Seeking to cover the nakedness of actual wrongdoing is the heart of the American dilemma today. And there’s a word for this behavior: “Enabling.”
Here’s what’s going on in America today: There’s a steaming pile of goopy food flying about in the next room, and too many of us are asking someone to please put up a curtain so we don’t have to see and smell that unpleasantness. We just can’t be bothered by other people’s problems right now; we’re too stressed out already.
In this momentous year of presidential politics, COVID-19 and racial reckoning, it’s time for Christians to reclaim a message that is biblical — whether it appears political or not. Politicians should not be the ones defining what is a biblical view, and neither should church members who just want to avoid being challenged in their biases.
This year, Juneteenth must not be a “black holiday.” If we are to find a way forward in our country, if we are to be authentic followers of Jesus, we must find the humility to admit that we don’t know nearly as much as we think we do. This year, Juneteenth must become a day for all of us to earnestly fill in the gaps of the stories we have not been taught. To fail to do so will leave us all in bondage.
Biblicism turns the Bible into a Magic 8 Ball. Remember those childhood semi-occultic toys – the black ball you shake up and ask a question and a block inside turns this way and that until an answer is revealed? Biblicists treat the Bible just like that; just keep turning the pages and you’ll find an answer to all life’s questions.
In these days of coronavirus fear, everything around us is amplified. Our attention to the news is greater. Our perceptions of threats all around us are greater. In fact, every emotion we experience seems to be amplified. We’re all on edge, and our emotions run a hair trigger away from exploding. Most of us can go from calm to panic in 60 seconds flat. That is because our emotions are amplified. Everything we feel is amplified right now.
I’m sitting here eating Blue Bell ice cream out of the container and fretting because I can’t go to the gym. Don’t judge me; you’ve probably done the same. I do feel some comfort tonight, however, because now nobody can go to the gym – which means I’m not alone or being singled out anymore. Our city and county just announced a decree that in order to contain the novel coronavirus all restaurants, bars, clubs and gyms must close.
Even today, some church consultants are still peddling the myth that a church devoting more than 50 percent of its budget to personnel is in a “danger zone.” The problem is, this is a faulty metric and sometimes even a dangerous idea. If you follow this metric today, you may risk starving your church of its energy or life force.
As we sat around the restaurant table on Martin Luther King Day – a near-60-year-old white man, a near-30-year-old white man and a mid-30s black man – we discovered we had stumbled into the very thing that can make a difference in our troubled world. We were engaging in meaningful conversation, actually listening to each other.
What troubles me most about the people I meet for the first time at the cemetery is how many of them failed to live life beyond basic expectations. And granted, maybe I’m imposing on their lives my own expectations for what a good life should be. It’s likely they died quite content with the lives they led and the love they gave.
The joy we have found in welcoming into church life those who have been rejected and expelled and maligned by the church is beyond measure. Yes, we lost nearly 300 members because of our vote. But we also gained more than 350 new members because of our vote.
Luke and Tori gave me hope not just by their obvious love but by their willingness to invest themselves in a future none of us can forecast. They are old enough and mature enough to know the state of the world they’re inheriting. And they have chosen to face that future with hope, gift-wrapped in love. That is a joy that is contagious, even to a jaded minister like me.
Before I entered my spinal cord injury doctor’s office for my check-up last week, I stopped by the men’s room near the elevator where I had my first sobbing fit two years ago. I was calmer now than I was on Dec. 22, 2017, when I had just been told it was a miracle I was walking.
I’ve finally figured out why so many white evangelical Christians are so angry and claim they are being persecuted in America today. And it turns out we have something in common I hadn’t previously understood.
Most Americans believe everyone ought to be able to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps. That’s the ideal we imagined, at least: If everyone would work harder or be smarter, they could achieve the American dream. Here’s the problem with that logic: Not everyone has working bootstraps to pull up.
I have spent two days this week unsuccessfully trying to Photoshop the penis of the battered man helped by the Good Samaritan in a piece of art. Oh, the life of a pastor.
It turns out I wasn’t there for the reason I thought I was. I was in Raleigh that night because both my driver and I needed hope. This is not one of those pastor stories that ends with someone saying the sinner’s prayer and getting baptized. And yet redemption traveled with us that night. Hope was born anew.
This is not a Republican-versus-Democrat problem in our churches – although some politicians are working overtime to make it that, and one interloper has taken the reins vigorously. This is a failure of all of us to espouse a consistent ethic, a consistent theology, a holistic view of the demands of Christian community.
When someone frequently has to tell you how they are ‘not a racist’ or ‘not a bigot’ or ‘not sexist,’ there’s a pretty good chance they actually are those things.
This is the trickle-down moral economics of American policy today. It's harder and harder to know who are the good players and who are the bad players and who are the opportunistic players. It's possible some are all three at the same time.
