Monday Night Football

I had just finished putting my four year old son to bed. My wife was still negotiating the terms of bedtime with our six year old son. The bowl game between Penn State and Utah had finished. I was rooting for Utah which I considered the lesser of two evils. Monday Night Football started, and I wasn’t really paying enough attention to put anything else on. I didn’t and don’t care about the Bills or the Bengals, but both teams had decent records, so I figured I would leave it on until it was time to go to bed. They started showing a player stand up and collapse over and over, and I started paying closer attention. I didn’t understand why he was collapsing. I had seen the play before he collapsed, and he did not lead with his helmet or hit someone in a way that would damage his spinal cord. What was happening? My wife came into the room, and I asked her to pay attention. She said, almost immediately, “What if he went into cardiac arrest?” She has medical training and as paramedics continued “working on” the player on the field instead of loading him into the ambulance a few feet away, I wondered, with horror, is he even still alive? 

I continued to watch what unfolded Monday night with Damar Hamlin until it seemed there would be no update other than “he is in critical condition.” As I went to bed, I felt the same mixture of emotions about football I experience anytime I see a player slow to get up after a play or someone carted off the field. Then I started thinking about the connection (if there is one) between football and guns in America. 

We know that both football and guns CAN be dangerous. Certainly they aren’t always dangerous as there are plenty of people who have played football for many years and don’t seem to have experienced debilitating injuries just as there are plenty of people who have guns (including me) who have never shot anyone or themselves. At the same time, when they are dangerous, they are quite dangerous with horrific deaths related to CTE and horrendous mass shootings. There were so many people Monday night calling for or offering “thoughts and prayers” for Damar Hamlin that I couldn’t help but think of the litany of thoughts and prayers following mass shootings. Both football violence and gun violence are native only to America in any meaningful measure. And, with both, we seem to know better. We know that guns are not a necessity and neither are sports - certainly not professional sports. Both are, broadly speaking, forms of entertainment. I really love watching football. I have loved watching football since I was a child. I often don’t love the fact that I love watching football so much because I know about CTE, money, racism, sexual exploitation, and domestic violence - and Monday night, cardiac arrest. I’m not going to let my children play football, and yet I will watch someone else’s child play football and possibly die while playing football. 

I kept thinking about two other things Monday night. There is an episode of his podcast where Malcolm Gladwell talks about a University of Pennsylvania football player dying from suicide a few years ago. The player’s brain was studied, and evidence of CTE was found. Gladwell, while speaking at an event at Penn, asked them why they still had a football team. 

The most influential teacher I have ever had was a professor in college who challenged my thinking in ways I am still coming to terms with even though he died a few years ago, and it has been almost twenty years since I was his student. He would often point out that it makes no sense to pray before a football game for no one to be hurt since part of football involves a high likelihood of some form of injury, eventually. 

I do pray that Damar Hamlin makes a full recovery. I pray that he walks out of the hospital like nothing happened. And, maybe I will change on this, but today I pray that he never plays football again. 

Mandatum Novum

The following are thoughts I shared with students in the campus ministry I serve. We meet on Tuesday nights which is why I refer to Tuesday night, and I wrote the thoughts on Maundy Thursday, 14 April 2022.

As we mentioned on Tuesday night, today is traditionally know as Maundy Thursday because, at The Last Supper, Jesus said to his disciples the words of John 13:34: "I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another." In Latin, "new commandment" is "mandatum novum." And somehow "mandatum" became "Maundy." Don't ask me why it isn't Mandy Thursday, which I like better. I believe Jesus is telling the disciples to lay down their lives (which Jesus will soon do) for each other. 

Maybe, like me, you grew up with people telling you that people (including you) are such terrible sinners that God had to kill Jesus in order to make everything right. This is known as the "satisfaction" or "substitution" theory of atonement (depending on whether or not someone added the idea that Jesus died in your place/died the death you deserved). Even as a fairly young child, this didn't really make sense to me.

I mean, sure, I did bad things. But like "God, kill your son" bad? And yes, humanity is deeply sinful, but is this the best or only way to take care of that? It was amazing when I learned (in college) that not all Christians have always believed this, and plenty have never believed this. This is not to say that there aren't ways of reading Scripture which support these ideas, and ultimately I am certain that I am wrong about many things concerning God. What I'm suggesting, is that these ideas are not the ONLY way of reading Scripture and understanding the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.

So, in case no one has ever invited you to think of things this way, I'd like to invite you to consider the following: Maybe Jesus meant what he said about loving others completely, no matter what. And maybe really powerful people didn't know what to do with someone whose entire message was love (and also telling people to sell their possessions and not be greedy, etc.). Maybe certain leaders were so scared of Jesus' way of life and love that they knew of no other option but to kill him. I know that's a stretch, but if you look, you'll find it is part of Jesus' story throughout the Gospels.

Maybe they were thinking they were killing God, or maybe they thought he was crazy to claim to be God. But, people (we) killed God because that's the only thing we know to do when we are scared out of our minds. We react with violence. But, since Jesus actually was God, death was not the end. Instead, death would be defeated once and for all as a way of keeping us away from God and keeping us scared of God and each other. So that now we are actually free to do what Jesus asked us to do and lay down our lives for each other. Because death is not the end, we never have anything to fear again. In Jesus, God defeated death and with it, fear.

Think about it, and let me know what you think.

Gov. Bill Lee

When Bill Lee was elected governor of Tennessee, I didn't really know anything about him as a person or a leader. I knew he owned and ran a successful business. I was pretty sure he went to Auburn University (my wife's alma mater and my favorite SEC school). All in all, he seemed harmless enough, and I was willing, as I try to be with everyone, to give him a chance. Since that time a great deal has changed, and now I am deeply concerned at the leader, and seemingly person, Bill Lee has turned out to be. 

My first elements of concern began at an event at Tennessee State University. There was a gathering of remembrance in honor of The Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Bill Lee was in attendance. At first, I was pleased, and it was mentioned that he was the first governor in some time to attend this event. When The Reverend Dr. William Barber II took the podium, he challenged everyone in attendance to stand if we were committed to ensuring healthcare for all. Everyone stood, except Bill Lee. The Reverend Dr. Barber made several additional comments and requested that everyone stand who was committed to pursuing similar acts of justice and mercy. Everyone stood. Bill Lee sat. There is video of this if anyone needs to check my memory. Initially, I didn't know what to make of Bill Lee remaining seated through the entire presentation. On one level, I had to respect that he had the...something...to remain seated while everyone else stood. But, I couldn't reconcile the fact that he wasn't standing for several things which I believe any person, let alone any Christian, should stand for. He made a great deal during his campaign about being a "man of faith," and his profiles still profess that he is this. Of course, what kind of faith he is a man of seems to be up for debate, particularly with the recent number of fellow clergy calling his leadership into question.

What I believe is no longer up for debate is the recognition that Bill Lee is not fit to govern Tennessee, and his response (or almost total lack thereof) to COVID-19 is proof. Certainly no person expects to be a political leader during a worldwide pandemic. And it is worth extending an appropriate measure of grace to Bill Lee and others who seem to be doing their best. But if what he has done is actually his best, it is far from good enough. Tennessee has regularly been listed as the worst place in America regarding COVID numbers. Meanwhile Lee has fought mask mandates, issued lukewarm approval for vaccination, launched a campaign to pay tourists to come to Tennessee, bizarrely fired Dr. Michelle Fiscus, and continues to insist children be put in harm's way while the Delta variant ravages our communities. 

A leader admits when they are out of their depth. A leader steps aside when they can no longer do what is needed. America has many narratives about leadership which are problematic, and some of these narratives cause people to double down rather than step down. I think Bill Lee is quite possibly doing the best he can, but any rational person who is able to look at the situation objectively would come to the conclusion that his best is not good enough. There is no shame, and I think there is great honor, in admitting you don't know what you are doing. I have done this both in my personal and professional life plenty of times. So, I plead with Bill Lee, because lives are actually at stake, admit that you don't know what you are doing and ask for help from those who do (namely our medical professionals) or resign. 

Stream of Consciousness Thoughts About Naomi Osaka

I am 39 years old, and I have played tennis since I was about six years old. I played for my school teams in middle school, high school, and college. I have played in various leagues and tournaments. I really like tennis, and I know a fair amount about it. 

I struggle with anxiety and depression, and I have in various ways of severity for most of my life. In 2015, I started having panic attacks, and I was put on medication. I continue to take medication daily. I manage my anxiety and depression in several ways, and, on some days, you would never know that this is something I deal with always. On other days, you could definitely tell. 

I watched the infamous match where Naomi Osaka defeated Serena Williams in the U.S. Open. Several things happened in the match which were deeply unfair to Williams, but nothing was as unfair as what happened to Osaka because a match where she played stunningly was essentially taken from her and her victory was basically hollow. I have no idea about the status of her mental health before that match, but going through something like that could certainly count as a traumatic experience. 

People experience traumatic situations in vastly different ways. If someone says something is traumatic for them, you don't get to say it isn't. You also don't get to compare your experience with theirs. We are, as it turns out, quite unique. 

Assuming Venus Williams actually made the comment about having "thick skin" as opposed to Osaka's "thin skin" - that's an incredibly unfortunate thing to say. Forms of mental health experiences can be as debilitating as cancer. Would you say someone who has cancer has "thin skin?"

I love sports, way too much probably, and I have never for one moment cared about someone being interviewed before a match, during a match, or after a match. I think such interviews are pointless. The only joy I have ever taken in them is the time Rasheed Wallace repeated the phrase "Both teams played hard my man, both teams played hard" after a game, and obviously his doing so pointed out how ridiculous any questions were for him at the time. I'm cool with eliminating "pressers" entirely because I don't think they serve any useful purpose. Of course I understand this is only my opinion, and I welcome pushback. But saying that appearing at a press conference or answering questions is part of being an athlete is laughable. It's the same thing as making athletes role models. That's on you, not on them. 

Tennis is among the most solitary sports, if not the most solitary major sport. As was displayed during the aforementioned match between Serena Williams and Naomi Osaka, you are to have no communication whatsoever with anyone as a coach, supporter, etc. (in most match play). I think this is stupid too, but there it is. 

Osaka deserves the benefit of the doubt and to be treated with respect. Mental health is not a game, and it isn't something armchair quarterbacks should comment on. Tennis would do well to drop pressers and let the athletes play. 

Overseas

One morning I was taking my son to daycare. I can’t remember how old he was, but he was still an infant. I noticed that some workers were doing something to the windows of the small building where his room was located. I asked one of his teachers, and she said, “They are putting on a screen that is supposed to slow down bullets.” I tried not to panic and to match her demeanor. She said it to me like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Oh yeah, today is the day our bullet screens get installed.” I don’t remember if I actually said anything to her. I remember going back to my car and sitting in it for a while. My immediate instinct as a dad and human was to get my son, go home, and flee with my family somewhere. I don’t know where, but surely finding a place that didn’t install window screens to slow down bullets on infant classrooms would be a good place to start. 

Now we have two sons. I take them to the same school. They are both in daycare. It is a different building. Today, after I dropped them off, I had the same feeling. How can I leave them? What if today is the day it happens here? After all, it happened at Sandy Hook, and America barely skipped a beat. 

Today is the day after a mass shooting left ten people dead in Boulder, Colorado. Today is one week since a series of shootings near Atlanta left eight people dead. Today is also the day legislators in my state (Tennessee) will vote on moving a bill which allows the permitless carry of handguns to the House floor. Rhetoric around this bill focuses on the notion that more guns equals more safety. Of course, this is nonsense. America has more guns than anywhere else, and this only means more gun violence and death. 

I don’t want to be someone who lives in fear, especially because I think fear is primarily what is driving people to want guns. I want to dismantle fear. At the same time, who am I if something happens to one or both of my children or my wife and I could have done something to prevent it. I don’t mean, “Should I get a gun?” I have guns, and I recognize that having a gun doesn’t make someone a bad person. I didn’t purchase any of the guns I have. They were given to me by family, and some have been in my family for a couple generations. I’ve never used them to hunt because I’m lazy, and I cry when someone is mean to a dog in a movie. So killing a deer is not what I’m going to do unless it’s me or the deer (and even then I will have to ask the deer what I am supposed to do with it once I kill it). I grew up shooting targets, bottles, and skeet. I was a pretty good shot, mainly because Duck Hunt had prepared me for this course in life. I plan to teach my sons about guns. I probably have failed that I haven’t already taught one of them more. And, if they want to hunt or shoot skeet, I’m down. 

But I am not down with teaching them that guns solve problems because they don’t. Violence of any kind is futile and senseless and only leads to more violence. The notion of guns as a means to a safer society is a cheap lie peddled by merchants of death, and I won’t have any part of it. And yes, if America is hellbent on returning to the days of Tombstone and the Wild, Wild West, then you might be doing that without my family. Again, I don’t know what that means, and I don’t want to run and hide. But it feels more and more that America loves guns more than life itself. No advancing society should be spending this much time and money on weapons. To do so invests in death, and I have no interest in raising children in a society fixated on death-dealing. Life is beautiful, and I want them to have the best lives possible. Shouldn’t we want this for every child, and if so, wouldn’t this mean we would melt down guns before we bulletproof windows on daycares?

I usually process difficult feelings and emotions through music. One artist who has helped me tremendously is Jason Isbell. When I first heard his song “Overseas,” I was in awe of the way it captured my thoughts of wanting to leave a place that so tenaciously pursues ugliness, greed, and death. Maybe if he can stay here (and since we live in the same city, I do mean HERE) I can too. But it also somehow helps to know that I’m not the only one who feels this way. And maybe we can get enough people feeling this way strongly enough to do something, before it really is too late.

Here’s the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V4kFqy7U6NE

The Uncivil War

 

I watched the inauguration of Joseph R. Biden today with many competing emotions. I was afraid it might not go off without a hitch. After all, just two weeks ago (to the day) I watched people storm the Capitol building and commit acts of violence. More violence had been threatened. Thankfully, it didn’t happen. My heart was also heavy that America recently passed the horrific milestone of 400,000 deaths from COVID-19. At one point, half that number seemed unthinkable. It’s hard for me to imagine a more thorough failure in the world’s wealthiest nation. I was eager to hear what Biden would say in the face of such difficulty, and he named things so well. 

His is one of the first inaugural addresses to take place in a society where quotes are instantly memed. And certainly, he had some meme-worthy phrases. Perhaps the line that struck me the most was his referring to the current state of affairs in America as an Uncivil War. What a fascinating thing to say. It’s entirely possible that America has never been as divided as it is now except for the time it literally went to war with itself. The physical wounds of The Civil War were monumental. Two percent of the American population died from warfare and its associated miseries. But, I think many of us are coming to terms with the fact that we have been underestimating the figurative wounds which caused the conflict and have stewed in one way or another since. Ultimately, this is all to say, America has not fully come to terms with the fact that it was founded on the near genocide of Native Peoples and the abhorrent practice of enslaving Africans. 

I want the kind of society Biden spoke of, and I have given my life to help bring it to fruition. Still, I lack the imagination to understand how healing can take place without a proper diagnosis and course of treatment. Until America as a whole confesses the sins of the past and seeks legitimate restoration, I think it will be stuck in an endless cycle of division with those who love the country so much they can never speak ill of it on one side and those who love it so much they can’t allow it to exist under a delusion on the other. This gets at the trickiness of civility. How do you agree to disagree about lies? Maybe the people perpetuating the lies finally give up the futile fight. But until that takes place, any notion of healing, progress, or advancement will be partial at best. 

A New Denomination's Take on Holy Communion

In my new denomination, Holy Communion will be celebrated at every worship gathering. At random times, but at least once a month, the setting for the communion liturgy will be to the tune of Gordon Lightfoot’s immortal classic “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” There will be no discernible pattern to the occurrence of “Wreck Communion” so that parishioners will not be able to plan their attendance schedules in a way that will avoid participation in this rite. Moreover, once the music begins, the doors will be locked to prevent escape.

Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)

I love this song, and I don't feel it gets the play it deserves. I can't trace when I first really started loving this song. It probably goes back to Darlene Love singing it on Letterman, which obviously deserves its own oral history.

The song is classic Phil Spector. Do what you want with that. But, it takes you somewhere pretty great in just under three minutes. Attention must be paid.

The original version by Love is still the best, and there's a case to be made for it as the best pop Christmas song of all time. As a testament to the greatness of the song, it's hard to make a lousy cover of it. One of my favorites is the version by U2. No frills really; just their normal weirdness. May it be stuck in your head until June.

The Christmas Song

Not to be confused with "Christmas Song" by Dave Matthews (I'll get to that later), this song begins "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire..." It usually isn't one of my faves. I have to be in a certain mood to want to hear it, and I'm rarely in this mood. I also feel like it has been done by literally everyone, which I know is the case for lots of songs I'll be discussing.

My favorite version, hands down, is Nat King Cole's. I think there's really no comparison. His phrasing is incredibly suited for the music of the song. I also love the instrumental break. Everything works together so well. Even the somewhat cheesy "Jingle Bells" bit at the end is great.

No one else should bother with this song.

The Christmas Song

Holiday Songs

For some time I have threatened to release an all-encompassing master list of holiday songs. The time is now for this to happen. I shall try to post one each day through Advent and perhaps beyond. Sometimes the songs will come with extensive comment. Other songs need no explanation. If you feel that the versions I list as the greatest are in error, please prove me wrong. They will occur only in the order I think of them. Let's begin.

Merry Christmas Baby - Otis Redding

This song makes me exceedingly joyful whenever I hear it. I don't think there's any way to make it better. It's perfection.

Honorable mention for other good versions: B.B. King and Bruce Springsteen

Making Room

My son, who is almost three years old, loves the movie Room on the Broom. The book is one of my favorites to read with him because it reminds me of fall and Halloween (which I love). It also has a cadence of words that I enjoy. The movie is different in some notable ways. First, it takes thirty minutes to tell a story that can be read in about eight. So the cadence of language is lost. Second, the narrator is British, so that’s an improvement to my voice. Third, the characters express emotions in a way they don’t in the book. The most obvious way this final difference changes the story is found when subsequent characters ask, “Is there room on the broom for me?” In the book, a straightforward and excited “Yes!” from the witch is all that happens when a dog, bird, and frog ask about climbing aboard the broom. But, in the movie, when the dog asks “Is there room on the broom for a dog like me?” a cat, who had already been granted access to the broom, shakes his head. What’s worse, each animal who is welcomed to the broom wants to deny a place for each new animal. In the span of a few minutes, the dog goes from practically begging for a place to denying a spot for the now begging bird. What is it that makes those who were once unwelcome receive welcome and then become unwelcoming to others?

This past Sunday, the Sunday School class my wife and I attend discussed Jesus’ parable of the workers in the vineyard. We used Dr. Amy-Jill Levine’s study “Short Stories by Jesus.” Levine makes a fascinating point regarding this parable. She focuses on the idea that those in the story who are waiting to be hired for work have been waiting in the same spot all day. Something she finds troubling is the lack of advocacy those workers who are hired engage in for those who remain unhired. Moreover, when those who were waiting to be hired were finally hired, those who were hired earlier grumble at the fact that they are paid equally rather than celebrating both the generosity of the vineyard owner and the providence for those who need to be able to feed themselves and families. How can we deny others the same gifts we have received?

The current situation of welcoming some people but not all people in an equal fashion in the United Methodist Church is problematic for many reasons. Perhaps the most offensive element about the lack of welcome to all people is the position of ownership by other people. To return to Room on the Broom, the cat and dog don’t own the broom. The witch does. Those who are requesting a space on the broom aren’t asking the other occupants; they are asking the owner. The church belongs to Christ. If Christ has called and welcomed all people, who are we to turn them away? If the generous owner of all things seeks to make us all equal, who are we to persist in inequality? Perhaps we have forgotten who created all things and called them good. Maybe we have also forgotten that the Lord we worship was born in a stable because his family was told, “There is no room for you.” We continue to tell God “You are unwelcome” until we make room for all God’s children.

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

My wife and I saw the Mr. Rogers movie a few weeks ago. I definitely remember watching one iteration of his show when I was a kid. The trolley and castle were most appealing to me. I don’t think I took in much of what he said. But then again, maybe I did. A few things from the movie stuck with me. 

The notion of silence and space that he created is sorely missed from TV today. My wife and I are both fairly quiet people. We wake up quietly and open and close doors quietly and keep the TV at the lowest volume possible. This has been tough with a young child because so many shows and toys are so loud and busy. One of my favorite things to do is take my son outside on our back porch. He is now interested in the deer and birds that come to visit. I am trying to teach him that there is great beauty in quiet stillness, and also, that other creatures are our neighbors. 

Mr. Rogers was an expert with children. Working with children was his gift. The way he interacted with children would now (I think) be deeply suspicious to many people. I had to admit that if his show came on today, my first thought would likely be, “This dude’s a creeper.” And yes, I know how awful that thought is. It troubles me that I think this way and that people who are drawn to children and gifted with them sometimes make me uneasy. But his way of seeing the child in everyone challenges me. I am really angry pretty much all the time right now. There are lots of people doing lots of things I loathe. I have even had hatred in my heart for some of these people. So how do I remember that they are someone’s child? This is another thing that I hope I teach well to my children. I don’t believe people are bad or good. People do bad and harmful things. Many times the same people do good and loving things. People are deeply complex, and treating each person with as much love and compassion as we can means that we treat them as though we understand they are someone’s child.

A guy in Luke’s gospel asks Jesus a question: “Who is my neighbor?” The way the man asks the question suggests that he is trying to get Jesus to let him off the hook from loving certain people. Jesus doesn’t fall for it. He tells a story that is now mostly known as “The Good Samaritan.” (Reading AJ Levine’s book on the parables pointed out to me how bad/racist that title is. Think of someone saying “The Good Mexican.” See what she means?). My reading of the story is that ultimately Jesus says, “Your neighbor is whoever you treat like a neighbor.” In other words, we decide for ourselves who our neighbors are and aren’t. Think of Mr. Rogers’ question. Rather than saying, “Who can I get away with not having as a neighbor?” he instead asks, “Won’t you be my neighbor?” And it seems as though he asked that of more or less everyone. 

Four

*Author's note: An earlier version of this post conflated two different days into one. This mistake proves both my claim to not remember any actual dates correctly and the indispensable relationship I have with my wife. Without her, I literally would not know what day it is. 

Katie and I had finished running the Country Music Half Marathon in Nashville. We weren’t even supposed to be running in it, but the St. Jude Half in Memphis was cancelled due to winter happening. One of the options we had was to transfer our registration to Nashville, and we thought, “Why not?” It turned out to be somewhat fortuitous because, a few weeks before the run, we found out we would be moving to Nashville. So, we could take advantage of our time in the city to check out places to live. This was a turning point in our lives. We had married three years earlier and had lived in the same house ever since. We were excited to be in a new place with new possibilities. This was four years ago to the day.

About a month after the half marathon we were back in Nashville. This time Katie had a job interview, and we were checking out more places to live as it was getting down to the wire. We were looking at a rental home. It was in an area we liked, but the landlords were really weird. Like too weird to be actual people; more like landlord caricatures. As we were leaving the house, someone pulled up in a car and asked if we had seen his Giant African Tortoise. He had made a sign with a photo on it that read “Lost Tortoise” with a phone number. The sign wasn’t great, but at least it was to the point. I started looking around for a camera crew and trying to remember 1) if “Punk’d” still existed and 2) if they ever messed with people who are the opposite of celebrities. We talked with him a few minutes about his escape reptile. All the time I’m wondering “How fast can those things go?! I mean, the search grid shouldn’t be that large.” The person who was taking us around to show us rentals mentioned something about a creek nearby. Surely the man would find his pet there. As we were parting she said, “I hope you find your turtle.” The guy said nothing. I told Katie later that I would have given all the money I had to the guy if he had shouted back, “It’s A Tortoise!” To this day I have no clue if that creek exists or not. It was a good day, and then my phone rang.

My stepdad was calling me which rarely happened. He said something about my mom being in the hospital. I was confused. He was more confused. I knew that we had to cut our tour of homes short. We drove back to Jackson (where we were living at the time) and went to see my mom in the hospital. I still had no idea what was really happening. It turned out mom had undergone a colonoscopy (which I had no knowledge of), and it revealed tumors in her colon. In the next few days she would officially be diagnosed with metastatic colon cancer, Stage IV.

I have been on a spectrum of numbness since that day, and really I connect that day with the day of the half marathon because my excitement on that initial day was challenged by the news to come. The median survival for those who have the same diagnosis as my mom and received treatment is (we were told at the time) two and a half years. We have had four years with her, and they have brought great joy and immense sorrow. My mom and stepdad are now in assisted living although he doesn’t know they are, neither does he know (most days) that she has cancer. My brother and I, with the help of countless people, have taken over their affairs. Obviously all of this has brought numerous difficulties but also blessings. In going through their things I found my mom’s engagement photos before her marriage to my father. She was breathtakingly beautiful, and that’s not just a son saying a somewhat creepy thing about his mother - many others have said the same thing. I found the train set they (mostly my stepdad) got me when I was probably around ten years old. It wasn’t some cheap garbage set. It was a Lionel set with a metal engine. I probably haven’t seen it in twenty years, but I recovered the whole set, and I can’t wait to show it to my children. Notice I said “show;” they won’t be allowed to play with or even touch the train set. I don’t want to spoil them the way I was.

My mom is still young, and yet I know we likely don’t have much time left together. After a fairly long period of dormancy (apparently you can’t really use the term “remission” when someone has this form of cancer) her disease is now spreading pretty rapidly. She’s trying an oral chemotherapy drug. So far she’s experienced minimal side effects. It’s mostly making her much weaker which is among the hardest things to see given the fact that I know of few people as strong as she. I’ll be going by to visit her tomorrow. I don’t know whether I’ll bring up the four year anniversary or not. I might remind her of some of the other parts of the story and show her the Facebook background I haven’t changed in four years. It’s been more or less frozen since that day when my life drastically shifted into this new normal which is still so abnormal.

Four years seems like a long time, but it really isn’t. I compare it to how I reflect on high school and college. Those days are basically like flashes of light. But, certain days stand out to me, and my memory of those days hits me with a lot of detail. I remember almost everything about September 11, 2001. Also the night I found out one of my closest friends died and the days that followed can’t be erased. I remember good stuff too. Soccer games, my first job at Chick-Fil-A, concerts, picking up a turtle that then peed on me (or maybe released water in this weird way - perhaps water from a creek) - all moments that won’t go away. I’m not sure the specific moments I’ll remember from the last four years. I’m trying to record as many memories as I can in my brain. But that’s never really how it’s worked for me. There’s no accounting for my memory. I will forget quickly extremely important things. Dates almost never stick. It’s usually when bizarre things happen. Running 13.1 miles with around 40,000 other people and then looking at houses and then being confronted with the terror of a tortoise on the loose and then a phone call. I don’t even remember when the call actually happened. Hell, it was four years ago.

The Dark Before the Dawn

As I mentioned in my last post, this year has brought a lot of the feels. There have been amazing things. I put a book out which actually some people have purchased (in all likelihood as hate gifts for others). I also got to see my son turn one-year-old, and each day he brings more joy and amazement to my life. I traveled to the UK, which was unbelievable. I want to go to there more.

At the same time, it’s been rough waters. Something that’s been particularly hard is that America’s government seems hellbent on destroying the planet. This isn’t a party thing, at least not completely. I voted for Obama in part because I thought he took climate change seriously and would seek to do something about it. Ultimately, his administration did little more than talk about it and acknowledge that it’s a severe threat. But not much happened. Now more is happening, and it’s truly awful, particularly the continued denial of science and the ignorance of the fact that the health of humanity is directly tied to that of the planet. 

To be brutally honest, one of my biggest fears regarding having a child was the thought of what kind of earth he would live in/on. Would polar bears be extinct? Would Florida be underwater? Would he actually experience four seasons? I know probably not many people fret over these things, but I did and continue to. Because how can I say I love him and fail to give him the best life possible regarding, especially, his health and the health of the world around him? 

So, I know I need to be more active in speaking about care of creation, my justice issue. I also know I need to have more hope. This is, to use a somewhat hackneyed phrase, a God-sized problem. And while I certainly need to be more active and speak out, I recognize that I can’t make a dent in this problem on my own. I need trust that God who created all that exists will protect and care for it, one way or another. 

One of my favorite musicians is a guy named Andrew Peterson. I’ve loved his music for over a decade. He’s an extraordinary songwriter, and there’s perhaps no one who expresses my feelings better than him through his songs. It’s also the case that if he walked by you right now you probably wouldn’t know it. He and many of his friends, are completely under-appreciated in the music scene, even in Nashville where most of them live. But, I also think they would prefer it be this way because they aren’t really looking to be played on “Christian radio.” They write songs about doubt and suffering and themes that aren’t all that “family friendly.” They aren’t out to make it; they are out to make amazing music, and they do. My wife and I go to a concert pretty much every year called “Behold The Lamb of God” that Andrew and his friends wrote and perform annually. It’s incredible, and before they play through the album, they each take turns playing some of their own songs. This year Andrew played “The Dark Before the Dawn”  which I think he has played several times before. But it hit me in a new way this time. You need to listen to the song. I think it puts into perfect words what we are experiencing now. There is some incredible darkness and greed and abuse happening. But, at the same time, people are rising and waking up. American society is changing and power structures are shifting. There is pain and there will continue to be pain. But, as Andrew sings, “This is pain before the balm,” and also, “The tears before the song.” 

Let’s start singing. 

I'm Back, Baby!

How on earth is it a week until Christmas? There’s not even a description for the warp speed with which the last few weeks and months have raced. But I made a promise to write more posts this year than I did last year, so there is precious time to waste. That kinda rhymed. I didn’t intend for that to happen.

One of the reasons I haven’t been writing is overall depression - both clinical and general. I don’t think I’ve written much about my depression and anxiety on this blog, but that will be changing. I’m coming out of the “crazy closet” as I call it, and you’ll be hearing much more about this side of my life. I’m sure you’ll hate it, but whatever.

So, around mid-August I fell back into a really rough patch of d/a (depression/anxiety). Had to go back on medication which then had to be tweaked a bit. There was a longer adjustment period than I thought there would be. But I have been mostly good for a little over a month. At the same time, my general depression about what’s going on in American culture and society has teetered back and forth from slight hope to utter despair. More mass shootings and more inaction about it being at all the fault of guns. Pure and complete dumbassedness coming from Washington in general and the White House in particular. Maybe America’s on the brink of nuclear war - who actually knows? Then all of the accusations of sexual assault or inappropriate conduct, which I am overwhelmingly glad about in that people are finding their voice and feeling empowered to speak out about what has happened to them. Also, it’s depressing when it focuses on people you liked, even admired.

Then, Roy Moore. I mean the whole thing brings out so many emotions. I’ll admit, I haven’t been a fan of the guy from the jump. I completely feel like he’s an egomaniac who exploited the religious convictions (which I consider misdirected) of people in order to carve out this weird niche of fame. He’s a judge who isn’t actually a judge because he doesn’t understand the law - but some people think he’s being persecuted for his faith. Then, the allegations start, and it’s got to be game over, right? Nope. And yes, he lost, even though apparently no one (including Almighty God apparently) has told him yet. But over half a million people voted for him. In that figure is an overwhelming population of white, male, “evangelicals.” So, what do I do with this as a white, male pastor? I have to end my silence. I’ve been behaving too much lately. One of my closest friends - practically a second father - pointed this out to me. I need to start breathing fire again. Not for my own sake, but for the sake of those continually being hurt and/or misled by the Church and wolves in shepherd’s clothing.

So, the writing starts again as will more speaking out and likely even direct support of candidates. I have always had an uneasy feeling about the whole church/state thing. But the group that hasn’t had an uneasy feeling has done some terrible shit. So, damn the torpedoes. Let’s roll.

Love Defeats Bullies

When I look at what compels me to write it is sadly often in the aftermath of some violent attack. Perhaps as a pastor and one who seeks to offer healing I am hardwired or programmed to offer some sort of balm in the midst of tragedy. I don’t pretend that I often know what I’m doing. I do my best to avoid ending up like the “friends” in the biblical book of Job who end up offering really no comfort at all to someone whose world is coming apart at the seams. Often I am working out my words while typing or saying them because a wise professor taught me that much suffering takes people to a place where words end. 

So it must be for those still grieving in Portland. After the attacks on the MAX a few days ago many are no doubt frightened and overwhelmed. This is the aim and result of terror. What has stood out to me is that this story does have a different spin. Two of the men who died and one who was wounded were standing up to the crazed rantings of a bully. This is my decision about the best way to characterize the attacker. Anyone who shouts hatred at a person for their skin color or religion or sex or sexual orientation or any other characteristic (regardless of how much or little that characteristic is true or defines that person) is a bully. So this bully was confronted and he reacted violently in a way that ended the lives of two people and will no doubt alter the lives of many more. Apparently he has been quoted as saying, “I hope everyone I stabbed died.” Please balance this against the alleged last words of one of the victims,Taliesin Myrddin Namkai-Meche, who said, “Tell everyone on this train I love them.”

Bullying presents problems for a society. It should be combatted with all the resources a culture has at its disposal. Victims of bullying can turn into bullies themselves and set about doing harm to somehow payback what was done to them. I remember when the killings at Columbine High School happened and many of us were told that those responsible had been bullied. I have been bullied, and I have also bullied others. I have worked with bullies and remained silent. I fear that American culture is built too much on the myth that the only way to counter a bully is with force and to return violence with more violence. I also fear that bullies are too often allowed to continue their behavior which is sometimes spun as success. There will sadly be some people who celebrate the actions of the bully in Portland because they share his warped ideology or nonsensical xenophobia. There are those who choose his way of death as opposed to the way of love and life. Death never wins, and it won’t defeat bullies. Only love has any shot of turning someone’s hatred in on itself. 

I often think about Lakeshore, the camp which has formed so much of my identity, when I think about solutions to the world’s deepest hurts. I try to pattern the campus ministry I lead after the lessons of love and inclusion I learned at camp. What generally sticks with me most is that, as far as I could tell, everyone at camp was included and loved. Campers who had disabilities were reminded regularly that God and we (the camp leaders and staff) love them fully. There were also special camps for those who had suffered abuse or were coming from difficult situations and therefore needed special attention. I worked one summer in a more focused way with that camp, and bullying was something we fought daily with love. I have said to many people that if everyone had the experience that I had and that we all sought to provide at Lakeshore, the world wouldn’t have nearly as much and perhaps not any violence. When everyone is treated with love, dignity, and grace hatred suffocates and hurting someone else is unimaginable. I hope the people of Portland will continue to respond with love in the face of this tragedy and may we all follow their example. 

It Matters A Great Deal

The United Methodist denomination is currently in the midst of a church trial regarding the election of Bishop Karen Oliveto. Actually, a ruling was just handed down by the Judicial Council. Many are still dissecting the ruling, and its actual force and effect might take some time to shake out. But here’s something that’s struck me throughout all of this: we are pretty inconsistent when our speech is measured against our words. Here’s what I mean by this. Many of us say things like “We aren’t about labeling people” and “One’s race/sex/sexuality doesn’t define him or her.” And yet, every story I read about Bishop Oliveto including press releases and statements from church leaders referred to her as “lesbian bishop…” or “first openly gay bishop…” Hmmm. 

Now, I understand that Bishop Oliveto’s sexuality is precisely what has brought about the church trial. However, the continued referencing of her primarily in terms of her sexuality indicates to me that, for many, the only thing that matters about her is that she is a lesbian. This perpetuates an improper and unhealthy fixation with someone’s sexuality. It also ignores a primary Christian claim, namely that while we have identity markers (nationality/race/sex/sexuality) these are not and cannot be our primary identity because of our baptism in Christ Jesus. This is what I understand Paul to be saying in Galatians 3:28. I think this passage is often misunderstood as if Paul is saying these categories (Jew/Greek, slave/free, male/female) cease to exist. Well, that’s of course nonsense. Clearly I am still a male after I am baptized, and I will continue to have identity markers. But I don’t introduce myself as “straight white male pastor David Hollis.” Maybe Bishop Oliveto does introduced herself at parties with “Hello. I’m the first openly gay bishop, Karen Oliveto.” But I highly doubt it. So to have virtually everyone else call her this puts that identity before her primary one - Karen Oliveto, baptized child of God. 

I don’t think most of the people who are labeling her in this way are intending harm. It’s a social construct - I think particularly in the South. To this day I will still have people say “This black minister so and so” or “That asian gentlemen who was with you.” I don’t think they even know there is anything wrong with what they are doing, because it’s usually just what they’ve learned. Then again, there are many practices that we learn which hurt and dehumanize others. So “that’s how I learned to talk” can’t be a valid excuse for long. It’s also the case that sometimes it is necessary to describe someone with their race or nationality in order to distinguish them. If someone asks, “Who was that gentleman you were speaking with after the board meeting?” If there is just one person I spoke with, I likely know who they are talking about. But if I spoke with several gentlemen, maybe we will have to get a description. And at some point, that description may involve color or another marker of that person’s identity. So, I get that. But once again, the way we use words matters a great deal. It isn’t just what we say, it’s how we say it. And it’s disingenuous to say labels don’t matter when we use them to such a degree.

So, either go all in, and always introduce everyone with as full a description as possible: “This is my single, Jewish friend Jesus” or leave it out from the first line of someone’s name and get there when and if you need to get there. 

I Have Found Joy

Over a decade ago I was spending my first summer in seminary serving as an intern at Davidson UMC in North Carolina. It was a wonderful experience all around. The senior pastor at the time was really into the Enneagram, and I was fine being a guinea pig. I also like those kinds of “tests.” So I took it, and my results made me angry. Actually, I am still confused about my results because I have heard different explanations as to the interpretation of the Enneagram. But as I recall, I am a seven - The Joyful Person. And that pissed me right off. 

I wanted to get “wise” or “loving” or something that did some good. Not joyful. What the hell is that? I thought it was self-referential as well. I mean, if I’m mad at being labeled “the joyful person” then it stands to reason the test is wrong. So it sat with me for a while. And the more I considered it, I think the test was accurate. 

There has always been something within me that seeks joy. I think the confusion I had is that joy is not the same thing as happiness—especially pointless, saccharine sentimentality. I hate that shit. I don’t seek or find most things cute, particularly when it comes to faith, God, and all that jazz. I have moved away from liking/wanting crosses generally. But if I get one, I want a crucifix or one that is plain wood. Something decorative and pretty makes no sense to me. I guess to me it’s about beauty and the way I see it beauty and joy seem to go hand in hand. 

I also think that joy has an urgency attached to it. This is why I have developed a total intolerance to wasting anyone’s time, especially my own. If I answer the phone and it is someone selling something I hang up immediately. “That’s so rude!” you might scream at me. I don’t care. It’s rude to waste my time and that person’s with the few seconds of explanation/haggling that will likely need to occur for you to feel I’m less rude. And the end result is the same. If I want to buy something, I’ll let you know. Don’t worry about getting in touch with me. If there are meetings that are pointless or become so, I don’t go to them or I leave them. This might imperil my job eventually, but I think I have a pretty good alibi since John Wesley had a strong stance against the wasting of time. I drive really fast, and I hate stoplights worse than grim death. In fact, the two are now the same for me. 

For the past few months, I have been in this fog. It’s mostly a “what the hell is actually happening?” situation. It seems to me that America is pursuing a time warp back to more racist and sexist times. Those with power are clinging to this longing for a Mayberry existence that wasn’t then and isn’t now in touch with reality. There are plenty who will do all within their power to slow the inevitable progress of a multicultural society. And yes, they have lots of money and influence. But, as Yeats put it, the center cannot hold. Something indeed is slouching toward Bethlehem, and it’s an awakening. People (more of them at least) are calling out the bullshit and those who peddle it (especially for a living). So when a close friend of mine feels that a couple of old, racist brothers who have more money than God are going to actually run the world, I used to get really depressed. But now I just laugh. Because I read a book by Archbishop Desmond Tutu to my son tonight. And in the world Tutu writes about - the world of Easter, there is no stopping joy. Joy will win.

I Would Like To Do A Radio Show

In addition to being Palm Sunday, yesterday was the day “projections” were announced in my conferences of the United Methodist Church. Let me back up in case you are new to/completely unaware of this. 

In the UMC, pastors are under appointment of a bishop (who is also a pastor BTW—but one who has been given and accepted authority to oversee other pastors). So once a year the bishop shares with the pastors in her region whether or not they are moving, as appointments of service in the UMC currently are still year to year. These are called projections because they are not “fixed” (finalized) until the meeting of an entire regional body called Annual Conference. Basically, it’s when pastors announce to congregations if they are staying or leaving and if they are leaving they can share where they are likely going. But wow the jargon. You just don’t realize it until it’s all right in front of you. 

So, because I am the way I am this all fascinates me. It is especially interesting to a dork like me because when you move one pastor it sets in motion a series of moves because someone has to come into the position that is being vacated. One move can potentially bring about four or five others—especially when people retire (which they are doing at alarming rates). This is also interesting to me because I like to predict who will go where, and then once things happen I am either shocked that I got something so wrong or pleased that I was correct. It all ends up being like sports with different players and coaches going to different teams. 

It occurred to me today that I want to do a radio show about this next year. It seems like it would be perfect to broadcast the news as it comes in and also share commentary like “Billy is moving to St. Bart’s in Dyersburg where he will be following the pastor who baptized him when he was growing up in Fulton.” 

I need to start working on sponsorships, but this seems like pure gold to me.

We Are "the Environment"

Like most profound things I have heard, I can’t remember where I heard it first. Maybe it was Wendell Berry. It’s definitely something I think he would say. Either way, the saying has stuck with me, and it continues to shape my thinking and behaving on a daily basis. It goes something like this: there’s no such thing as “the environment.” 

What does this mean? Well, the most basic understanding is that there is not this separate entity known as “the environment” that exists somewhere. It doesn’t live in George Clooney’s attic or basement. It doesn’t prefer The Beatles to Elvis. For it, commercials for Cialis are not the single most annoying thing on the planet. But all of this is true only because there is no such thing as “the environment.”

It’s seemingly the case that a group of people invented “the environment” to argue whether we should care about it or not and if so how much and if a lot how. But of course this is all preposterous because it doesn’t exist. It can’t possibly exist because what these people (politicians it seems usually) are arguing about includes water, soil, air, trees, animals, and, ya know, all the things that live and make life possible. And by “life” I should say “all life” including yours and mine. Because you see friends, we as humans are creatures. 

I know, it’s weird. It seems like we should have evolved beyond being creatures when Taco Bell started serving breakfast or when the Ryan Gosling/Macaulay Culkin shirt feud/love affair changed all time and space forever. But in fact, all the stuff you learned about mammals in second grade (maybe?) still applies, and all of it applies to us, who are, actually mammals. Our offspring are born live. We have hair. We drink milk. We are warm-blooded. And yes, we are, completely and totally animals. Which means we need food and water and air to survive. And if any of those things end up being poison, that’s really not good at all for us. Because, once again, we’re animals/mammals/creatures. 

So it’s really quite bizarre to have an argument about whether or not to care for and protect “the environment,” because how can there be another side? Do you like breathing? Anyone love drinking poison? Want to eat some rancid meat? It’s silly because “the environment” is not this separate thing we can choose to care about, because it doesn’t exist. We are “the environment.”