Friendship

You don't get to choose your family. By Providence or by Chance, or some combination thereof, you are born into a tribe that shares your blood but, as you age, not necessarily your values.

And that is where the power and purpose of friendship comes in. Friends can become family. In this sense, spirit (that is the spirit that brings people together as friends) can be thicker than blood.

It's no lie to say that without my friends I would be...or not be. My faith in God has been kept afloat more often by friendship than by the Eucharist, the Lord's Supper. Or so I am inclined to believe. For me, friendship has become a sacrament instituted by God and blessed by our brother Jesus. Friendship is the physical sign of God's invisible grace.

Thanksgiving

The Thanksgiving holiday is upon us. And we are called to be grateful. Each of us. Grateful for the blessings in our lives.

I am more grateful to God than ever before. Sometimes it takes a little hell to be thankful for heaven. The little hell might be physical pain or emotional pain or financial pain or spiritual pain. Might be depression or bankruptcy.

But hopefully the little bit of hell ends as the night gives way to dawn. And in the dawn, facing the rising sun, we offer  to God prayers of gratitude for the passing of the night and the rebirth of hope.

Becoming a Father

From the beginning of the Genesis to the end of Revelation, the phrase, “Do not be afraid,” is consistent. In Genesis, when the Lord first condescends to Abram, the Lord says, “Do not be afraid.” When the angel comes to Mary in the gospel of Luke, the angel says, “Do not be afraid.” Not submitting to fear is a lesson taught over and over in Holy Scripture. Living a deep and meaningful life requires us to summon unusual courage. Becoming a father, or mother, is no different.

It happened like this:

Our favorite nurse met us at the door. Your mother settled into bed. The bed was surrounded by wires and hoses and machines. The labor began. Real labor. Five hours of it. And never once did your mother have pain medication. Not even an aspirin. She wanted to have you naturally.

That's where I came in. Or so I was told. I coached your mother. I helped her focus, relax, and breathe. So much of life is like that: focus, relax, and breathe. Five hours of hard labor and she breathed through the entire ordeal. Breathed through the pain and the exhaustion. Breathed through her fear.

It was beautiful. The room was dark, except for one small light. Music of the Taize Community in France softly played in the background. “Lord hear my prayer, Lord hear my prayer...”

The midwife arrived and your mom pushed. You began to emerge. First the crown of your head, wet and brown. I was dumbfounded. Then your face, red with eyes closed. Then, quite suddenly, you wiggled out. I was awestruck. Your birth was the greatest thing I had ever seen.

Immediately after you emerged, the midwife, staring into my eyes, asked, “Dad what do we have?” “A son,” I replied. “A son.” And these words, dear William, are two of the most sacred words I've ever spoken. “A son.” It was 5:37 AM. And not a day goes by that I don't thank God for you.

Happy Birthday.

Certainty

Is there a place for smug self-certainty in the face of the grand mystery called God? Is there a place for snide confidence in claiming only one interpretation of a biblical text? How can anyone, with a shred of humility, dare say that THEY KNOW THE ABSOLUTE TRUTH about each and every Christian claim or each and every sentence in the Bible?

Humble God

I swing quietly in the hammock and listen to the leaves fall from the trees. Some of the leaves hit my head, my arms, my feet. The wind carries a few of them over the fence. And for a moment nothing moves—not the wind or leaves. Not even a dog barks. The ocean, three blocks away, is also quiet.

The stillness is thick with energy, with a feeling of God. God moving around me and the trees, overhead, beneath, on all sides. A force unseen but intuited. And I wonder, why is it that such a grand force as God prefers to remain unseen? Why is God so inconspicuous, so subtle, so humble?

Community

Walking east towards the bay, the wind blowing through the narrow stone streets of St. Augustine, I happened upon a young vagabond couple and their infant son. The couple wore no shoes, their hair dreaded, as they peddled bright surrealistic paintings rendered on cardboard roughly torn from boxes found in dumpsters.

They are intentional in their lives, I admit, however different. They are intentional about living in a van, “off the grid,” as they said. Living day to day, no time clocks, credit scores, taxes to be paid.

Nice enough people. Friendly. But I found myself wondering about their young child and the future that they may be unintentionally creating for him. I wondered about their lack of community and how without community I would not be who I am.  

I thumbed through their paintings but none were quite my style. I left the couple and their baby and kept walking towards the bay, more firmly believing that we have been created by God for community.

Pizza or Where is the Love?

Picking up my pizza on Halloween I struck up a conversation with the owner, a gentle man, who happens to be from Afghanistan. A Muslim.  Two kids. He and his wife are trying to make it all work in America. And it is, mostly. But there is hostility. Not a lot. But any hostility is too much hostility.

And the hostility generally comes from Christians. It’s an oxymoron. Hostile-Christians. And so I confessed: “I am a Christian. A pastor, actually. And I apologize for my brothers and sisters who have been hostile to you and your family.”

And I left with my hot cheese pizza and wondered silently, “Where is the love?”