Where Faith Comes to Life

Christians have a reputation, and it's not always a good one.

Let's be honest, Christians do a lot of good in the world every day, but we also spend a lot of time fighting over tiny theological ideas, philosophical positions, and practical applications. We have a tendency to evaluate judge others' faiths based on our own subjective and biased criteria. At the end of the day, though, that's not what Christianity is about.

I've spent the last two days watching the local news coverage of this flooding disaster in Columbia and around South Carolina. Where my wife and I live, we were very fortunate. We had flood waters--lots of water--but our home stayed dry, our power stayed on, and our water continued running. Just across town, which in Columbia is less than 10 minutes away from us, the story is very different. The rains built up and caused an important dam to break, unleashing water on huge sections of the city. Muddy, unsanitary water poured into people's houses, completely covered cars, and destroyed businesses. Entire sections of road and bridges were washed away as if they never existed. Families were displaced and spent the night (and for some, more nights to come) in local high school gyms and church fellowship halls. Just a few hours ago, another dam broke and the same area of town that saw 6+ feet of water the first time may be in store for even more flooding. It's devastating. It's crazy. It's humbling.

Where is God in all this?

This weekend has reminded me of a truth I know, but often forget: God isn't in our theology. God isn't in our political opinions. God isn't even in our good intentions. God is God.

Now, don't misunderstand where I'm going with this. I do NOT think God caused this flood as some kind of divine act of retribution. In fact, I don't think God caused this flood at all. Weather is part of the world I believe God created (however that process unfolded), but weather is a natural occurrence that comes as a result of both the total creation AND our decisions in how we've treated that creation.

That being said, God IS present in this disaster.
-God shows up in the first responders who risk their lives to keep the heart of their community beating.
-God shows up in the people who evacuate neighbors with their boats.
-God shows up in the donations people make to the Red Cross relief shelters.
-God shows up when churches, schools, and recreation centers open their doors for the displaced.
-God shows up in the neighboring states that have already offered and sent help, as well as the help that is to come.
-God shows up when communities unite to rebuild and rebound as one.
-God shows up in the prayers offered by people all over the world for Columbia and the state of South Carolina.

God is here. God will not be ignored. It's the human, theological easy way out to blame God for disasters. It's the way of God to be present from start to finish when disasters occur, whether we acknowledge that presence or not.

I hate this weekend for the city I've called home for the last two-and-a-half years, but I know these people, and I know we'll all come together to participate in the rebuilding. I can't wait to see God show up in transformational ways that transcend theology, political opinions, or personal comfort zones.

We build our faiths around theology because it gives us a handle to hold and helps us make sense of what we see and experience. I love theology. It's far and away one of my favorite things to read and study. Goodness knows I have plenty of theological opinions. At the end of the day, however, Christianity is bigger than that. God is definitely bigger than that.

I know God is here. I know God weeps with us. I know God is excited for the unity and love and compassion and selflessness that has already been shown and will continue to be shown. This is where faith comes to life.




Please pray for the city of Columbia and for the state of South Carolina. As of the writing of this post, 9 families will never be the same because of tragic flood-related fatalities. The city and surrounding counties will be rebuilding for years to come.

If you'd like to help in a more tangible way and are unable to travel to do relief work, please consider donating to the Red Cross or United Way of the Midlands.

Click here for lots more pictures.

A Shift in Perspective: Detective of Divinity

For a few summers in high school and early college, I worked for a professional painter. He and his business partner taught me all the tricks to painting ceilings, trim, cabinets, rolling walls, and more. I enjoyed these summers, made good money for that stage of life, and gained my only useful real life skill (there's generally not much demand for a philosopher and theologian...).

My training as a painter also means that I see the world differently from most people. When I walk into a room, I have a tendency to notice places where the paint is messed up. Scuff marks, drips, roller marks, bleeding. I see it. I was trained to see those things and to correct them. My perspective has been changed by my experiences as a painter.

I think about this altered perspective from time to time, usually when I catch myself thinking about the paint job in my apartment or someone's house (I promise I'm not judging!). Recently, however, this altered perspective came to mind because of something else.



Last week was our annual Youth Summer Mission Trip. A team of youth and adults traveled to Atlanta to partner with several churches and to do ministry alongside them. On Monday, we had the privilege of working with Mercy Community Church, a church of a couple hundred that meets in a local homeless shelter on Sundays and Wednesdays and has their own space on Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays. A majority of their congregation is made up of people facing homelessness.

Our youth arrived as the folks at Mercy were serving and eating breakfast. We parked the buses, and I walked in first to find Pastor Chad, our contact at Mercy. I was wearing older khaki shorts, t-shirt, hat, and my backpack (which is pretty raggedy after summers of camp and dozens of youth trips). Immediately, I was welcomed by folks in the community, offered coffee and breakfast, and even had someone offer his chair to me. These weren't volunteers, pastors, or mission team kids offering radical hospitality. This intentional welcome was offered to me, a new person walking into their community, by people struggling with homelessness. It was pretty amazing.

Once I found Chad, he came out to speak to our group. He explained they are not a shelter, soup kitchen, or a service. They are a church. He told us about their mission and their hopes and their congregation. We were going to be with them from 8:30 in the morning until about 2:00 in the afternoon. During that time, we had one job: hang out with people.

And hang out we did. Were we invited in for their prayer time, worship time, Bible study, and art class. We were offered coffee and breakfast. We had meaningful conversation. We learned names and stories and faces. We went with them out into the streets to serve lunch to folks on a couple corners who were hoping to get day labor work (a system of "employment" straight out of the Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard from Matthew 20:1-16).

I have many stories from our time at Mercy, which I'll be happy to share, but the one that relates to this post is about a shift in perspective. After eating lunch on the sidewalk with folks hoping for a few hours of work, we all walked back to their building. On the way, I talked with Pastor Maggie--she and Chad are co-pastors there--about the realities of living on the street.

At one point, we stopped walking and she pointed to a portion of the city block along Ponce de Leon Avenue in the Poncey-Highland neighborhood of Atlanta. "What do you see?" she asked.

I replied with a few things.

-An abandoned, boarded up old hotel.
-A restaurant I'd be interested in trying.
-Very little parking.

She stopped me. You know what we see? ("We" is how she referred to folks in the homeless community because, for her, all people are included in the "us" and "we"--there is no such thing as "them" or "other.")

"We see a water spigot on the side of the restaurant we can use to fill up our water bottles. We see a narrow alleyway behind that abandoned hotel where we could sleep without worrying about being seen. We also know the Publix down the street will let us in to use the bathroom, as long as we don't bring all of our bags in with us." She listed more.

I didn't know what to say. We were both staring at the same portion of the block and our eyes and minds focused on completely different things. I've always thought I have a pretty healthy understanding of homelessness, the negativity of city gentrification, and the importance of services offered (from churches, non-profits, and the government alike). And, yet, I was looking right at the building and didn't catch the presence of a water spigot. I would initially see the narrow alley as a place to avoid. If I need a restroom, I'd be allowed to use the one in the restaurant where I might be eating one day.

Living on the streets changes your perspective out of necessity. As one member of the community put it, "Each day is about survival." They told us the story of a homeless man sharing his only other pair of socks with a guy he didn't know because the clothes closet had run out of socks and this man's need was immediate. I have way more than two pairs of socks, and I have a drawer to put them in.

Now, the point here is not to instill guilt (though if feelings of guilt come, perhaps we would all do well to sit and listen to those...). The point here is to talk about a change in perspective.



What would happen if we trained ourselves to see God in the same way I notice paint or the members of Mercy Community Church see the world outside? Instead of waiting for God to smack us in the head with something huge, how can we train ourselves to see God's work and love and grace in small ways every day?

I had a professor in seminary who would talk about ministers being "Detectives of Divinity." It was a little funny phrase used to make this exact point about perspective shift, and clearly, it is not exclusive to ministers. I love this phrase, but it's now occurred to me that my interpretation of it was too passive. Being a Detective of Divinity is an active process. To get the conversation going, I've listed several ways we can become better detectives of God in the world around us (keep in mind, I'm working hard to be better at these things myself):

1.  Training. First and foremost, we have to train ourselves to see life differently. "A person's a person, no matter how small" is a famous line from the Dr. Seuss book Horton Hears a Who! The phrase has become a bit cliche now, but it's still very true. There's a fine line between common sense and profiling, and I won't pretend to know where that falls, but if we always cross the street to avoid walking past a homeless person or if we always lock our doors when someone we don't know is near, we're making judgments about people that are often unfair. If we can get our minds and our hearts to see ALL people as human beings with real lives, stories, histories, families, needs, hopes, dreams, skills, and talents, then our perspective will begin to change immediately.

2.  Expectations. Do we expect to see God or are we just hoping God shows up and smacks us in the face with something important? When I was a kid, my dad got a new-to-us car. It was an Oldsmobile SUV called a Bravada. I had never heard of these cars before. Shortly after he got his, however, I began to see them everywhere! I now noticed Bravadas at every stop light, in every parking lot, and on every roadway. My expectations of cars had changed, and now, instead of overlooking them like before, these random SUVs jumped out at me. I noticed them as if they were glowing in the dark. If we expect to see God everywhere we go, in everything we do, and in every person we meet, our perspective will change. God is there, we just have to be looking.

3.  Action. There are times when it is our turn to take action and to be the presence of God for someone else. Have you ever had a really good idea and started to say, "Someone should do..." only to realize that someone is you? God calls each of us, but those callings are as different as snow flakes. Sometimes we need to be the ones to show God to the world.

4.  Listen. We all have to listen to each other. If you know me, you're well aware that I have opinions. Goodness, do I have opinions. There are definitely times I need to be better at genuinely listening to other people. That said, as a straight white male, I absolutely-for-sure-without-a-doubt-always have to be listening to the voices of white women, black men, black women, the Latino/a community, the LGBTQ+ community, Rabbis (and Jewish friends), Imams (and Muslim friends), and every single other person I ever encounter who is different from me (and yes, that also includes some other straight white men, though I tend to take those voices with a grain of salt--as you should do with my voice, except for this one point, this point is a good one...).

It's easier to reflect on someone else's differences in perspective than it is to change our own perspective. It's also easier to write down a few of the steps to becoming a better Detective of Divinity than it is to actually do it. I make no claims to be proficient at this, but I'm willing to put in the work. I hope you'll consider joining me on this journey.

Celebrating Gram

Over the years, I've written a lot of things for a lot of reasons. This week, I wrote my first eulogy, which I delivered today at my grandmother's funeral. Surprisingly, it wasn't that difficult to write because she lived a full life with lots of depth. I do find it strange, however, to take on a more official ministerial role within my family. Today was a long day, but a good day. It was a day of celebration for Bettie Tinnin Dean.

What follows is my eulogy for Gram. Gram, you will be missed.

If you knew Bettie Dean, who I always knew as Gram, you’ve probably seen one of these books.

This is a word search puzzle book. Gram, especially in the last few years, loved word search puzzles. On each page of the book is a jumbled collection of random letters. The goal with these puzzles is to study the group of letters and to search for words. As you look at these letters, patterns begin to emerge.

In many ways, our lives are like that. When you look back over someone’s life, the first thing you see is a jumbled collection of letters—relationships, jobs, meals, vacations, and everything else we spend our time doing. The more you look, however, the more patterns begin to emerge from that group of life’s letters.

What I want to do today, as we remember and honor the life of Gram, Bettie Tinnin Dean, is to circle some of the words you might find in a word search about her life. As I go, you may think of your own words to describe her. These words lead to stories and memories and a legacy.

As you look through the word search of Gram, you’ll see the words “travel,” “crochet,” “Hallmark,” “read,” “shopping,” and “crafts.” But you’ll also see some words that remind us of the kind of person Gram was.

One of the first words I see, right across the top row, is “Consistent.” When a commitment was made, you could count on her to follow through. Whether it was her standing weekly appointment at the beauty salon or her regular rotation of restaurants or her stash of very specific candies, she was consistent through and through. Her consistency was built on her ability to be organized. Everything has a place. If you went into her house and moved something, even just a matter of inches, she would know. She had a way of keeping records and ledgers of times and dates and money like no one else. When our family was sharing stories, one was told about a time the IRS called and they were going to audit the family. Now, most typical people start to stress out, get worried, break into a sweat, but not Gram. The auditor shows up, Gram hands him her box of consistently updated and meticulously kept financial records, and after just a couple minutes of looking through her box the auditor says, “You don’t need an audit,” and leaves. Most people are thrilled to just pass an audit. Gram got a pat on the back and a compliment. Without a doubt, Gram was consistent.

Coming down off the word consistent in our word search is “Educated.” Gram earned a high school degree, but then went on and did something many women didn’t do in those days—she received a degree from the American Banking Institute. She worked for Durham Industrial Bank, served as Town Clerk for the city of Marshville, NC, and held other similar positions throughout the years. In fact, when she first met her eventual husband Carl at a banking conference, she had a better job than he did! We all meet a lot of educated people in our day to day lives, but something that set Gram apart was her desire to use this education and her gifts for the church. Consistently, there’s that word again, she worked as church treasurer or helped with the offering or organized the church’s financial ledgers. Her education wasn’t just something for her; it was something to be shared. It was a gift for the churches that she loved.

Down at the bottom of our puzzle, going backwards and diagonally, is the word “Strong.” When words are hard to find in a word search, they’re often important ones. Behind a humble, often quiet front, Gram was a strong person. She was tall compared to most ladies, and that became something of a measuring stick for her as her physical body began to shrink in later years and her grandkids all grew taller and taller. Beyond the physical side, Gram was strong inside. When her husband was sick and in and out of the hospital, she took care of him and their family through it all. Later, after her car was hit by a drunk driver in 1988, Gram lived the rest of her life in constant pain. Pain that was made worse by joint problems, surgeries, and accidents. Despite all that, she rarely complained and never wanted her physical limitations to impact those around her. Gram’s strength created a humility that allowed others to take center stage because her life and personal worth was built on more than just the approval of others. Even though she never made a big deal out of it, Gram was strong.

A big pattern that emerges in the word search of Gram’s life is centered around the word “Family.” If you keep looking, you’ll also find “daughter,” “wife,” “mother,” “grandmother.” Family was the center of the world for Gram. Two months before their first daughter Carla was born, Gram quit her career to keep family as the first priority. Later, when their kids got older, she went back to work because it was important to her to give her family the things she never had. A month before the birth of their first grandchild, Gram retired to make sure she was available for the needs of her family. Even up to her last days, she would tell stories about her grandkids. Sometimes, she would even tell me stories about myself while we talked on the phone. Usually, these stories centered on her grandson Jake, who was very intentional with his visits, especially after our grandfather died. I heard all about Jake’s golf career. I heard all about Mack’s work in college. I heard all about Sam’s animals. I heard all about Amanda’s travels. Gram loved her family, and she wanted everyone to know.

There are many other words in this word search about Gram, but the last one I will circle for you is the word “Faithful.” She was a faithful church attender from the time she was 12. Even after she reached the point where getting out was too difficult, she would watch the Methodist church on TV every Sunday. She taught 1^st grade Sunday School for decades and later moved into a teaching role with an adult women’s class. When I would visit Gram’s house, I would often sleep on the couch in the living room, which meant I was awake once Gram was awake and I would get to see her read her Bible every morning. If you were to listen closely, at night before she fell asleep, she would pray out loud from her bed.

It’s within her faith that all these words and more about Gram come together. She was consistent in her church attendance and expressions of faith. She was an educated Bible study leader and used her gifts in organization and finances to serve the church. She was strong enough to admit she needed God, especially when life presented obstacles. Her love for family extended to those in her church family. And she has been faithful through the journey.

At the end of her life, when she was in great pain, she could be heard repeating the phrase, “Help me, Jesus. Help me, Jesus.” That was more than a cry for pain relief; that was a cry for a savior. Gram was able to let go when she needed to because of the trust and faith she had in God, who would welcome her into the fold of eternal life.

Lives are more than a jumble of letters. Lives have patterns where important words emerge—words that highlight meaning. Gram’s life was more than a jumble of letters. Gram’s life was consistent, educated, strong, about family, and about being faithful to a savior.

If the word search of Gram had a subtitle, perhaps it would be this verse which she identified as one of her favorites:

Romans 8:38-39, “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

From Dust You Came, and to Dust You Shall Return

One of our younger youth stands in front of me, and we make eye contact as I say the phrase, "From dust you came, and to dust you shall return." I make the sign of the cross on his forehead with ashes from my thumb. He turns to go back to his seat and I look up to see who's next. Standing in front of me now is that youth's grandfather, a retired minister and someone to whom I often ask ministry questions and listen to his stories. In a short period of time, this man has become a sort of unofficial mentor for me, and now he's standing before me on Ash Wednesday. Somehow, I'm supposed to offer this man a reminder of his imperfection and impose ashes on him.

I have to confess, I didn't want to. It wasn't my place as an inexperienced minister to play that role in his life. I wanted to give him the bowl of ashes and switch spots with him. That, surely, would have been more appropriate.

A year has passed since that Ash Wednesday. In that time, I've learned a lot. I've grown. I've made mistakes. I've had good days. I've had bad days. And now here we are, back on Ash Wednesday again with me slated to impose ashes on folks for whom I have no business performing holy rituals. One thing is different, however. This Ash Wednesday, I am bringing a new perspective.

The irony of feeling inadequate as a young minister on Ash Wednesday was lost on me last year. Ash Wednesday, by design, highlights our inadequacies. Of course I'm not good enough to impose ashes. Of course I'm not holy enough to bring God into the lives of others. Of course I'm not pure enough to purify others. And that's the whole point of Ash Wednesday.

In my own ashes, I am reminded of my shortcomings, my mistakes, and my uselessness. By focusing my attention on these things, even for a time, I am better prepared to accept and marvel in the grace that God gives us each day, which culminates in the Easter experience.

Ash Wednesday reminds me of 2 Corinthians 4:7--"But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us." (NRSV)

It used to be, when people had something valuable and there weren't banks to put things in, the person would hide the item in a clay jar, so that it would blend in with other normal, unworthy things in the home. This was often the case with expensive perfume or spices. We are the clay jars and, for whatever reason, we have been chosen as vessels for some of God's "extraordinary power." While it's true God doesn't want us to simply blend in, the reality is we have about the same amount of power as a clay jar on our own.

Tonight, this clay jar will bring his imperfections to the front of the Sanctuary and go on a journey with other folks whom I respect, love, and admire. There are those younger than me who may look my way, just as I look at those who have traveled this road many times before. Ministers are not exempt from flaws, and on Ash Wednesday my flaws actually bring me closer to God.

From dust I came, and to dust I shall return.