Promises

Letters to My Adult Children: On Blame & Privilege & Seeking the Best

There is an interconnectedness to life, to be sure. I believe we have eternity to figure out Chaos Theory and we still won't be done. The whole concept of it boggles my mind. Ultimately, it argues that I cannot help but be affected by the choices and actions of others. Knowing this to be true, most of the time we try not to be assholes. We try to do right by others. I hope that is one of the lessons you learned from your Mom and me very early on. The most famous but, less clear version of this reads, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." 

I know that my choices, when you were young, to betray your Mom and you, still have profound impacts on how you navigate life. But, please hear me. In the same way that I cannot use the fact that my mother sexually abused me to excuse my rancid, narcissistic choices that hurt you; you will be wrong if you choose to use my choices -- that did very real damage to you -- to excuse any poor choices you make in life. They are your choices. 

You see, a lack of privilege is never an excuse. In fairness, there are multiple kinds of privilege. There is "personal privilege." For example, people who were not sexually abused by their primary attachment figures have privilege that I'll never know. People who were not ripped from all that they knew culturally and were transplanted as toddlers into a culture that was foreign and confusing for them, have privilege that I and nearly every third culture kid will never understand. Conversely, as a 6'3" tall, not-ugly man, I have privilege that a 5'4" man or an unattractive and unintelligent man will never know. 

Though the lines are blurry, there is also "systemic privilege" Systemic privilege is privilege which is systematized. Men have privilege over women in our culture. We live in a patriarchal society. It is hard to deny this simple fact. Some of this is strictly biological. Men tend to be physically stronger than women. There are things we can lift, reach, carry, haul, and move that women simply can't. We are physically more intimidating than women. Probably because of the physical strength differential, men have subjugated women throughout history. This is systemic privilege. Other examples of privilege are race, sexuality, and economic privilege. Let's briefly acknowledge the historical reality of each:

• Race -- The subjugation of Black people is not news. Europeans bought slaves from African slave traders, imported them, and used them to create wealth for themselves. Those Europeans passed their ill-begotten wealth onto us, their descendants. The generation that immediately proceeded mine then passed Jim Crow laws that made it next to impossible for the black community to gain an economic foothold. They did this to protect us -- their children -- from being threatened by those that their parents had enslaved. Later, we legalized abortion, placing abortion clinics in black communities, and convincing the black community that they would be better off if they killed their children. Despite any arguments to the contrary, abortion was born in racist ideology and eugenics philosophy. Finally, we created a drug war that was designed to imprison black men and steal fathers from their children. The drug war allowed a prison industry to develop where white people got rich by imprisoning their black neighbors, all for victimless crimes. There is no way anyone can deny the historical systemic racist policies we legalized and institutionalized. I have not included the fact that we excluded black men who fought and died in our country's wars from the GI Bill and housing programs or the redlining practices that stopped blacks from buying properties they wanted and which allowed banks to charge them higher interest rates on any loans they took out. I also didn't include stories of how we simply killed successful black communities. Our nation institutionalized racism. This is systemic racism.
• Sexual Identity -- A homosexual lifestyle was outlawed in many states until well into the 2nd half of the 20th century. Indeed, homosexuality was listed in the Diagnostics and Statistics Manual as a pathology until the mid-1970s. People could be fired for or not hired for jobs simply because they had a same-sex attraction. The system was rigged against them. This is a systemic privilege. Straight people didn't have to worry about being fired for liking members of the opposite sex and men typically didn't have to worry about philandering costing them their jobs. Women did, however. The system's and culture's rules were stacked against the homosexual community
• Economic Privilege -- OJ Simpson was found not guilty because he was wealthy and was able to use his wealth to work the system. Harvey Weinstein and Jeffrey Epstein walked around as free men even though they were clearly sexual predators and needed to be imprisoned, simply because they had money. Lori Laughlin received a much lighter sentence than someone without means would receive for the same crime. Money gets people out of trouble and ostensibly is a license to break the law. Money buys access to politicians. Money can create wars and blackmail communities. This is perhaps the biggest area of systemic injustice in America. Justice is supposedly blind, but the wealthy always figure out how to tip the scale. The law is not upheld equally. This is systemic privilege.

I point these out because there is injustice in the system. Not everyone starts at the same place in this race we call life. This is not in question. You have certain advantages being born to your Mom and me, growing up in a home where you knew you were loved and both of us were involved in your life. You didn't face economic hardship, but neither were you handed everything on a silver platter. You also had disadvantages: Your Mother and I divorced. For the first years of your life, I was caught in active behavioral addiction. 

As you move into life, you have choices. You can blame me (or some other outside factor) for your struggles, "My Da was an addict! What do you expect!" Or, you can acknowledge the reality that you are the child of an addict, take appropriate cautions, and move on with your life to make up for the deficiencies I gave you. You are not limited by my choices. You are only limited by the choices you make in response to those choices. I believe strongly that you actually have a leg up because you grew up in a recovery home where you were taught a new way to live that other kids didn't have access to. You learned about acceptance and the importance of honesty. Those are items of privilege that I gave you that remain hidden from typical lists of what privilege is. We were able to have and are still able to have conversations that other families only dream of. That is the best kind of privilege.

Critical Theory argues that all of life is about power. Power = privilege. Critical theorists argue that there will always be a struggle for power between the privileged and those without privilege. The trouble with the theory as Woody Allen pointed out in his 1973 comedy, Sleeper is that as soon as power is achieved by those without it, there will be a new struggle between the newly disenfranchised and the newly powerful. Critical Theory ultimately makes power into a "need." I don't think it could be any more wrong. We don't need power to achieve what we truly want. We need connection, and connection often requires us to give up our power to maintain a connection to the other whom we love. Only when we get this paradoxical truth will we truly find that which we truly seek. 

Sheryl Crow wrote, "It's not having what you want; it's wanting what you have." ("Soak up the Sun," C'mon, C'mon, 2002). And, in the end, that is what I pray for you: contentedness-or peace (knowing it's all good and being able to rest); joy (knowing its all good and having the ability to enjoy it with others); love (a long-term connection to another where you are understood, accepted, and desired, and where you return the same); and, hope (knowing in the depths of your soul that you and the ones you love are gonna be ok in the end).

You can't get there if you blame life, others, God, or the universe for the state of your life. You can't get there if you view life through a comparative lens of what others have vs what you have. You can't get there if you give your power away and assume that you can't have what you really want. 

Ultimately, Please don't seek the lesser goods: power, being right, control, material possessions, privilege. Rather, seek the great: Peace, joy, love, and hope. When you find them, you will end life complete, whole, and satisfied.

Letters to My Adult Children: On Riding With Pabs

Pabs and I ride together. It is the number one way we play. I remember the very first ride we took together. She was on her FX07 and I was on the Goldwing. We weren't very far from the condo when a car pulled out in front of Paula. I was pissed. My commitment to non-violence was being severely tested. You know how I ride. As we entered Multnomah Village, there is a light and it was red. The car stopped at the light behind another car. I pulled around him and got off my bike. It was the middle of the summer so I was undoubtedly in a sleeveless teeshirt, tats showing and I think I still was rocking my long hair. One thing I liked about my long hair was I looked a lot scarier than you know me to be. Can you imagine being the driver with tatted, long-haired me pulling around him at the light and getting off my bike to stare him down? Don't mess with Pabs. She is my life. I didn't say anything. I just stared, and he waited. I think I knew right then that my primary job when we ride is to make space for Paula. That is how we ride. I make space for her to ride safely. It is how I try to live. I make space for Paula wherever I can.

That means that if we are tooling up the road and a car pulls up and tailgates Pabs. I drop back and she takes the lead and I back the car well off. 

I remember chasing the Harleys down the freeway in Montana, and when it is straight, they tend to fly. So we are all doing about 85-90 MPH down the freeway, east of Missoula, passing cars in the slow lane. Colleen is leading, Jim is next. I follow him and then Paula is taking up the rear. Suddenly she reports and I see a lifted pickup pull up on her -- tailgating her pretty badly. OK, so I am noticing a pattern. I got a little pissed. I said, "Babe, pass me and switch," so we can stay in formation. She did. I let off my throttle. I think I slowed all the way to 50, creating some distance between the bikes and the truck. I turned around and glared. Then I throttled up to leave the lifted Dodge 2500 and rejoin my friends.

Riding in Portland traffic is never one of our favourite things to do. You know how the if you take the Ross Island Bridge the road winds into downtown Portland. It is kinda funky and Pabs and I were stuck in a lot of traffic. When we ride, we are talking a lot, probably more than when we are in the car. And we can be silly together. On this particular day, words escaped us at the time, and so we created our own lingo. On this day, we created the term, "Hootie-haw." There was a truck in the left lane. We were in the right. I was riding the lane lines and Paula was riding the shoulder line. She was at about four o'clock to me. The truck had space in front of him and there was a tiny gap between his front bumper and the bumper of the car in front of Pabs and me. So, I pulled in front of him and took my hand off the accelerator, widening the gap. Paula then shot in front of me into the lane. We did our first, "Hootie-haw." Now we just have to say, "Hootie Haw" and the other knows the maneuver. Hootie haws are nearly always done to the left because someone is not moving fast enough in the fast lane. They end up slowing up even more than they wanted to go. Such is the cost of cruising too slowly in the fast lane or the middle lane as the case may be.

Though neither of us likes traffic, it has taught us how to communicate more effectively. We need to make sure that the other sees what we are seeing as we ride together. So, she might say, "Let's get in front of that red truck up there." All of a sudden she has let me into her thought process. I will often ask, "Do you want to pass them?" She will tell me, yes or no. Then we can move in concert with one another. 

All these examples transfer to how we communicate at our best in regular life as well. When we know what the other is thinking, rather than assuming we know what they are thinking; we don't make the blunders that we might otherwise make.

We still fail. I get impatient much more easily than Pabs. I want to be able to see and I hate sucking diesel fumes. If there is a truck or van in front of us, I will want to take the first opportunity to pass. Paula can be much more content to lay off and fall back, not pushing it. Sometimes I want to pass, and she doesn't Very rarely she will want to pass when I don't. It has happened but I always follow. She doesn't. Then we have trouble. 

I'm sure that translates somehow too, but I'll let you figure that out.

We've had five bikes together. We currently have three. Here they are:

This is Paula's FZ07 and my 1986 Honda Goldwing InterState 1200.

This picture was taken across Lake Cour D' Alene from Harrison, ID on our trip to Banff/Canmore, Alberta. Paula was riding her silver 2010 Honda NT700VA, that she purchased to tour with me. We still own it. It is a fantastic bike. 

I remember that first day, we rode the back roads to a friend's house on the west side of Lake Cour D' Alene. It was exactly 400 miles. It was her first-day road tripping. It was way too long. Now we try to keep our days under 250 miles, just so we don't have to push so hard. We were smart enough to take a day off before pushing north. But man, we learned a lot that day too. It poured on us as we crossed the continental divide, and before we got there we rode for at least 20 miles on heavily grooved pavement that was under construction. While not pleasant and something that wouldn't bother us now, this was Paula's second day of road tripping and it was not fun for her at all. We never did see the tops of the mountains that trip. When we crossed back a few days later, it was pouring with rain again. We didn't take our rain gear off until Ravenstoke, BC. Now that is a cool town! By the end of that over 2000 mile trip, Paula was a different rider, and we'd figured a lot out about how we interact and communicate as we ride. So, every year we take off again on a different road trip to chase and create some more beauty together.

Here are our Triumphs, taken at the McClellen View Point in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest, Skamania County, WA. Paula rides a 2011 Bonneville America. It is an 869cc bike. I ride a 2010 Thunderbird 1597cc bike. It is my dream bike. I hope I will be able to keep her the rest of my life, even if I purchase other bikes to be my daily riders. Also, notice the UW sticker on Paula's helmet. You can take her out of the UW, but you can't take the UW out of her. I guess they did pay tuition for four years as long as she hit golf balls for them. And, boy, did she ever! I married an amazing woman. She is officially my Ninja Badass (#NBA)

Letters to My Adult Children: Miscellaneous Ramblings - If I am Disturbed... April 2020

Remember the three-legged stool I taught you? I learned those legs in 12-step recovery - not grad school. One of the three legs is: "If I am disturbed, the problem is in me." This letter is about this truism.

I imagine in a different era and if you were different ages Mary Jane and Brad would be Aunt MJ & Uncle Brad. They are really good friends to Pabs and me. One day Mary Jane and I were talking about the evolution of our therapists' guild and the devolution of our school.

The Seattle School taught me so much: The idea of the I/Thou relationship, Esther Meeks' covenant epistemology, a possible understanding (which has become my understanding) of how the mind works, all about shame, the difference between niceness and kindness, a new Biblical theology, a fleshed-out theology of freedom, the concept of "And" instead of "But," a theology of Holy Saturday, a fleshed-out theology of the Imago Dei, attachment theory, play therapy and the importance of play, and that I need to create space for intersections of thoughts and ideas to become more fully engaged (I learned as an undergrad that ideas of consequences). 

As Mary Jane and I compared notes about our alma mater and the state of our guild (The ACA), she was not surprised/surprised to learn that our grad school was not welcoming to "non-progressive" thinkers; and that there was an underground of students that learned to simply keep our mouths shut in order not to be ostracized, labeled, called names and attacked by other students. One would think that Esther Meeks' ideas would stop some of the blatant condemnation that marks so much of the intercourse surrounding how one approaches life, and indeed I think it did mitigate some of the fallout. But, it certainly didn't stop the prejudice.

I want to be very careful because while I was there, the faculty and administration were rarely condemning of other voices and ideas. The condemnation was primarily limited to the student body. And, to this day, I do not know of a school that teaches counseling/psychology where it is possible to get the level of instruction I received and not have to face a progressive fundamentalist epistemology of black and white thinking that effectively destroys dialogue with other ideologies and perspectives. The idea of holding the "&" is an ideal that I was taught at The Seattle School. And, yet, while the Seattle School holds it as well as any counseling grad school you can name -- it still fails miserably. Institutions are rarely perfect. 

But beyond that, Mary Jane stated that our therapists' guild is losing our way and we are becoming social workers. We are not helping people change, adapt, and become more resilient (a traditional role of a therapist), as much as we are pointing out and working to change the injurious system (the traditional role of a social worker). This is important because injustice will always surround us, no matter the ideological system we create. Woody Allen pointed this out admirably in his movie, "Sleeper."

The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous tells the story of a doctor who knew that the problem was always, "out there." He believed if only the world would be fixed, he'd be OK. He learned in AA that such a belief is errant. If "the problem" is "out there," individuals give away their power to find joy and peace. This is why AA teaches its members the serenity prayer, "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can't change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." Only by understanding what we can and cannot change can we begin to find peace.

We can only change ourselves. We can't change others. We can't lay our hope in systems changing in order for justice to run down and people to find wholeness. Wholeness is not found in external sources. Wholeness is discovered when we can assimilate the exiled parts of ourselves, which we want to ignore, and "re-member" them differently, interact with them compassionately and become whole instead of remaining fragmented and broken. Shit guys, whole books could be written fleshing out this paragraph! I guess that is why I went to grad school; in order to begin to embody the truths I just articulated and help others do so. This is why I am a therapist and a rebel for love

 

Letters to my Adult Children - On Being Anti Death - March 2020

I live my life as a rebel for love. I fight death. But not mere physical death. For physical death does not have to be the enemy of love. No, the death of which I speak -- who is my enemy, and who will one day be completely destroyed is called, “Shame.” Shame is death by another name. It is always accompanied by “self-serving,” and, can’t be fought through the politics of power and control. It can only be defeated by love and self-sacrifice. It can only be defeated by a gaze that communicates, “You are valuable. You are loved. That won't change.”

For many years I've labeled myself “pro-life” even though I don’t always vote a “pro-life agenda.” I am pretty outspoken in my condemnation of the "pro-choice" defenders. People wonder how I can be against abortion, call myself pro-life, and not push for abortions to be illegal; and, I answer that though I label myself pro-marriage and think adultery is evil; I don’t think adultery should be illegal. And, that though I am pro-sobriety, clear-headedness, and relational connectedness; I do not think that alcohol or illicit drugs of any kind should be illegal. So, it follows, given my invitational nature — I invite people to the good, rather than to try to force them to it — that I can hold abortion to be an abomination and not fight for it to be illegal. There are too many evils like this to name — things that destroy people and relationships that I have no desire to outlaw. I believe people need to have the freedom to choose good over evil, rather than be forced to it. I’ve written about this to you extensively and don’t think I need to repeat myself here once again.

Within the last year or so, Tony Kriz and I were talking about the “pro-life” debacle — people who stand against abortion politically; who try to make the choice to abort a child illegal and who are also war hawks, pro-gun, pro-death penalty folk. Tony told me that he’d adopted the label, “anti-death,” for himself. I took it as an invitation. Slowly, I began to refer to myself the same way. I now say, “I am anti-death.”

Tony’s and my conversation occurred in the context of Paula and I walking this horrific end of life road with her parents. As you know, Miggy — “007” — is a brilliant man and nuclear engineer who is now stuck inside his body and his mind. He cannot speak. He cannot toilet. He cannot feed nor dress himself. Neither can he walk. We need to thicken anything he drinks so that he does not asphyxiate. This is not a life he would want or chose. He has a DNR that is incredibly strict. Mike would prefer not to be alive at this point. If we were a tribal people, he wouldn’t be. And yet he is. We keep him alive against his will. The life we give him is actually death for him.

Dementia and Alzheimers were your Gramgee’s biggest fear. She wanted to be dead rather than to live with losing her mind; yet, that is how she left the planet. I am beyond grateful for a doctor who cared enough to not to prolong her life any longer than she cared to live because while I am convinced her last months and years were God's great gift to her, she was miserable in the end.

When we got toward the end of Dad’s life we had a choice on how to proceed with his cancer treatment. We chose to attack the tumor aggressively. Weekly I took him to his radiation appointments. And, while the radiation wasn’t fun, it allowed him to maintain his quality of life. He and I still played and took short trips together. We still went out and enjoyed Timbers games, etc. But, the radiation was not a cure. The doctors thought that taking the tumor out surgically was the best medical course, so we followed their counsel. I would not repeat it, nor do I want it for me. For while we may have prolonged Dad’s life a little, we destroyed his quality of life. His last 9 months were miserable. He practically lived at OHSU. His life was sucked out of him. I wish I could have a mulligan on Dad’s end of life. We’d play it completely differently than we did. The choices we made during those days are some of my biggest regrets.

People often think me morbid to say I want to exit the planet on the back of my bike, but I want to die as I lived. See, death doesn’t scare me in the slightest. I told Thomas last night on a FaceTime that I am ready to go whenever. though I have no death wish. There is a lot of life left to live, I am content to exit whenever it is time to go. I would be lying to say that the process of dying doesn’t scare me though. It petrifies me. I certainly don’t want to exit the way Gramgee did, nor the way Mike and Char are. Waking in glory is my hope, suffering along the way is my nightmare. If there is a redemptive feature to it, it eludes me.

All of that brings us to a discussion of this incredible time period we are all experiencing right now. I have not lived through anything like it. There have been times like it in history, but none that any living person has ever experienced. The pandemic of 1918 and the Black Death of the middle ages were similar in the annuals of human history. But this is completely unique and new. It is as if a giant “pause” button was being pushed. We are being forced to live a year of Jubilee (See the Old Testament commands around this) even though we’d never choose it for ourselves.

I along with millions of others, are taking actions right now to ensure that you, in particular, Maggie — and the countless others like you who have health challenges — are not put into positions where you have to fight for lives not yet fully lived. For though I may be ready to enter glory at any time; and though, I may see the reality that Gigi and Miggy would prefer to stop breathing and exit this planet; I am not ready for you and/or TL to do the same. You both have lives to live. You are my greatest gifts to this world. And much h of the hope of life I hold is to leave you to the world when I exit the stage. There is no greater gift I can imagine giving the world than the two of you. No amount of money or profit; nothing I build or create can compare to the gift that you are to this planet.

I’m joyfully choosing to give up my ability to move around and enjoy my life the way I want in order to make sure others have a chance to continue breathing. Some don’t want to give up these freedoms. They are saying, “I want to live the way I choose to live. Don’t tell me how to live. It is my body, and my choice.” It is ironic how the catchphrase of the pro-choice movement is now being used to spread even more death.  And while one of my social media friends complained about that reality and attempted to deny any parallels to abortion saying this is a completely different thing; her arguments were inane, factually wrong, and harmful and hurtful.

For too long, the pro-choice movement has sounded the refrain, “My body, my choice.” Don’t tell me that I can’t live the way I chose even if it costs another human life. I shouldn’t have to have any consequences for my actions. Men, not wanting responsibility pushed abortion further. There was now another escape of responsibility; men became abortionists and began pushing a “pro-choice” agenda. There was an additional benefit to ridding the world of unwanted brown babies, now that machines and industry didn’t need their cheap or free labor — we truly could get to a place of survival of the fittest, the poor and the downtrodden could be controlled simply through population control, and a marketing genius made it all sound as if it was a woman’s choice.

Now the oligarchs have repurposed their slogan and are now arguing that “opening the economy” is more important that the health risks of 2% of the population (think of how many millions of lives that is!); that people need to be “free” to chose to live the lives they want rather than be held captive by a disease that threatens others’ lives. It is a similar refrain to the war hawks who are willing to kill thousands “over there” so Americans can have the kind of life we want to have “over here.” It is the kind of refrain that allows us to separate mothers from their children at the border, putting their kids in prison, so that we don’t have to worry about being overrun by brown-skinned people who may cost us a few dollars to feed and clothe. Why should we? They don’t even speak English.

The real issue, whether it is abortion, or war, or immigration policy is an insipid commitment to pursuing death rather than life. The death of which I speak is bigger than mere, “ending of breath.” Death is a commitment to self without regard for another. Death, as I am defining it here, is the denial of relationship. For there is no life without love. The mother who kills her unborn child by having an abortion must deny any relationship to that unborn child. The oligarch who pushes the politician to order a pilot to drop a bomb on the oligarch’s enemy; or a seaman to launch a missile to do the same, has to deny a relationship or connection to the families they kill when the bombs and missiles land, killing indiscriminately. The populist who says the parents of the kids at the border that we threw in prison, should never have brought their kids here in the first place, has to deny any kind of relationship to those brown-skinned children in order to throw them into those prisons. The Russian policeman who arrests the dissident to send them to the Gulag has to deny the horror to which they are sending them. We have to deny relationship to live the way we want. The tribesman who captures and enslaves one from a different tribe to sell him into slavery has to deny any kind of relationship to him. In order to perpetrate such evil, we have to first deny relationship and therefore humanity. In so doing, we create a culture of death. I will stand against that culture with all my being. It is why I stand as a rebel for Love.

 

Letters to My Adult Children: On Journeying Toward Death - Spring 2020

Maggie and Thomas,

This is the ride I signed up for; that I knew it was coming, and yet, it is still unfamiliar and passes through a canyon of death who provides echoes of the past that sweep over me as I ride through.

Late on the evening of July 4th, 2014 I asked Paula to be my wife. They set off fireworks to celebrate the event and they have on the anniversary of that date ever since. As we navigated what our wedding was going to look like and how we were going to pay for it, we needed to have a conversation with her folks where Paula got really vulnerable. Some of my first impressions of her Mom weren’t great; she was the power broker in the family. She was used to getting her way and dictating what was said and unsaid -- even what her family was allowed to feel. The day we had that conversation with her folks was the day my relationship with Char forever changed.

I don’t remember exactly what was said, but Paula's fears of the conversation materialized and she began to cry, racing from the room in tears. This made Char really uncomfortable and she demanded that Pabs stop crying. At that moment I did something she wasn't used to. I kindly but not nicely stepped in and spoke to Char in ways I’m pretty sure no one ever dared to speak to her. I loved her but also stopped her, putting up a boundary that needed to be erected, protecting my fiancé from the vitriol that never should have been uttered. Simultaneously, I made sure that Char knew I loved her, but what she was doing, saying and demanding was not OK. Without shaming her, I made certain she knew she was wrong. From that moment on, Char and I became besties.If I could lovingly stand up to her, I could create a safe space for her daughter to thrive.

How I grew to love that woman! We learned to laugh together and I loved to tease her. She always tried to tease me back and loved the playful banter we shared. I knew she was losing her marbles. All the signs were there. I had been here before. This was different but familiar all at the same time. I traveled a similar road with Gramgee when she transversed the Alzheimer’s plain. I already knew many of the tricks, and I quickly relearned them as Paula learned how to distract, and redirect; crack a joke and make Mom laugh.

These days, I try to get to see her between appointments; she is just up the street from my office, about a four-minute ride. It has gotten harder and harder though as she sinks lower and lower, disappearing into a pit of despair.

To her, I’m not nearly as funny as I once was, and she can’t understand why I simply don’t take her home to be with her pets. Her confusion is no longer simply forgetfulness, rather it is delusion and hallucination. She is living in a world crafted in the ecosystem of her anxiety and shame. This is a cycle of life I wish didn’t exist.

Our medical advances help us stay alive while internally we fade and die. We breathe too long these breaths of death that merely fill us with hopeless dread.

Two days ago, as I visited Mom, the TV droned on in the background and as usual COVID 19 was on the tongues of the talking heads. Mamma’s comment was, “I wish I could catch that.” She is so ready to be done. She is ready to find a resurrected life somewhere other than here where she isn't confined to a chair or a bed; where her memory doesn't desert her and leave her forlorn.

Bearing witness to Char is only part of the journey for me though, I also get to watch my wife wriggle in discomfort that refuses to let her go. She loses thoughts and ideas under the duress of having to grieve and heroically carry the weight of her parents’ journeys. She has sat with her Mom in the Pit of Despair for so long, that the despair has invaded her -- soul-sucking the light from her eyes.

This beloved wife of mine can find no respite. There is nowhere for her to run, nowhere to hide and escape. There is no drug that can make her well. There is no safety from the onslaught of a loved-one's slow and torturous death. I can’t lift the veil. Doing so would break the sacredness of her journey, so for now, I too have to grieve the temporary loss of my partner and friend.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, we find moments of joy together along the way. We are too good of friends for those to be taken from us. We function and make it through, but this journey my wife is on, though sacred, is taking her to the very gates of hell, and it is a slow burn. That burning of her heart sears my soul as well. These are painful days.

This is why I hope to go out on the back of my bike. But then again, your Gramgee told me that her greatest fear was Alzheimer's and it ended up being God’s good gift to her. I don’t want to be kept alive. If I wander off to die alone in the wilderness, please let me go, it would be a kinder death.

Though I have no intention of leaving the planet anytime soon; there is still too much life I want to live with Pabs and with you; I’ve been ready to go for a long time now. It feels like I’ve done what I was placed here to do and from here on out it is all gravy. It feels good to be at peace with my soul, with my God, and with His creation. It feels good to not have regrets and to be free to love and live without fear of messing up the future. It is a place in life I hope and pray you discover early in your lives and enjoy for as long as possible, for it feels like this is what we were created for. It is not free of pain, as you can see. Right now, life hurts like hell most of the day — but it is good and it is rich, and it is full, and it has meaning.

I think the reason Gigi’s and Miggy’s journeys are so hard to witness is it feels as if their meaning is being ripped from them. I think that is my fear for the end of my life — that meaning would be ripped from my chest and stolen from me. I have to choose to believe that what appears to be the case isn’t; that their lives and the number of heartbeats God has given them is pre-ordained and held in His hand. It is hard to believe some days… like today.

Letters to My Adult Children - Evil & Politics - Winter 2020

When one feels the need to control another adult, to take power over another adult, to get them to behave the way you think they ought to behave, you are engaging in evil. The attempt to gain control and power is the first sin. It is how Adam and Eve were tempted in the Garden of Eden (Genesis 3). It is how Jesus was tempted after his baptism (Matthew 4). It is something that God does not do with us. He seemingly always allows us to choose evil. He gives us the freedom to make evil choices. It is one of the biggest complaints people have with God. "Why does God allow evil?" The atheist argues. Surely a good God would not allow all the atrocities that occur in the world. Yet, God does. He doesn't choose to take power over people, but rather continually invites them to another way of life -- The way of love. Usurping, or attempting to usurp power that God doesn't take is surely the worst kind of Evil.

---

Recently, a good friend, who I respect and admire posted an admiration piece on AOC. I trolled him. Though I try not to, some friends simply beg to be trolled. Gotta figure out what that is all about. But, that is another post. On his post, referring to AOC, I wrote, "She is her own kind of evil." He asked me to articulate what about her makes me say that. Another friend, who I also respect, posted her record that isn't so different from many of the new wave of socialists flooding the House, as the electorate reacts to the evil in the White House. 

My friend accused me of having "racially informed libertarian leanings." I cracked up at that, partly because my political leanings find their genesis in from my understanding of Scripture which he is partially responsible for -- specifically, the theological position that individuals, as well as people, are made in the image of God (the Imago Dei). If that is true than individuals are made to be free. I put that together with 18th-century French political theory developed by Frederick Bastiat, my time in 12-step rooms and studying The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, and finally my work in the domestic Violence world where I learned to define abuse as, "any time I attempt to tear at the humanity of another." Combining those streams of thought and experience, I end up holding that DJT and AOC are both tools of evil --  if not evil itself. This does not mean that they are exempt for being used by God -- for God uses all things. He used the Pharisees and Herod and Pilot and the Centurians who crucified Jesus. God transforms evil. But that does not excuse it.

So with that prolegomena, let's talk about why I think both our current president, DJT; and Congresswoman, AOC are evil...

They are evil because they are trying to take control and power over others - not to hold evil back, but to promote their own agendas.

Let's look briefly at this story from the gospels. James and John came to Jesus and they said, "Will you grant us a request?" Jesus responded, "I don't know what it is, but, maybe?" They then said, "When you enter your Kingdom, we want to sit next to you - one on the right, and one on the left." Jesus responded, "That isn't mine to give, but watch yourselves. Don't look at authority the way the world does. That isn't the way of the Kingdom. Instead, learn to be servants, for the first will be last and the last will be first." 

Jesus repeatedly turned the world as the disciples understood it on its head. True power was found in giving up power. True life is found by sacrificing one's own life. Love, modeled in the Trinitarian relationship, was the template for life in the Kingdom. This relational life does not grab after power and control -- that is the world's way. To be made in the Image of God is to be made free to chose either good or evil. God purposely chose never to try to force us to the good, though God continually did warn us against the evil. That evil, revealed in story after story in the Jewish and Christian Scriptures, seems to happen most often when one person tries to take power over another. The quest and thirst for power are the taproots of the story of the Fall in Genesis 3 and the temptation of Jesus in Matthew 4. It is nearly always one of the ways people are tempted toward evil. This, in and of itself, by itself is more than enough to say that DJT and AOC are both evil, for both want to control others, wanting to and taking power over them.

As far as I know, Frederick Bastiat, who wrote a small, wonderful booklet entitled, The Law, was not a Christ-follower of any kind. He was a political theorist who argued that the collective does not have rights that individuals don't have. He gave the example of ten friends gathering together and nine of them voting to take the tenth friend's money and divide it equally between them. Such action would is immoral. I think he is right. While his argument has limitations - everyone believes the collective has some rights that individuals don't have. For instance, the collective can imprison people for wrongdoing and hurting others. The collective does what it can to protect its citizens. The real issue here becomes, where is it right for the collective to draw this line in repurposing wealth and property and still be moral? Many of these questions are far more easily answered on the community level rather than the national level.

If someone attacks a village, the village bands together to protect itself. However, if a rich person wants to take more land from someone else to become richer, she may well use her power to conscript poorer people to fight for her to take what is not hers. This is the beginning of nationalism and the genesis of America. Here it is easy to see the evil that arises from a quest for power. Part of Bastiat's answer to this question of where the line of individual versus collective rights is drawn was to argue that collectives existed to protect the individual. Governments exist to hold evil back. They do not exist to promote the good. This is where disagreements take place among thoughtful people. I hold that disease and death are non-human forms of evil and therefore the collective needs to form a collective to fight against them. To some degree, I believe that ignorance is also a form of evil and so the collective is wise to work together to combat it through education. In this realm, I struggle because historically, we fall into the trap of teaching people what to think rather than how to think. Education has limits. We have made it into a tool of the corporatists and the oligarchs. So, while I agree that education is an antidote to the evil of ignorance, centralizing control of it is its own form of evil.

Bastiat's economy can be seen in the realities of the microcosm of a household. It is far too easy to let others take the responsibility to love. I don't say this proudly, but when Paula is traveling I simply do all the things that need to be done around the house. When she is home, many times, I wait for her to see what she does to see what I need to do. This approach to life is not loving Paula, it is me giving up my responsibilities because it is easier. People often don't do things because they don't have to do those things. Someone else will do them. So, if I can get others to pay more, I can pay less. This is immoral. This is a form of evil. I want to make sure people are cared for at the lowest possible cost to myself. Therefore, I will spend other's resources to alleviate my need to care for the marginalized and the poor. Practically, socialism takes real pain and makes it someone else's problem. I don't have to worry about it anymore. The government will take care of it. That is surely not what is intended. But it is what results from the practice. We tend to not do what others are doing. Parents don't spend the time educating their kids because schools do it. I don't give to the homeless because we pay taxes to address it and then bitch and moan when City Hall can't come up with viable solutions to the problem. We don't worry about unwanted children because we kill them before they are born. We figure out a way to pay as little as we can, knowing that someone else will pick up the slack.

Recovery also shaped why I see both AOC and DJT as evil. I don't think I've ever explained how The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous works. We are now into the Fourth Edition. In every Edition the first 164 pages are identical. So, for instance when people talk about, "the promises," everyone knows to turn to page 83 to find them. Those first 164 pages never change. The majority of the book, however, is the stories of recovery which make up the last 2/3 of the book. One of those stories, found in both the Third Edition around page 473 and in the Fourth Edition, around page 416, is entitled, "Acceptance is the key." It is a doctor's story of recovery from alcoholism. My therapist at Keystone asked me to read three pages from that story every day for three weeks of my five-week stay in rehab. The doctor points out that he was an expert in finding the problems in everyone and everything else in the world, but it took realizing that his problem lay inside of himself, for him to stop drinking. His story was my story. I had to stop pointing my finger at "the evil out there," and discover that the problem wasn't out there. It was in my inner sanctum and inner being. Once I realized this. Once I accepted my own shame, I opened the door to healing and Love. 

I saw this same issue as I worked with domestic violence perpetrators. The men with whom I worked saw themselves as victims. They gave their power away. They felt emasculated and so they grasped for power that was not theirs to grasp, They tried to control their girlfriends and wives, abusing them along the way. My refrain to them was heard almost every week, "abuse occurs whenever you attempt to tear at the humanity of another." We typically abuse people in one of the following ways: physically, verbally, sexually, emotionally/mentally, financially, through control or damage of properties, harm to pets, and spiritual abuse. 

DJT is doing this by stealing property to build a wall. AOC is doing this by attempting to steal wealth to pay to accomplish what she sees as moral, saying that those who have billions could not have come by those dollars honestly. She may be right about that, but we don't right wrongs by repeating them. In many ways, AOC's approach is not so different from Jerry Falwell's attempt to control morality from the conservative position. When we attempt to control morality, rather than to invite people to it, we attempt to do something God never did, because it would violate His very nature. And things that violate the nature of God are evil

Both DJT and AOC believe that the problems in the world are, "out there," problems. Both want to take control of other peoples' lives, to fix the problems. And let me remind you that if we can only be OK if others change, we are in deep shit. That belief creates a sense of powerlessness which in turn swings to abuse. People don't like feeling powerless so they grasp power. That is a mistake. Grasping power is at the root of Evil.

Both the unfettered nationalistic capitalism of DJT, and the democratic socialistic vision of AOC are born in the furnace of an attempt to take control and power over others. Both have succumbed to the same temptation that Jesus overcame, Both see the problem as being, "out there." They are both wrong. They have both bought into the economy of the Evil One rather than the Kingdom of God. This shadow kingdom must be labeled correctly or we shall wrongly endeavor to live as its citizens rather than claiming our birthright in the Kingdom of Light and Love.

 

Letters to My Adult Children - The First Among Heroes

Yesterday, as I was driving to pick up TL for racketball, "Hero" by Steve Taylor came up on my playlist:

 

I began thinking of my work, my story, my desire for a Ph.D. and my need to hone down my topic. I don't remember when I first heard Taylor's song, it was a long, long time ago. It immediately struck a chord with me. Growing up, I always wanted to be a hero. As an adult, I always wanted to be your hero. I wanted to be a hero to everyone close to me. I knew that if I could be a hero, I'd be loved; I'd not merely be me.

So, I've gotten lost in stories of heroes. As I got older, my heroes became more nuanced. And, my understanding of the "hero's journey" has also become more sophisticated. Joseph Campbell identified the Hero's Journey back in 1949. Writers have used his template to create hero stories ever since. While countless people have written on this topic, I am using the template from the people at the Reedsy Blog (https://blog.reedsy.com/heros-journey/) to make writing this easy.

As I drove to pick up TL, I began to think of the Hero's Journey in light of the Jesus story and many other Biblical Stories I grew up idolizing. My phraseology in the last sentence is incredibly important. I idolized the stories. I unconsciously defined salvation as, "becoming a hero." I had to be a hero! My graphic novel bibles took me to places of fantasy around the biblical stories. Now I wonder, if these incredible stories end up being twisted in our souls and are given death by Evil to create more shame than light.

The hero's journey starts in the ordinary; what Reedsy calls, "the mundane." It is the phrase, "I was born a poor child..." Jesus was born in a manger and laid in a cow trough. King David was rejected and was a shepherd doing the most humble of tasks. Moses was born to a Jewish slave family and hidden in the weeds. Gideon was cowering from fear. Ruth was a Moabite of no repute. Rahab was a hooker. Mary was a simple girl betrothed to a carpenter or stonecutter.

After humble beginnings, there is, " a call." In the Jesus story, this occurs at his baptism, "This is my Son, with whom I am well-pleased." Following the call, there is traditionally a rejection of that call. Think of Gideon and his requirement of a "fleece." The Jesus story doesn't have this traditional "rejection." However, think about how the different writers set up His story. Everyone knows he is the Messiah from his virgin birth, royal lineage. Questions arise though when Herod sends troops to kill all the male children under two. Remember Moses' story and Pharoah doing the same thing? Mary, Joseph, and Jesus become refugees, escaping to Egypt. So, there is that interruption and threat to the call. But then, after the call, Jesus doesn't start teaching and calling his own disciples immediately, He goes into the wilderness where he fasts for 40 days. At the end of His time in the wilderness, Satan comes and tempts him three times. These are temptations that we use to reject our own calling. Only Jesus doesn't reject the call because he is the "first among heroes." As I am thinking about this, I am thinking this is one of the first places that boys trying to be a hero in the vein of Jesus begin to face their own shame, and then begin living out of their shame.

The next step in the Hero journey is to meet the mentor who will help the hero overcome and then there is an event where the curtain is pulled back and they enter into the arena, seen as the hero that they were born to be. In the Jesus story, the mentor is the Holy Spirit who descended on Jesus like a dove. She becomes the connection point for Jesus through the rest of the gospels.¹ John makes note of Jesus' stage entrance. This is the famous event where Jesus turns water into wine at the wedding. The miracle serves as an announcement to the reader, Jesus has accepted his role as a hero

Stage six is typically the bulk of the hero story. It is where they find allies, discover their enemies and the obstacles they must overcome and develop the close friendships that will help them cross the lexicon. In the Jesus story, this section involves the calling of the disciples and the Pharisees and Sadducees' introduction as the villains of the story. It involves Jesus casting out demons and healing the sick, the lame and the blind. It includes his teachings and personal interactions. John's gospel is different here because his longest section comes next. 

The next section is where the hero approaches his biggest fight, drawing close to their own personal crisis. For Jesus, this is the last week of his life, where he knows he is about to die and he doesn't like it one bit. In the Church, we remember this time in Jesus' life as Holy Week -- the week leading up to Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday. You have to feel this movement. It is where you come face to face with your humanity and brokenness. It is the part of our story where we have to choose to walk through our fear. It is the place that courage is most seen and felt. In many ways, it is the place where we see ourselves becoming or failing in the hero journey. the question here is, "Will he push through? Will he make it?" It is not the moment of crisis, but the foreboding before the crisis.

In the Jesus story, the crisis comes in his arrest, trial, betrayal, and crucifixion. This moment is the reason for his existence. In it, there is no glory -- only defeat and hopelessness. This complete defeat is perhaps the reason the Jesus story stands above all other stories. He dies defeated. And, with his death comes complete despair, emptiness, and darkness.

But, in a hero's story, there is a moment of triumph. In the Jesus story, it is resurrection - an empty tomb. The restoration of hope and life, not just for him, but for the world he came to save. He wins!

Or, does he? In hero stories, there are roads left to travel. There is often an awakened enemy or incompleted business. In the Jesus story, the gospel writers - indeed the writers of the rest of the New Testament believe that much of this road is to be walked by those who follow the crucified, risen Messiah. We are told that we are his reconstituted body that is to finish the work he set out to do. We are to be his hands and feet for a broken world. So, in the Jesus story, we are in this part of the story. The story is still being written. Complete resurrection won't occur until we experience it personally. Once we have, Jesus is promised to return to create a new world void of pain, suffering, and death.

Why does this matter at all? In my thinking right now it matters because as we tell the story boys, in particular, are left yearning to be a hero they cannot be. We all want to be just like Jesus. Those of us who feel this calling most, often become pastors. The struggle is that we know ourselves to be frauds; and/or we work to create our own deaths in order to imitate Jesus' hero journey. We have to fail and be resurrected to be like him. So we unconsciously destroy ourselves to become the hero we know we are to be. This twisted idea of wanting to be a hero in the mold of Jesus comes from a place of shame rather than a place of holiness or a desire to be in relationship. We call out for resurrection, hoping to be found worthy of being the hero we long to be. Listen to the echoes of this in the words of Todd Agnew:

1. Please note that the Spirit is nearly always referred to by the biblical writers with female words in both Hebrew and Greek. Sometimes it is hard because in English we don't have feminine and masculine words like in Spanish or Hebrew or Greek. If a man is my friend and I speak Spanish, I refer to them as "mi amigo." If a woman is my friend in Spanish I refer to her as, "mi amiga." In the same way, the language used around the Spirit is nearly always feminine. The language around the Father is nearly always masculine. So when I refer to the Father, I use masculine terms; when I refer to the Spirit, I use feminine terms, and when I refer to the Trinity I use the newly resurrected and minted, "they." 

 

Letter to My Adult Children: My Politics

Hey guys, 

Because I am trying to adopt Pabi's "political atheism," I don't publish my political ideas. However, if these posts are what they are supposed to be, it is only fair that you understand what I think about some of these things. As you will see there is enough here to piss everyone off. That is why I don't publish them. I do not hold to any of them very tightly but rather hold them in an upturned, open hand, more than willing to be wrong and recognizing that what I believe doesn't matter much in the large scope of things. Ultimately Pabi's campaign slogan from her last presidential bid is as good as any, "No bad beer." Let that be our motto. With that being said, here ya go. This may not be everything, but it is a start. Let's see how many people get up in arms

My Political Beliefs

Assumptions

1. Political systems are never good. The best we can hope for is to structure them and limit them to be less bad.
2. Some things we band together to do more effectively as a community.
3. Nearly always, less is more.
4. Political systems exist to hold evil in check. This requires force. So not everyone can be a Christ-following pacifist. Only those called to non-violence need be completely nonviolent. We are always to be a prophetic voice using Love as our weapon to reign in power.
5. Love cannot be systematized nor politicized. And, since it exists as the greatest unseen force in the universe, it must inform how we think about politics.
6. Individuals are made in the Image of God and thus are created to
   1. Live in and appreciate beauty,
   2. Be interdependent (designed for perfect relationship),
   3. Be creative (designed to design),
   4. Have dignity (a value that is independent of what they do, create, and think), and
   5. Live into freedom.
7. Modern political theory on both sides of the conservative/progressive divide takes away some of how a loving God created us.

These things being true. I:

1. Am completely pro-life:
1. No abortion,
2. No capital punishment,
3. No wars to export democracy or protect economic interests.
4. No capital punishment
5. Only self-defense of life and property (not material)
2. Believe in a single-payer health care system. This is purely pragmatic as it runs counter to most of the rest of my political theory of limited, or no government interference.
1. There are too many stakeholders in the current system: hospitals, doctors and nurses, big Pharma, and insurance companies. Everyone has their hand out to grab whatever they can.
2. Medicare works and has proven to be sustainable when not raided to pay for other services. It allows for people to purchase supplemental insurance so it does not completely bankrupt insurance companies and put their thousands of employees to of work. It has negotiated reasonable drug prices for members and can keep those costs in check.
3. If it can be combined with the current Health Savings Account Model that slides for peoples’ needs, it will actually make doctors and hospitals compete for patients in a free-market manner, while encouraging individuals to save and allow those savings to roll into an IRA (assuming it functions as the current system does).
4. You don’t hear Canadians, Brits, and Aussies complaining about their system. For sure there is the odd horror story but these are the outliers,  and they do not compare to the thousands of families that are bankrupted by their medical expenses and are either swamped by insurance premiums that are out of this world, or simply uninsured because they cannot afford the premiums to begin with.
3. Think all drugs (not just marijuana) should be legal, and that we should tax the hell out of their sale to fund education and recovery programs (as well as other things). Prohibition does not work and only fuels crime and the “Penitentiary syndicate.”
4. Think that someone who is trained and demonstrates proficiency should be allowed to privately own an aircraft carrier or F-16, or any other kind of weapon they so desire. I do not believe in gun registries. I think they are dangerous. However
1. Given the prevalence of guns in America, gun safety needs to be taught in schools by people who know, understand, and respect guns.
2. Before anyone can own a weapon they need to show proficiency in using that weapon. I suggest levels of licensure: basic (single action weapons), Hunting proficiencies, semi-automatic training, fully automatic, explosives, heavy gunnery, etc… People can only own that which they are trained to own, but they don’t have to own, nor are any records kept of what they own.
3. What I love about my stance on guns is that it tends to piss everyone off. So, I must have something right in my thinking.
5. Believe government should have no say in marriages period. The “rights” (taxation, etc…) that marriages now give need to be transferred to a registry of partnerships that will do the same thing. But the government should not be in the marriage business.
6. Think that permitting private property improvement is inane. Though public buildings for businesses need to be inspected for safety
7. Believe property should not be taxed
8. Am a flat tax guy:
1. A Straight across the board 10% tax on EVERY financial transaction divided between the state and the federal government. In my world: 7% to the state 3% to the Feds.
2. Vehicle license fees should be calculated based upon vehicle weight and the miles driven each year.
3. Utilities need to be regulated to ensure equitable distribution. The internet is a utility
9. Believe traffic police need to be required to drive marked and highly visible cars. The question here is: Does traffic enforcement exist to make the streets safer or increase revenue. If it is to make the streets safer, heavily marked police cars slow traffic, unmarked vehicles merely catch speeders.
10. Think that most but not all police need to be foot patrols and unarmed. (See the UK)
1. The militarization of the police has led to severe mistrust and increased violence
2. Body cameras need to be required.
11. Believe that individual neighborhoods need to be given more power to build the types of the community they want without government overuse
12. Think that the US military needs to be recalled to bases on American soil. No troops on foreign soil. We need to stop being the world’s police. That money needs to be poured into US infrastructure and economic partnerships that build US interests economically rather than politically and militarily. We need to cap our military spending at no more than two times what the next strongest nation is spending.
13. Think that education needs to be free all the way through 16th grade. School choice and vouchers are good.
14. Hold that corporations ARE NOT to be treated as individuals. Free speech rules should not apply to them.
15. Think that elections need to be publicly funded to keep big money out.
16. Think that we need term limits across the board. (No more than 12 years in Washington DC for any politician).
1. Lists of which politician a corporation gives to and how much needs to be public record and easily accessible. I really like the idea of sponsor patches on politician’s suits.
2. Senators and Representatives need to live under the same financial rules that collegiate athletes follow regarding accepting gifts and trips, etc…)
17. Believe that churches need to start paying tax on income that is not spent on community enrichment and social services. This would take a lot of thinking and work, but, I can dream, can’t I? The funding that comes in for multi-use building that is open to the community as a rec center or emergency homeless shelter wouldn’t be taxed where the money that comes in for a worship center that is only used for worship services would be, etc… See the Sally Army for what I mean here. They do this well.
18. Think the government should never be allowed to compel speech.
1. Giving money is not free speech
2. If I am an artist I should not ever be compelled to create art that runs counter to my religious beliefs.
19. Think the government should not be allowed to limit pipelines etc… but neither should private property owners be forced to allow them. Fines for any kind of environmental hazer need to be so severe that companies work into their financial plans contingencies and safety that mitigates the chance of disaster. In other words, disaster fines need to be so outrageous that companies will go above and beyond to avoid any spills.
20. Believe that pollution needs to result in “outrageous” fines so that we do not have to micro-manage how they do it, merely punish them so severely they will avoid pollution at any cost.
21. Think there need to be caps on personal liability but none on corporate liability.
22. Believe that federal minimum wage be set at $15 / per hour for adults and $7.50 for those under 16 years of age
23. Hold that Shop, art and music need to become staples of both primary and secondary education. Recess needs to regain stature in primary education. Primary schools should start earlier than secondary schools do.
24. Believe that Veteran’s, first responders, and educator’s (with ten years of service or more) healthcare should not be limited (to the VA) and should always have a very low deductible, lots of freedom of choice, and low out of pocket expenses without having a lot of paperwork for the providers, so that the best providers will want to care for veterans and teachers.
25. Think every high school grad and drop out should be required to do a minimum of two years service either in the Military, Peace Corps, or something like the Ameri-Corp (building and serving local communities and infrastructure) before going onto college or trade school.
26. Banks and financial institutions need to be very heavily regulated.
27. The bigger the corporation the more regulation it needs. If it is an international it needs to have the most regulation
28. No ID no vote
29. We need to loosen and allow more immigration in, once that is done, we need to make it difficult for illegal aliens to be comfortable, We do need to create pathways to citizenship for illegals who have been here for years and have started families here.

Letters to my Adult Children - On Emotions & Anger - Fall 2019

In one of the last DV classes I taught, I took a minute to talk to think. (Whenever I talk to think, I get words out of my brain so that I can see them more clearly and ponder them from different angles to discover if the words are true or not.)

With many of the men I work(ed) with, I have to teach them about emotions. To do so, I created a worksheet to hand out that reads something like this:

When we say we feel bad we might be saying…

• I feel hurt — Something that makes me who I am has been attacked, broken, or damaged
• I feel sad — I’ve lost something
• I feel lonely — I am disconnected from others
• I feel guilty — I did something bad
• I feel despair — I am without hope things are (I am) never gonna change
• I feel scared — things are going to go badly
• I feel disgusted — I experienced something that I found to be inhuman or gross and had a visceral or somatic reaction to it.

Shame is its own category because it is a combination of fear and shame; but, it is fear and shame about myself.

• It is fear that either, I am too much, or I am not enough
• It is despair that I will never be enough or always be too much
• It is fear that if you see me for who I am you will not understand, accept or delight in me
• It is despair that this won’t ever change

My favorite definition, though not clinical, is simply, the inability to meet the gaze of another. You can’t look them in the eye. You can’t let them see your soul.

Surprise is its own category as well because when we say that we are “Surprised,” we may be expressing a negative or a positive feeling.

Surprise happens when someone or something has caught us off guard and we weren’t prepared to experience it.

Like Surprise, “Anger” is not always a “bad” emotion. Sometimes it feels good to feel Anger.

Anger is one of those bad feelings combined with a sense of injustice or blame — "Someone or something else is responsible for my bad feeling and I am powerless to do anything about it."

We feel anger toward others, ourselves, institutions, cultures, people groups, and objects

Many times, the anger we feel at others is really anger we feel toward ourselves that we “transfer” to them or “project’ onto them to avoid blaming ourselves. Other times, we “transfer” or “introject” anger that we feel toward others onto or into ourselves to unconsciously gain more of a sense of control. Typically, this happens when fear is the “bad” emotion we are “unjustly” feeling.

Sometimes, anger is justified, righteous and empowering. When this is the case, we rightly condemn the wrong action or the evil without judging the person who chose it. This is a very difficult discipline.

As I thought about this, I thought about my Mum and the fact that she helped a ton of people and was someone that my brother says, “is the most evil person he has ever met.” Since she sexually abused me, it is hard to deny her this title, but something in me needs to if I am to stay sane.

Dwight Friesen was my advisor at The Seattle School. His office was filled with “&’s.” Over my three years inhabiting that holy space, I learned the power of holding the “and.” Mum was both completely evil and a saint. I had to learn to hold both truths about her. The question was could I hate her evil — her actions that broke me and my brother (including but not limited to her sexual abuse of me) — with the fury of all that is holy; and still hold her as my mother who was herself broken and worthy of love?

So, "holy anger," is anger that is directed at the evil that is done, and not at the persons who do it. It separates the evil act from the person who acts. This is so hard to do! It is far easier to hate the person who does the act than to focus our hatred on the action and the evil that leads the person to take the action.

Anger directed at evil changes the world. It led William Wilberforce to dismantle slavery throughout the English Empire in the 19th Century 40 years before the American Civil War. It led amazing women to lead the Women’s suffrage movement in this country. It led Martin Luther King Jr to lead the Civil Rights movement, and Gandhi to begin dismantling the caste system in India. The hatred of evil is an amazing motivator for change in our world.

This is true in part because Holy wrath is always organically connected to love. We “hate” that which destroys personhood and mars the image of God in people. But can you see how close that is to hating people for doing evil? It is a fine line and it takes a lot of hard emotional work to hold it. But, it is worth it because malingering anger at others eats away at the foundation of our souls and though it is rooted in the past, haunts us in our present lives and relationships.

So How Do We Get There???

There are 3 prerequisites for holy, world-altering anger:

1. Grief
2. Forgiveness
3. Proper Boundaries

Grief is mourning what is lost. Someone rightly said it is the removal of the opportunity for us to love. We grieve when we have lost something or someone that/who gave us hope for a better tomorrow, for connection, for understanding, delight, or beauty.

Grief

Many people have addressed the stages of grief: denial and isolation, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. Others have outlined how we don’t simply step through each step in an orderly fashion, we bounce from stage to stage, and then back again.

What hasn’t been addressed is the fact that for many of us, get stuck in the anger in an attempt to make an end-run around the grief and not fully experience it. We don’t want to feel the loss and the hurt, the loneliness, and the sorrow, the fear or the anguish that accompany grief. Instead, we stay angry so we don’t have to feel the sorrow. Anger becomes our defense against the grieving process. When it functions this way, we don’t cycle away from it. We get stuck in it.

Forgiveness

Forgiveness is making a choice to give up judging the person and/or the need for revenge against them. It is not giving up the right to judge their action, nor is it necessary to enter into or hold a relationship with someone you have forgiven. Forgiveness does not mandate relationship. It only mandates judging or holding resentment against another. A lack of forgiveness is a sign that we view a person to be little more than their actions, choices, or emotions. And, none of us are merely our actions, choices, or emotions. We are much more than merely the things we do, feel, or choose. 

Boundaries

For the past two-plus years a national debate has raged over the nature of our nation’s southern border. The debate has been over the nature of the boundary that we have with Mexico. On one extreme, some argue that there should be no border and no boundaries. And, on the other, we need to build a wall, and perhaps a moat to stop anyone we don’t let anyone in that we don’t want in. Most of the country falls somewhere between these two extremes.

That picture provides a handy metaphor about personal boundaries. Personal boundaries exist to protect us from others and others from us while allowing for relationship and connection with others.

Like in the national debate, people with poor boundaries fall into two extremes: People who don’t really have a sense of who they are except through the eyes of others - who can only feel good about themselves if those around them feel good about them (these are similar to the people who want no border); and, people who hold a position of not caring or needing anyone else and being complete loners, refusing to let anyone know what is happening inside of them and not really caring what is going on inside of others (these are the people that build a wall and dig a moat around themselves to protect themselves from getting hurt.

Having good personal boundaries means that we are both differentiated - knowing who we are and what makes us us; as well as being attached - knowing who we are through our relationships with others, creation, and the Creator. When I talk to clients who don’t believe in God, instead of using the term, “Creator,” I refer to “the transcendent realities of our world” - things that go beyond reason and rationality such as love, wonder, and awe. I guess what I mean by that, is that when I go to Ecola State Park and look over the knoll where I poured out Mum and Dad’s ashes to the Pacific Ocean with seems to go on for an eternity and pounds into the rocks below, I learn about myself in relationship to my world. When I crested Piegan Pass in Glacier National Park, I literally fell down to worship, not because I was tired (though I was) but because I was full of awe and wonder at the creation that opened up before me. At that moment, I not only saw the majesty of the Northern Montana Rockies, the peace of the hollers below, and the beauty of the glacial lakes hidden in them, but I got to see myself in light of all those things. It gave me perspective about myself and my limits. Perhaps the best illustration of this is found in a little part of the 1991 movie, The Grand Canyon. When Simon (Danny Glover) sits on the curb talking to Mac (Kevin Kline).

Simon is really talking about boundaries without knowing it. It is difficult to see where we start and stop. We need to see this reality if we are going to deal with our own unhealthy anger. If we are going to hold to boundaries that promote life and health.

It sounds a lot easier than it is because in close relationships our boundaries overlap. the choices you make affect me, and the choices I make affect you. We lust for freedom that infringes on the boundaries of another far too deeply. If I own property and dam a creek to create a reservoir for myself and for irrigation, it means that the people who live downstream are robbed of water that they need. If I build a four-story house, it might block the sunlight from yours. Actions have consequences and so the freedom we long for can often limit the freedom of another.

We feel anger when we see freedom impinged upon by another. This balancing act is at the heart of nearly all the social debates and dialogue in this nation. As I work with clients who complain about dysregulated emotions (their emotions are too big for them to handle and it causes problems), to work effectively I need to work along two fronts: 1) giving them tools to help them regulate their emotions in healthy rather than unhealthy ways, and 2) helping get at the issues that cause the dysregulation in the first place. As you can see above, it is because they have faulty boundaries. So the work becomes exploring the unconscious reasons and motivations they hold to those boundaries.

For you guys to thrive this will be your work as well. For anger not to rule you. For you to be able to hold to the righteous anger at the evil people do while not feeling anger toward the people who do them is perhaps the single-most Christ-like behavior we can practice. Living this way is why I say I am a Christ-follower. It is perhaps the single hardest thing we Christ-followers are called to do. It is also how we get to experience eternal life in this life. It is a life full of joy and sorrow. And it always promises adventure for us as we follow in his steps, leaving drops of grace in every step we take.

Letters to My Adult Children: Look for the Good - February 2019

In 1994,  a weird and wonderful spiritual event began. The BBC labeled it the Toronto Blessing and the name stuck. For many, it was the stuff of a horror show. For others, it was a movement of the Spirit of God they had prayed for their whole lives. People got on their hands and knees and barked like dogs or fell over while convulsing violently. Others experienced miraculous physical healings. The conservative church watched it in horror. Mainline churches were bemused. And charismatics and Pentecostals flocked to it as if it were Mecca. they hoped to be a part of something they saw as a miraculous movement of God.

During that time, an intellectual, mainline Presbyterian minister named Bob Ekblad who spent much of his life working with the poorest of the poor in Honduras and then, upon returning to the USA, worked with men just-released from prison was invited to go to Toronto to experience the phenomena with a family member.

It wasn't his thing. He really didn't want to go. He was a social justice guy and the Toronto movement had little or nothing to do with justice. Toronto was about a supernatural experience of God. For some reason, Ekblad ended up going. Before he went, he spent some time praying and was impressed that though he might see 100 things he couldn't stand, he needed to look for "one good thing." He listened and went to Toronto keeping his eyes open for one good thing. And, while there, the Holy Spirit moved in him in ways he couldn't explain.

He was changed because he looked for the one good thing. He still works for justice, among those on the margins, but now when he lays hands on people to pray with them, there is a power that can't be explained any other way than that it comes from God.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

I was at Hillsdale College in the fall of 1986 when Dad surprised me with a phone call. Remember this was before cell phones. We stood in the dorm's stairwells to talk to our family and friends on the payphone. There was one on each end of each floor in the dorm. My dormmate said, "Hurry, it is some sort of emergency." 

Dad explained that he and Mom rushed home to Portland from Idaho, canceling one of their evangelistic missions, because Mom was in incredible pain. Once home, the doctors performed emergency exploratory surgery and discovered tumors in Mom's abdomen that were pressing on her spinal cord and major organs. Dad told me that they were the size of my fists -- bigger than a softball. They closed her up because it would have been too dangerous to remove the tumors given their proximity to her spine and vital organs. In another week, Mom & Dad were scheduled to be in Vermont for more meetings. Dad wanted to cancel because Mom couldn't go. She didn't want him to. He needed to go. We arranged for me to fly out to meet Dad in her stead since the dates coincided with my fall break. My fraternity pitched in money so I could buy the emergency ticket.

There wasn't really much hope for Mom. The doctors told her they would do what they could and scheduled a catscan in order to pinpoint the radiation that they would shoot at her. They weren't talking about a cure. They were talking about doing the best that they could. The tumors they had seen during surgery were simply too big. The catscan was scheduled for the Thursday I arrived in Vermont to join Dad. The week before Mom called their pastor, Dwight Steele and asked, "Do you believe James 5?" Now, James 5 tells sick people to call for elders to pray for them in order that they may be healed. Conservative Baptists typically didn't believe in the miraculous, and typically didn't follow through on Jame's teaching.

Being crafty, Mom knew Dwight couldn't say no to her question because he couldn't say he didn't believe Scripture. In essence, she tricked him. And to his credit, scared as he acknowledged himself being, he studied, prayed and called the elders together to pray for Mom on the Wednesday night before her catscan (the day before I flew to join Dad). Mom had to wait a long time top be prayed for that night, because Dwight questioned each of the elders, looking for uncovered sin in their lives before finally calling Mom into his office to pray for her. I don't know what anyone expected out of that time together but the next day, over my Dad's objections that there would be no news, I called Mom to find out what was going on. She announced, they can't find the tumors, they are gone. "The report says that there is a slight swelling of the lymph nodes,  and we can't rule out the possibility of lymphoma." Mom was healed, in part, because Dwight was faithful.

That same man, a longtime pastor at Montavilla Baptist Church completely screwed up when it came time to deal with me and my sexual sin and double life. His handling of the situation couldn't have done more harm to me, the church or the gospel if he'd wanted it to. He was in over his head, couldn't acknowledge it, and reacted rather than responded to the news of my sexual betrayals. He became so intent on trying to read Scripture literally that he missed its message and ended up twisting it so that it said what he wanted it to say. This gave him a license to publicly read a list of my sins during a "worship service." His friend at Portland Foursquare followed his lead, also reading a list of my sins out publicly. I think he'd still argue he was right to have done so. In case you were wondering, he wasn't. He chose the action because of his shame rather than my sin.

My family had been at Montavilla Baptist since 1969 and Mum and dad were universally loved. Mom and Dad were power brokers in the church and potential threats to any pastor coming in to shepherd the church. Pops knew that Dwight viewed our whole family as a threat. And he warned me to be careful. Dwight could be caring and fantastic as well as vindictive and cruel. Out of his respect for Dad, he went with Timothy, Dad, and me to pour out Mom's ashes at Ecola State Park, caring for us in amazing ways. Later, he allowed me to preach at my Dad's service and helped me make wise decisions surrounding that service so that I didn't alienate Timothy further and cause a wider schism between us. And then he'd do something crazy like take the elders of the church without seeking any discernment to Timothy's house to perform an exorcism because I stayed there. If there were evil spirits in the house when they prayed, it had more to do with my brother's choices than mine. He was seeing a dominatrix at the time. So Dwight practiced evil, and stupidity as well as kindness and love, all at the same time.

In my anger, I could only see his evil. In the wake of my blow out, he was one of the hardest of all the Church patriarch's for me to forgive. I seemed to be incapable of holding the good and the evil that resided in the man. And for me to heal, I needed to be able to do precisely that. I needed to see and remember the good as well as the evil that always seemed to blind me to the good. He was not as evil as I made up in my mind that he was. I had to consciously look for the good. I had to consciously choose to see it. SOmeone said, "there is a little good in the worst of us and a little bad in the best of us." My job is to see the good while acknowledging the evil. It is in that balance that I find freedom.

The biggest example of this is Mom. You know her story. She was an early pioneer in the women's movement in the church. She was the first person - male or female - to produce a weekly Christian radio show across Europe, She was a noted Christian women's speaker. She was a better preacher than most of the men of her day -- certainly better than Dad. Her Bible study notes are amazing. She was a poet and a performer. Hundreds, if not thousands of people found life, meaning, freedom and authenticity because she was a faithful warrior, fighting against the darkness, And, she sexually abused me in evil and horrific ways.

In spite of the horror of that, for me to be free, I need to see the "and" that allows for the good in her, Just like in the story, I told you about Dwight. I will begin with the good before citing the bad. I have to, in order to be sane. I chose to look for the good so that I can be free.

Without knowing it, most of my work in recovery has been the work of recognizing and holding the "&." I hold that my Mom was an amazing, wonderful woman who chose to act evilly. I hold that Dwight was a good man who chose evil. There are countless more stories I could tell. You have stories to tell as well.

I believe that God uses evil, pathology, and narcissistic people for good in other peoples' lives. God uses seemingly crazy things to impart His power. In discovering the good I find freedom. I look to find the image of God in the shit. When I find it, I find hope. Calling forth the image of God from the shit creates the Kingdom of God. that is why seeing the "shit and magnificence," in Paula was part of my wedding vows to her. We do well together for a lot of reasons but one of them is that we can hold the "crap and glory" (her phrase) and shit and magnificence (my phrase) that we see in ourselves and in the other.

So, for me, to be a Rebel for Love - A rebel for the Kingdom -  means that I do this work. I look for the good in the midst of the shit. In some crazy ways, this starting point is the fuel of my freedom. But I think that needs to be held for another letter.

Letters to my Adult Children # 2 -- January 2019

I remember sitting in my class, Interpersonal Foundations, with Dr. Roy Barsness. It was my first week of class at The Seattle School, and I hadn't figured out that I was no longer swimming in an Evangelical stream of thought. Roy postulated that there were three questions with which we needed to wrestle as we began our journey toward being counselors, pastors, and non-profit leaders. We needed to think about: 

1. "Who is God and what is she/he/it like?"
2. "Who are people and what is our nature?"
3. And, finally, "What is the nature and function of sin?'

Roy was about to begin deconstructing the theology of his young students. Some of us who were older sat back, crossed our arms, and silently said to ourselves, "Bring it;" while younger, less seasoned students began to seriously question things they'd been taught but never had a chance to live.

I gotta take a minute and explain something. The Seattle School is not for the faint of heart or conservatives or evangelicals who don't want to be challenged, and Roy... Well, let's just say, Roy is Roy and no one I know loves as he does. So much so, that when I graduated I went on the record to say that my goal was to love people the way he does. I never did, "buy in" to all his thinking, but because of my relationship and discussions with him, my thinking shifted. It shifted as I asked and answered the questions he posed. My answers are different than his. That is OK, we began a conversation. That conversation led to my theological shift. I say, "shift," because it didn't really change it much. I merely shifted my emphasis and focus. If I wanted to follow in the steps of Love Incarnate, I figured I had to.

As a preacher and an evangelist, I focused a lot on sin and powerlessness. It was the first point of five-point Calvinism - total depravity. Now, as a therapist and counselor, I focus on the image of God that is in everyone (see Gen 9:6). My shift didn't come about because of a job change. It came about because of my relationship with the Scriptures and my relationship with others who challenged my doctrinal emphasis. And while I still accept the doctrine of total depravity, I think about it differently than I once did.

St. Paul outlined total depravity in Ephesians 2. St Augustine fleshed the idea out and popularized it; and, then John Calvin developed the idea more fully. (Be careful with Calvin because his thinking in his early career evolved.)

The way most people think about total depravity is different from the way Calvin grew to understand it in his later years. Current teaching resembles more of what he believed early on. At least three things happened. First, people knew how shitty they felt deep down at their cores and so it was not hard to jump to the conclusion that everyone was equally as shitty and was as bad as they felt themselves to be. Secondly, powerful people began using the idea of total depravity as a way to control people and consolidate their own power. And, finally, those who disagreed with it latched onto the weakest and easiest to attack versions of it, in order to defeat it.

Most people when teaching the doctrine teach that people are as sinful as they can possibly be. They rip the line from Ephesians 2, "dead in your sins." This Idea, that we are as bad at our core so seems to me to be unsubstantiated by the rest of Scripture and, indeed, antithetical to Scripture's teaching about people being made in the image of God (or, Imago Dei).

Calvin taught in his early work that the image of God was entirely corrupted in people when we fell into sin in the garden. Later, he shifted and began to argue that we were mostly corrupted (If you want to know more about this shift, see Randall Zachman, Image and Word in the Theology of John Calvin, University of Chicago Press: Chicago, IL. pps. 64-68).

Much of the protestant church in Great Britain, America, and their colonies adopted Calvin's more strict, unbiblical, and unhealthy formulation of "total corruption" of the Imago Dei.**

It is no secret that people have taken theology and used it to control and manipulate others throughout history. We need to own and acknowledge this. But let is also be noted people have also used their Christian belief's and doctrines to change the world for good. It is really easy to look for evil and miss the good. If we miss the latter, we miss the gospel. If we miss the gospel, there is no reason to believe. Some of my good friends have chosen this route.

But historically without the Church, women would still be seen as less than human and children would not be educated and would be put to work in factories. Without the Church, slavery would still be part of everyday life. Without the Church, there would have been no civil rights movement in America. Without the church, abortion and women's circumcision would be much more prevalent. Without the Church, there would be much more war. Without the Church, "might" would still make "right" and human sacrifice would still exist as common practice. Hate and fear would be the dominant emotions of all the world, not merely rule their slice of it, and shame would have free rein.

Sorry, I took a tangent. 

We need to think about total depravity differently, more biblically and more gracefully. My formulation of the doctrine states that we are sinful in every way in which we can be sinful -- that sin touches every aspect of our life. I still believe this. I can't get away from it. Nor, do I want to. 

More importantly though, when I think about the image of God, I want to think about what it is, rather than what it isn't.  And, I approach it differently than Calvin. Calvin argued that being made in the image of God meant that we had, "soundness in all our parts."  By that, he formulated that because humans are made in the image of God, they possess wisdom, justice, and goodness. He was not incorrect. But it has to be more than that. (If you want to read more about Calvin's thinking on this, or if you need a sleep aid, read: Calvin, The Institutes of the Christian Religion, ed. John T. McNeil, trans. Library of Christian Classics, vols. 20 & 21. pg. 176). When I think of the core or foundation of the Imago Dei, I first see it as being the perfect relationship (or love). Secondly, I see it as an expression of holy freedom thirdly I see it possessing creativity (seen in its voice). And, finally as possessing all-power (or agency or differentiation -- also connected to holiness).

As we live in love; experience freedom from shame; create beauty and speak life; using power to serve the rest of creation; we begin to live life as it was designed to be lived. And so, I believe, that in order to experience the fullness of life, we need to experience the fullness of these things

My next letters will try to flesh these out a bit, in terms of their practicalities. I had to start here though because this is foundational to my belief system. I'm starting with Roy's questions. And though I took a tangent, here are my answers.

1. Who is God? God is perfect relationship -- a divine picture of true love. God is free from all constraints to love. I believe that God in her love creates beauty and wonder. I believe that he is all-powerful because of his love.
2. Who are people? People are made in the image of God and are designed to love, need to be free to love and use their power and creativity to create, protect and enjoy beauty and wonder.
3. What is sin? Sin is anything that violates relationship, for in so doing it violates the very nature of God.

Out of those three answers to the questions, Roy postulated comes all my the thinking that will follow.

 

 **Note: Powerful people have used Catholic theology to do inhumane things in the same way. They suggest that if you are not baptized you are evil and we are allowed to treat you as sub-human.

 

 

Letters to my Adult Children -- January 2019

It is the middle of the month and today, there is no rain. It seems rare these days  -- to have a day without rain.

When I rode south to help Maggie move into culinary school in Coos Bay three years ago, I cried from Cottage Grove to Reedsport, letting the wind dry the tears on my face. My oldest was leaving home and taking flight. Much has changed since then.

As I type these words you've embarked on what I pray will be a fun and profitable career in sales, where you are able to make money helping people obtain what they need and want. Good salespeople are so important and so rare. If you press through and work hard, I think you will find sales comes pretty easily to you. You are wired for this. I am so proud of you and who you are becoming.

Then, a couple of days ago, Thomas left for boot camp. I didn't have the luxury of a 150-mile motorcycle ride to cope with my emotions as I did with Maggie, On top of that, he committed to the Navy for six years, is unable to communicate for at least two months and won't be back in Portland, even for a visit, for nearly a year. So, his departure feels different from Maggie's.

Maybe the difference is that he is my youngest, and now that he has left home, my job as a parent has changed completely. Maybe it is the distance or the length of his commitment, but whatever the case, his departure has left a hole in my heart. And the grey rain of Portland in January has mirrored the feelings of my soul.

The new reality is that my daughter is a woman who'd make any father proud; and, my osn is sprouting wings and flying off for the first time on his own and I'll never be Dad in quite the same way. Next time Thomas and I meet it will truly be man to man.

Thomas, you've kept asking for volume two of, Letters to my Children, so here I begin it. I don't think these letters will be nearly so "weighty," as those in volume one. In those letters, I tried to explain to you the foundation stones I've erected in my life while urging you to find your own upon which you can build your lives without regrets.

As I talked to Pabi about this briefly, I decided that this time around  I'd write about such things as why I am the way I am politically. I'll talk about the issues one by one. I'll talk about some of my favorite places and why they have meaning or importance to me. I'll talk about my personal values and the currencies of my life. I'll cover some of the things I teach clients about emotions and healthy sexuality. As you know, that is something that I had to learn the hard way. I'll talk about conflict and communication. I'll talk about what it means to be a man and ask Pabi to write about what it means to be a woman. If any other things come up, we'll throw them in as well. I might talk about Pabi's and my love and how it came to be and how it is fueled. All in all, it should be a fun ride. 

Once again, as I write I am aware that what I am trying to do is leave a legacy of words and thoughts, so your kids and their kids will know how you ended up as you. 

I didn't realize until Thomas was leaving for boot camp that my real prayer for each of you is that even as I live my life as a rebel for love, you will decide to live your lives as warriors for love. It is the only thing worth fighting for. But you already knew that I believed that. No matter where you go; no matter what you do for a job; remember we have only one King, his name is Jesus and he asks us to love.

You Don't Cry for Me

I’m the outcast - 

The one that always never belonged.

She did it to me...

 

"Are you kidding?

That doesn't happen."

 

 

The evils of which you speak are an everyday occurrence for you;

Which is precisely why they are so evil.

But mine hide in the shadows.

Mothers don’t do that.

And yet they do;

And we, their sons, suffer in silence. 

 

No one can see.

No one can hear.

No one wants to.

 

"It doesn’t really happen, does it?"

It happened to me.

 

My pain doesn’t matter somehow.

I’m 6’4” tall and over 300 lbs;

I’m a man’s man.

My bike roars.

My leather a warning to all.

I don’t have to fear when I walk into the bar.

I don't worry when I park my bike that there is no light.

 

It doesn’t really matter what my mother did to me.

I’m a big boy with all this privilege...

...So...

 

I suffer alone

 

My pain doesn’t matter.

No one talks about it.

No one researches it.

There is nothing out there! 

Look!

My abuse is an inconsequential blip on the screen.

 

In this fact, women steal privilege.

'Cause their pain is out there now. 

Everyone can see it. 

It is rightly laid bare before us all. 

And they are right!

Men abusing women has to end!

 

Me? I fuckin' sit on the pile of shit where I won’t bother anybody.

It’d be wrong to turn peoples' eyes from those who feel empowered to whisper or shout, “Me too!”

I’m sure, in all honesty, my Mom could and would shout with them. 

Maybe, that is part of the reason she did what she did.

And because I am not a woman, I can only nod into a void of silence, as I hear them shout,

“Me too.”

 

But I’m not fucking alone!

1 in 6, baby… At least that many.

It is probably more.

That's how many of my brothers were violated with me.

And though it may not sound like many;

It is in the fucking millions.

Next time you’re at church or a ballgame… count...

One out of every six male faces you see...

Their bodies resound with my whisper. 

 

We've been told, quite rightly, “me too,” isn't for us.

But we need to find a voice. 

I don’t hold out much hope.

But maybe, just maybe, you might see

 

'Cause, just like my Mom could say, “me too”

As she violated me to escape her own pain;

Men do too.

And we have no voice...

With no hope to gain one.

 

Our pain doesn’t really matter.

We just need to tough it out

While we sit as dead men our white horses:

Willed to stay there by those who need us to love them; 

Demanding us to be something more than we know ourselves capable of being. 

 

Look at my brave face.

You’ll never see my pain.

Most will never consider my sexual nightmare a possibility.

 

Besides, as a guy, I probably enjoyed it.

And, if the truth be known, I did.

I walked to her room, not the other way around!

That is my shame.

See, she can't be blamed.

I’m such a guy.

I need to simply get the fuck over it.

 

And so we do.

And in so doing

We do what we know.

And because of us countless others

Will also whisper or scream, "Me too."

 

~~Stephen Grant

Letter #2 - 18 March 2018

I’m sitting in a coffee shop with Nic, from the Seattle School. His Dad was killed in a motorcycle accident on Sunday in Arizona. He asked me to simply be with him as he got on a conference call with his brothers and Mom, planning his Dad’s memorial service. I'm happy to be here, writing these words to you.

Earlier, as Nic and I ate lunch, one of the things he said to me was that he knew his Dad loved him and was proud of him. He could “just tell.” I pray that you can “just tell” how proud I am of you and how grateful I am to be your Dad. Rod Stewart wrote to his children, and I want to echo his words, “I’m right beside you, win or lose.” No truer statement has ever been uttered by me. The two of you are by far and away the greatest gift I will ever leave this world. And by giving you to it, I will leave it better than I found it.

Given Thomas’ current decisions around what to do with the military, etc., I realized that I never talked to you about vocation and calling and the difference between the two. I figured it might be good for me to share my thoughts on vocation and calling.

In my world view, our calling never changes. Paula teaches about "a first-order calling." In our world — it may or may not represent your understanding of calling. Her teaching comes from Jesus' answer to a question, "What is the greatest commandment?" Jesus answered simply, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind and soul." Then continued, "The second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself." Paula teaches simply that above all else, everyone is called to know (experience) the love of God and then, in turn, respond to that love by loving Him back. She continues that every Christ-followers' second order calling is to love others, themselves, and the world. Notice that we are to love others as we love ourselves. Since we know ourselves better than anyone else, sometimes loving ourselves is difficult. It is much easier to talk shit about ourselves, or to ourselves and others, thinking we are “less than” or, “too much for.” In so doing, we don't love ourselves at all. When we do this, it is also easier to disregard our neighbors as well

No matter what you do in life (your vocation) sales, public relations, teaching, engineering, construction, pilot, psychologist, doctor, attorney, chef, beautician, janitor, customer relations, management, street sweeper, plumber, electrician, or whatever, so long as you can fulfill your first and second order calling, your vocation doesn’t really matter. You will try some things and they will work better than others. Somethings you do will give you success as American culture defines it, but you can’t really fail at a vocation. Your vocation can detract or add to your happiness, but ultimately, you can be happy in anything you do, so long as you are fulfilling your first and second order callings.

Vocation only becomes a problem when it interferes with our ability to live into our calling. So vocations such as mercenary, thief, exotic dancer, or POTUS can be problematic because they necessarily take us away from our ability to love the world the way Jesus did. For he asks us to love it the same way.

So whatever you do vocationally will help you move toward your calling or be a hindrance to your calling, but other than that your vocation is not unlike the decision of choosing a movie to watch. It doesn’t really matter as much as we think it does. Love matters. It is all that ultimately matters. The rest will eventually burn.

I love you. You can’t choose badly unless you are guided primarily by fear or indifference toward love. I do not think that those are insurmountable problems for either of you.

In the end, you can be successful in your vocation and fail in your calling, but if you are successful in chasing your calling you will also find success in whatever vocation(s) you choose. So, find the freedom to go boldly forward knowing that vocationally you can’t make a wrong choice. So long as you make sure that every choice gives you an opportunity to love.

I love you,

 

Dad

Letters to My Adult Children #1

A Note to Begin: Thomas, your words that you read the first volume of Letters to My Children made me happier than you can imagine. Then when Rascal died I had something to say again to you as adults. So here we go again. You'll both be tagged in Facebook to know when a new post is up, and maybe in another five years I'll be able to hand you another volume of letters I've written about things I care about, so when I am gone you will be able to remember. Below is letter One which was primarily written while Paula and I were in California last month.

I am grateful that you were privileged to have those last sacred moments with our dog as we lovingly put her down to end her run here on this rock we call home. I am sorry that Paula and I  were over 300 miles away, unable to share those last holy seconds with you in person. Thank you for letting us FaceTime one last time with that precious animal, who we all loved so much.

Later that day, as we drove south along the PCH Audio Adrenaline’s song, “Goodbye” came on, and tears began to pour down my face as I remembered her: Her longing looks which were impossible to ignore; the way she’d tear down the beach after a ball or a frisbee; when she’d leave me at the door to find something — anything — to bring to me as she whimpered her delight and excitement; how she’d use her nose to nudge my hand to get me to pet her and then push her way under my arm to be close.

All sorts of memories from when she was a puppy to an old woman flooded my mind; from the first time that we met her in that bare concrete room at the Humane Society and we fell in love with her, to the time that I took her out to Sauvie Island with Ian’s dogs and they bullied and scared her, bowling her over as she ran. I remembered her scampering up and all over Mt. Tabor Park on her evening constitutional. And I remembered her running this way and that as we hiked the Horsetail falls trail. I remembered her freedom on the beach and how she had to keep water free from all debris, swimming tirelessly to grab any sticks she’d see floating on the surface I remembered how she hated the rain and refused, if at all possible to go out in it and how she’d climb up next to me on the couch and put her chin on my lap, just to be close. I remembered how she’d come whenever she heard me in the kitchen and sit down looking up at me longingly with those big brown eyes, “What do you have for me, Dad? I know it will be something good and I want it. Please, Dad, give it to me…”

And I realized that she was my recovery dog — because she only knew me after I started in recovery. She taught me about love. No matter how much I failed her, the insufficient love I had for her was enough. Though I could never love her enough (she always wanted more) the love I did give her made her love me more. All she wanted was me to love her; and, she could never get enough. And, yet, somehow, what she got was enough. Her love never wavered. Though in her last years you guys didn’t see her as much as you or she wanted, whenever you did, she was all over you. You were back! Her kids were back! And, that was all that mattered to her in those moments of joy, It didn’t matter that you hadn’t been there. It only mattered that now you were. She is a glorious picture of love. It is one I want to understand more and grow to practice more.

The older you get, the more you necessarily step further from your Mom and me and toward your own life. I don’t get to see you as often as I’d like, and when I do, all that matters is that I get to be with you. Sure, I’m sad that I don’t get to see you more. I sometimes feel like Rascal looking out the window waiting patiently (or impatiently) for us to get home. It is as if I am waiting for your return. When you show up, nothing else matters. I get to spend time with you. I hope that I am like Rascal to you, simply glad that you are here when you are here. Simply loving getting to be with you.

It doesn’t seem like a single day goes by that I don’t think about that wonderful girl (The best dog ever). Pictures pop up on my Facebook feed that makes me smile and tear up because I miss her. I am grateful for them because they help me remember the best dog ever. They help me remember how to love.

I love you, 

Dad

 

Thank God I'm Not...

Sunday, my rector preached from Luke 18:10-14

Then Jesus told this story to some who had great confidence in their own righteousness and scorned everyone else: “Two men went to the Temple to pray. One was a Pharisee, and the other was a despised tax collector. The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed this prayer: ‘I thank you, God, that I am not like other people—cheaters, sinners, adulterers. I’m certainly not like that tax collector! I fast twice a week, and I give you a tenth of my income.’

“But the tax collector stood at a distance and dared not even lift his eyes to heaven as he prayed. Instead, he beat his chest in sorrow, saying, ‘O God, be merciful to me, for I am a sinner.’ I tell you, this sinner, not the Pharisee, returned home justified before God. For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” (NLT)

My rector's sermon was much like Jesus' story. It caught me. I've preached from this exact text dozens of times. And yet, this Sunday, the Holy Spirit caught me. For my rector pointed out that whenever we hear this story we tend to identify with the tax collector, silently whispering, at least to ourselves, "Thank God I am not like the Pharisee in the sto..." Oops...

Why did he have to preach this sermon at this point of our election cycle? It hardly seems fair.

My Democratic supporting friends are clearly acting just like the Pharisee. I read their posts every day, and the drive me nuts! (My Rep leaning friend's posts make me laugh in their unintended silliness, but they know enough not to play the Moral Majority Card that the Dems stole from their playbook.)

As I see it, the only trouble with their position is that Hillary's election is deadly. According to a Huffington Post article, written to support her, she wants to buttress our defenses and make our military's presence in the world even more deadly. Additionally, she is outspoken in her support of partial birth abortion and Planned Parenthood, which (despite their claims to the contrary) was created as a way to control the African American population. Unfortunately, they are doing a better job than any of their eugenically inclined founders ever dreamed.

Because she is running against a morally inept patsy, her own moral bankruptcy is overlooked. "It is not nearly as bad as his... nothing has ever been proven..." the argument seems to go. "If she had Trump's history as a woman, she'd be crucified." They are right about that last bit. She would. But it needs to be said, because she is a woman, to some she can do no wrong. She is, in essence, in many ways, the twin of Margaret Thatcher.

Returning to my rector's sermon; my trouble is, as soon as I point my finger at the Dems for being pompous hypocrites who hide behind a wall of intellectual snobbery and dishonesty; I join them in at the bottom of the outhouse... I judge shit. Just like them, when I claim "to be better," I become the Pharisee in the story. As evidenced by my belief that I have taken the moral high ground.

What I need to be doing is beating my breast, looking up to heaven and asking for God's forgiveness for being too proud to love, and judging those who judge fiercely and without empathy.

I'm sorry. I am wrong in my reactions. I am grateful to have a rector who cares enough to catch me in my sin.

 

Letters to my Children: On Being an Episcopalian

We are to pass on what we've been given. If we don't, we lose that which has been entrusted to our care.

A poignant memory for me is traveling through Sault Saint Marie, Ontario, Canada. Mum turned to me as we passed by an Anglican Church (Episcopalian Church) and said, "If you are ever on the road, and don't have meetings, and don't know where to go to church; go to an Episcopalian Church. It is always a safe bet, because no matter what else happens, the gospel is always present in the liturgy of the service." Knowing what I know now, the fact that mi Mum, a Bob Jones graduate, said that is rather remarkable, and I have never forgotten it. I pass it onto you.

You know that after your Mom and I split I ended up at St Matthews in Parkrose. I was there for three or four years. I still love those folk. I think (I hope) I left well. I certainly held no malice and left because of epistemology rather than theology. If you remember, I left to go to Evergreen. I wanted to hang out with Bob Hyatt, who I considered to be one of the most innovative pastors in Portland.

While I was at St Mattie's, I joined the church. To do so, I went through confirmation, rewriting the catechism as I did so. (I need to go back and look at it to see what I wrote and how I'd change it today.) So you know, the Catechism is the training that liturgical Churches (Catholics, Lutherans, Anglicans (Episcopalians), Presbyterians, and Christian Reformed, to name some of the bigger ones) provide congregants who want to pursue membership in the church. Catechisms appear to be a series of questions and answers. Those joining the church memorize (or at least know) the answers to each of the questions in the catechism. In the old days they were tested, but not many churches test congregant's knowledge anymore.

At some point, we'll talk about the catechism (and why I re-wrote it), but for now, I only wanted you to know what it was. A brief Church history lesson will also help. Throughout the Church's history denominations form because they don't like something in the existing church. Because of this, you might say, each denomination is reactionary. Many times splits are doctrinal. But sometimes, they are not so much about theology (orthodoxy) as they are about behaviours and practices (orthopraxy). Anglicans (or Episcopalians) split from the Roman Catholics not because of theology but because of practice.

Henry VIII, the famous king who had eight wives by the time he was done, wanted a divorce from one of them. The pope wouldn't grant it, and so Henry ordered the Bishop of Canterbury to form a new church and called it, the Church of England. Though the Church was birthed under Henry, its future wasn't solidified for some years -- until after the reign of Henry's daughter, Mary, who returned England to Catholicism (killing a lot of people in the process). Mary's sister Elizabeth took the throne after Mary died, and she made the split final for political reasons. The Church of England's future was secure. During her reign, she commissioned a document called, the "39 Articles of Religion." Perhaps more than anything else, the 39 Articles defined the direction of the Church for the centuries to come. The document expounded 39 points of doctrine. A few are reactionary, while many confirm beliefs held by the Catholic Church. At this stage, the document is more historical than anything else. I agree with some of the articles and disagree with others, as do nearly all the Episcopal pastors I know. We probably disagree on which articles to discard, however. And we all probably read all the articles differently than the authors intended they be read. There is some hazy history, but it appears that it took nearly eight years for the Church to agree on the final 39 articles. This isn't that surprising. If you ever study or write theology, you will discover that it is more surprising that they agreed at all.

Many of those in the churches that I grew up in think that the Episcopalians are too liberal. They argue that many Episcopalians deny Jesus is God, that the Scriptures are the Word of God and are perfect and that Jesus is the only way of salvation. To the Church I grew up in all of this is heresy. Also, many argue that the church's refusal to condemn homosexuality and transgenders is an anathema.

I disagree with the Episcopalians teaching on some of these things. You know that I hold, with an open hand (in other words, acknowledging that I might be very wrong) that had people fallen into sin, there would be no homosexuality and no gender dysphoria -- that God's original creation was for eternal monogamy between a man and a woman. 

However, we don't live or love in that perfect world any longer. I know the life of heterosexual monogamy to which I've been called, and given my complete failure in that arena; I am not going to look at anyone else and tell them how God intended for them to live. It is simply not my place. To do so would be the height of hypocrisy. As I read Jeremiah and Joel (two Old Testament prophets) I need to allow people to work out how they walk before their God for themselves. I no longer claim to know how anyone else should behave in any of these matters. 

Denying Jesus as Lord is another matter. I could not be part of a congregation that denied the Trinity. Having said that, how Jesus saves is an open question for me. While I hold with a closed hand, grasping tightly to the fact that the Jesus' death on the cross is the only means of salvation, how the cross saves is beyond me. I was taught the only way that a person cold be saved was by saying a prayer, inviting Jesus into their heart. Not only is that extra-biblical (not found in the Bible), it is plain wrong. 

Though I've never said it to you explicitly, you may have noticed that I don't use the word "Christian" anymore to describe myself. There is nothing wrong with the word. However, I've chosen to refer to people like me who love Jesus as "Christ followers." Because for me, that describes who I am -- In all things, I seek to follow Jesus. A Christian is someone who cognitively believes Christian doctrine. A Christ follower is someone who attempts to obey and follow Jesus. I want to be the latter.

When you are at an Episcopalian Church you will hear more scripture than you do in most "free church" services. We'll talk about the free church later. It is sadly true that many Episcopalian people that I know, don't know their Bibles very well, they hear it in church more regularly than their Baptist brethren. I was raised to believe that the Bible was "inerrant" (or without any errors) when originally written. That last phrase was important because no one has any of the originals. As I look back, I realize that the church of my youth fought tooth and nail for inerrancy to fight for their interpretation rather than for inerrancy. The Bible clearly has errors. That is part of its magnificence. What is more, our understanding of it is flawed and fallible and when we think we have understood it, we most certainly have not.

This is an important piece of my journey and transformation. I need to write an entirely different post on Scripture alone so you can understand my journey on this all important topic.

Suffice it to say; I believe that the Bible is God's unique and divinely inspired word to us and for us. It contains all we need to know for salvation, and it is mediated (or revealed) to us by his Holy Spirit so we can have a relationship with the Triune God. It is worthy of intense study and scrutiny. It will not give life by itself but will be used by God to raise the dead, heal the sick, give hope where there is despair, and faith where there is doubt. There is no book like it, and no other writing compares to it. I think that most Episcopalians would agree with this paragraph and those who don't have a right to be wrong. 

When I go to an Episcopalian Worship service, I trudge a rhythmic path toward Jesus. I am invited into Jesus' presence, and hear his word proclaimed: First an Old Testament reading, then the Psalm, then a New Testament reading, and finally a Gospel reading. I am encouraged in my faith through the homily; am invited to pray for the world, confess my sin, and hear God's forgiveness given. With shame taken from me, I can fully enter into relationship with my neighbors sitting next to me, as we pass the peace one to another; and, finally, I am invited to partake in the body and blood of Jesus in the sacrament of the Eucharist. 

I need to stop here once again. As I grew up, I often heard preachers and pastors add to the Bible by saying, "This is a symbol of my body and blood." They did so because they don't really believe the Bible is inerrant. They believed their interpretation was inerrant. This is important because Jesus said, "Whenever you gather to worship, partake in communion together" (SGT, 1 Cor 11:25); and Jesus didn't say, "this is a symbol..." What he actually said was, "This is my body which is given for you..." and, "this is my blood, which was shed for you..." (SGT, Mt 26, Mk 14, Lk 22, 1 Cor. 11).

And this is the glory of it, so please catch it. Because he forgave me (and he had to forgive a shit ton of sin in me), I get to take communion. And as I take communion, I say, "I will enter into his death and give up my life for the world in the same way he gave up his for me. It may look like it costs me everything, but death always precedes resurrection, and resurrection is better than life!" When we are done with communion, we are sent into the world to be Jesus' body in the world.

These are the reasons that I am grateful to be Episcopalian. I realize I didn't address the things in the church with which I do disagree: The ecclesiology (how the Church is set up), or the right of infant baptism. Those issues, in practice, don't affect me and are easy to overlook. The things that make me Episcopalian far outweigh the things that pull me away.

 

For those who know better, these days need you to be better

In my second year of grad school, our Therapy professor introduced my cohort to the work of Margaret Crastnopol who studied and wrote about psychic micro-trauma. She spent two hours with us presenting a paper and then took questions about her theoretical construct and how we could better work with those with our clients who were cracked or broken because of micro-trauma in their life.

Her work naturally follows in the wake of a similar book on micro-aggressions, by Derald Wing Sue who wrote, Microaggressions in Everyday Life. While micro-traumas are not necessarily the result of micro-aggressions, they are connected. Micro-traumas are the bi-product of recurring small traumas. One helpful metaphor is Chinese water torture. For micro-trauma functions in a similar vein. It is the result of repeated, ongoing small traumas; indifference; low-level emotional, spiritual or verbal abuse; prolonged emotional abandonment; or unintentional, recurring micro-aggressions. Dictionary.com defines Micro-aggressions as,"A subtle but offensive comment or action directed at minority or other non-dominant group that is often unintentional or unconsciously reinforces a stereotype and/or,the act of discriminating against the non-dominant group by means of such comments or actions." 

I fear that many of us are suffering micro-traumas as a result of this completely inane election cycle. And I believe that social media is only compounding the problem. It has become a hotbed of micro-aggression. People's feeds resemble their personal culture and ideologies. Anything outside of their worldview is unwelcome. Using this standard, when people post hateful things, those posts reach the level of being micro-aggressions.

It is people on the political right who distrust academia who seem to struggle with the construct of micro-aggression and micro-trauma the most. Surprisingly, though, micro-aggressions are not limited to the conservative right. We see them within many of the reactive movements that stand against the abusive, systemic powers that conservatives support.

This mutated election cycle, with all of its craziness, has led to not only micro-aggressions but full on assaults on whole demographics by people from both sides. We are truly a fractured nation. What caught me off guard is the scope of the assaults that both sides seem more than willing to perpetrate against the other.

If you look to the right, Mr. Trump and his talking heads apparently enjoy attacking those who oppose them. Let's face it; their strategic offense is offensive. The only way to avoid their ire is to agree with them or avoid them. On the stump, Mr. Trump has lumped hard-working illegal immigrants with rapists and murderers. There is no room in his worldview to obey biblical commands to welcome the alien and the stranger. Likewise, his misogyny is on display nearly every day at every rally he attends. One doesn't have to read too far into the text to see he would have thrown the first stone at the woman caught in adultery, and that he would never have spoken to the woman at the well (except to command her to serve him). He is intentionally and strategically offensive. He is unapologetic and generates tribalism among his followers that is at best, frightening -- and at worst. lethal. 

What surprised me recently, however, is that the other side (though not as course and blatant) is just as deadly and intentional in their attacks on their enemies. When Secretary Clinton referred to half of Mr. Trump's supporters as "deplorables," she not only created a circle of hate; she created an apologetic for it. For, it is not wrong to hate deplorable things. Her allowance of hatred of the deplorables opens the door for all sorts of propaganda that twists and distorts the truth, further inflaming Mr. Trump's supporters. She continues to create an atmosphere that is unwelcoming and damning of anyone who dares to challenge her. This one misspoken phrase reveals much of the character and strategy of the Democratic party.

My Facebook feed is full of articles attempting to argue that it is impossible to oppose Secretary Clinton without being a misogynistic, racist, gay-hater. No longer is it merely Mr.Trump's supporters who are all those things. And now, it is anyone who opposes the former Secretary of State. In me at least, it has backfired, making Mr. Trump more palatable; and that realization disgusts me. I don't want shit ever to taste like anything I'd want to eat.

It has been common in this country to dehumanize your political opponents. There is nothing new in that. I may not like it, but I've grown accustomed to it. What feels different in this election is the attempt to dehumanize the followers of your political opponent. While conservatives blast the intelligence of the progressives (which is irony at its best); the progressives (I will no longer call them liberals -- for the word denies them entrance into its fraternity) blast right back. They do so more subtly and with longer words containing more syllables, but they do it nonetheless. Each side is attempting to dehumanize the other. 

The thing that most breaks my heart, however, is when my classmates and friends from my seminary who sat in lectures with me about micro-aggression and micro-trauma; who worship the same Jesus who we read about in the Holy Scriptures, violate their call to heal. They do so by tearing down those who disagree with them; dehumanizing them and making them, "less than." I want to believe that their micro-aggression is unintentional and that if they realized that they were creating micro-traumas in people, they would stop.

As people who claim to follow Jesus -- who urged anyone who would listen to him to repent and live in the Kingdom of Heaven; we are called to be Kingdom people. I don't care if you vote for Mr. Trump, Sec. Clinton, Gov. Johnson, Ms. Stein, Sasquatch, or my wife (her campaign slogan is: "No bad beer," BTW). For nearly all of us who live in Oregon and Washington, our votes don't matter. Our States' electors are already set. There is no urgency in this part of the country. We are still going to have conversations with others -- in particular with those whose hope rests in the temporary government of the USA. The way we have the conversation reveals how much we love our enemies; how willing we are to trust Jesus when he urges us to turn the other cheek. It reveals to which Kingdom we belong.

We are to be "salt and light." We are to care for the orphans, the widows, the aliens, and strangers (see refugees). We are to beat guns into plowshares and turn weapons into art which gives life rather than taking it. We are to feed the hungry, turn the other cheek, care for the grocery clerk or the gas station attendant who serves us. We are to bring life, joy, hope, peace, faith, and self-control to our world. It kinda needs it right now, don't you think? 

As long as we are focused on tearing down the intelligence of our political opponents, our focus is not where it needs to be. We can and need to demonstrate to the world how to disagree with each other and still love and respect one another. We can (and are called to live in the Kingdom of Heaven while we navigate this world's, wars, hurricanes, tornados, mudslides, earthquakes, raging fires, hunger and poverty,, racism, militarism, consumerism, individualism, and even elections. 

I recognize that there is a certain irony to this post. I hope in its current form there aren't any unseen micro-aggressions left. I think I also removed all the outright aggression as well. I don't want to shame anyone into trying to love better. Though sometimes I try. 

I don't write to discourage people from supporting their candidate of choice, or following their conscience and not voting at all. I write, wanting the conversation to shift, love to come to the forefront, and Christians to remember -- not only that they are royalty but that they are already residents of the Kingdom of Heaven.

Sometimes, recovery looks eerily similar to the abusive church. When members are encouraged to stay away from others who have "graduated" from the fellowship, there can be a kind of cultish feel to 12 steppers.

The general belief is, "Once an addict, always an addict." This statement is probably more true than not; and yet, it would be wrong to say that it is always true. Another accurate belief is that if you don't give away that which you have been given, you'll never be able to keep the gifts entrusted to you. This rings true. However, dictating what "giving it away" looks like, is a huge mistake.

Most people enter 12-step / 12-tradition rooms in order to stop living a destructive life and live as happy, successful members of society. When we tell current members to stop associating with the people who are successfully living out the things they learned, recovery becomes no better than the church who urges members not to associate with people who decided to leave against the church's wishes.

Recovery must be better than this.

Looking Back... Looking Forward

Growing up the son of a missionary and gospel singer/evangelist who were committed to living, "by faith:" asking no one but God to meet the family's needs shaped me in some interesting and challenging ways. I grew up having visited many of the 48 contiguous states, and seeing many things my peers only dreamed of seeing. At the same time, Mom would drive up to the house with us in the car and there would be groceries on the front porch that she needed, hadn't asked for, and cooked with that night to feed us. We were always dirt-poor, and always had enough.

If Dad was called for meetings in East Texas or Florida, he'd always say yes, and then he'd pull out the Rolodex and begin calling churches and pastors along the way to build an itinerary so he could afford to get there. You see, Dad never required any payment and never knew what he was going to get (if anything) and so the idea of the church covering his expenses was foreign to him. We paid our own way and graciously accepted whatever was offered to us upon completion of our mission or crusade in the community. Nearly always, every weekend and every Wednesday night were booked and we'd simply travel from community to community in order to reach the place that first booked us. It could take weeks, but it is how we traveled. 

In today's world, I wonder what my parents' Facebook accounts would look like. Undoubtedly, they would post pictures of churches where they ministered and pictures of Dad singing or Mom telling a story or leading a Bible Study or women's meeting, but I imagine there would be a lot of pictures of Timothy and I swimming outside of Boonesborough, Kentucky in the Cumberland Gap where I spent my 10th birthday, or of us touring the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, and Straight Street in Philly on the 4th of July 1976. Perhaps you'd see pictures of us playing at Niagara Falls or Fort Ticonderoga, looking at Mt Rushmore, Yellowstone, the Grand Tetons or the Grand Canyon. 

Maybe my parents would have been smart enough not to post those photos that family and friends wanted to see on their public pages so that people wouldn't get the wrong idea about the family and think that we were flush and simply playing all the time. Because that certainly wasn't the case. I don't know how they would have worked that out and I wish I did.

This summer has been a celebration summer for Paula and I. We spent the first two years of our marriage never qutie having enough to pay the bills, and spending at least one, or many times two or three nights each week apart, as I traveled to the Little Fishing Village to the North of Portland for School. Supporters stopped supporting Paula because they assumed, as a man, I'd take care of her financially. After all, isn't that my job? They don't realize that as a grad student, living on the edge, having betrayed my former ministry partners through my adultery, I simply couldn't. 

Like many couples, especially older-- poorer ones, blending our financial lives is one of our greatest challenges. In contrast to my background, Paula grew up in an affluent family who trained her how to manage money well. In some ways, we're good for each other and in others we sometimes want to kill each other. 

So this summer, in the wake of three life-changing years, we've chased beauty as we've lived, using many of the travel strategies I learned growing up. We've taken Dr. Dan Allender's advice and taken the time to connect to each other more tightly, and God in new and fresh ways. It is easier now that I don't have another book to read and paper to write. When we've gone somewhere for business, we combine it with a day or two to relax along the way.

In June I graduated in Seattle and took Thomas to check out a school in British Columbia. I combined the two because I couldn't afford to take him on this campus visit any other way. Since we were in BC, TL and I tagged on two days in Whistler that didn't cost us anything except for the gas to get there. We took our food and had a kitchen in which to cook. We had a brilliant time.

In July, Paula gave me a 50th birthday/graduation gift and we rode 1701 miles to Canmore, Alberta to see the Canadian Rockies. It was a vacation to be sure, and it cost money to do. We were celebrating major milestones. And our celebration was also an act of worship. Paula called it a Pilgrimage. The bonus was that we stopped along the way to develop new ministry partnerships and see people we'd never get a chance to see if we weren't making the trip.

August is Paula's birthday month and September is our anniversary month and so we planned to go to Bend on a working vacation/celebration to see and connect with people for the Kingdom. After that trip was planned friends gave us an actual real-life vacation at Depoe Bay. It caught us both off guard and was probably the best vacation ever, and yet, even then we spent our mornings reading, planning, and writing together before going to play in the afternoons.

So you can't imagine my disappointment when Paula told me that someone said to another of her friends,"It seems like all they do is vacation."

I teach, metaphorically, that there are three legs of the stool upon which I rest. One of those legs is that "what other people think of me is none of my business." I believe that wholeheartedly and I am also aware that this person's hurtful statement will lead us to make some changes, not to how we live, but how we portray the way we live.

The second leg of the stool is  "If you spot it you got it." The person thinking we're always on vacation has his/her own insecurities in regard to our actions. Regardless, we live in a world where perception matters. And as supported missionaries, we need to make sure that we are not harming our ability to develop kingdom partnerships with people who are called to support Kingdom work financially.

Unlike my parents, we can't post pictures of the people with whom we meet or even tell the stories of the lives that are changing when we meet with them. It isn't appropriate or ethical in our line of work. Those stories aren't "Facebookable." I thought the beauty we've chased along the way was, but that is apparently not so. APparently we need to limit that to a very few close friends. That is a sad reality we are going to have to face. I think you can expect some further changes to our Facebook feeds as we move forward. It might be that we need to cancel them altogether, creating other ways to communicate with our friends around the world. We'll see. We have some talking to do. 

Please feel free to chime in on this topic either in the comments below the blog or the Facebook post, or in a personal message on FB, or even in an email to Paula or me. On quite another note, I am sure that this is the reason that Allender doesn't use Facebook.

By the way. Here is the link that Paula's friend was sharing with Paula's other friend. It was this link that led to the discussion that has led to this post:

 

Chasing beauty, Day 4 - A long, Beautiful ride north to Canmore with Paula Gamble Grant, MA, NBA

So it ended up being a long 384-mile day. My foot is messed up, swollen and black and blue. The injury slowed us down. I move like Tim Conway in a Carol Burnett sketch. Because of that, we were 40 minutes late to see Josh & Rebecca Jaklich in Hayden, ID. They patiently waited for us and it was so encouraging to see them and catch up. After we left them we grabbed a quick bite to eat.

 

As we finally pulled out of Hayden, my comment to Paula, over our comms was, "Well, we are only getting away 2 hours later than I thought we would." My injury was making things tight. I don't like riding as late as we were going to have to ride. We couldn't mess around.

 

We were both in sweatshirts until we suited up for the rain south of Sandpoint, ID on the shored of Lake Pend Orielle, because of an isolated shower that caught us off guard. We found a pullout and put on rain pants and coats in the rain, but we didn't pull on our boot covers. She asked if we should and I said no thinking that Paula's cute, rugged, Harley boots were waterproof. I was wrong, and her boots leaked water through the laces even after that short downpour. Sorry, Babe.

 

The ride up Hwy 95, through Idaho's panhandle, was peaceful except for my inner state. The panhandle is full of racists, and my stomach turned when I had to follow a Jeep in need of a new muffler who had plastered a Stars & Bars, KKK Battle rag sticker to her back window. Racists notwithstanding, it was an alright ride. The last section of road north of Bonners Ferry is a fun sweeping drive up to the Eastport Border crossing. 

 

Neither Paula or I had crossed into Canada on motorcycles before. Before crossing, we read that:

1. We didn't need to take off our helmets to talk to the border agent but did need to remove our sunglasses and turn off our bikes when we pulled up.
2. We needed to approach the agent one bike at a time. If the officer waves the partner up, that is fine, but we needed to roll up one bike at a time.

Paula likes me to be in front, and so I went first. After I had turned the bike off, the agent informed me he hadn't gotten my license plate. This meant that I needed to walk the bike forward so he could read my plate. Paula had to do the same. This may vary from point of entry to point of entry, but I found it odd that they weren't taking pictures of our plates when we crossed into Canada.

My goal is always to leave people I meet happier than they were before they met me. It is part of how I try to bless my world. How that happens varies, but at border crossings and with customs agents, the general rule of thumb is that if I am friendly, honest, and engaging I leave them with a smile on their face.

The ride from the border to Cranbrook, BC was majestic. The road follows the Moyie river north past Moyie Lake. It has beautiful bends and wonderful scenery. We rode under glorious sunshine and that only added to or joy.

Soon after Cranbrook CA-95 merges with CA-93. They stay together until Radium Hot Springs. (We didn't know any of this as our phone navigation doesn't work in Canada. We could have stopped to get new SIM cards in Cranbrook  but decided not to waste the time. Instead, we relied on the wisdom of people we met in rest stops and gas stations to get us to our destination.

CA-93/95 proved to be a "nice ride" rather than a stunning one. This might be because we knew we were heading into a storm (we could see it just ahead of us. We chose to ride into the darkness.)

That choice changed my anxiety level and affected my enjoyment of this stretch of highway. (I feel as if I have to at least pretend that I know what I am doing so that Paula doesn't worry. And, though I don't really know what I am doing and may make different choices at different times, if I were making the trip alone, this kind of trip does not feel unusual or worrisome to me.)  

My impressions if this stretch of roadway were also colored by the fact that there is major construction that held us up and then slowed us down: We were stopped for a good ten minutes by a flagger and then rode 45 mph on grooved pavement for a long 16 kilometers. Remember, Paula has only been riding a year and she hates grooved pavement. Please don't get me wrong, none of these 384 miles were boring. All of it was beautiful, and a lot of it spectacular. During this particular stretch, Paula's voice came over comms, "The Cliffs of Insanity!" Sure enough, at the north end of Columbia Lake, the headwaters of the mighty Columbia River, just south of Fairmont Hot Springs are some striking brown cliffs. We stopped to get gas and share a subway 12-inch just north of there.

From that point on, God directed the clouds to spit or pour on us. Dropping into Radium Hot Springs, I wanted to stop to get a picture of a stunning river curving below us. It was spectacular, but because of the rain, we pressed on.

The picture I didn't take as we came into Radium Hot Springs

Radium itself is a picturesque tourist mecca that borders the pass that crosses the Continental Divide. On a different kind of journey, we would have stopped, explored and enjoyed it more thoroughly. We didn't even pause on this ride.

At Radium Hot Springs CA95 / CA 93 split. We turned right to follow 93. Just as we did so, we saw a fleet of bikers coming down the pass, dressed in their rain gear and still pretty wet. 

Stock picture of a motorcyclist climbing out of Radium Hot Springs on Hwy 93

As we rode up the pass, I marveled at the road. It is most easily the steepest most incredibly engineered road I've ridden. It was a glorious ride in the rain. I can't imagine how glorious it would be in the sunshine! Parts of it seemed to be cut through the rocky mountain itself, and the stream that falls down the mountainside next to the road is a majestic shade of blue that is indescribably beautiful. Going up is always easier than going down. We rode down cautiously in the pouring rain. It's a very rough road. Once down the other side in the Mountain Valley, traveling along the Kootenay River, the rain stopped, and we increased our speed.

The Kootenay River Runs along Hwy 93

The rest of the way up to the Trans-Canadian Hwy was rough, but I continually shouted my wonder at the beauty through which we rode. There were, "Wow, look up to your right." and, "O my, wow!" escaping my lips along with songs of worship and an occasional verbal outburst from Paula at an unexpected bump in an unexpected place.

Once we reached Hwy 1, we sprinted to get to Canmore. The Trans-continental Hwy is a well-maintained and easy to ride. Canmore is 22 kilometers past Banf and so by the time we pulled in we were both massively sore. I could barely pull my bad leg across the bike to get off and hobble into our unit. We have covered parking that is close to the elevator to head up to our unit on the main floor. 

So far the clouds have us sopped in, and we can't see much, which is a crying shame because we get glimpses of breath-taking grandeur that we can't quite see. Hopefully, we'll be able to take some pictures over the next few days. 

This morning we rode through town to the grocery store, and Paula bought me a retractable cane so that I can hobble around. Our plan is to lay low today to try to give my foot the time it needs to heal a bit, then spend tomorrow exploring  So pics will come as we get them. Weatherwise, this is not the best time to be here, and it is still the best birthday gift I've ever been given. My wife loves me, and I am grateful. I've decided that her business cards need to read, "Paula Gamble-Grant, MA (Master of Arts), NBA (ninja badass). Maybe I can talk her into it when she orders more.

Chasing Beauty, Part 2: Day One Ride

The "Rever*" map of our first day's route

There is a downside to Coms -- Things you say out loud that normally no one else but God can hear, get heard by your spouse. And it may be hard to comprehend, but I can be impatient sometimes. When Paula heard me giving directions to a car that was slowing me down in angry tones with cursing, she responded, "Stop it! I am viewing this as a pilgrimage. I am not in control. I am not in a hurry. I walk in faith and hope. I greet everyone with peace. I bring back only what God gives me. I'm chasing beauty."

I don't think I swore the rest of the ride. We looked at multiple possible routes to get here to the South end of Coeur D' Alene. We had to stop for gas before leaving Portland. Riding sanely, my Goldwing gets approximately 39-40 miles to the gallon. Paula's NT700 is supposed to get 54 but got over 57 MPG. My tank is only 4.6 gallons, and so I can only safely go 175 miles on a tank of gas. Paula can go 260 or so. We weren't overloaded fo the trip, but we are loaded. 

Monday morning traffic through Portland was relatively light. We cruised out Interstate 84 taking note that the exit to Multnomah Falls was closed since the parking lot was full. They pull a gate across to stop even motorcycles from entering. Traffic in the Dalles was gnarly. At one point an RV pulling a trailer did change lanes causing Paula, who was riding behind me to gasp, me to lay on my air horn and hit the brakes quite hard. 

Paula occasionally would shout surprise when heavy wind gusts tried to push her over or out of her lane. That is when the coms were toughest on me. Her shouts made me nervous, but we both got better at handling the wind and the subsequent verbal responses to it.

Biggs Junction at milepost 104 was our first gas stop. We also shared a "two for four" deal and hit the road again. The pic above was taken at this stop. When riders get to Biggs, they have an option, continue on I-84, which nearly everyone encourages, or cross the Columbia and take WA 14 east. We chose the road less traveled. It was the right choice. 14 is enjoyable. It is well maintained, and it stays within a stone's throw of the river most of the way. Not two curvy, but not boring either, with ample opportunities to pass. I followed Paula, turned the music on and up, kicked my right foot up onto my crash bar, resting my right elbow on my knee and rode without a care in the world, chasing my wife -- who is beauty -- down the road.

Our next stop was Columbia Park in Kennewick Washington. This park is the host of the hydroplane races in the Tri-cities. It was a necessary oasis for us. We stretched and held Yoga poses to stretch some more. We snacked and then hit the road again. A few miles up the road we made a gas stop in Connell, WA. So far I was familiar with all the roads on our route. That was about to change. We turned East on WA 26 toward Pullman. We immediately noticed a difference. The road was bumpier and not as well maintained. It wasn't bad, simply rough. We were still able to travel around 70 MPH, and there was hardly any traffic going our way. After about twenty miles of straight, "Nebraska-esque" road, it began to find some curves through unique, liminal land that transitions between the Eastern Washington planes and the foothills of the mountains we were approaching. The shifts are subtle but also profound. When you are on a bike, you have the opportunity to take it in and observe the subtle changes in ways you never could, if in a cage, traveling the same roads.

The road becomes so curvy and hilly that it became virtually impossible to pass safely and, as is often the case, this was precisely the place that five cars in front of me, the two of us and a couple of cars behind us all lined up behind a slow moving rancher in his pick up. I remembered Paula's pilgrim prayer those last five miles dropping into Colfax, WA. At Colfax, we turned north on WA 195 toward Spokane. 195 bends up a hill as it leaves town to the north. It is a two-laned, pot-hole laced road. Halfway up the hill, Google maps beeped at me to turn off the major road onto Hume Rd. Hume passed to the east of Steptoe Butte, and though the posted speeds said 50 MPH, we traveled much faster as we climbed into OakeDale.

This last section of our ride was a hoot. It was twisty and windy with good surfaces to place our tires. We traveled through Oakedale, Tekoe, and Plummer, through beautiful farming valleys that are tucked away from the rest of the world. We transitioned from the high, arid planes to lush forest lands, through the fertile green farming country. We never did see a sign that we entered Idaho.

On the last section of road on the way to Pat's

And what can be said about Lake Coeur D Alene itself? It is truly a beautiful and wondrous lake, over 26 miles long with fingers that explore the hollers of Idaho's panhandle. We are staying with Pat Cooke, a long-time friend of the Gamble family and one of my favorite people. She has a beautiful lakeside home on the shores of Lake Coeur D'Alene's south side, across from Harrison, ID (the blue dot on the map). It reminds me of the lakeside home on Chelan where I used to vacation growing up. We are here until tomorrow when we head north, meet some friends for coffee, then ride further north, cross the border to Canada to Lake Louise, Canada. 

After a hard day's work the bikes get to take a break

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*Rever is a free app that tracks riders, letting them know their speed, maximum speed, time riding, and miles ridden. It then maps the route you ride. I'm liking what they are offering and they are continually making improvements.

Chasing Beauty, Part 1: getting the Bikes Ready

Taking a bike trip isn't like taking a car trip. We are sorting through what to take and what bags to take as well as making sure the bikes are ready for the journey. In the case of my '86 Honda GL1200 Goldwing Interstate, that is easier said than done.

I bought the bike cheaply two and a half years ago. The owner had spent painstaking hours cleaning it up, so it looked immaculate. I knew it didn't run, but my friend, a mechanic, thought it wouldn't take that much to get it going. Some of you may remember the fiasco that followed with the Bike shop that kept the bike seven months longer than they said they would to "fix it," broke my left side mirror and then charged me to replace it, and did shoddy work. Finally, the bike was returned to me, but soon I discovered that I still had electrical problems that needed to be fixed. Enter my brother-in-law, Scott, an electrical wizard. He installed what Goldwing owners call a "Poor boy" charging system. We purchased a kit, and he installed it. My bike went from using its stator to charge to charging itself from a Geo Metro alternator. This fixed most but not all of the problem, because when the bike is parked there is still a drain on the battery, and if the bike sits for more than 24 hours it drains the battery too far, and it won't start. 

So today, I rode down to McMinnville and Scott installed a battery disconnect for me. This meant cutting a hole in one of my side panels. The battery cutoff has a key that has to be inserted for power to get to the bike, so it is also a pretty fantastic theft deterrent. Also, we installed a new energy source to keep my phone charged and a solar battery tender to keep the battery charging even when it is sitting. I can't tell you how much more confidence I have making the trip because of Scott's skill and generosity.

Meanwhile, Paula has changed bikes. She has gone to a 2010 Honda NT700A. She says, "I needed to get a bike that has hips like mine." I think she looks better on it and it does provide her more stability.
I call it a "mini-Goldwing." She sold her old bike and bought this one essentially so we could take trips like this, but she also made money on the deal, That was a nice bonus. Insurance is also less expensive since moving away from a naked sportbike.

Today, she installed a new power source so she can also plug her phone in and keep it charged, and adjusted her clutch so that she has more play in it and it is more comfortable for her. Bikes require us to be much more in tune with our world and our bodies, We adjust them to fit our size and our tendencies. She needed more play when she squeezed because she has small hands and she wanted the lever closer to the handlebar when it was engaging. She accomplished that and is much happier now.

Power for our phones is important because they are an integral part of our Cardo Scala GX9 Communication system that allows us to talk while we ride. Buying the Cardos has made a huge difference to us. We love them. If she wants, Paula can hear the crazy stream of consciousness that flies around in my cranial cavity when I ride. Or I can hear things I never thought I'd hear her say. More importantly, we can let one another know that we need to take a break, to look out for a road hazard, or talk about getting around or through traffic.

This trip, we are each carrying two extra sets of gloves, one of which can be worn as an underlayer, and I am packing several extra large bandanas to help keep my unruly hair in line and to cover up my face if we get caught in any rain storms. I chose my half shell rather than full face helmet for this ride. Paula always rides in a modular. Both of us are also carrying waterproof jackets, pants, and boot covers. We have created a make-shift tool-kit that we carry in a Redkin canvas toiletry bag. In the kit, we have an assortment of open-ended and box wrenches, as well as sockets and an adjustable. We are also carrying a Philips and flat head screwdriver, a leatherman, and a couple of sets of pliers and a box cutter. I've learned to always carry jumper cables, and we are taking additional power sources for our phones.

Paula always rides with full armor and Harley Davison MC boots because they are solid and cute. I am always in jeans, boots, and leather gloves, but rarely armor up unless it is cold-weather riding. I am undoubtedly foolish in this choice. Yet, it is a conscious choice, and I am cognizant of the risks I take, and chose to take them anyway. If some day I lay in a hospital with large sections of skin missing, I will have done it to myself and you need not feel sorry for me. 

We are taking a camera and so will try to post pictures from the road starting tomorrow. 

Chasing Beauty: Introduction

On Monday morning Paula and I will start a motorcycle trip that will take us to Coeur D' alene, ID. On Wednesday we will leave Coeur D' alene and head north to Lake Louise, Alberta, Canada. 

Amidst the insanity this country is creating right now, we've decided to search out beauty that neither of us has seen, so we can encounter it together, find refreshment, meet God together, and enjoy the hope that beauty creates.

For the next week or so this blog will become a travel blog of sorts. Some of the wonder of this trip is that the journey on the bikes together is as important as our destinations. We will be free to roam, saunter on our bikes and frolic along the way. We will get to spend time with longtime friends while lingering on the shores of a majestic Idaho Lake, hiking in the majesty of the Canadian Rockies, or traveling with the lazy Columbia River as it flows south through Washington. 

I hope as we post pictures you will get to enjoy our ride with us, as we celebrate life together, and revel in God's absolute delight with us, and you. I'll post again soon. Enjoy the ride. #livetoride #ridetolive #wiveswhoridearethebest #adventuretogether #saunterlingerfrolictogether #worshiptogether #transformedtogether 

An Open Letter to My Love

My Love, 

When we married, Given the misogynistic culture we inhabited, I knew that a part of loving you meant creating space for you to be all God made you to be. I needed all those skills I gained as a lineman on my high school football team to "block for you" clearing obstacles from in front of you so that you could score. This wasn't because you needed help to function joyfully with your King. It was because others in our world would try to stop you. My first job was to make sure no one held you down and secondly, to ensure; I didn't get in the way.

We've known for several months that this was gong to be tough, for me at least. I took a risk last fall telling you that this year, my 50th birthday, as I entered the back half of my life, and as I finished graduate school, it would be a good time to learn how to be celebrated. I was going to leave it in your hands, partly because the idea of celebrating me is so f**king awkward, and partly because after all the shit I've pulled in the first half of my life it doesn't feel right to celebrate me. Today, it seems as if God doesn't either. That feeling sucks, and it is mine.

None of that is said to make you feel guilty. You are living into the fullness of your ontology. It is truly glorious and beautiful to watch. This is the moment we (you and me, Babe) get to reflect Trinitarian love and sacrifice back into the heavenly realm. This is where I get to be who God made me to be for you and those 80 folks you get to love this coming week. It costs more than I thought myself able to pay. 

The weight seems heavier in the furrow of Cyril's death somehow. I will take the kids to Ecola to talk to both Dad & Mum tomorrow. I kinda think Mum & Dad might like how things are turning out on this side of the implosion of "Clan Grant." Besides, it will be good for the kids to see where their grandparent's ashes are poured and remember them. 

As we physically move in opposite directions these next days; and as thousands of miles divide us, I'm writing to help us (me) remember that we've made Kingdom choices this week, and though in this moment they feel shitty to me I believe they will ultimately lead us to worship. 

When I married you the biggest surprise was discovering that I didn't need to be a lonely rebel. So, as you preach this week to many who are weary from "running for God," I pray that they find rest and delight -- like the little boy jumping off a park bench into his Daddy's arms == "Running to God." I'll pray as you "kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight."¹ And while you are unleashing the Spirit of God on the Demons of a well-meaning system that destroys its people, I will revel in beauty, and rest in the love of my son. I too will battle the darkness by playing in the light of creation. Maybe through our joint efforts, we'll create a crack that will let the light get in. That is my prayer, anyway.

it's gonna seem like I'm changing the subject in one of my famous ADHD moments, but I'm not. Earlier today I watched this U2 video. It moved me and I imagined us worshiping together as we live in the presence of our King. "

I like everything about this video. "Yahweh," the first song, feels descriptive of us. Everything from Bono's pleading lyric: "Don’t make a fist,” to the call for a broken heart at the end of "Yahweh," all rocked my world on this day where I find myself being so tender.

The second song, "40," was a soundtrack for our young adulthood, and it always moves me. Toward the end, when Bono picked up the spotlight, people knew they mattered. When the camera person caught the look on Edge’s face as he listened to Chicago’s choir ask, “How long?” he captured a transcendent moment. And when Larry needed to join the choir's plaintive question one last time, all of our corporate, pent up frustration with God not living up to our demands went into his rhythmic Gestaltic act, unloading on his drums and cymbals.

"How long, must we sing this song?"

I don't have a great answer to this question. I know that I am singing the chorus to "40" this week while you are away. And, I know that singing the song with you as we patiently and sometimes impatiently wait --  and as we point and walk with people toward Jesus, toward hope, toward freedom, and peace; we too touch the transcendent reality for which we were made. Touching the transcendent with you makes everything worthwhile; even the pain that we experience in moments of profound disappointment, when we feel not only unloveable but unworthy. Those moments of hopeful eternity are bigger than the moments of turmoil. So, break a leg, sweetheart. I love you. The Kingdom is better because you love and delight in our King. 

Jim Elliot wrote, "I have one desire, to live a life of reckless abandon for my Lord, putting all my energy and strength into it." It was my prayer for a long time. Now, I've added, so long as Paula is by my side.

______________________________________________

^{1 Bruce Cockburn, "Lovers in a dangerous time," performed with Steven Page of "Bare Naked Ladies"}

 

 

 

Please help me get the 2 x 4 out of my eye

The new storyline that the Pulse killer was himself a closeted gay man changes this storyline drastically. It is wrong to call this a homophobic attack. Having said that, in some ways, it is much more devastatingly indicting of our current culture (I originally stated "American," but that is inaccurate. It is worldwide) or corporate psyche that pushes difference to the margins. Everyone pushes people away who are different (especially people that scare them or trigger their shame) to the margins of their psyches and physical lives. As we think about people who intimidate, frighten or repulse us, in our minds we have to make them small, ugly, repulsive,emasculated, and dehumanized. We make them "wholly other" to escape our shame and feel more powerful ourselves. For what we think we see in the one we hate is merely an image of our shattered selves that reveals the bits we or others broke off and would prefer stay hidden.

As a man, recognizing my tendencies to do this, and remembering doing it with homosexuals because of my insecurities, I relate to the above paragraph. All people do this, and not merely with sexual things (though sex is a powerful drive and it happens a lot in this arena). We do this with gender issues as well. Genesis 3 suggests that much of our misogyny is a result of this fear and is a resultant curse that drives men to "rule over" women.

Consequences and curses are nearly always connected to real life choices. Adam's chose to do nothing when the serpent tempted Eve. He was with her when she ate. The serpent didn't deceive him, and he still didn't say anything to try to stop her from eating. The only explanation I can find for his choices is that he was scared and so he froze -- a typical amygdalaian response. As men, we are famous for freezing. Our silence belies our fear. We are paralyzed by it and for a time, do not move or speak. When we ultimately do, if our amygdala is still in charge, we will most often act or speak violently. The level of our violence is directly related to the depth of the cortisol engulfing our amygdalas. At this point, we are hopelessly caught in a cycle that often becomes vicious and dangerous. I need to note here that though I am primarily speaking of men, women's brains are wired similarly, and though they may express violence differently, those acts are still sinister, kill, and destroy.

The reason the above conversation is vital to our understanding of this particular issue is that people live freely when fear is no longer a threat. What I realized this week is that as a 6'4" white male, who looks like he walked off the set of Sons of Anarchy, I don't know social fear like my gay friends. When I was much younger, I walked my dog Ashleigh -- a giant, gorgeous Gordan Setter -- down the north end of MLK in Portland late at night, greeting the prostitutes and drug dealers that used to hang out in my neighborhood. I was friendly to them, and they to me. Ashleigh made up her mind on a case by case basis. My lack of fear surprised those I encountered; many assumed I was a cop because I engaged them as humans who had worth without any fear. My wife never knew that freedom. I recently saw a meme about men fearing prison for the same reason women fear walking down the streets. My stature, my gender, and my race change the way that the world engages me. I have no fears about being physically attacked. My amygdala shoots into hyper-drive for entirely different reasons: creepy spiders and scary snakes, heights, or losing respect are what drive my amygdala crazy.

As a father of an attractive daughter, I'm aware that urban women live in a constant state of hyper-arousal and fear when they are alone on the streets. Fear accompanies them like a bad case of tinnitus. It is always in the background and never goes away. That is bad enough, but gays and transgendered people live not merely with a threat of physical harm, though this fear is all too real. They are forced to live with psychic fears surrounding their relationships as well, because who they are as people is not close enough to the center of other peoples' comfort zones. So they marginalize them. Not because they do or say anything; but merely because they've found freedom to embrace a part of themselves that scares others without that freedom to death. Ironically, their sexual freedom becomes their jailer.

My stature, gender, race change the way that the world engages with me. Police and authorities relate to me differently than they do people of smaller stature or people of color. My fears are not about being physically attacked. My amygdala shoots into hyper-drive for entirely different reasons. As a father of an attractive daughter, I've known that women live in a constant state of hyper-arousal and fear when they have to go out. Fear accompanies them like a bad case of tinnitus. That is bad enough, but gays and transgendered people live not merely with a threat of physical harm when they are out, though this fear is all too real. They are forced to live with psychic fear surrounding their relationships as well, because who they are as people is not close enough to the center of other peoples' comfort zones. They are marginalized, not because they do or say anything; but merely because they've found freedom to embrace a part of themselves that scares other (without that freedom) to death. Their sexual freedom, becomes their jailer, as others who do not know such freedom (because of their own shame)¹ push them out of the center to the edges -- away from what they consider normal.

Can you feel the bind? If one acknowledges this integral part of themselves, discovering the freedom that it brings, they place themselves in a societal jail of contempt; experiencing constant physical, emotional, and mental threats. On the other hand, if they don't acknowledge this core piece or drive, they are free societally --accepted and loved because they are part of the majority -- but they are bound internally, wasting away inside because they can't acknowledge a part of themselves that is very real and powerful.

Some people caught in this bind, are incapable of acknowledging it to themselves either because they believe their desire and their longings are morally wrong. If this is you, it is easy to understand why you get angry so quickly. Justin Torres poetically points out that, because of all these realities, the only place that the gay community experiences any true freedom is at the gay club. The club is the gay community's temple. It is the only place they know that they can go to be free together and play and release all the pent up tension that the hyper-vigilance of always protecting oneself creates. It is the only place for the gay community to release trauma together. He writes:

People talk about liberation as if it’s some kind of permanent state, as if you get liberated and that’s it, you get some rights and that’s it, you get some acknowledgment and that’s it, happy now? But you’re going back down into the muck of it every day; this world constricts. You know what the opposite of Latin Night at the Queer Club is? Another Day in Straight White America. So when you walk into the club, if you’re lucky, it feels expansive. “Safe space” is a cliche, overused and exhausted in our discourse, but the fact remains that a sense of safety transforms the body, transforms the spirit. So many of us walk through the world without it. So when you walk through the door and it’s a salsa beat, and brown bodies, queer bodies, all writhing in some fake smoke and strobing lights, no matter how cool, how detached, how over-it you think you are, Latin Night at the Queer Club breaks your cool. You can’t help but smile, this is for you, for us.

While that is an excruciatingly sad reality, It is the reality we've created (and by "we," I mean "us conservative type, white, apparently fearless males"). In so doing we have sinned greatly and owe a debt we can't repay. We can only ask how we can make it right; cause, the reality is we F**ked it up.

Jesus was clear that before we try to take the speck out of the other's eye, we need to take the 2x4 out of our eye. Because we like being at the center and holding the power, we keep refusing to do that. So before we about their "sin," we need to address our own first. We have put the gay community in an impossible situation, and we need to repent.

Dedicated to Jeffrey Tangeman, a college roommate that knew he could never be honest with me because of who I was rather than who he was. RIP, brother.

_________________________________________________

^{1 I am not suggesting that everyone is a homosexual. I am suggesting that a high percentage of people have unresolved sexual issues. Relatively few explore and address issues surrounding their sexuality and that the shame that inhabits it.} 

 

A Peacemaker's take on Memorial Day in the USA

A long time ago, when I was hanging out at a Graduate Christian Fellowship function, Dr. George Mavrodes, a professor of philosophy at the University of Michigan, related a story to me of a colleague who was working on his doctorate in sociology back in the early 1950's. The man went to live with the Amish for a year as a part of his doctoral work. He was with them during the 1951 presidential campaign between Adlai Stevenson and Dwight Eisnehower, and he was surprised to discover that the Amish men were all following the election very carefully and whenever they gathered discussed it. He was more surprised to discover that they to a man all were praying that General Eisenhower would win the election. 

In the middle of one of these discussions, he asked about it. They explained that Stevenson was not qualified to be president because he was divorced, and a man of that questionable character should never be in power. Secondly, they said, "And General Eisenhower is a powerful general who will protect us and allow us to live the way we are called to live."

The doctoral student pressed further in trying to understand. The Amish went onto explain that God gives different callings to different people. Some he calls to be shoe makers. Some he calls to be peacemakers and some he calls to be warriors. 

While my purist Annabaptist sisters and brothers disagree, I've had twenty five years to ponder Mavrode's story and it's ramifications. I am called to make peace. And I am incredibly grateful for those who are called to protect my family and my ideals. 

I come from a family of warriors. My Grandfather, Neville Grant was a radio man in the Scots Guards who were part of what Kaiser Wilhelm called, "The King's Contemptible Little Army," and was on the front lines of the Great War from it's opening bell in 1914 to its closing four years later. He was one of the few that survived the whole bloody ordeal. Most of his friends did not. My Father tried to join the Royal Army in 1941 to fight Hitler, was turned down and so joined the Royal Airforce where he started as a bomb fitter -- placing bombs on the planes that went to pound Germany into submission. Later, he was reassigned and traveled the height and breadth of the Indian subcontinent goign to the front lines to entertain the troops that were fighting the Japanese horde. My Uncles served. My Uncle John wa a career officer and retired a Colonel in the late 70's He fought in WW2, Korea, and Vietnam, and then tried to get back in for Dessert Storm but they deemed him to be too old. I live as a warrior for peace. My weapon is my arms held high in surrender and love. People call me crazy, but with love as my only weapon, I fight on. 

And so on this weekend when we honor those who put their physical lives on the line so we can live in peace, thanks. This peacemaker is grateful for your courage, bravery and faithfulness to your calling. No matter the conflicts that rage around you, may you know peace this day. To the families of those who have lost sons, daughters, husbands, fathers and mothers being faithful to the call they received to pick up a weapon to proect us; may you receive solace this day, and find peace in the pain and grief. I remember and mourn with you.

Roadtrip

I've driven the United States 47 times, visiting all 48 contiguous states. I can't count how many times I've travelled north and south. I remember going to AAA to get their "Triptiks." Triptiks were fantastic. I'd go into an AAA office and tell them where I was going. I'd sit down with a representative, and we'd plan out the route I wanted to take and create alternate routes to consider. We'd physically hi-light the route on both a national map and regional or state maps. Then the rep would find individual pages of maps that they would turn into an itinerary. Each page would
have whatever highway I was travelling. The page would include rest areas, restaurants, gas stations, and motels and hotels, along with the mileage and the time that it should take to drive. My family's game was to see how much more quickly we could complete the route than the page said it should take. One year, my brother and I travelled from Portland Oregon to Pensacola, FL in 48 hours and 34 minutes. That particular year we stopped and watched a movie in Amarillo, TX because a hurricane was rolling through the panhandle of Florida and we wanted to take our time getting there. 

Perhaps because of this upbringing, but I get wanderlust regularly. I get restless, and I need to explore and roam. The last three years inoculated me a bit. Every week I'd drive or ride to Seattle. And then for our honeymoon, Paula and I took a road trip to Lake Tahoe. 

Today we are leaving on a business/pleasure road trip to British Columbia (One of my favorite places.) We are going to see friends along the way and talk about A.C.T. Intl., reFresh, and Gracefall. I am looking forward to it. A friend is coming to take care of our animals, and though we will miss them a great deal, we know that they are being cared for. 

If you are the praying sort, would you pray for us for safety, courage, wisdom, and connection over the course of this week? We are in a season where we are actively seeking ministry partners to help us build the section of wall in the Kingdom of God to which we have been assigned. It is a daunting, humbling, frightening, and holy task. This is one of our moments to be faithful. 

If you'd like to partner with us, simply click here.

Please note that a copy of this is also being emailed to Gracefall's email list.

"A real reason to not allow women to teach men," he says with his tongue planted firmly in his cheek

I hope you like Satire... Shouting out to Beyonce here...

---

 

This morning a colleague in A.C.T. International posted a link from a group that I'd never encountered before.: The Berean Research Organization. The thoughtless idiocy of the link he posted made me curious and so I tracked down the culprits who wrote it. Surprisingly to me, it was written by a woman. It is surprising because of the underlying hermeneutic of the piece disallows women from teaching a man in any way. So writing and disseminating this way out teaching should be off limits for a woman. 

I love that irony... Two women: Amy Spreeman and Marsha West head this project. On their page, they propagate vile, putrid, hateful, anti-scriptural, and Satanic views. (I just said that, and I meant it; for nothing is more contrary to the written Word of God, and the Living Word of God -- Jesus -- than their fearful hate and an apparent need to control the God of the universe.) I like to believe that it was women like these two that caused Paul to say some of the things he did about women teaching in both 1 Corinthians and the pastoral epistles. 

They state that: "Berean Research exists to help Christians discern and equip themselves to keep themselves and their brothers and sisters from falling into deception." Fear is the generator of their mission. If fear weren't an opposite to love, I probably wouldn't mind their outlandish arguments, but John is explicit, "perfect love expels fear" (1 John 4.18). Their mission is intentionally counter to the Scriptures they purport to protect. I don't know why this is true. Their hermeneutic teaches that it is true because they do not have strong enough men in their lives to give them a sense of safety and so they live in a perpetual state of fear. I do not know if this is true, I am merely trying to follow their hermeneutical pathway.

In an apparent lapse of any logical thought, they base some of their thinking on the belief that the True Church didn't begin until the Reformation. They urge their readers to disregard anyone who claimed to follow Christ before the mid-16th Century because apparently neither Scripture or the Holy Spirit were aroung before printing press and the Reformation. Everyone before was misguided, was all wrong, and evidently damned.

Paula noticed that I typically don't get this angry about wonky theology. She is right. It is bizarre for me to get so worked up over idiocy. My posture is very different than normal. It feels akin to when I stand up against abusive husbands and pastors. And it should, for that is exactly what I am doing here. Though, in this instance the abusers are women. May I always stand strongly against those who abuse -- especially Spiritual Abusers. In cases like this, may I mirror Jesus as described in Matthew 23, who stood against the Pharisees. May my words be as strong, but no stronger than His words, for they are directed at exactly the same crowd (albeit a different gender) living in a different millenium.

It is useless to point out the flaws in these two women's epistemology -- for they seem unaware of the consequences of their thought. They are unaware that they are making symbols into concrete reality, and are thereby creating idols for themselves and those who follow them. Indeed, they worship the symbol rather than the God to which the symbol points.

It is also fruitless to Illustrate the implosive nature of their hermeneutic. They clearly have no interest in the Living Truth, Jesus or His Word.¹ They only have an interest in controlling Him² and making Him less threatening to their theological agendas and emotional needs. They are described by the author of so many of the Proverbs as "foolish women." Please don't listen to them.

I wish I knew how to love these women, for I fear for their souls. They are so out of touch with the Holy Spirit and the Word of God. If I figure it out, I will let you know, because if their eschatology is correct, they are going to have literal hell to pay come Judgment day. 

A Prayer for me and for them:

Lord, please show me how to love the Pharisees of today no matter their gender. I swear that is the hardest thing you ask of me. I need your help.

May they be swallowed whole by your love and crushed by your grace. May they discover that their only hope of salvation is found in you rather than their interpretation of your words. May they discover the Savior they have so clearly missed; and may love rather than fear become hallmarks of their lives. Lord, also protect the foolish who follow them, not knowing any better. Protect them from the fear and the hate their teachers propoate. May they discover how big you are and the safety and comfort of your imminant transcendence.

---

 

¹ I make up in my mind that they will struggle with even the phraseology of referring to Jesus Christ, the Eternal Son of God as "the Living Truth," even though it is completely Biblical. In this instance, though the symbols match their symbols exactly, the usage of them is unfamiliar and therefore dangerous. I may be wrong about this, but my fear about them is consistent with some of their other complaints about the Biblical commands to fast (Joel 2.12, Mt 6.16-18, Mk 2.20, Lk 5.36, Acts 13.3) and meditate (Josh 1.8; Ps 48.9; 119.23, 27, 47, 52, 117; 145.5). But apparently they don't like Scripture when it disagrees with their world view. They'd never admit that. WHen it happens, they interpret the bits they don't like away, making them irrelevant for today. We might as well cut those parts out of our Bibles.

² It follows. See the curse in Gen. 3

4 YouTube channels that I enjoy

I am late to the Youtube party. And surprisingly I do not find myself searching it for hours on end. And, here are four Youtube Channels that I really enjoy. I need to be careful because I am not endorsing their content. However, they are honest, thoughtful and challenge my thinking:

School of Life

I was sent this video and asked what I thought:

 

As I watched, I thought they got a ton right and a ton wrong. What I appreciated was the honesty that begs for ongoing conversation. Since watching this video, I've watched their video on strength and psychotherapy. I do not agree wholly with any of the videos. Some of them I find offensive, and I recomend the channel to you. Here is the link to the channel

 

 

The Bible Project

A former student, friend, and generally brilliant man posted The Bible Project's video on Jonah. That particular video directly addresses issues of our day. The video below is the video on Genesis, so you can decide for yourself, if it is helpful, and gives you new ways to visualize the Scriptures. Once again, I do not always agree with the exegesis of the videos, but find them to be great introductions to individual books of the Bible. In addition, they are based in my home town of Portland, Oregon, so they have to be one step closer to Jesus than the average "joe."

 

 

Their Youtube page is found here. You can search whatever book you may want to watch.

The Nerdwriter

The Nerdwriter was the first artist on YouTube that I watched. He sucked me in. His video on "Kintsugi" (Watch below) blew my mind. I use it on the gracefall.org page as an example of how I view my work as a soul artisan. Evan's worldview is not mine. And he is honest, talented, and opens up new avenues of thought for me whenever I engage his work. Here is the Kintsugi video:

 

The Nerdwriters Youtube page is found here.

 

Ted Talks

Brene Brown is on Ted. That, by itself, makes Ted worthwhile. If you ahven't watched Brene Brown, it is time to start. 

 

The TedTalks Youtube page

If you, like me, have not discovered YouTube, these are good places to start. If you've been on YouTube for years and haven't found these channels. Check them out. And if you have other channels to suggest that are throughful, creative, engaging, challenging, and educational, feel free to suggest them either in the comments below or in a private message. Enjoy... And don't get lost

Thanks for help along the way

The past three years required me to spend over 40 days either in a cage (car) or on my bike commuting over 31,000 total miles to that little fishing village to the north of Portland to attend classes. I also spent over 100 nights with friends who allowed me to crash "at their pad." I owe a lot of thanks to a lot of people whose generosity made my degree affordable

Mary, Joel, River, Orien, Anna & Cannon, Maren & Ben, Alicia, Kevin, Cam and Kristen, Judy, Lori & Todd, Victoria, Maria, Jacqueline & Jack and Jay; I can't repay you guys. Your gifts of time and yourselves -- your apartments and homes -- food and fellowship. Wow... May you be richer in the Kingdom because of your faithfulness. May you know His smile, exercise His faith and know His joy. May all His blessings be yours. Thanks.

I also want to thank Rebecca and Nichole for the times we were able to carpool north together. Nic, who often kept me company when I was able to pick him up in Tacoma to ride north --  Buddy, our journey together at the Seattle School is truly a story to be told. I look forward to traveling with you a long way, wherever the Lord takes us to live and work in His Kingdom. I also need to thank the Washington State Patrol for only pulling me over and issuing me two tickets (both while I was driving a cage). And the City of Seattle who issued a lot of parking tickets but only got paid for one (wife's car).

And then yesterday, I didn't mention some important people at the school when I spoke of endings: Paul Steinke -- may I ever get to refer to you as my abbot. Your wisdom and love have empowered Paula and me to new paths and hopes. You are a gift to the Kingdom and those under your care. Cheryl Goodwin, I would have only passed half of my classes if it weren't for your patient work with me to teach me to research. You give librarians everywhere a good name. You made the library one of my favorite places to be. Your very presence gave me confidence. Presence matters -- you are living proof of that. Kristen Houston, thanks for helping me navigate courses, think through options and make wise choices. Thanks also for bites of chocolate whenever I came to see you. Dan Tidwell, you are a man I wish I knew better. I can't clearly identify all that you gave me. Somehow, as I heard your story, as I listened to your passions and poured out some of my questions and hurts, I knew you got it, and you get it. I could and should include you with the three early AI's I list below, but you get your own line item. Thanks for becoming my friend.

Vanessa, Tim & Chris: you are the heart and soul of teaching students your craft. You helped the soul artisan in me learn how to enter in, and experience and offer people freedom and voice. Borrowing from John Bowlby, you taught me how to, "Feel things, I was never given permission to feel, think things I was never given permission to think, and do things that I was never given permission to do." In so doing, you empowered me to do likewise. Without you three, I'd know a lot and not be able to do much of anything. Thank you. May your blessing of me be passed on to those I am privileged to serve.

There is a whole other group of people that often go unnamed. They are the Assistant Instructors -- the graders of the papers -- the sages of the classroom -- the answerers of all questions -- and the solvers of technological issues. 

Mallory, Hailey, and Dana -- the three of you made me better as I struggled to be an old man in graduate school. I write better because of you; I think better because of you; I have more confidence because of you. Those are beautiful gifts to be given. Carin, Joe, Mike, Elise, Phil, and Katie,  -- you took the work my early AI's began and pushed me further. I am grateful beyond words. And all of you entered into my story and blessed it and blessed me. 

I get to carry you each with me into what is now the back-half of my life, and I am grateful

Endings

Today is my last day taking classes at the Seattle School. I had the last class with the man with whom I came to study. This is the last time that I get to sit in class with my friends, learning from them. It is a day of sorrow and joy. It is a day where I need to embrace saying goodbye. I've spent three years in these hallowed halls. I've laughed and cried here with women and men that I've grown to call friends. This place has given me so much. There is no way to adequately express my gratitude for the men and women who've taught me:

Dan Allender is the man who drew me north. I don't know if I've ever met such a brilliant human who is simultaneously kind beyond measure. O'Donnel Day shaped my understanding of the basic construction of the human mind. She continually surprised me with gentle strength that helped me understand things that I thought were well beyond me. Roy Barsness taught me how to love my clients in life changing ways, and he redirected my theological metaphors so that they can give more life. Steve Call taught me to be gently curious and patient. His calming manner regulates entire rooms of people. Dwight Friesen daily revealed Jesus to me, and in so doing gave me a living example of who pastors are called to be. Chelle Stearns and Ron Ruthruff introduced me to new theological friends. They gave me the freedom to explore and helped me make interesections between theology and psychology. Stephanie Neil and Christie Lynk taught me ethics repeating nearly every week --  "Don't do meth and don't sleep with your clients and you'll be fine." No one teaches ethics like they do. And that is true well beyond their running joke. I've listed only the faculty that directly impacted me, changing and growing me. I haven't listed my classmates who challenged me, walked with me, and never letting me hide. They are who I will miss most. They are who have molded me the most.

If that isn't enough, next week I will say goodbye to all of my clients at my internship site. It is an abrupt and unexpected ending. It is not easy to tell them I am going, and their tears break my heart. I'm also saying goodby to staff and my supervisor and my fellow interns who have worked with me side by side. I have to say goodbye to the case managers and the chaplain who daily pour out their lives for these men and women who live on the margins of society. 

We're taught at the Seattle School, and I believe it to be true, that we need good endings to have good beginnings. Death always precedes resurrection. Life comes out of death. In this season, I am learning to end. It requires that I remember, celebrate, and grieve the life I've been blessed to live these past few months and years. I get to look ahead to the hope I hold and plan how that future might become reality. 

We don't know how to end well. Ending well is hard. May I do that which is hard, and finish well.

Ruth Grant, 30 September 1929 - 6 October 2007

I wrote this in the fall 2015, soon after All Saints Day. Recently it returned to my mind. Some will wince at what they feel is dirty laundry. My response is that I think that Mum is smiling, that for one of the first times in history, she can be loved, not for what she presented to the world, but because as a God's creation, she is an object of love.

I haven’t written or honored my mother like I have my Father. If you keep reading, you’ll understand why, and today it is time to change that fact.

As the Church remembered All Saints Day, my mind went to her. It is time to tell her story from my perspective. My remembrance is only one such story. It is mine, and mine alone. Thousands tell stories of her faithfulness and devotion. They have a different story to tell. This one is mine, and yet it is also a story of loyalty and devotion, and it is no longer a white-washed story. It is real; at least in my psyche

To hear her tell the story, her father was a school teacher in the Deep South that was forced to leave his profession so that the family could eat when the Great Depression hit. He became a dam builder - moving the family first to Hoover Dam in AZ and then north to Grand Coulee Dam in WA before moving to Vancouver Washington to work in the shipyards during WW2.

She was the youngest of four and felt unwanted. Her life reflected that truth. Having said that, she worshiped her mother, who by all accounts was an incredibly gracious and Godly woman.

Mom confessed that she always lived in the shadow of her drop-dead gorgeous sister who had the world by the tail. She never thought she measured up to a standard even she couldn't identify. As far as she was concerned, she was the unwanted, ugly one. To counter that belief she overachieved. She graduated a year early from high school and then went “back home” to the deep south to study Speech at Bob Jones University, where she excelled.

While at Bob Jones, she realized she was supposed to be a missionary and she got engaged to Stuart Bundy, a man that was also called to the mission field. The trouble was, Stuart was called to South America while Mom knew she was supposed to go to Europe. She remembered steaming out to Great Britain on the Queen Mary. Passing the Statue of Liberty with tears streaming down her face because God’s call was away from all that she knew and loved. Her God never had her best interest at heart. He seemed heartless and demanding.

Once in London, Mom became the first human to produce a weekly Christian radio program broadcast across Europe. Because of a dockworkers strike, the tapes of the American preacher she was supposed to use couldn't get through. The strike afforded her the opportunity to put Englishmen such as Alan Redpath and Martin Lloyd-Jones on the radio for the first time.

At the same time, she met a handsome English gospel singer who was taking the English church scene by storm. She would put him on the radio along with the English preaching sensations. Though they had a hit show, the American’s who were financing the program were not so thrilled. The show was intended to showcase the head of her mission to Europeans, not English interlopers. The mission decided to pull the plug on the show and end all she had created.

About that same time the handsome English singing sensation asked her to be his wife. She initially put him on hold, saying that she was in England for the purpose of producing radio, and she was not sure how her English suitor fit into God’s plan for her. Though completely smitten with him, she didn't think God would give her such a gift.

She could not find any other missions or radio ministries that wanted to do what she felt called to do, so she married the Englishman in the fall of 1952. They soon joined the Eric Hutching’s Hour of Revival Evangelistic Team where Mom took control of the sound and the radio broadcasts while her husband played emcee, led the choir and soloed for the team. They traveled the world, preaching, teaching and loving one another. It was a fairy tale romance, and though they were poor, this was the happiest period of Mom’s life.

In 1963, my brother, Timothy was born. While his birth slowed Mom down, she was still able to run the sound board and produce the radio with an infant in tow, by her side. There are some fantastic photos of her in the sound booth far above the mission's venue. When I was born, that all changed. Two children were too much. Mom went from queen of the studio (where her words were law, and she reigned over the sound teams), sought after as a teacher (indeed she preached better than my Dad), and traveling Europe and Southern Africa, to a stay-at-home mom of a toddler and an infant. She told God and whoever else would listen that she was no good as a mother. She was good at the other things, but not mothering. It seems now like those early days of my brother's, and my lives were the darkest days of her life.

After being a virtual single mother proved to be too much, the family moved to the States so that Mom could be nearer her family and not have to feel so alone. She hoped her depression would lift. The move proved not to be such an easy transition, however. All of a sudden, the family that everyone knew was known by no one. The celebrity was gone. And though Mom had family to help she was still alone with two small boys, feeling all alone, like a failure, unloved, and back in her sister's shadow.

As we grew older Mom found a few ministry opportunities for herself and was the administrative force behind what would become Grant Gospel Communications — my parents non-profit.

Somewhere during this time, she also began to groom me to be a surrogate and started sexually abusing me. It would be wrong to say more than that here, for she was broken and doing the best that she could, and she didn’t mean harm, and she needed to kill her pain — and I paid the price. I do not know what price my brother paid. I know it was steep, though.

As my brother and I got older and left home for college, Mom and Dad began to travel together again. Mom’s second golden age began. She would practice piano for hours so that she could accompany Dad during his concerts. She also began to write and perform again. And when I say, "act," I mean, "act."

She memorized Romans 8, and large chunks of Revelation, along with other sections of Scripture. She presented them as dramatic performances for hundreds, probably thousands of admirers and fans. She brought the Word of God alive for her audiences. She was good. People loved her, and she blessed them.

She also wrote Christmas fiction, designed to help listeners enter into the Christmas and Jesus stories in ways they hadn’t been able to before. She would memorize her narratives and present them as a one-woman show. I can even remember her challenging me to learn Psalm 119 faster than her. She was serious and I knew I couldn’t compete, so I turned her down. I don't know if she did it out not. It wouldn't surprise me, though.

Twice she battled cancer. The last time she was miraculously healed. That is its own story, and is so incredible; it is almost unbelievable. I know that I wouldn’t believe it had I not lived it. I was with Dad in New England when we made the call to Mom to find out what the doctors had said and hearing her, overjoyed report, “The doctor states, ‘There is a slight swelling of the lymph nodes, we cannot rule out the possibility of cancer.'” The tumour, about the size of my fist the doctor discovered only two weeks earlier during exploratory surgery was gone.

For the next 12 years, Mom and Dad rediscovered their love story, They made over 20 trips to India and Europe for ministry and mission. Side by side they labored. Then in 1999 the diagnosis that my Mom feared more than any other was given, “Ruth, you have Alzheimers disease. We can slow it, but that is all."

In 2002 on the heels of my divorce, my Dad asked me to move in with him again to help care for my Mum. He couldn’t do it alone.

Already she had proven that she was not afraid to interrupt my sermons with some embarrassing story from my childhood. Now her story grew darker. She knew that her deepest fear was becoming reality. As her mind left her, she began longing for home and wandering off unsafely, sometimes barely dressed. In 2006, Dad and I realized it wasn’t safe to keep her at home anymore. Of course, she didn’t understand a locked down memory unit. And yet, she would still say, no matter how bad it got, “I know one thing, I am a child of the King.”

Those last years, those last months, everything that gave her self-worth were stripped away from her. She was left with that simple statement, “I don’t know, but I know I am a child of the King.”

Mother’s Day of 2006 was the first day she no longer recognized me. I merely became a sweet man that visited her. Some days I was her brother, sometimes I was simply there. Never again was I her son.

Finally in October 2006 with family around her bed, Mom passed into glory. Finally getting to go home and see her Dad, the king.

I am so grateful for those last years. All her life, Mom worked her butt off to gain acceptance, to get out of the shadows of her sister, to be worthy, to be loved by her Dad. Then, in the end, she discovered that she was.

That is a story that needs to be told. I don’t tell it to besmirch my Mother’s memory but to relate her story in a way that I think she now wants to be told. She was deeply wounded, and she deeply hurt my brother and me, not from spite, but because she didn’t know how not to.

People on four continents know Jesus because of her faithfulness, I know Jesus, in part because of her brokenness. That story has shaped me, for good and for ill. It deserves to be told. My Mom was an imperfect saint, like every saint who lived before her. In the wake of All Saints Day 2015, for the first time, I remember her among the great saints of the church — perfectly imperfect; full of crap and glory; shit and magnificence.

A libertarian perspective

Ren,

 

This is taking the form of an open letter to you because you asked me a question the other week. I realized as I began sifting through my thoughts around the topic that this can’t be answered without a carefully outlined book, which I am unwilling to write. What you get instead is a loose hanging letter that is anecdotal. I am not sure if it answers your question, so much as it lays out how I see the political landscape. It is not tightly written, nor serious in tone. It is merely a letter from one friend to another. Please take it as such. I’m using my blog to make it an open letter for history’s sake. I want my kids to know my heart as it develops. I want them to know why I took the positions I took and did the things I did. That is now the purpose of my blog and you afforded me opportunity to add to the already existing catalog of thoughts. Also, it is not well edited. I am sorry about that. Enjoy my friend, I am so grateful for you.

 

I find myself in an interesting political situation. Let me explain. I am a long time Libertarian. In college, I was profoundly influenced by the writings of Frederick Bastiat, a French political theorist. He related a scenario in which 10 people found themselves in a community. One of the ten had $1000. two had $100 and the remaining seven only had $10 each. Seven of the ten voted to act as a democracy and then voted to distribute all the cash equally among the ten people. The man with $1000 objected. He had earned the money through hard work and he knew that at least two of the men with only $10 didn’t work at all. So the seven men set upon the man and took his money by force and divided it among themselves. Bastiat pointed out that such behavior was thievery.

 

That story still resonates with me but perhaps for different reasons than Bastiat’s. Let me explain what I mean before returning to the story and my conundrum. My political theory has to be tied to my theological theory. A few days ago, I posted a post simply entitled, “I Believe.” As I sifted through what I believed, I realized that central to my understanding of life is the belief that both humanity and individuals are made in the image of God. This one statement is at the vortex of my conundrum. For the image of God is a holy thing both in the individual and humanity. Part of my calling is to help individuals live into their Imago Dei; Calling forth glory from within them so that it can be offered as a gift to the rest of the creation.

 

What makes individuals possess the image of God is up for debate. I am incapable of listing them all here. I will limit this list to some of the teleological aspects of the Imago Dei. Theologians have listed: humanity’s capacity for agape and empathy, people's design for relationships, creativity, and freedom. This does not include the ontological aspects of the image of God in each of us.

 

I posit when we limit any one of these, we limit the Imago Dei in that individual. When we thwart creativity we actually thwart the Kingdom. When we limit or restrict freedom we do the same thing. And when we limit freedom or stifle creativity, we often limit peoples’ ability to love and live in relationship with others. I need to flesh that out using the story above. 

 

When the majority forced the rich man to share his wealth with them, they stole from him the ability to choose love. His act of giving his money to them was neither loving nor caring. It was coerced. What would have happened if they had offered an invitation instead of an ultimatumIn? They acted from a place of fear instead of relying on their Creator for their sustenance and survival, they trusted in their own power, limiting themselves to the world they could see rather than the world they could not.? 

 

Many argue that such a position is purely utopian. It cannot work in a broken world full of selfishness. I am surprised that many of my friends on the left who reject the very notion of original sin, hating “reformed theology” become very “reformed" on this point. They do nit trust people to be good. They do not trust people to choose love. People must be forced to take the actions of love to protect those who have no opportunity, and who could very well die without their aid.

 

Meanwhile, my conservative friends also take positions from a place of fear. They think we need to limit the freedom of people to make supposedly, "moral choices" (noneconomic moral choices.) They do not think we can allow people the freedom to choose drugs and addiction because too many will do so. We do not want to allow abortion because too many people will have them. We can’t allow gay marriage because it will promote a gay lifestyle and elevate homosexuals'  choices to be in a monogamous gay relationship to the same status as their choice to be in a heterosexual relationship (either monogamous or not).  We need to spend trillions on defense, because if we don’t our enemies will choose to destroy us. We can’t allow people to choose to come live in our country whenever they want! THE left doesn’t want to be forgotten here either. We need to outlaw guns because people choose to use them for bad things.

 

In all of these cases, we limit peoples’ freedom to choose the good because we are afraid. We take power over them to force them to behave in a way we think they should behave. Both my conservative and my liberal friends are guilty of taking power over people to shape their behavior. Whenever they do they limit peoples' freedom to live into their Imago Dei and choose love.

 

Love is so big it has two opposites. First is indifference. If I don’t care, I don’t love. Second is fear. When I act from  a "non-immediate" fear I cannot love. Immediate fear is a fear that yells for a person to stop or get run over by a train. It must be separated from the “what if” fear that all people tend to stew in. Both of these opposites come into play in this discussion.

 

Let’s talk about indifference. When anything is someone else’s responsibility people tend to grow indifferent about it. They no longer need to pay attention to it for it is assumed it has been addressed. I know that when I pass the person on the street holding a sign asking for help I have two responses. The first is skepticism, the second is to hand them a list of service agencies that will provide them the care they need. I have become indifferent because the job to take care of these sometimes unfortunate individuals is the collective’s responsibility. I’ve abdicated my personal responsibility to another. I’ve ceased loving. While it is my responsibility to love no matter what, our welfare state has wrongly created in me a sense that poverty and caring for those who have not, is not my problem. I fear that the move to create more agencies to care for unfortunates is simply an attempt to relinquish responsibility that we no longer want because we are tired of the hard work of loving.

 

Now let’s talk about fear. To the extent that we are scared that something won’t be accomplished unless we usurp power, we act from a place of idolatry, Usurping God’s role in ongoing creation. We don’t trust him to make things happen the way we want or expect and so we take power over. In the above example we steal, playing Robin Hood to make sure that the neediest in society have enough. Some might say that it is motivated from love, but I suggest it is because we really want to abdicate our responsibilities. 

 

How can we in good conscious ask others to give up their coats when we have not first chosen to give up our own? How can we ask another to give up their property when we have not offered our own? 

 

That is only one side of this argument. Libertarians (small “l” rather than large “L”) hold to the autonomy of the individual. They are wrong. Genesis 1.26-27 does not say that individuals are made in the image of God. It says that humanity is made int he image of God. No individual is autonomous. Science has disproven the myth of autonomy. And my experience has disproven the myth of autonomy. The choices you make have direct effects upon my life. If you own property up stream from me and choose to dam a stream that I rely upon, your actions steal my opportunity to live and thrive. A true libertarian would argue that it is tough on me, the one that “owns” the spring or the glacier from which the stream is born defect owns all the water in the stream. Rarely do you find such a pigheaded libertarian, however. Even libertarians admit limits to their theory. 

 

It is far easier to see autonomy on a continuum. The question becomes where do you end up landing on the continuum? That is a question that I have been wrestling with for the past few weeks. I think I want to suggest (without knowing how it works itself out fully) that instead of autonomy existing on a  two-dimensional continuum it must be seen at least three-dimensionally. For no one exists autonomously from God. There is no real autonomy in the world. We are all dependent upon our Creator for our very existence. He is the one that holds evil at bay. He is the one that unleashes and allows love to flow. He is the one that invites us to live in a Kingdom of his making rather than our own.

 

In Genesis 4 after Cain kills his brother, God curses him and sends him out to wander and never settle. Cain then goes out and starts a city. This is how we as humans typically respond to God. It is as if we give him the finger. I know that sometimes I have given him the finger. This is a picture of our attempt at autonomy. Autonomy and freedom are not equal; nor are they synonymous. The minute we claim freedom to hoard or exert power over another, we cease being free. I realize that this is more of a theological premise than a political one, and yet it has to come into play here.

 

When I worked at the University of Michigan I got to spend time hanging out with George Mavrodes. He told me the story of the sociologist friend of his that went to live with the Amish during the presidential campaign of 1951 when Adlai Stevenson ran against Dwight Eisenhower. The whole Amish community, though they would never vote, supported Eisenhower. This confounded the sociologist. He asked them about it and he was told that Stevenson was divorced and they would never trust a man of that questionable character in the White House and they wanted a strong General to run the country so that they could live in peace. This only served to confuse him more. And so he asked more questions. 

 

The Amish related that people are called to different things and that they were called to be a people of peace, much as a cobbler is called to be a cobbler or a blacksmith to be a blacksmith, but then they acknowledged that such a calling was not universal. All are not called to pacifism. God calls others to be carriers so that they could live in peace.

 

This enters into this conversation to say that though love demands I not take power over another, that does not mean that it is true for everyone. It is simply true for me. I am called to hold up a banner of invitation for people to give up their need to take power over in the name of love and invite others to join me. If I required it, I would violate my own calling.

I Believe

1. In the everlasting Triune God.
2. That he created humanity and individuals in his image for and out of love for the purpose of loving relationship.
3. That creation, human existence, and knowledge can only be properly understood through a lens of relationship.
4. That the Scriptures are God's unique written word to us and for us and are made alive by his Holy Spirit
5. That all creation chooses “self" over relationship and lives in shame, which is death -- the death of relationships and the death of self.
6. That sin is anything that violates love and relationship; and that it always leads to shame.
7. That shame necessitates forgiveness and that forgiveness requires death
8. That Jesus is the Eternal Son and the Living Word of God; conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary; was sinless; was crucified by Pontus Pilot for the sins of creation and that He rose bodily from the dead by the power of the Holy Spirit.
9. That the primary metaphor to understand his death is efficacious substitutionary atonement.
10. That the cross created a moment in eternity where the perfect, loving, Triune relationship was forsaken and destroyed by the shame of the world which was absorbed and metastasized by Jesus.
11. That because of his resurrection, true life is possible  but not mandated for all creation and is found only in the furrow of death.
12. That the Church is the bride of Christ and his physical body on earth indwelt by the Spirit of God
13. That creation is on a journey of discovery of resurrection life offered in Christ.
14. That one day, all things will be restored and creation will itself be resurrected and given new life.

Confessions of an Unapologetic Rebel, standing fast

I am learning to embrace my role in life: To be a rebel for the Kingdom of God; leaving a drop of grace in every step I take...

As Paula and I were driving through wine country today Switchfoot came on the iPod. In particular, this song 

As I turned it up, I realized how my family's war cry, "Stand Fast!" fit with this wondrous song. Just needed to share that

Priorities & the call of God

The turmoil our country is in right now has put me at odds with many of my mentors, and many of those I love who self identify as part of the Christian Right. First, it was immigration; now it is the violence of our police and a lack of accountability for those who are in power; indeed the systemic racism that so many are blind to differentiates me these days from friends, family and former teachers and mentors. 

Unlike some of my other friends on the Christian left who are angry with the Christian right, I am simply sad; heartbroken that Jesus has gone through a synchretistic morphing with capitalism into the protector of the powerful and the rich. Somewhere, this Advent -- a season of waiting for His return -- we've lost something near and dear to His heart. We've lost the fact that He came for the oppressed and marginalized and was killed by the out of control powers of a Roman State hell bent on protecting the status quo; fearful of Jews who they looked at in similar ways to the way we look at our African- American brothers and sisters -- as threats to their way of life and security.

In 351 AD things changed for the Church when Constantine made Christianity the State religion and Christians went from being outlaws, on the margins of society, to being in charge. It was Satan's biggest coup. Christ never wanted his followers to be in charge. He even said, "Do not look at authority the way the Gentiles do when they Lord it over one another." And yet that is precisely what we have done. And since such power is blessed by the church, it was easy for republic -- a government by the people for the people -- to morph into government by the corporate powers for the wealthy and privileged (most of whom are white).

The problem didn't stop with Constantine. Indeed, violence has been a part of our nation from birth to our adolescent Civil War, to genocide of Native Americans, and the inslavery of Africans. It has carried on into the present with our economic raping of Southeast Asia, Africa, and the Middle East and many, if not all of our neighbours to our south. We have taken that which we havce coveted, and trodden on any and all that get in our way. And we have done it all in the name of freedom and God, which is no freedom at all, but actual slavery to mammon. Who in these instances, has proven to be our god, for we cannot serve two masters.

At some point those of us that follow Christ have to drop what we are doing (what He has called us to do) and pay attention to the abominations our government and corporations and, indeed, even our own choices that support them. At some point we need to shift our focus from our primary callings because those abominations are too horrific to be ignored any longer.

I don't know when that time will come. Perhaps it is already here. Up to this point, my primary concern, my life work, has centered around issues of spiritual abuse; loving the abused and the broken so that the cycle of abuse, which is so prevalent in Christ's Church will stop. However, if things keep going the way they are going, I will have no choice but to join the throngs of those who are marching and protesting because the physical violence must stop. Triage will require I step into something I don't want to step into, because if I don't my son will have to step into it later on at much greater cost.

America must repent, for "we the people" are greedy, consumptionistic,fearful of anything that threatens those things, and violent toward those we see as threats. We need to turn from our sin and cry out for mercy or go the way of every other Empire that has gone before us. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing.

Another Letter to My Children: On Advent, Joseph and Holding Love More Tightly than Truth

I failed to teach you about Advent. That is on me, and I cannot make up for it in a letter or a series of letters. However, as Paula and I  were talking and praying together today some things came up for me that are important for me to share with you as your Dad, so you can understand a little of what I hold to be dear; and see the world through the lens I see the world.

Advent is the period of days that lead up to Christmas itself. The days mark the beginning of the Church calendar. This is actually our New Year. This year the celebration lasts 32 days. Other years it may be slightly more or slightly less. This month long period is a period the Church sets aside to remember the events that led up to Jesus’ arrival on the planet as a Baby. And while we look back, we also look forward to a time when He will come again and bring World Peace, set right the wrongs and injustices in the world, destroy hate and shame, bring laughter, joy, and true connection with one another and with Him. It is a time where all we desire in relationship is fulfilled and all the sucky parts are taken away. This is my hope. It is how I get up in the morning and is a primary lens through which I view life.

This morning as we were considering the days we are in, I said to Paula, “Everyone talks about the shame that Mary carried while she was pregnant with Jesus; but can you imagine the shame that Joseph must have carried with him?”

She responded, “Yes, that is right, Joseph had to completely change his theology, and his morality to stay with pregnant Mary.” She caught me off guard with her wisdom.

Imagine yourself in Joseph’s shoes. You are a good are reverent Jew, with Jewish morality, and your fiancé comes to tell you that she is pregnant, and you know you had nothing to do with it. How do you feel? I’d be angry. I’d want revenge. There would be moments where I’d want to have her stoned as an adulteress. I’d feel betrayed and broken hearted.

But then God came to Joseph and let him know that Mary had not cheated on him after all. Now Joseph probably has issues with God. I know I would have. God robbed him of something that he thought was his and his alone. Mary would have a child without his seed impregnating her. His first child would not be his! On top of that, the entire town would know that her first born wasn’t his! And they’d never believe the story.

Joseph had to hold one truth  that he learned from childhood to be true while trusting God’s word that the immorality he was now seeing was somehow beautiful and even blessed. And Joseph did exactly that. He protected his fiancé. He lived with the shame, and the questions that must have come at him from family and friends. His theology was turned on its head, and he was OK with that.

In a similar way, we’ve been focusing this year on making space for whatever Christ brings to us in the coming year. Our life feels pregnant and incredibly full. We are becoming aware that we need to prepare ourselves for what God has for us, and that means we must be expectant and yet not demanding. We will continue to hold onto the emptiness in order that it may be filled. I don’t like emptiness very much. I don’t think you do either. And Advent asks us to live in it for a period of time waiting for Christ to come and fill the emptiness with his fullness.

A funny thing happened as we were talking. I flashed to my Sexual Disorders class. Dan (who joyfully proclaims it is his job to offend everyone – just like your old man) brought in an Episcopalian Priest named Eric who identifies as gay in order to have a conversation with him, so that the class could hear both sides of the debate that is currently raging in society and the church. Then he let Eric have the pulpit for a good chunk of two classes.

I heard things from Eric I needed to hear. I heard Scripture taught in ways I needed to hear them taught. Eric approached Scripture reverently, coming under his authority. Though I disagreed with his conclusions, he opened my eyes to much. Though the church tradition that gave me birth and raised me in faith, would deny him a place at the table of our Lord, I’d take communion with him should I be given the chance; and I’d happily and joyfully work with him, side by side for the sake of the Kingdom. I will defend him should I need to, for he is my brother.

You must be wondering what this has to do with Advent. Because of Advent, like Joseph, I need to hold two things: Love and my understanding of Truth. I choose to hold love tightly and my sense of truth (in this case, moral truth) loosely. How can I – a moral screw up – point at anyone else’s morality and say that they can’t welcome Jesus as I do? I can’t. So, I hold to morality for me, letting go of my need to hold morality for others. For me, homosexuality is wrong. And I choose to love those who come to different conclusions about sexuality own lives. My gay friends didn’t choose homosexuality any more than I chose heterosexuality. How they live with their sexuality is between them and their Creator, just as the way I choose to live out my sexuality is between me and my Creator.

And because of Jesus I stand with my gay friends who love Jesus, hand in hand echoing the call of John on the final page of the Holy Scriptures, “Come quickly Lord Jesus, for we need you.” That, I think, is one way to understand advent through Joseph’s eyes in the 21^st century America. It is my way. I hope someday, if not already it will be yours too. That hope is not a demand. You will learn to see the world through your own eyes. I simply pray that they will be the eyes of love.

Celebrating Faithfulness

I first met Carson in the fall of 1993. He was in the second Arrow Leadership Program cohort, a year behind me, and yet, at the same time, so far ahead of me. In those days he ministered alongside a spiritual hero of mine, Bruce Milne who had come to the Lord through my Dad’s ministry back in the UK, and who wrote the wonderful book, Know the Truth. Back then, all of us in Arrow were a lot younger and I, for one, was a lot cockier. Springsteen might as well of been referring to those heady times as the Glory Days. And indeed, from a corporate perspective, those were my glory days.

Our cohort’s president described our class’ first meeting in1992 as a time where we measured one another up, wondering what the others had that we didn’t; and wondering what we had that they didn’t. After all, each of us had been hand-picked, recognized as being leaders of the next generation of Christian leaders; and indeed, many of us would prove to be just that, while others of us fell by the wayside, caught up in narcissistic sin and idolatry that destroyed us as humans, as pastors, and as leaders. Leighton’s vision to bring to bear the resources of the Kingdom to personally raise up a new generation of leaders who would “lead more like Jesus and more to Jesus,” was up and running. Those wonderful days were life-changing for all of us in one way or another. Much of what I learned over those eighteen months twenty years ago is still a part of my practice and my faith.

Back then I didn’t know Carson well. He was one of many, and yet he was different too. He was completely unassuming, quiet, ponderous, peaceful, and yet possessed a unique inner structural integrity I wished I knew in my own life. Even then this unassuming and, in many ways, unremarkable strength invited those who knew him into the presence of Jesus in ways that are rare and beautiful.

As time went by and our lives changed, I watched him transition to lead Arrow Leadership Ministries; and then transition again to pastor in the local church again. When I sinned and ended up in rehab, many of those I loved were nowhere to be found. One of my staff wrote to me while I lay broken in rehab, informing me that he wouldn’t come down to eat with me in the pig’s trough. Yet Carson always took my calls. Occasionally he even called me. He was always kind, gracious, encouraging and inviting. Fairly soon after my fall into grace, he invited me to an Arrow Leadership family camp held at Barnabas Family Ministries. While we were there he sat with me and listened, probably to a lot of garbage, as well as much holy desire. He never gave up on me when others did. He never looked down on me even though it meant he had to get pretty low to look me in the eye. He was willing to come meet me at the pig trough, if that was what he needed to do. He embodied Leighton’s call to, “Lead more like Jesus and more to Jesus.” I was... no... I am grateful to call him friend.

This past winter, like many of their friends, I received an email letting me know that Brenda, his dear wife who is a extaordinarily remarkable lady in her own right, had been diagnosed with advanced stage lung cancer that had already spread to her brain and other parts of her body. I wept. Some things simply aren’t fair.

Many months have gone by and many of us who don’t live close enough get to walk with them via their Caring Bridge blog posts. Last month via a Facebook post and the First Baptist Church Vancouver’s website the news was published that Carson had stepped back from pastoring to care for Brenda. I wept again as I read, not because the church was losing a champion (It isn’t); but rather, because one of its champions was living faithfully in spite of an unfair world that is breaking his heart.

Carson is living out what Leighton called us to. Carson is being faithful. My faithlessness is not made up for in his faithfulness, and yet, his faithfulness calls and beckons me to redemption’s story.

Colin Gunton, the remarkable English theologian, reflected on the story of Abraham praying for Sodom. If you remember the story, Abraham gets God to promise that if there are ten good men in Sodom, He will hold back his wrath. Gunton goes onto suggest that perhaps our job as Christ followers is to stand for those who would encounter the wrath of God without their faithfulness.

I think, in many ways, Carson has done this for me. For while I will never be able to be faithful like Carson; I threw that opportunity away many years ago. I can live faithfully today because one of God’s champions is showing me how. Without knowing it, he is standing for me, so now I am able stand for others, who like me, need someone to stand for them.

Thanks for standing fast, Carson. Thanks for your faithfulness to Brenda – to you Lord, and to His Church. Brenda, thanks for standing with and for Carson over all these years I continue to pray for both of you. I love you both, and give thanks for you so very often.

Sex addiction recovery at its worst

When twelve step groups aren’t safe, what is? I’m angry and sad, and I don’t know what to do with my emotions. Since it is unsafe for me to carry them alone, I decided to write about it. Maybe it might do some good out here.

I just talked to a good friend who has historically struggled with sexual addiction. I called him because I heard he was back in the quicksand. As we talked, I heard part of the story I wish weren’t true. (Well, actually I wish none of the story was true, but it all is.)

In late summer, in the midst of some profound struggles and poor choices, he went to his sponsor to get some help. His sponsor felt incapable of “holding” his travails without putting his own sexual sobriety into jeopardy. So he “fired” my friend. My friend still hasn’t recovered. The actions of his sponsor sunk him even deeper into the cesspool of his challenged and warped perceptions.

In sexual addiction twelve step groups, members talk about their own sobriety being a priority. Newbies are encouraged by “old timers” to get rid of anything that gets in the way of staying sober (In SA that means "no sex with self or anyone other than a spouse"). New sponsors are encouraged to sponsor only insofar that their sponsoring another helps them stay sober-- not their sponsee. It is acknowledged that recovery is a selfish program.  This makes sense, if one’s life depends on sobriety (and for sex addicts it does) everyone needs to be cautious in holding or engaging things that may trigger their own personal demons to have authority in their lives once more.

The reality of what I just wrote leaves me wondering about my friend and recovery. Sexual recovery groups have power because members love one another not in spite of but because of their weaknesses – “It feels so good to know I am not the only one that struggles that way. I have someone to walk with who understands.” When groups can’t live out love, they fail in their purpose, laid out for them in the traditions: “Each group has but one primary purpose to carry its message to the sex addict that still suffers.”

Indeed, this should be the wonder of recovery(and I know I am “shoulding” on twelve step groups here): While a lone addict alone can’t make it. Together, they can. While one addict alone can’t contain and hold another addict's struggle, the community can. Together they are capable of far more than they think is possible. The majestic wonder here is that accepted weakness makes both the group and the individual stronger than they could possibly imagine so long as they walk together.

I just wish they had realized this in time to practice the twelfth step with my friend. He is in a world of hurt, and though he alone is responsible for his own choices and actions, the group must bear much of the responsibility for his current brokenness. I don't know if he will make it back from this one. It may be too late. I have to leave him in my heavenly Father's care (and that is easier said than done.)

I am angry that the system failed him. Though I want to blame his sponsor, I can’t. If I blame anyone, I blame his sponsor’s sponsor. He is the one who encouraged his sponsor to dump him (However, I want to fight this finger pointing tendency as I don’t think it is helpful at all). Whatever conclusions one reaches, it is a sad day for the recovery world, and an even sadder one for my friend, his wife and children.