There was a certain summertime magic that was a part of family life while growing up in Rome, Georgia.  Every once in a while, my dad would receive some tickets to an Atlanta Braves baseball game from a benevolent old guy known as “Doc” Elliott who ran some sort of import business in Rome.  Dad would come home early from work.  We would load up the old brown station wagon and begin our trek to Atlanta Fulton Co. Stadium.  The journey to the big city was always filled with excitement and great anticipation.  And of course, the trip always included a stop at the old downtown Varsity restaurant just across from Georgia Tech.  After a couple of dogs and a Frosted Orange, we would head to the stadium and find the way to our seats.

The stadium was always alive with sights and sounds.  When the time was just right, Chief nock-a-homa, would run out to the mound, do his war dance, and then dash off to his tepee in left field.  (Those were different days.)  The players ran onto the field, the anthem played and the crowd cheered.  Long before the rhythmic sounds of the “tomahawk chop,” it was the stadium organist who stirred the crowd into a frenzy.  I remember buying popcorn that came in megaphone-shaped cardboard containers that could be used to cheer on the team after the popcorn was long gone.  And in those early days, there were superstars to cheer on.  Names like Aaron, Torre, Niekro, and Jackson were sprinkled throughout the line-up.  Every kid in the place would sit on the edge of his/her seat when #44 came to the plate.  We all expected “Hammering Hank” to hit a homerun every time, and rarely were we disappointed.

We typically stayed till the bitter end and made the slow trek back to the car.  Traffic was always a problem as we headed back north on I-75 toward Rome.  In those days, part of our journey included driving through Marietta where the big Kentucky Fried Chicken stood on the corner.  By that point in the evening, my brother and I were groggy in the backseat and ready to be home, but we both knew there was still a long drive to endure.  There was a new residential development along the road, apartments as I remember, that had a big sign planted near the entrance.  It read, “If you lived here, you’d be home.”  It always made me a little mad to see it, because I wished I did live there, so I could be home and not have to endure the long road to Rome.  It’s funny, but that sign still comes to mind when I think on those days.

“If you lived here, you’d be home.”  It’s odd how most of us spend our days in the anticipation of things yet to come.  When we are young, we dream of becoming a teenager, driving a car, and going on dates.  And then we long for the days of college and becoming independent for the first time.  And after college we yearn for that first job, or marriage, or a new city.  And even then, we are unsettled in the present and long for that which is still to come.  We dream of buying our first home or paying off a car.  We raise our kids and live vicariously through their lives.  We look to our emerging careers which all too soon becomes a glance at retirement.  We anticipate grandkids, and working in the yard, and taking lavish vacations.  It’s like our lives are a dream that we continually chase, never really thinking we have finally arrived at home.

Maybe home is all around us in every season of life.  We just lack the vision to see it.  Gospel writer Luke tells this story in chapter 10 of the Gospel of Luke, ^“As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him.  She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said.  But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, ‘Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!’  ‘Martha, Martha,’ the Lord answered, ‘you are worried and upset about many things,  but few things are needed—or indeed only one.  Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.’”

Martha missed the moment in time, or maybe the full reality of “being at home,” because of distraction and worry over her preparations.  She couldn’t experience the joy of being present in the moment because of looking ahead to an event that would unfold in a few hours.

In the Christian experience, we are definitively a “forward looking” people.  It’s written into our hymns, our prayers, Bible studies, and sermons.  We talk of that future Kingdom of Heaven.  We talk of that “day of rejoicing that will be.”  We talk of a better life that is to come.  There’s nothing wrong with glancing through the eyes of faith to that promised day.  We all long for heaven and when we will “bid farewell to every tear and wipe our weeping eyes.”  But let us not fail to find ourselves at home each day, living in the present moments of grace that include: messy lives, unpaid bills, overgrown lawns, empty gas tanks, dishes in the sink, and toys on the floor.  Home is the place we find security in the chaos, joy in the difficulties, and contentment in the midst of need.  If we learn to live in the “present place” of hope, contentment, and joy, we would, most assuredly, be at home.  I wonder if those to be pitied the most, are not simply those who may miss the joy of eternal life, but those who fail to see eternity in the moments of each day.  If you lived here, you’d be home.

Jon R Roebuck

 

          There is a very disturbing trend in modern American Christianity.  It isn’t low attendance, declining membership, aging buildings, or shrinking budgets.  It’s the absence of kindness that should worry us the most.  For a multiplicity of reasons, churches and their leaders have decided, both consciously and unconsciously, that kindness is no longer a virtue worth demonstrating or pursuing.  And when the church decided that kindness no longer mattered, the nation got the message.

            Christians have been called by Christ to be “salt and light,” or to be as a “city on a hill” whose light of goodness, hope, and grace extend deeply into the culture of the day.  But unfortunately, the light has dimmed, and our distinctive goodness is all but non-discernable.  For those charged to influence, infuse, and promote such virtues as love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control, we have lost that sense of calling.  In fact, it’s as though we have adopted and now promote that which is the exact opposite of such qualities.  We promote divisive bigotry, exclusionary practices, hate speech, racism, antisemitism, Islamophobia, and even violence.  Rather than challenge ourselves to represent the Prince of Peace as we proclaim Good News to the world around us, we have decided to adopt a limited world-view that teaches that it’s okay to hate our neighbors and demean anyone whose brand of religion differs from our own.

            The Gospel is to be Good News… not judgment, not hate, not discrimination, not anger.  Something about the message of Jesus should give life to those who have lost their way, their hope, and their future.  Jesus offers inclusivity, not a pious “religious border” control, not judgment, not condescension.  We have poisoned our minds to believe that we are to love only those who love Jesus with the same zeal and dogma that we hold.  We make little room and offer little tolerance for anyone not in our tribe.  Whenever we decide that we are the ultimate possessors of truth and thus, the real chosen people of God, we stand in a very dangerous place.  Maybe our task is not that of loving only the people who love Jesus, but loving the people that Jesus loves.  Suddenly our embrace of every neighbor becomes reorienting.  If we truly claim to love Christ, we must intentionally, passionately, and unselfishly love every neighbor who stands before us, regardless of their race, their origin, their gender, their language, or their practice of faith.  If you believe that heaven is only filled with your kind of people, you may be really shocked when the Kingdom leaves you behind in its wake.

            To be Christ-like is to be kind.  It is to be respectful, tolerant, grace-giving, bridge-building, and fence-mending.  Kindness demands less shouting, less hatred, less violence, less arrogance, and less warmongering.  Kindness demands decency, decorum, and dialogue… not social media rants, not caustic pulpit rhetoric, and not selfish control of every public space.

            There was a time when the pulpits of America set the tone and challenged the character of our nation.  There was talk of true liberty and justice for all.  There were calls for the end of hatred and prejudice.  Preachers spoke of love and grace.  In other words, there was a time when kindness mattered, and people listened.  But those were different days.  We are now faced with intolerance, explosive anger, and demeaning language… often spoken through the mouths of pastors and pulpiteers.  What have we become?  What have we allowed ourselves to embrace?  If the voice of reason, grace, and kindness doesn’t arise from people of faith, from whence shall it come?  There are choices to be made, conscious, deliberate, culture-altering choices.  Embrace kindness.  Pursue kindness.  Demonstrate kindness.

An Episcopalian Priest recently offered these words in a morning message.  “We must learn how to both kneel and stand at the same time.”  I can’t shake that image, nor the implications.  To kneel in the presence of someone is to show respect, loyalty, and perhaps servitude.  In contrast, to stand before someone is to affirm, convey, and perhaps communicate our own treasured beliefs or values.  When juxtaposed in the same phrase the words seem to be in conflict.  It is as though to both kneel and stand is an impossibility.  But rightly understood, they illustrate the tension deep within us, a tension in which our faith must reside.

            In the Christ-like humility of faith, we must learn to kneel in the presence of others.  To do so is to value, affirm, accept, and even befriend.  It is to show a level of respect and a sense of wonder at the made-in-the-image-of-God human being who stands before us.  It is to affirm the worth of that person and give away something of our own selfish pride that would make them seem less than equal in our minds’ distortion.  It is to see the face of God in their face and thus kneel in the presence of the holy.

            In contrast, as we stand in the presence of others, we do so while affirming our beliefs… the things we know to be right and good, noble and true.  We stand on our convictions, our well-worn affirmations of faith, our principles, our values, our sacred confessions.  We stand on the bedrock foundations that give us meaning, clarity, and promise.  Those foundations are vital.  The tension arises within us when we are called to kneel in the presence of others whose values, beliefs, and morals are not those we uphold.  It is not that we are called to step away from the  moorings of our faith, but that we use our faith to push ourselves forward into the Kingdom’s difficult work of grace.  What is created in that moment of conflicting emotion and thought is not compromise, but rather the mercy that we should long to both extend as well as receive.

           If we believe that everyone has to stand in the same mental, political, and spiritual space we occupy in order to be deemed worthy, then we will never learn to kneel in humility.  What we must affirm in the presence of others is not our well-parsed theology or doctrinal convictions, but simply the common bonds of humanity that join us to each other.  We affirm the love of God for us all.  In kneeling, we must acknowledge with value and worth not only the face of the stranger, but the face of God also reflected in that person.  We are bound together as His children.

             In kneeling we learn that we no longer have the right to judge, but only to serve.  We no longer have the right to condemn, but only to accept.  We learn that the convictions on which we stand give us the freedom, not to remain selfish, or bigoted, or biased, but to be fully conformed in the image of the One who taught us that to serve is the way of our faith.  It is in the giving away of ourselves, that our locked knees suddenly bend in gratitude.  And maybe as we kneel in an affirming posture of respect and acceptance that our faith longs for us to embrace, that someone might see over our shoulder to catch a glimpse of the Savior we proclaim.  We must indeed learn to kneel and stand at the same time.

– Jon Roebuck

          Mount LeConte is one of the tallest and most picturesque mountains in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.  The peak is listed at 6,593 feet in elevation.  Located just a few miles from Gatlinburg, it remains a popular day-hike for thousands of people each year.  At the summit, is a beautiful, rustic lodge surrounded by several cabins.  An adventurer can reserve a night’s stay from late March till mid-November.  Those who do so, will enjoy a both a beautiful view and a good, hearty breakfast to provide plenty of energy for the descending hike.  There are five trails or paths that lead to the summit.  The shortest, and by far the most arduous, is the Alum Cave Trail which takes hikers on a steep, magnificent 5-mile trek.  The longest trail, named the Brushy Mountain Trail, winds its way for over 9 miles.  All are distinct in many ways, but any of the five will get a hiker to the top.

            Sometimes the paths we take determine much about who we become and how we relate to the world around us.  Social scientists suggest that most of us become rather “set in our ways” around the age of 25.  By 25, most of us have defined much about our character, our morality, our priorities, our faith expressions, and even our political affiliations.  The paths on which we have walked for those first 25 “formative years” have influenced us in a number of ways.  There are hundreds, if not thousands, of paths that can lead an individual to adulthood.  It is in understanding our paths that we may unlock some of the divisive opinions and attitudes that are so prevalent in the American culture.

            I am often in discussions with people of good faith who scratch their heads and wonder how others can view the world so differently than they.  Many of us have felt the disconnect created in our relationships with friends, associates, neighbors, and even fellow church members over the past few years.  Surely, we have all asked some of these questions: “How can so-and-so support that candidate?  How can those politicians believe such legislation is good for our state?  How can people who claim a strong faith be so angry and spew such vitriolic language at others?  How can anyone not see the damage such attitudes cause?”  We wonder how some can get so confused, so lost, or so blind… or at least how their worldview can become so warped in comparison to our own.  We are all sane, rational adults and yet our views are so vastly different, even among those who read the same sacred texts.  How does it happen?  Maybe it’s the paths taken, or even the paths we were forced to walk as we made our way into adulthood that have made us so divergent.  Again, it is understanding the paths traveled that we might offer ourselves needed perspective.  It is not that every person should walk in lock-step or that all of us should think or pray or even vote the same way.  We need diversity of thought to make us better.  It is that we need to learn from each other and at least understand who we are and how we arrived at this moment.  Rather than walk in someone else’s shoes for a while, maybe we should consider the paths those shoes have walked.

            The path that leads through family life is certainly one of the most important paths we take on our way to adulthood.  We are strongly influenced by those who raised us.  In households where love and support were consistently offered, where key virtues were modeled and not distorted, the influence of home powerfully shaped us.  We grew to think like our parents.  We consumed the morals that were modeled. And so, we now speak the same language and think the same thoughts as our parents did.  Though we may step away from that nurturing path and take a slightly divergent way from time to time, we tend to become much like the family that raised us, for good or bad.

            The pathway of adolescence is also a powerful influence.  In my many years of pastoral ministry, I often told parents that they needed to know their children’s friends almost as well as their children did.  Those friendships are powerful and help to shape and mold opinions and positions.  We sometimes hear about the dangers of “running with the wrong crowd.”  There is some truth to that.  The close connections of teenage years speak strongly into the minds of our kids.

            The pathway that took many of us to college needs to be added to the list.  For many college represents the first time away from home.  College becomes the place to explore new thoughts, try new things, build new relationships.  Sometimes the path opens our minds to things never considered before or teaches the eager to ask questions about topics that up-to-this-point were either set in stone or were simply taboo.  Some leave college completely unfazed by all the influences and experiences, while others depart with a whole different set of values and ideals.

            Certainly the role of social media is a part of this conversation.  Those walking the path towards adulthood spend far more time glued to their screens than they do connected to family conversation.  We call those with millions of followers, “influencers” and rightly so.  With a single tweet or tik-tok video, opinions and thoughts spread like wildfire. It is in the wide-open space of social media that both good and bad thoughts are spread.  Misinformation travels just as quickly as the truth and we would do well to remember that.

            For most who are traveling to adulthood, the path of religion is extremely powerful.  The words proclaimed from the pulpit as well as the opinions expressed in the hallways, captivate, motivate, and infuriate.  Faith is so vitally important to most of us that even if religion starts to get a little askew and preaching becomes more about politicking than piety, most of us never notice until we are drawn into a “righteous anger” that is neither righteous nor ethical and certainly not in keeping with the morality that our Scriptures suggest.  To be fair, not all churches have yielded to a pseudo-Gospel that distorts reality and warps the great teachings of faith… but many have.  A pathway doesn’t have to diverge very far until it becomes distorted.  The Scriptures themselves suggest that “pure and undefiled religion in the sight of God is to visit widows and orphans in their time of distress and to keep oneself unstained by the world.” Such a notion is a far cry away from the abusive, misogynistic, fear-mongering messages that many proclaim.

             And so, we arrive at adulthood, well-informed or ignorant, wise or foolish, mature or lacking, confident or confused, or maybe with all of those traits.  We are very much the result of the paths that brought us to this place.  And even as we enter the adult world, we continue to choose the paths before us.  In other words, we can’t blame all that we have become on the inexperience of youth.  Many of us choose to continue down the same ideological paths that we have always walked.  Rather than search for new meaning, new thoughts, and new perspectives, we find others who closely match our set of values and join them for the next phase of our journey.  The more we walk in the presence of the like-minded, the more we reinforce limited viewpoints, narrow-minded opinions, and echo-chamber rhetoric.  Somewhere along the journey we may even lose a sense of discernment that would allow us to self-reflect and seek greater perspective.  The various viewpoints of our time divide us and the caustic politics tear relationships asunder and we wonder if such connections are forever broken.

            Like many of you, I am mystified at where we have landed as a people.  I loathe the divisive nature of both the political podium and the powerful pulpit.  I grieve over what we have become.  We are no longer “one nation under God, indivisible…” but warring factions that tear at the social fabric of what we aspire to be.  How can we even start the process of beginning again?  Is there a way to find reconciliation?  Can we reframe our conversations in a way that becomes constructive and not destructive?

          The answer lies not in more rants, more tweets, and more caustic words.  It begins with a desire to at least understand why some have made the choices they have made and supported the causes they deem important.  Some of the answers we seek are found along the pathways that every individual has walked.  As I stated previously, we are indeed, the product of our environment.  But perhaps there is still hope.  A commitment to lifelong learning, relationship building, and to the creation of space for community with those who stand in a different place are some of the ways we can teach new tricks to the old dog within us.  And maybe the best hope for the future is found in our continued walk, where all of our paths can willingly cross again, but this time with a sense of civility, respect, and understanding.

                                                                                                           

Back in my college experience, I had the opportunity of taking an elective course in Cartography and Orienteering.  I was and have always been fascinated by map reading and directional awareness.  Because of an on-going interest at the time in aviation, a course that focused on such things was particularly interesting to me.  I can still vividly recall one particular day of class.  Our instructor led us out of the classroom building to a large 3-acre field on the edge of campus.  His instructions were simple.  “When I tell you to begin walking, I want you to walk in a straight line until I blow my whistle.  When you hear the whistle, stop and return to the starting point.”  So, at his command, we started walking in straight lines across the field.  After ½ minute or so, he sounded the whistle and we returned to our original spots.

Next, our instructor handed out blindfolds to each member of the class.  He told us to cover our eyes and we would repeat the same exercise as before.  He shouted, “Walk!” and we began our trek across the field once more attempting to walk in straight lines.  This time he let us walk for about 1 minute.  He blew the whistle and told us to stop and remove our blindfolds.  The result was shocking.  None of our group had walked in a straight line!  We found ourselves all over the field moving in all sorts of new directions.  Personally, I was veering off to the left in about a 45-degree angle.  The point was well made.  When we lose focus, failing to keep our gaze on a fixed point, we very quickly will lose our way.

The same thing happens spiritually, emotionally, and relationally.  As long as we have a focal point… a north star… a clear goal… then our lives seem to track in the right direction.  It is when we lose our focus that our steps quickly diverge into misguided ways.  The Scriptures offer their counsel.  Jesus reminded His followers of maintaining a clear focus when He said, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.” (Luke 9:62 NIV)  The writer of Hebrews suggests, “And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us.  We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith.” (Hebrews 12:1-2 NLT) The Biblical message is clear, directional clarity is important.

The North Star in relationships could be defined by fidelity, trust, and commitment to sacred vows.  Such directional clarity may well keep relationships focused and moving in the right direction, lest we stray and drift away from our best selves.  In terms of emotional health, all of us would do well to keep our gaze on activities, involvements, and friendships that affirm, heal, and bring us joy.  In terms of spirituality, it is the North Star of our fundamental beliefs, practices, and disciplines that keep us tracking well.  Ignoring our spiritual moorings can lead us into very difficult and even lonely spaces.

But let’s take it a step further.  My concern is over the ways in which we, as Christ-centered individuals, have allowed ourselves to walk across the landscape of our culture as though we are doing so with blindfolds obstructing our vision.  We seem to have lost sight of the ethical and moral leadership of the Christ we claim to follow.  Rather than allowing our lives to be defined and accented with love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control (Fruit of the Spirit – Gal. 5:22-23), we bathe ourselves in the backwash of all that is evil and dehumanizing about our culture.  We have allowed our new North Star to become selfishness, vitriolic speech, caustic rhetoric, angry opinions, and narrow-minded viewpoints.  We have exchanged our “professed love of Christ,” for the world’s hatred, our “compassion” for a despicable selfishness, our “noble virtues” for greed and power.  We continue to more narrowly define our version of “Christian ethics,” wrapping our thoughts into a perverted politic, a warped mind, and a depraved spirit.  Instead of fixing our eyes on Christ, the author and perfector of our faith, we have allowed the voices of our culture to distract us, change us, and rob us of our Christ-like virtues.  We have allowed such voices to enrage us, misinform us, and to manipulate us.

The problem is that when we lose our directional focus, so does the world around us.  We have been called as “salt and light.” (Matthew 5:13-14 NASB)  Our mission is to change the world, not be changed by it.  Our goal is to be the voice of civility, reason, and goodness, not simply to add more angry static to the misguided cultural chorus that is all too often the loudest sound in the room.  It is time to once again open our eyes and set our steps in the direction of that which is life-giving, transformative, and filled with grace.  As Paul writes, “And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may prove what the will of God is, that which is good and acceptable and perfect.” (Romans 12:2 NASB)  It is time to embrace a new sense of faith within us, one that inclusively loves, compassionately gives, reflectively reasons, and graciously guides.  As we walk forward into all that is before us, let us resolve to do so with a directional focus guided by an authentic and genuine faith in Christ, not one skewed by a dark and limited vision.

 

 

I have to confess that I am a little over-the-top when it comes to keeping a clean car.  I like my car to look its best both inside and out.  It’s in my DNA… my dad was the same way, and his father before him.  I still remember driving home from college and my dad meeting me in the driveway with a hose in hand.  Before the bags were carried into the house, the car was washed and a coat of Armor All was applied to the tires.  Even now, there are moments when I’ve been known to drive home from a long trip, and wash the car before I go to bed.  I knew I would rest easier just knowing that all the bugs were off the windshield and the road grime erased from the fenders.

I did a dumb thing last weekend.  I was actually pulling into a carwash place to select the desired wash and insert my credit card.  I was concerned that I needed to be a little bit closer to the computer screen and so I steered a little closer to the curb… too close in fact.  I heard a slight “grinding noise” and I knew immediately that I had scraped my left-front alloy rim on the curb.  And sure enough, as soon as the wash was complete, I stepped out to survey the damage.  A small scrape, not more than an inch, was glaring at me from my clean car.  I have to admit that it bothered me more than it should have.  The car looked great… clean and shiny from one end to the other, but all I saw, was the scrape on the rim.  Before the afternoon was over, I had already researched businesses in my area that could restore the rim to its pristine condition.  Appointments have been made.

I’m not sure I can explain the need to set things right again, but some of that is in all of us.  Maybe it’s in our spiritual DNA.  For surely our Heavenly Father is the same way, not about cars, but about persons.  It goes something like this…  Often, we make bad choices.  We make mistakes.  We err.  We sin.  We disobey.  And suddenly our once bright and shiny lives contain an ugly scrape.  We are not as pure as we once were.  We are not as clean, and maybe not as presentable.  But whenever we see ourselves as unclean, or marred, or even unworthy, we are looking through the wrong set of eyes.  When viewed through the eyes of the Father, there is no guilt or shame, only the rush to make things new again.  Where we might see only the mistake, the Father sees only the joy that will come when everything is restored again.

It bothers God whenever we see ourselves as less than He created us to be.  He does not want us to languish or live under a load of remorse or failure.  He stands in the driveway, with a hose in hand, waiting to help us remove all the grime that life has forced us to carry.  Before we can even begin to unpack our shame, He is in the process of wiping it all away.  He longs to set things right again.  1 John 2:2 states, “Jesus himself is the sacrifice that atones for our sins – and not only our sins but the sins of all the world.”  Before you even realize the gravity of your mistakes, God is in the process of renewal.  Make no mistake, our sins always represent failure and they grieve the heart of God.  But God never sees “us” as failures.  He longs for restoration and wholeness.    Remember that there is a commonality to our humanity.  All of us… all of us, will make mistakes.  We will experience our share of bumps, bruises, and scrapes along the way.  Admittedly, it’s hard for us to see anything but the ugly deeds that have destroyed our self-image.  But God does not dwell on the scrape, but on the beauty that is to be revealed when all things are made new.

I’m looking forward to getting my rim repaired.  I will take care of that as soon as I can.  But what will be important moving forward, is that I have learned from my mistake.  If I am wise, I will remember what I did and will make a better decision in the future.  I hope I don’t have to make the same mistake twice, or even a third time.  Because we are human, and flawed, and fragile, we will make some mistakes.  The real tragedy is not that things get broken, but that they don’t get mended.  God is gracious.  He will forgive our sinful deeds.  His grace is dependent on His generosity, not our worthiness to claim it.  And hopefully, once we have traveled the journey from guilt to grace, from brokenness to renewal, we will learn from our mistakes.  Genuine repentance sets us off in a new direction.  We can be better.  We can make better choices.  But whenever the next scrape comes along… and it will… be reminded that God will be in a rush to make things new again.

It was starting to spit a little snow when Tim Wilson walked out to start packing his pickup for the trip home.  Tim was working as a waiter in a downtown Nashville restaurant and had to wait until Christmas Eve morning to start his trek home to Spencer, WV.  He wanted to leave the night before as soon as he got off work, but his mother insisted that he get a little rest before embarking on the 7-hour drive home.  Spencer, WV is a tiny town nestled among the mountains of West Virginia, about 2 hours northeast of Charleston.  Tim had grown up in Spencer and his parents, along with his younger sister, still lived in the small community.  Tim had grown up with a love of Bluegrass music and had learned to play the banjo.  Like many other aspiring musicians, he moved to Nashville in hopes of making it big with a country band.  He was still waiting for his “big break,” but while he “pounded the pavement” of Broadway looking for his shot at fame and fortune, he worked part-time as a waiter to pay his rent and utilities.  He hadn’t been home since late summer.  He promised his mother that he would be home for Christmas and he intended to keep that promise.

He turned up the collar on his jacket against the biting cold of the winter wind that was blowing through Nashville.  An artic blast was covering much of the eastern United States.  There was even talk of a winter storm possibly making its way through the region, but most of the weather folks believed it would stay well to the north.  “Be sure to fill-up and pack some blankets,” his father had advised, “just in case you get into a situation… you just never know.”  Tim had heard that speech a dozen times before and at first, he had blown off his dad’s counsel, but at the last minute he grabbed his heavy coat and a blanket. Afterall, the temperature had really dropped overnight and maybe taking a little extra precaution wasn’t a bad idea.

After loading the pickup, Tim made a couple of final trips in and out of his apartment to grab the presents he had bought for his parents and sister.  He made sure they were secure and wouldn’t get squeezed during the trip.  With everything ready to go, he fired-up his trusty F-150 and eased out of the apartment parking lot.  He checked the time.  It was just past 7 a.m., but already 8:00 a.m. in Spencer.  With some holiday luck and not much traffic, he would be home by late afternoon… maybe even before dark.  Before pulling onto the interstate, he turned into the local Tiger-Mart near his apartment, to fill his tank and to grab a sausage biscuit for the road.  Traffic was light and he quickly made his way north of town hoping to get to Lexington before stopping.  He found a country station on the radio and sang along with all the familiar Christmas songs of the season.

By the time he got just east of Lexington, the snow began to fall.  At first it was just a light dusting, but before long, it became much heavier and soon made travel a little tricky.  The old F-150 seemed to handle it well enough, but traffic got slower and slower and Tim began to wonder if he would make it home before dark as he had hoped.  By the time he crossed the Kentucky – West Virginia line just east of Huntington, visibility was greatly reduced.  Even though it was still early afternoon, the snowfall had started to really pile-up and the traffic got increasingly slow.  Tim finally made his way into Charleston well after 4:00 p.m. local time.  He stopped and stretched and grabbed a burger at McDonalds.  A lot of the local places had already closed because of the weather and the fact that it was Christmas Eve.  Tim filled the tank for good measure and called his parents to tell them that he was running late.  “Don’t worry about me.  I will call back in a while and let you know how I’m making it.”

It was getting dark when Tim left Charleston.  On a good day, the trip home from Charleston was about a 2-hour drive, give-or-take a few minutes.  But it quickly became apparent that the journey was going to be a long, slow slog through the wet snow.  The fact that fewer and fewer cars were on the road, made Tim a little nervous about the weather.  He was relieved when he finally came to the Hwy 119 exit.  The rest of the trip would be on a two-lane winding road… not the best for snowy travel, but certainly a road that Tim had driven many times.

The weather continued to deteriorate.  The winds were howling and the snow was coming down at a very rapid rate.  Tim was starting to wonder if he was going to make it home in time for Christmas.  Because of the low visibility and snow-covered roads, Tim was only moving along at about 30 miles an hour.  There were times he could barely see the edges of the roadway.  He sometimes drove for miles without passing another car.  The more he thought about it, the more grateful he was for the heavy coat and blanket piled up next to him on the front seat.

It was after 8:00 p.m. and Tim still had a long way to go.  He pulled over to call his folks and tell them what was going on.  His mother told him to please be careful and that she was praying for him every minute until he walked into their house.  His father took the phone into another room, out of earshot from his wife.  He said to Tim, “Don’t press your luck, son.  If you find a place and you need to stop for the night, don’t put yourself in danger.  We would rather wait and see you tomorrow if it is too dangerous to keep driving.”  The problem was that old Hwy 119 had very few small towns or places to stay the night.  Tim was going to try to make it if he could.

About 20 minutes later, Tim saw some blue lights on the roadway in front of him.  A state trooper flagged him down.  “Road’s closed for the night,” he said.  There’s too much snow.  No one is going to run a plow until morning.  You have to turn around and head south again.  Sorry.”  Time was a little frustrated but relieved at the same time.  He remembered seeing a little roadside motel about 2 miles back.  He turned the pick-up around and slowly made his way back down the deserted road.  Before long he saw the lights and the neon “vacancy” sign out front of the motel.  His wheels slid a little on the slick pavement of the parking lot as he eased into a parking space near the front.  There were lights on inside and smoke was rising from a fireplace.  A couple of other cars were parked next to him, already piling up with snow.  The motel was a little Mom & Pop kind of place, called “The Wayside Inn.”  It looked a little dated.  It had an old-fashioned feel, but from the outside it seemed to be well-maintained, and after all, it wasn’t like he had other options.

A little brass bell attached to the door, rang loudly, announcing his arrival in the small lobby.  The lobby was clean and neat and looked inviting.  There was a front desk to the left and to the right was a seating area with several comfortable-looking chairs, an undecorated Christmas tree, and a brick fireplace with a roaring fire.  The warmth felt nice to Tim as he shook off some of the cold and felt himself relaxing after all the hours of nervous driving.  In the corner of the room sat an old record player, which was playing a vinyl record of Perry Como hits.  “That’s a little old school,” thought Tim.  About that time, a middle-aged man came walking out of an office behind the front desk.  “Good evening, young man, welcome to the Wayside Inn.  I’m Gabe.  What can I do for you?”  Tim began to tell his story.  “Well I was trying to make my way home for Christmas.  I was headed up toward Spencer but the road is closed and now I’m sort of stuck for the night.”  “Yeah, that storm really came on quickly.  I’m just glad you made it this far.  We will be glad to have you for the night.  We’ve got plenty of rooms.  You’ll be safe and warm here and hopefully the weather will clear and the plows can run in the morning so you can get on your way.”

It was then that Tim noticed the little “No Credit Cards Accepted – Cash or Check Only” sign sitting near the register.  “Who doesn’t take credit cards these days?” thought Tim.  He said to Gabe, “Mister, I’ve got a problem.  I only have about $30 in cash.  I was hoping to use my card.  If you will let me pay some tonight, I will bring you the rest in a few days when I come back through.  I promise I will.  I understand if you say no.  Maybe I could just sleep in one of your chairs out here in the lobby.  I will try to be out of your way first thing in the morning.”  Gabe was more than understanding.  “Young man, you don’t need to worry about a thing.  It’s Christmas Eve and you are going to be our guest for the night.  What kind of people would we be if we turned you out on a night like tonight?”

Tim was a little overwhelmed by the offer of generosity.  “Mister, I can’t take advantage of you, it wouldn’t be right.”  “No worries, son, I insist, or should I say, we insist.”  A lovely woman came walking out of the office.  “This is my wife, Hannah.  We’d love for you to be our guest for the evening.”  Hannah extended her hand and gave Tim a warm word of welcome.  “Have you had anything to eat?  We ate a couple of hours ago, but I have some leftovers you could have.”  Tim sheepishly said, “I don’t want to trouble you…” but his stomach was growling and that burger he had hours ago was long gone.  “I insist,” said Hannah, and she was off on her way to throw a few things together.  Gabe said to Tim, “I hope you like ham sandwiches.  Hannah makes a great sandwich on her special homemade sourdough bread.  I think you will like it.”  Tim said, “That sounds amazing… thank you so much.”

Tim asked to be excused for a moment… “I need to call my dad and mom and tell them that I’m okay and that I’m stuck for the night.  They will be disappointed, but relieved to know that I’m safe for the night.  Hopefully I can get home in the morning.”  Gabe replied, “Pay phone is out back if you need it.”  “Pay phone?” thought Tim, “who uses one of those anymore?”  “Thanks, I’ll just use my cell phone, I’ve got a weak signal, but I think I can get through.”  “Gotcha,” said Gabe, “I keep forgetting about those things.”  Tim wondered, “Who forgets about a cell phone?”

He was able to talk to his parents.  “I’m fine.  I’m just stuck.  I found a little motel on the side of the road.  They’ve got a room for me tonight and the owners are really nice.  They have even offered to make me a little supper. I’m sorry I will miss Christmas Eve, but hopefully I can get there before noon if the snow clears.”  Tim spoke with his parents for just a few more minutes.  His dad said, “I don’t remember even seeing a motel along that stretch of road, is it new?”  “No, nothing like that… in fact, it looks like it has been here for a long time.  I almost didn’t see it myself when I first passed by.”  They talked for a few more minutes before hanging up for the evening.

“I got a hold of my parents on the phone.  Everything’s good.  I told them I would see them in the morning,” said Tim to the owner.  “That’s good,” replied Gabe.  Now let’s get you settled in your room while Hannah fixes your dinner.”  Gabe led Tim down a short hallway to the first room on the right.  He opened the door for Tim and handed him the room key.  The key was attached to a large plastic key ring with the room number engraved on it.  “I’ll give you a minute to get settled.  Come on back to the lobby when you are ready.”

The room was small, but very cozy and clean.  The television was not the latest model and the bathroom fixtures looked a little dated, but all in all, Tim was very thankful for a decent place to stay the night.

When he got back to the lobby, Hannah had set up a little card table with Tim’s dinner.  She had spread a cloth on the table, along with a nice place setting, and a Christmas candle.  “This looks great!” said Tim.  “I just wanted you to feel at home,” said Hannah.  Tim, along with Gabe and Hannah sat down at the table while Tim ate.  They chatted and learned more about Tim’s family and his dream of playing music.  Finally, Gabe said, “I do have one favor to ask when you finish up.”  “Sure,” said Tim.  “What can I help you with?”  Gabe said, “One of our Christmas Eve traditions here at the Wayside Inn has always been the decorating of the tree.  If you don’t mind, could you help me get the decorations out of the attic and maybe string the lights?”  “I’d be glad to do so.  Just show me the way.”

While Tim and Gabe fetched the decorations, Hannah reset the table.  She put on a coffee pot and another pot for spiced tea.  She also put out some gingerbread cookies and some slices of homemade pie.  Tim was just amazed by it all.  Hannah said, “I’ve told the other guests to join us, if they would like to do so, for some refreshments and maybe a few Christmas carols.”  “Sounds great,” said Tim.  Within a few minutes, a couple of other folks made their way into the lobby.  They all took turns hanging ornaments on the tree and telling stories of Christmas.  From time-to-time, Gabe would change out the record on the record player.  He had some vintage Nat King Cole records and a few albums by Andy Williams.  The old records just seemed to fit the “vibe” of the old motel.

Hannah stood to her feet and announced it was time for some caroling.  The small group seemed to enjoy each other’s company and folks seemed eager to sing along.  Gabe looked at Tim and asked, “You didn’t happen to bring that banjo with you, did you?”  “As a matter of fact I did, but I’m not sure a banjo solo would sound too much like Christmas.”  “Just go and get it,” said Gabe.  Tim went back to his room to grab his instrument.  He brought it in earlier, not wanting it to get too cold in the truck overnight.  By the time Tim got back to the lobby, Gabe was holding a guitar and Hannah was tuning up a fiddle.  “What the heck?” said Tim.  He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  “You guys play?” he asked?  “Of course we do,” said Gabe.  “I thought we’d play a little bluegrass if that’s all right with you.  I mean, who doesn’t get happy with a little bluegrass?”  They had just started to do a little pickin’ when Tim discovered that Gabe and Hannah certainly knew what they were doing with their instruments.  They were really good.  Soon, the trio was playing all the classic bluegrass songs like they had been rehearsing for months!  The others in the lobby clapped their hands and tapped their feet.  The folks laughed and sang and enjoyed the time together.

As the night was winding down and the final Christmas cookies were being consumed, Tim said to Hannah, “When I stop back by next week on my way to Nashville, I’m going to bring you some of my mom’s cookies.  She makes these really good fruit cookies.  I know that sounds weird, but you will love them.  They’re great.  She also makes the best homemade cheese straws you have ever tasted.  I’ll bring some of those too.”  “That sounds great,” said Hannah, but don’t let her go to any trouble.”  “Any trouble!” said Tim, “She will be so grateful for the way you guys have taken me in for the evening.  She’ll probably bake a pie as well!”

Tim was packing away his banjo while Gabe was putting out the fire in the fireplace and turning off the Christmas tree lights.  “Hannah is expecting you to eat breakfast with us in the morning.  She makes a bacon and egg casserole that’s really good. I hope you will join us.”  “Of course I will,” said Tim.  “Sounds good,” said Gabe, “Hannah will be really glad.  Why don’t you come on down around 8 a.m. and then we will see about getting you on your way.”

Tim went back to his room, took a long hot shower, and climbed into bed.  As he drifted off to sleep, he thought about the blessings of the past few hours… a welcoming couple… good food… music, conversation, and laughter.  It was all so unexpected.  Who knew that Christmas Eve was going to be spent in a little Wayside Inn in the middle of nowhere, and in the company of strangers who now felt like family?  He quickly feel asleep and rested well all night.

When Tim stepped into the lobby at 8 a.m. the next morning, he noticed that the skies were clear and bright.  He also noticed that Gabe had already started a fire in the fireplace.  And… he could smell Hannah’s casserole as she carried it out to the makeshift dining table.  Tim, Gabe, and Hannah sat down together enjoying the food and each other’s company.  While they were eating, Tim heard a familiar “winter noise” for those growing up in West Virginia.  It was the sound of a snow plow rolling up Hwy 119.  “Give it about an hour for the sun to melt what’s left after the plow and you should be good to go,” said Gabe.  Tim simply nodded his head because his mouth was full of casserole.

A little while later, Tim packed up the pickup and said his final farewell to Gabe and Hannah.  “I can’t thank you enough.  You guys have been so kind to me.  Thank you for everything.  I’ll be back in about three days with the money for the room and those goodies from my mom.”  Gabe responded, “Let’s not worry about paying for the room.  You blessed us with your presence and with your music last night.  Let’s call it even, but do stop by with the cookies!”  They all laughed at Gabe’s remark.  After a final hug, Tim started the truck and pulled his way onto the road, headed for home.

For the next three days, Tim spent lots of time with his family in Spencer.  There was a lot of laughter, late-night card playing, movie watching, and gift giving.  It was good to be at home.  Tim’s dad was interested in hearing more about the Wayside Inn.  “We’ve been traveling that road for many years, I just don’t remember ever seeing the place,” he said.  Tim responded, “Well, it’s a small place and there is really nothing close to it… no gas stations or grocery stores nearby.  It looks like it has been there for a while.  I guess we just never noticed it before.”  Tim filled his parents in on all the details of his overnight stay and how kind Gabe and Hannah had been.  Tim’s mother was very grateful for the hospitality shown to her son and she put together a nice basket of things for Tim to drop off on his way back to Nashville. She made a fresh batch of the fruit cookies and put them in the basket.  She added a huge Ziploc bag of her famous cheese straws and a couple of fresh fried apple pies.  “You be sure these get to those kind folks.  I will fix you a bag of goodies for the trip as well, but make sure the basket gets to the folks at that motel,” said Tim’s mother.  Tim promised to do as he was told and looked forward to stopping in to check with Gabe and Hannah to give them his mother’s treats.  Tim’s dad pulled out a fresh $100 bill and told Tim to insist on paying for his room.  “They may not take it, but I want you to offer it.”  “Yes, sir,” said Tim, “I will.”

Tim loaded up the truck on the morning of the 28^th to begin the journey back to Nashville.  His boss from the restaurant had called to tell him they were expecting a large weekend crowd along with a big New Year’s Eve party.  Tim was needed, and was excited to learn that he would be making some overtime if he could work most of the weekend.  He gave all the members of his family a big hug and began the long trip back to Music City.  The weather was clear and crisp… plenty of sun and no precipitation in the forecast.  He was grateful for the sunshine and better day on which to travel.

As he made his way south on Hwy 119, he remarked how different everything looked in the light of day.  Most of the snow had melted over the past couple of days and there were more cars on the road.  When he got closer to the mile-marker where he had discovered the Wayside Inn, he slowed to let a couple of cars pass so he could watch carefully for the motel entrance.  He thought it was odd that there was no sign or advertisement along the road about the motel.  “I guess it’s been there so long that the folks around here just know about it,” thought Tim.  And yet he had trouble finding the place.  In fact, he knew he had gone a little too far and so he turned around and headed back North.  He finally came to a spot in the road that looked familiar from the snowy night, but all he saw was what looked to be an old, abandoned parking lot where something used to be.

He pulled into the vacant lot.  He saw what appeared to be the foundations of an old building that was long gone.  He got out of his truck and looked around for a moment.  Things just didn’t make sense.  He was pretty sure that he was in the right place… but there was no motel… no neon vacancy sign, no lobby or rooms… just an overgrown lot with the remnants of a building’s foundation.  He walked around for a bit, trying to collect his thoughts.  He noticed a smooth section of concrete in front of what looked to be an old doorway.  In faded letters painted on the sidewalk, he could barely make out the words, “Welcome to the Wayside Inn.”

Lots of questions raced through his mind.  “Am I even in the right spot?  Where is the motel?  Where are the people?  None of this makes any sense.  I was just here 3 days ago.”  While he stood there trying to sort out his thoughts, a state trooper’s vehicle pulled into the lot.  An officer stepped out of the car.  Tim recognized him as being the same officer that had stopped him a few nights ago and told him that the road was closed.  “Hey, I recognize you,” said the Trooper.  “Actually, I recognize your truck.  You’re the young man caught in the snowstorm on Christmas Eve.  I wondered later if you made it to a safe place for the night.  I’m glad to see you are ok.”  “I’m okay,” said Tim, “but I’m a little confused.”  He told the officer about finding the Inn and spending Christmas Eve with Gabe and Hannah.  He told him about the kindness of strangers, the decorating of the tree, and the great time of playing music and laughing the night away.

“Well, I don’t know where you think you spent the night, but it wasn’t here,” said the trooper.  There hasn’t been a motel here in a long, long time.  There used to be a small hotel, but the folks who ran the place retired to Florida and moved away… maybe 20 years or so ago.  I guess they still own the property, but it’s been like this for years.  The old place finally rotted down to the ground.”  Tim didn’t know what to make of what he was being told.  He just stood there, lost in his thoughts.  The trooper climbed back into his car.  “You okay, son?  You look at little dazed.”  “Yeah, I’m fine… I think,” said Tim.  The trooper sort of chuckled and said, “Maybe you were a part of a Christmas Eve miracle.  I mean, it’s happened before.   You hear stories sometimes about people getting helped in times of trouble.”   The trooper cranked his car, and rolled down the window.  “Maybe God was responding to your mother’s Christmas Eve prayer for your safety.  The prayer was answered, right?”  The thought just lingered for a moment in the air as Tim turned to walk back to his truck.  And then the thought hit him, as he suddenly turned around to ask,  “How did you know my mother was praying for me?  I don’t remember telling you about that…”  But just like the Wayside Inn, along with Gabriel and Hannah, the trooper and his car had seemed to vanish.  Tim scratched his head, leaned up against his Ford F-150, and started eating one of his mother’s fried apple pies…

______________

I can’t always explain the mysteries of God.  But I do know there are times when God intervenes directly in the lives of people, rescuing them from harm or protecting them from some danger.  Our prayers are sometimes answered with stunning clarity and miraculous intervention.  Maybe someone’s prayer for you kept you safe when you needed to be protected.  For nearly 400 years, the faithful people of God had waited and prayed for a light in the darkness of their world.  They prayed that The Messiah would come and their salvation would be manifest.  And their prayers were answered in a most unique way.  The King came in the form of a baby, born in a stable behind some wayside inn in the little village of Bethlehem.  The evening sky was filled with light as a thousand angels sang praises to God.  As you celebrate Christmas this season, may you we amazed by the wonder of it all, may your heart be full, and may your life be protected as if by the angels themselves.

Merry Christmas

 

 

The word “mandate” has certainly garnered a lot of attention recently.  No matter what direction you turn, someone is talking mandates… either arguing for the importance of a mandate or the “unfairness” of being told what to do.  And, in the difficult, polarized culture of 2021, people are using angry words and sharp rhetoric when the subject comes up.  Some insist that mandates are the only way to make people do the right thing for the common good.  They may be right.  When left to our own choices, most of us will let human nature and selfishness overtake our more noble selves.  Sometimes, we need an authoritative voice to prod us into moving in the right direction.

If you read the Scriptures carefully, you will discover a lot of mandates.  Jesus, Himself, put a few out there for our consideration.  When once asked about the greatest commandments, Jesus replied, “Love God and love your neighbor.”  That’s pretty clear cut.  In fact, Jesus also insisted that love would be the defining mark of the Christian faith… not pious rhetoric, not words of caustic condemnation, not demeaning insults, and not judgmental attitudes.  It’s about love.  That’s the mandate.  We are to love God and our neighbors.  The two mandates are connected.  How can we claim a love for God if we proclaim a disdain for our neighbors who have been carefully created in His image?  In fact, how we respond and love others is a direct indication of how well we really love God.  If we love others, then we are forced to act on their behalf, even if it means pushing aside some of our own agendas, thoughts, and opinions.  Christians really shouldn’t need a mandate to do the right thing.  The love of God deeply imbedded within us, should compel us to think of the greater good and how we best protect the members of our society.

But there is another mandate offered by our Savior.  His parting words, according to the Gospel of Matthew, were these: “Therefore, go and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Teach these new disciples to obey all the commands I have given you” (NLT). Jesus gave us a faith-sharing mandate.  Go and make disciples.  Go and teach the Gospel.  It’s a mandate… not a suggestion, not a back-burner issue, not a do-it-if-you-have-time kind of thing.  Most of us are certainly aware of this mandate, even if we don’t actively pursue it with the passion, attention, and energy that we should.  But here’s the problem… we sometimes fail to understand that the mandate to share our faith and the mandate to love others are inextricably linked.  Love must motivate us to share our faith with others.  Love demands that we care about those who live without knowing the hope-giving, life-offering message of the Gospel.  Love demands that we value every person on the planet and see them as people God longs to redeem.  If we preach or teach with angry words, condemning phrases, and condescending glances, will the Gospel ever go forward through our efforts?  If we ignore the plight of the poor, the injustice of the marginalized, and the abuse of the victimized, who will hear our voices?  It is not only understanding the mandate to share our faith, but it is also understanding the mandate to do so with love and authentic acts of kindness and respect.

From the perspective of the seeker longing to ask honest questions, starving to hear authentic voices, and desperately craving a sense of community, there are far too many angry, judgmental, hate-filled, fear-mongering, people filling the pews of our churches.  Sitting in a pew, holding a Bible, and singing praise songs doesn’t make a church-goer a Christian.  It’s deeper than that.  It’s a faith in who Jesus is.  It’s a set of core values that govern behavior.  It’s a love that stretches far beyond political ideologies, personal opinion, and tribal rhetoric.  Maybe the wrist bracelet someone ought to produce is not one asking, “What would Jesus do?”  But one that proclaims, “What does love demand?”

Love is patient and kind.  It is not arrogant or rude.  It does not insist on its own way, but rejoices with the truth. Sometimes, we need an authoritative voice to prod us into moving in the right direction.  May each of us hear the mandate of our Lord who surely expects more of His followers.

Since the beginning of the pandemic, wearing a mask has been the number one preventative measure in slowing the spread of COVID.  Unfortunately, the topic became highly politicized and tensions arose across the nation between those who were committed to protecting themselves and others by wearing a mask, and those who chose to ignore the dangers.  Families, communities, and even churches have been bitterly divided over the topic.

As recent CDC guidelines have relaxed, more and more Americans have welcomed the ability to take off their masks when it is safe to do so.  Here on the University campus where I work, mask restrictions have been relaxed for those who are fully vaccinated.  The first day that the new policy went into place I took a stroll across campus.  It was relaxing to do so without my usual mask.  It’s been interesting to me however, to discover the self-reluctancy I and others feel about not wearing a mask in a store, restaurant, or gas station.  Even though the science says that it is safe to do so as a fully vaccinated person, it is still going to take some time to ease off the practice of always having one on.

I have found it ironic, however, that the more we were advised to wear a mask, the more “unmasked” we became as a nation.  The tensions and pressures of this past year told us a lot about ourselves and the things we believe.  What has been “unmasked,” or “revealed,” about who we are is indeed frightening.  Countless times I have heard people say when seeing a troubling incident, “We are better than this.  This is not who we are.”  The reality is that “This is indeed who we are.” We were just hoping that we were better.  Here is a list of some of the things our unmasking has revealed.

We learned that we are not a Christian nation.  For generations we have labored under the delusion that America is a Christian nation… founded on Christian principles and founded by Christian leaders.  And yet, much of the past year has unmasked how un-Christian we really are.  The Christian faith calls each of us to a high standard.  We are to live in love, respect, and compassion.  We should care about our neighbors.  We should seek the welfare of others.  We should model the love of Christ.  And yet the past year has seen Christians act in a number of profoundly un-Christian ways.  We have screamed obscenities at each other on social media.  We have chosen a fierce independence that says, “No one can tell me what to do,” rather than regard the needs and consider the fears of others.  We have cared more about protecting our rights than we have in protecting the rights of us all.  When we were in a position to model Christian citizenship, compassionate care, and peaceable dialogue, we failed the test.  Many put politics above discipleship.  Many believed that it was okay to sacrifice the “good of the nation” in the pursuit of individual rights.  Surely, we have done irreparable damage to the Christian influence in our nation.  My fear is that we are Christian in name only.  True “Christ-centered” people should respond differently than many have responded.  Millions are leaving the church and it is easy to understand why.

We also learned that racism is alive and well.  When George Floyd was murdered in Minneapolis, people demonstrated all across the nation and even across the world.  The ugly head of hatred was revealed once again. The frustration and anger were understandable.  People of color have continued to face unfair challenges, violent treatment, and any number of social inequities.  To deny that systemic racism doesn’t exist in our nation is a whitewash of reality.  In the summer of 2020, in the midst of the frustration and heat of that moment, I tweeted out a message indicating that every pastor in every pulpit should take on the issue of racism.  I even suggested, “Saying black lives matter does not mean that all other lives don’t.  It is a hope that black lives will matter as much as all other lives.”  A pastor in Georgia, whom I had once mentored in ministry, attacked me publicly on Facebook.  He said that if I was advocating that someone preach any Gospel other than the Gospel of Christ that I must be a heretic.  A few days later he posted this message on his Facebook page: “African-Americans in this nation should be grateful for slavery.  If it was not for slavery, most blacks would still be in Africa and would not enjoy the privileges and status that they now enjoy in America.”  I wonder if a person of color ever chose to join his congregation, if they would count that person as 3/5 of a member.

We also learned that we are as sheep led to the slaughter.  What has been troubling to me is the fact that so many well-educated individuals can be so easily led astray.  It is remarkable how quickly minds can be overtaken and thoughts diluted.  Certain media outlets and certain political leaders have been masterful at offering disinformation and distorted realities.  Many leaders bought into the notion that if you tell a lie loud and long enough, eventually it will become the accepted truth.  The “Big Lie” is only a part of the truth decay that has occurred in our nation.  Rather than follow science, we have listened to misguided opinion.  Rather than think for ourselves, we have allowed others to tell us how to think.  Rather than seek balanced reporting, we have “pulled the knobs off of our channel selector” and allowed ourselves to drink in whatever our favorite propaganda machine told us to believe.  People have blindly played “follow the leader” while certain leaders were leading them down a road of deceit, greed, and lawlessness.  Much of the violence that is currently being perpetuated against Asian-Americans is a direct result of one leader referring to COVID as the China virus.  And even now, as the clear and miraculous answer to the pandemic comes into focus with the development of very effective vaccines, some have bought into the deception that vaccines are unneeded and potentially harmful.

Finally, we also learned that right-to-life “concerns” end at birth.  There is a vast number of people in America who supported the previous administration because of promises made to fill the Supreme Court with conservative judges who would hopefully overturn Roe vs. Wade.  Many continue to view eliminating abortion as the single most important battle to be fought in our country.  And yet, those who call themselves “Pro-life” continue to support the death penalty, the reduction of Medicare benefits, the elimination of unemployment support, the lack of support for public schools, affordable housing and medical care, as well as other programs which could benefit the poor and marginalized members of our society.  We care for the unborn, but not for the children and adults those unborn babies grow up to become.

Yes, we have been unmasked, revealed, and exposed.  Where do we go from here?  The answers are not easy nor quickly offered.  My suggestion is that it starts with each of us.  We must envision a better nation, comprised of better people.  People who will care about others.  People who will seek the welfare of all citizens.  People who will love abundantly, forgive lavishly, and hope longingly.  People who will love their neighbors with the same intensity with which they love themselves.  If we dream of being a Christian nation, then it must start with our resolve to be Christian in thought, attitude, and action.

Jon R Roebuck

The God Box

How we craft, protect, and abuse the space we create for God, theology, and others

Most of us have had some experience in constructing a box.  Whether we are folding a cardboard box along the preset guidelines or tacking together a flower box for the backyard using some leftover lumber, we know what it means to put a box together.  There is a bottom, four sides, and maybe a top.  Our attempt is to make it sturdy, secure, and able to hold a few things.

Whether we are conscious of it or not, all of us are in the process of constructing a God Box.  A God Box is how we attempt to contain our view of God, our theology, our experiences, and our thoughts about how God works in our world.  Knowing that we can never fully contain an almighty, infinitely complex, and loving God, we at least attempt to put arms around our idea of who He is, how He works, and what His plans are for our lives.  Into the box goes our “caught and taught” theology, our life experiences, our morality, our judgment, our world view, and our sense of righteousness.  It’s our personal theology, our personal interpretation, and our personal viewpoint on how things ought to be.

The materials that form our God Box have been swirling around us for most of our lives.  The Box is defined by the voices we heard while young, the preachers who offered their sermons, the teachers who taught us, and the families who raised us. It is further defined in real time by the social media that bombards us, the books we read, the co-workers who labor with us, the neighbors who opine with us, and the day-to-day experiences that shape who we are.  There are certainly similarities to our various boxes, or our images of God, but each box is also individualistic.  Though we would not say it out loud, most of us believe our box to the be the “right” box, the one with the most correct answers for all of life’s questions.  We like our boxes and feel a little threatened by the presence of other’s boxes which are not exactly like ours.

Let me tell you a little about my box.  I was raised as a Baptist in the Deep South.  The pieces that comprise my box first emerged in that context.  My box has a personal, loving Heavenly Father who listens to all my prayers and who forgives my sins.  He grants me salvation through a relationship with His son, Jesus Christ.  God calls me to love my neighbors, to be hospitable to a fault, to forgive, and to affirm the worth of all people.  Good box, right?  In my box is also a belief in heaven and hell.  I affirm the existence of angels.  I see the image of God in both male and female.  I think racism is wrong and the marginalization of any person because of economic status, skin tone, language, sex, place of origin, or ethnicity is also wrong.  The God in my box tells me to care for the widow and orphan and to welcome the stranger.  The God in my box tells me that worship is vital, Scripture is authoritative, and that prayer is an essential daily task.  My box contains an open Bible that hopefully lends itself to an open mind.

We construct our boxes well and defend them with tenacity.  But then something comes along that seeks to upset the balance of our box.  Is there room for a new thought?  Is the box forever closed?  Can we pivot on an issue or on a carefully guarded stance?  I see people’s boxes get broken open all the time.  I remember when people once argued that divorced persons were on the outskirts of grace and didn’t have much of a place in the life and work of the church.  I remember when women were second class members who couldn’t teach or preach.  I remember when a member of the gay community “came out” that it meant being “put out” of the church.  I recall a day when other denominations were to be avoided because of their heretical stances on some fine point of polity and practice.  Move the conversation forward.  Now we wonder if our box should hold space for Republicans or Democrats, anti-vaccers, or reluctant mask wearers.  Is there room for the Right to Life crowd or the Pro Choice folks?  Do we have room for other races, other languages, and other faiths in our box?  What do we do with those who still claim a faith but have rejected the church?  What do we do with those who can’t speak English, or those who have recently immigrated?  What do we do with people who claim Black Lives Matter or those who claim that such lives don’t?  Constantly our boxes are being challenged. 

Sometimes we look at another person’s box with a judgmental eye and suggest that their box is filled with the wrong stuff… the wrong thoughts… the wrong theology.  And what’s worse, is that we are so threatened by those who think differently, that we can’t wait to point fingers at them and tell them why their box is so poorly constructed.  (Just take a look at the way Christians spew vitriolic, hate-filled rhetoric on social media, believing that judging others is their birthright). And, sometimes we are so threatened by someone else’s viewpoint, that we seek to destroy their box and maybe even their lives.  A lot of really bad things have come about throughout history by those who insist on the supremacy of their box over all others.  What’s crazy is that we somehow believe that God himself would enjoy the box we have created for Him to inhabit more than He would any other box.

I must admit that this process of creating a God Box is a work in progress.  Along the way I have had to learn a few things… some new perspectives, some new insights, and maybe some new theology.  I find myself deconstructing my box and then building it all over again, only to know that something else will come along that will make me revisit the process time and again.  I’d like to think that my box is a little bigger than it used to be.  I want to believe that I have grown in someways and that my box has grown with me.  I would also like to think that my box is more tolerant, more accepting, and more loving as I grow older.  Like yours, my box has both condemnation and grace competing for precious space.  As I travel on, it is my hope that grace will become so abundant that condemnation and judgment will have no more room to dwell.

While recently reading the Gospel of Mark, I came across the passage in chapter 2 when Jesus first called Matthew into discipleship.  Matthew was a tax-collector, considered to be the worst of sinners in the eyes of the religious establishment.  Within a day or so, Jesus was discovered sharing a meal with other tax-collectors who were intrigued by His acceptance and teachings.  The “church crowd” questioned why Jesus would allow himself to eat with “those kinds of people.”  You see the problem.  Their God Box excluded such people and condemned those who didn’t share their viewpoint.  Like the teachers of the first century, sometimes our boxes hold the wrong attitudes and thoughts.

So maybe it’s time for all of us to take a close look at our God Box.  Maybe nothing needs to change.  But then again, maybe everything needs to change.

Jon R Roebuck