they may not understand. They just know they’ve been cared for. The vast majority of coaches have just one. They either win OR they’re the men/women you’d want your child to spend the time with. The worst have neither… I gongusmos about that.

Woeful officiating and shameful coaches have the same symptom and consequence, they communicate the exact same message: “Who cares? It’s just sports, it doesn’t really matter. We can’t do better, we’ll take what we get, and throw our hands up in a bizarre kind of aggressive indifference.” And maybe. It is just sports. (The fact that it is the American religion is a topic for another day.) Maybe it is so ancillary to the human experience, that devoting an ounce of attention to the (sometimes) miserable state of affairs is misspent energy.

However. The real message we are communicating is that it’s not the sports that don’t matter, it is the kids. (I cringe to say the familiar refrain, “it’s for the kids,” because the people usually self-righteously screaming it are obviously lying. Oh well.) The idea that my son (and your son and the 2 boys that quit 13 games into their senior season and the boys that cried after each devastating loss) deserves whatever we can throw at them is violence to their spirits.

Maybe we’re all so anxious and depressed because the world is a mean place where the people who should be fighting for us aren’t because it’s too much trouble. Maybe our kids don’t trust anyone because we’ve all proven ourselves to be so untrustworthy. Maybe this isn’t gongoosmos-ing, it’s shouting into the crowd in an attempt to incite a revolution. The revolution that reclaims the worth and value of every person. The revolution that stops sending the message that you aren’t enough, aren’t important enough to demand better, and starts sending a different announcement, that you ARE. The revolution of radical love. And maybe we could start to prove it with our skin and bones and decisions.

Maybe this is all gongoosmos-ing. I guess it all depends on if we can turn these warped tables of our own apathy over and rebuild this whole broken system.

Dreams

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

This site is asking me what my dream job is…

There’s a story in the Bible I reference often. A blind man reaches out to Jesus, asking for help, and to this, Jesus responds, “What do you want me to do for you?” It sounds pretty simple and obvious, but I have found it’s anything but simple or easy. For an endless number of reasons, we don’t ask to see. We ask for a new can or sunglasses, or a better attitude to deal with the blindness, or enhanced hearing or taste. This man alongside the road understands the assignment, asks to see, and is immediately granted his sight.

So, like the site, I sit down with people and ask, “What do you want?” How they answer that is always fascinating. But the saddest reply (for both of us) is, “I don’t know.” We’ve gotten so used to blindness. Or we’ve lowered our hopes & expectations to the point where sight is impossible. Or, in the case of the site’s question, we’ve stopped dreaming a long time ago.

I had a job for 16 years. It changed my life for the first 10, then quickly deteriorated for the last 6. You’d think I would pray for a new job, new opportunities, an imagination that could hope for a new path. Just something new and wonderful. But my prayer was to endure in a more positive fashion. The site question wouldn’t have made sense. The question from Jesus would’ve been met with silence.

Probably, the most damage we can inflict on our children is to steal their imagination. The adults in the room talk about realistic expectations (which is just another way to open the door for them to join us in dark rooms of despair.) I want to be a superhero. Really? Why? To help people. Because I see injustice. To fix what is broken. Whatever the why, there are a million pathways for that. But I was told, over and over, that it was impossible, that I was wrong and had better craft a Plan B (or C or F) that was more reasonable. Go to college, make money, work in a nice office with a window and fancy title. Get a job and a new car. Wear a suit & tie. Pull your head out of the clouds and chain it to the plow of consumerism. Superheroes aren’t real life.

Except they are. I meet superheroes every day, I see people do extraordinary feats all around. It just takes eyes to see – maybe that’s the point of the interaction between that man and Jesus. We might have our sight, but we sure can’t see. They are (you are) ordinary men & women who haven’t had their dreams dashed on the rocks of ‘good sense,’ who still believe that we can make a difference and change the world, who still believe that every day is a chance to rewrite what is, and create what will be, who love without limit or abandon. Ordinary? No way, they are absolutely superheroes, they just don’t wear capes and cowls.

This is what I get to do. I get to ask those questions, re-frame the conversation, and try to inject some hope back into our lives. This is my dream job, and those grown-ups were wrong, I do get the chance to be a superhero.

New Years

December 26, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

Christmas is over, New Years is next week, and it’s the perfect time to take a moment to reflect on the year that was, and will be. That’s what I’m doing, asking all of the questions that I ask every week (here and in most of my sermons): Who am I? Who am I becoming? Is that who I want to become? Where are the blind spots in my life that need to be addressed? What needs extra attention?

It’s not so much goal setting, as it is route setting. I care far less about where I eventually end up, as the person that ends up making the journey. Maybe that’s because I would have never, in 2 million years, picked anything about the person I am or the life this particular person has to circle on a vision board (if I were to ever be forced to create a vision board.) And this person and this life infinitely eclipses everything for which I could’ve dreamed.

So, I think about the values and characteristics 5 years from now me might hold, and set a navigation plan to develop them. But the course is in pencil, or dry erase, just in case the Spirit corrects this course to one more suited to the person I’m called to be.

I choose a word for the year. In the past it was release, gratitude, rest…oh yes, release. I think release was several of the past 10 years. You see, I have historically had trouble with expectations and control – this is one of those blind spots that required many years of digging to excavate. But once it was out, it became obvious that it was causing so much fear, anxiety, stress and distress. It needed to be foremost in my mind to critique. Maybe expectations aren’t awful all the time, are they? No, is what I discovered, and now I can tell you the specific times they aren’t. Same with control. These things aren’t necessarily toxic, but they certainly can be. I just need to be able to tell the difference, and that took (is taking) years and years of intention.

Are there things in my life that need to be left behind? Or are there things that I need to begin? The short answer is yes, of course. If our answer is no, then maybe a little self-awareness is the one to be added.

Where have I been unhealthy, and from that, where can I tale steps to be healthier? This isn’t just sugar or trans fats or exercise, it’s sleep and generational curses and bad theology and hypocrisy and sleep and negative patterns and addictions and lies we’ve believed that were lies then and are lies now (or maybe weren’t then but sure are now) and and and.

It’s no secret I love New Years, but not just January 1 New Years. I love new years, and they start anytime we say they start. This time of year is just a convenient calendar replacement that serves as a loud invitation. But they can start next Monday or last Thursday, in January or July. They just need to start, right? So, here we are, ringing in the new year and the next chapters in our new lives, together.

Tolerance…

October 17, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

We’re having an event (where I’ll speak and a fantastically talented singer-songwriter will perform) at our church. You’re invited, of course, but that’s not exactly what I want to talk about right now. A very great friend sent out an all-staff email with the flyer to invite those at the company where she works. Maybe this was a horrific breach of the separation of church & state, sacred & secular, religion & profession. Or maybe this was an irresponsible use of corporate communication channels. Or maybe this was simply a woman sharing her interests with her co-workers. (It was probably all of those.) Either way, she was quickly reprimanded, because…someone was offended and complained.

Is it an issue of ‘personal use’ or religious content? Who knows, the administration is appropriately vague. I wonder if all personal communications (like “Sally had her baby!!!” “Sally has extra tickets to the Phillies game,” “Sally’s husband is in surgery right now,” or even, “Sally is raising money for hurricane relief in North Carolina”) are banned. Or just religious messages (the only religious vocabulary or imagery on our flyer was the word “faith” in the address)? And who says what’s religious? The national religions are sports and/or commerce, so does anything having to do with those topics get flagged? Can I remind people to vote? Can I send a birthday card around? Or are we automatons strictly confined to professional conversation? Is it just email? Can I still ask you about your car accident or pet’s death, or is any acknowledgment that you have an outside life offensive?

Obviously, I’m overreacting, using absurdity to illustrate the absurd. But there is something here, isn’t there? This is not “persecution” or Christian “censorship.” We sometimes lob these kinds of words like grenades that do nothing but de-value and desensitize us to actual persecution, which does exist (just not here).

If you sent out an email I don’t like – or if, in this case, if I would NEVER go to your event – I would delete it. That’s all. Then I would go on with my day. Maybe someone else would go to your event, and in that case, I hope you all have fun. In fact, I want lots and lots to go, because we are human beings and people should enjoy themselves. Even if I wouldn’t enjoy myself at their shindig. But I still want to know about Sally’s life, Joe’s passion for pickle ball, or Jim’s grass cutting business.

As the notion of tolerance grows, I wonder why we’re all so much more offendable? Shouldn’t our pretend tolerance make us all very open to your thing, whatever your thing is? This is why tolerance is a ridiculous joke – because no one actually believes it, in the slightest. I would’ve put it in the above list of American religions, but we build our lives around Sunday afternoons and Black Friday, but almost no one cares what tolerance actually is, and less than ‘almost no one’ follows it’s basic tenets.

The only time tolerance matters is when I ask you to tolerate MY idea, belief, or opinion. Tolerance is a one way street, not a revolving door. It’s a farce that’s time has come and gone. How about we let it die and Rest In Peace.

Tolerance is such a low bar, anyway. How about we love each other? How about we celebrate each other’s differences, instead of merely tolerating them, like I tolerate the ulcer in my mouth or the bunions on my feet? We’re people, not social nuisances. Sometimes people have interests that you might not, and that is wonderful. It gives us and our world texture and color. Maybe you’d like my event, even if you don’t like singer-songwriters or brownies or my face, and maybe you wouldn’t. But that’s not the point at all. The point is that pretending to worship tolerance has gotten our feelings in such a twist, we are offended at mostly everything, enjoy nothing, and our world continues to divide and shrink. Love can open us up to new people, new experiences, new stories, new hands to hold and songs to hear, and in this season of divided, small perspectives, can’t we all use a bit of that sort of new?

Which One Is It?

September 27, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/2 Comments

What’s the trait I value most about myself? That is an interesting question the site is posting today… There are 2 kinds of people in the world, ones who see everything good about themselves and those who see nothing good about themselves. Of course, we all have some of both, which reminds me of an exchange in Kill Bill, vol 2 between Bud and Elle:

Budd: So, which “R” you filled with? Elle Driver: What? Budd: They say the number one killer of old people is retirement. People got a job to do, they tend to live a little bit longer so they can do it. I’ve always figured that warriors and their enemies share the same relationship. So, now that you’re not gonna have to face your enemy no more on the battlefield, which “R” you filled with? Relief … or regret? Elle Driver: A little bit of both. Budd: I’m sure you do feel a little bit of both. But I know that you feel one more than you feel the other. And the question was, which one is it?

Elle feels regret, but that’s not important. If you haven’t seen the film, you really should, it’s amazing. But I often think about these “2 kinds of people,” Beatles or Stones scenarios. Today it’s All good v. Nothing good? The site prompt wants to know which one I am. I happen to be considering something just like this – it’s actually the reason I opened this iPad this morning.

The working definition of insanity is doing the same thing expecting different results, right? And it drives me crazy when others follow the same roads that are hurting them. It’s like re-watching a horror movie where we keep yelling at the screen, “don’t go in there!!!” But they always do. They don’t do anything different, keep swinging the same wrecking ball at their lives and reaping the consequences.

I have this theory (I have many theories) that most of us don’t want advice, we simply want you to say yes, we’re right. We don’t want to change, the pain of moving from this spot has to exceed the pain of staying, and no matter how much that pain is, it’s often less than the fear of new pain. So, I walk with them (I like that about me), kindly, hoping they choose another path before they catch on fire again and I am there to help put them out. I reason that, eventually, they will open their eyes and choose a new path. That’s why you want me walking next to you. I like that about me. I’m not judgy and I’ll let you crash, if that’s what you want, then I’ll get down next to you while we pick up the pieces. (It’s also why you don’t want me walking next to you, if you happen to be the ultra-rare kind of person who wants me to grab the wheel before impact.) This is frustrating to watch the people we love self-destruct.

There is a problem with my explanation…and my frustration. I have a poor physical self-image (getting better) and poor eating habits (not yet getting too much better). These 2 things are friends and feed each other. I eat the food that makes me feel like garbage and makes my body less than aesthetically pleasing (at least to me) and, because of this, sabotage myself by eating more of that trash. This has to stop, if I want to live the sort of life I deserve.

In most areas of my life, I’m very disciplined. I like that about me a lot. But in this area, I am completely insane. My explanation has a fatal flaw, and it’s that I use the word “they,” because it’s not they at all. It’s me, it’s us. I don’t like this mirror, because I don’t like this part of me.

Now, I’m going to get to work today digging into my soul and psyche, trying to use my imagination to shift my perspective. But first, which one am I? I don’t like some things about me, that is absolutely true. But I like many more, and that number keeps growing for the same reason I keep walking paths with others long after everybody else peels off: hope. I am a genuinely hopeful man, I believe in you and I now believe in me. Of course, this is rooted in my belief in Jesus, which requires me to love us enough to hope. That’s my favorite thing about me, the trait I value the most, but I guess the truth is that it’s Jesus that is that part of me. So, He’s my favorite part of me. And He’s my favorite part of you, too. That’s why we can keep messing up, living loops, I can keep eating like a manic 6 year old, and it doesn’t define us, we are still beautiful, we are still worthy, we are still lovable, and we are still loved. And these same still’s are also why I, why we, can be free to change.

Dancing Lessons

August 15, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

The Angel & I are taking dancing lessons. We’ve learned the foxtrot, rumba, and swing – and when I say we’ve learned them, I mean we’re learning the most basic steps. Level zero. Our instructor shows us the positions, the steps, the beats, the building blocks, explains why, and hints at all of the possibilities with the higher levels (higher than zero;). It’s super fun, we like each other, laugh a lot, and I always love the way the Angel moves.

I am the leader – I recognize this is quite old-fashioned and so-not-2024, to have a man lead, but that’s how it goes. I decide where we’re going and what we’re doing, if she’ll turn or not, and if she does, under which arm she’ll go. And she’s supposed to follow.

You can see that this might present a problem. If you have ever had the pleasure of spending any time with the Angel, you know she is a born leader, an alpha, and she is the leader in nearly all of the spaces of her life. She does not like to be led, often for very good reason. (It took many years of our marriage until she was comfortable enough to trust me in any significant capacity…also for very good reason.)

So we’re dancing and our instructor, Artur, is encouraging my leadership and her following where I lead. It’s the only way it works, there can’t be 2 leaders, and even if I don’t exactly know the steps, I will, and it’s impossible for either of us to learn the dance without the basic structure intact. This week, he said to her, “You are not following, you are anticipating. You are going where you want to go, or where you think you should go. And when you do that, he cannot lead you.”

I became a much worse rumba leader, because that lesson was teaching much more than dancing, and my mind started to wander. I thought of my relationship with Jesus, and how He is the leader, only I fight Him because I think I know where we should go, what we’re supposed to do, I know what the steps are, not Him, and I’m actually trying to force Him to follow me. Right?!!!??

[Maybe Jesus isn’t who you’re dancing with. I hear people call their dancing partners the Universe, an Energy Source, their Higher Power, whatever name you choose, you are dancing and you do have a partner. Like Bob Dylan said, “You may be an ambassador to England or France. You may like to gamble, you might like to dance. You may be the heavyweight champion of the world. You might be a socialite with a long string of pearls…But you’re gonna have to serve somebody.” I dance with Jesus.]

We’re dancing this life He’s given me, and instead of smooth graceful sweeping purposeful movements, it’s a power struggle. Well, it’s probably honestly not much of a struggle, if I need to drive this car into a ditch, He’ll probably let me. (Like that parable of the unforgiving debtor, the King forgives, but when the forgiven won’t, He says, ok, if that’s really what you want, I guess we’ll do it by your rules.) So our dance doesn’t look beautiful, it’s wooden, clumsy, and dis-jointed. It’s visual noise, and looks like neither of us know what’s going on and neither of us can hear the music.

These dancing lessons are great, we’re having a terrific time, and I’m wondering how my life would look and feel if I just stop fighting the flow and let Him finally lead.

July 22, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

The site is asking what I’d change about modern society. Probably a lot. But that’s not what I’m thinking about this weekend. You already know I’m a man that reads the Bible, and one of the passages I came across last week was one where Peter said I am a slave to whatever controls me. Passages and verses in the Bible are different as we are different. We don’t ever read the same book twice, because even as the words stay the same, we don’t.

So. What controls me? I’ve decided it’s food, the gym, and sex. This is complicated because all 3 are wonderful gifts from a Loving God.

To not make any of us uncomfortable, I’ll use the gym as the example we’ll discuss. I lift weights (and do a small amount of cardio). Exercise is a healthy lifestyle, fitness is positive, it’s a good thing to take care of myself. I should tell you I’ve always had a weight problem, and this is still sort of true. (I am classified as ‘morbidly obese,’ if you listen to the doctor’s charts.) Sometimes, the thing that gets me to the gym is not fitness, not positive, it’s the outpouring of an angry heart that is operating out of old tapes in my head. It is punishment. It is not a choice, or even a reward, the local Planet Fitness is my master. Or rather, the mean voices in my head that tell me I’m not enough, unless… or that I’m whatever and I’ll always be whatever, they become the masters of me.

The gym is awesome, and I love it. I don’t even so much mind that it’s not really a choice anymore, in a manner of speaking. It is so much a part of the fabric of me that I don’t have to. However, a rest day is not evidence of some defect, it’s a necessary facet of self-care. But too often, I spend rest days with some level of guilt and shame. These feelings are no longer oppressive, but I’d be lying if I said they weren’t there at all, and they are often the impetus to get me to the gym instead of beauty or gratitude or pleasure or even agency. This is mastery.

Food is a little different. It’s healthy and nourishing, relational, a blessing. But I very often don’t choose what to eat out of self-care and thanksgiving, I choose out of simple primal desire for whatever tastes best (like processed sugar-laden junk) that will damage me. Maybe it’s not that different, it’s a master that isn’t concerned with my well-being, and is, instead, bent on the opposite.

Anything we can’t stop, or that distorts our moods and emotions when we do stop, is a master. And we are it’s slave.

These things are gifts, I am not a slave to the socks I got at Christmas. I am not a slave to the Church, or Three’s Company, or my favorite songs. These are gifts, they add color and texture, and make my life so much better. So does food and sex and the dead lift. Until they don’t. Until they are the stern task/master that is holding the keys to me.

So now what? What do I do with this? I can’t cut them out, nor would I want to. I simply want them in their right place, as blessing instead of curse. Maybe that means more rest days. (It’s funny, most people’s New Years Resolutions are to go to the gym more often, mine would be to go less often. Weird.) Less sweets, or more mindful sweets? Maybe it means more and more sex, though. Haha. Probably it means that. But maybe “mindfulness” is the solution to all of this. If I am here, now, rooted in my identity, making conscious decisions, instead of some animal led around by unquestioned natural instincts, then I might be able to break free of their chains, and who knows? Maybe these things take on new meaning and overwhelming beauty that was impossible to see from underneath them.

23

May 29, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

Last time, we talked about “having it all” or living a “best life.” This week was my 23rd wedding anniversary, so maybe I should have mentioned that.

I’m a simple man, and that’s a very good thing, because my life and ministry is primarily to climb into complicated, chaotic situations. Work, for me, is connection/relationships and doing the best I can to bring peace and hope into anxious, hopeless, sometimes wildly unstable spaces. This is work, but the thing about having identical personal & vocational missions is there’s no division between on and off. I don’t really have days off. But I don’t want them, either. To me, this is purpose, and it’s heavy and keeps me up lots of nights, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.

However, the truth is, I couldn’t do it at all if my home & marriage wasn’t a place of physical, emotional, spiritual rest. It’s very difficult to step into the drama of others when your life is dramatic. There’s simply not enough left to fully engage with the storms others are facing when we’re exhausted with our own raging storms. If I’m being punched in the face, it’s harder to notice your fight, much less come to your aid.

This brings me to the Angel. She’s calm and easy. It’s 23 years but sometimes feels like 100, but, at other times, feels like I met her yesterday. I don’t know what 23 years feels like, or should feel like, but what I know is that I am completely, totally open with her (as the Bible says, “naked and unashamed”), but I also get butterflies when I kiss her, just like the first time.

I told her last night, that I very often focus (at least out loud) on the ‘lover’ aspect of our relationship. I very often tell her how foxy she is, and how 23 years of marriage has done nothing to dull my attraction to her. So, on a public pie chart, that’s the biggest piece. But on the pie chart of my heart, it’s probably a smaller piece than the rest. She’s my best friend, my partner, an inspiration and model for living a life of faith. She gives strength by simply being who she is in a world that isn’t always kind to the beautiful ones. Kind, merciful, the best mother to her sons and mentor to the rest of the people lucky enough to be in her orbit. She’s creative and confident, capable, talented, driven, brilliant, gifted hand over fist by her Creator. Did I mention knock-down gorgeous? How staggering is it that when thinking/speaking about the best looking woman in the world, her looks aren’t anywhere close to the best thing about her? We’ve built a calm life from the ground up, so that we can walk anywhere, enter into any circumstance, because this soft, loving home is waiting to refill all we’ve lost outside.

We make choices, right? The best choices feel easy & obvious in retrospect, but upon further inspection, require days and years of building. The path to our particular marriage and home is marked with uncomfortability and perseverance (only Heaven knows how many arguments and sleepless nights this path has contained, so far), where it might have been easier to check out (in whatever form “checking out” takes) than to keep building. “Having it all” certainly isn’t easy, and it has lots and lots of exit ramps, but those obstacles don’t make it less of a blessing. Maybe they make it more. More significant, more valuable, more our own.

I have no idea why she’d marry someone like me, but that’s her problem, not mine. My responsibility in all of this is to remain grateful, with wide open eyes to this amazing life I’ve been given.

Face-Melters

April 22, 2024April 22, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

A session musician in the terrific documentary I watched yesterday (called Hired Gun) said he only plays on songs he likes. If he were to play on songs he hates, just for the paycheck, it would be a violation of his soul. Not only were they buying (renting) his skill on guitar, they were also buying everything that had ever gone into his development to get to this point. Every experience, every hour, every broken string, every ounce of sweat, disappointment, and joy. Every opportunity forgone in service of his passion & craft.

I am the pastor of a church, and when this faith community began, I promised I’d never take a salary. The lines between religion and commerce could not be crossed. To enmesh God and business is wildly offensive.

Now, here’s the problem with narrow, closed-minded thinking. On one hand, I was right. It IS offensive, having a sanctuary that exists for the merchandise table is gross. But on the other, always/never is pretty dangerous. Maybe it’s not always so disgusting. Maybe there’s a space between using offerings for private jets and closing the church doors because we can’t afford to keep the light on.

The other problem is promising, or saying, “I’d never ____,” is that sometimes, people and circumstances change. I worked full time (+ on call) delivering medical equipment, full time for the church, and much more than full time being a husband and daddy of 2. Either I suffer a painful, absolute break down (where I am not a full time anything), or something had to go. An adjustment had to be made, and that adjustment, if it was to continue the ministry we started in my living room, I would have to accept some kind of compensation.

I felt dirty for a long, long time. Then, I began officiating weddings. My first few I didn’t charge any money, accepting only what they’d put in cards handed to me as I left. Of course, this meant I did Saturday weddings away from my family for nothing at all except the beauty of the moment. These experiences were wonderful, but were they worth the cost? On my family, on my heart, on the church, on my mental/physical health, worth missing the people & things I missed?

So, I started to charge, I was always the cheapest option, and even then, always with a certain embarrassment. Some people wouldn’t pay before being asked several times. Once I had to ask up to, on the wedding day, and afterwards. Months later, my last message said, “I guess you won’t be addressing this (still too embarrassed to call it a “fee” or “payment”), so I won’t ask again.” Now, I get it before, but it’s never easy and never without the familiar, “I hate to ask this, but ____.”

Yes, familiar, but is it true? Do I honestly hate to ask? Can I love to do the thing and still charge to do it? Do you like your job? Would you do it for free? Is ministry different, in that regard? Paul writes in plenty of his letters that everybody, even ministers of the Gospel, should be paid for what they do, but the distance from our head to our heart can be very, very long.

I wrote a book on marriage that I believe could help everybody in the whole world. (Of course I do, why else would I write it? Well, I suppose also, like all art, because it’s on my heart and has to get out or I’ll never sleep again.) Yet, I apologize sheepishly for charging. Why do I do that? Because of that whole church-commerce separation, that’s why. I am not housing a fleet of Rolls Royces in my massive garage. I am not wearing suits that cost thousands of dollars. I drive a Focus with real transmission problems and wear thrift store sweaters. I’m not amassing an empire.

But I am trying to take a sledgehammer to all things that could separate anyone from the love of Jesus. And what separates us quicker and easier than greed & fortune in His name?

But that guitarist is absolutely right. He didn’t just roll out of bed today to play a face-melting solo in a vacuum. And neither did I (but a face-melting sermon, or wedding ceremony, in my case;). Everything I say on Sunday mornings or Tuesday evenings or Saturday nights was forged in middle school hell, and the grunge-ish band I was in, and my degree, and my issues, and my pain, and my family dynamics, and the times I had my heart broken, and the years I spent raging agains the machines of government and religion. My words come from hours and hours of study funneled through my unique perspective, that came from countless experiences, positive and negative. My ministry is a flaming ball of passion, life, divine gifts, and failures.

And so is yours. We’re all face-melters. My perspective is unique, but not in how it came about. We are not just slices of pie, we are pies. And to think we can have a bite without all that went into the creation of the whole is remarkably misguided. You became you in midnights and 4pms, in makes and misses, in sweats and suits, and you wouldn’t be you without all of them. And there’s enormous value in the school that produced you – it’s a priceless process and we wouldn’t have the joy of me or you any other way.

I appreciate that guy. I don’t know his name, and that’s sort of the point of the doc, but I’ll remember him forever. In fact, I’m going to double my prices, starting today. Ok, maybe tomorrow, but they’re going up.

Love With A Capital L

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

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