In 2016, I Am Asking You This

John 3:30 "He must increase, but I must decrease".

First, to all of you armchair theologians, yes, using this as an instruction for all Christians is taking the passage WAY out of context. These words were spoken by John the Baptist, and apply specifically to his ministry. So please don't take what I am about to say as in any way superinterpreting Scripture.

Now, with that tidy little disclaimer out of the way, let me tell you that those words are NEVER wrong when spoken from the mouth of (or typed from the keyboard of, such as the case may be) a believing Christian.

So in 2016, I am asking you to think less of me. It is my goal that my words, my actions, and my thoughts become more closely conformed to those of Christ. That I become more of an image bearer, and more focused outwardly than inwardly.

Think less of me, and more of Christ. This is my admonition to you in the days and years to come. And I pray that my life be lived in such a manner as to make that much easier for you.

Blessings and peace in the coming year.

If We Make It Through December

WARNING: DO NOT READ if you feel that venting is the same as whining, or if you are inclined to condemn rather than console. I'm really not in the mood!

When I came to a saving faith in Christ back in 1988, I would describe myself as being a very enthusiastic convert. In the intervening years, a lot of the enthusiasm changed, but has not waned.

But right now, sitting here today, I am asking myself where the church is. Not just for me; my needs do not matter...but for the hurting world around me that we are called to serve.

I've heard miraculous stories of how someone was in need and that need was suddenly and inexplicably met by someone who didn't know them, or that need. I've heard that, but honestly rarely seen that. Yes, I have seen needs provided for, but never in the miraculous, mysterious manner we so often hear about. It is enough that I understand the skeptics' questioning the existence of God.

As I sit here typing this, we are in a world of turbulent financial uncertainty. We're planning a move, and we know that tax time is less than three months away (sooner, if our W2s get in time). But holidays and medical expenses have depleted our already lean emergency funds (our holiday spending was quite modest -- about $25 per person, but our shopping trip included an unexpected stay way from home due to some wild and unforecast weather....then the medical emergencies hit!)

But still, I know the God in whom I put my trust is able -- and I know that we will get through this, as everything else. I am finding it impossible to obtain work locally at any wage, and if it weren't for my wife's income, we would not have had a Christmas at all. In about 2 weeks' time, I will be staying 120 miles from home while I seek out work down there. Anything to keep the lights on.

But I'm honestly wondering about those "miracles". As I have driven a good amount, I've noticed people are less and less inclined to pull over for someone in need. We allow cynicism to guide our decisions rather than humanity, and it is small wonder why people are finding the Church as less and less an answer to their spiritual questions.

I am realizing in the midst of this that it is impossibly easy to be homeless in this culture. Yet we give token compassion to the homeless, we show up for photo op feeds on holidays and give our canned beets to the food banks thinking that our work is done. Yet somewhere between homeless and lower class, there exist scores of people for whom a major medical expense would be devastating. Our family is not one of those, but we're closer than I'd ever hoped to be.

The Merle Haggard song, "If We Make It Through December" seems stunningly appropriate right now.

Still, the heaters are running and we're able to keep the home modestly comfortable. But when those utility bills hit, it won't be quite so rosy. I don't even want to imagine what it's like for those worse off.

But I do, because I remember it is those people I am called to serve.

So have a blessed 2016 -- I know I will. But let's resolve this next year to focus less on the material and more on what matters. There are lives that hang in the balance.

A Sad Journey

It started innocently enough. A few oped pieces and cartoons that I admittedly found humorous even though they disagreed with my political ideology. And, of course, the flood of Facebook memes.

I knew being a political progressive in an evangelical church would be challenging. But, I would not sacrifice the sound doctrine, and besides, I felt that with a little perspective, there would be a change, where people realized that they don't need to abandon their faith to support programs to help the poor out of poverty, a living wage, universal healthcare, those kinds of things.

I could live with that. After all, we can disagree on some things. Still, it was an uphill battle.

The tipping point came when a man named Donald Trump entered the picture. Most people in the churches made it clear in 2012 that they no longer wanted a Christian candidate, but this was ridiculous. Thrice married, no political experience, his foreign policy experience comes from "Meet the Press". And his much touted business acumen includes a string of bankrutpcies.

He called Mexicans rapists and thieves. People roared. He said wages were too high, to thunderous applause. But when two people in California went on a shooting rampage, everything changed.

Suddenly, in the wake of that, it was no longer expedient to be silent. As Trump's fanbase insisted on a war on refugees, a war on Islam, the voices coming out seemed hauntingly familiar. And rather than decry this hate from the pulpit, the conservative church condoned it, and in some cases, encouraged it.

It became clear that the time to separate is now. The time for tolerating dissenting opinions ends when real threats are waged against people. The time for unity ends when The Great Commission and the Great Commandment are no longer relevant, but rather the Almighty Dollar becomes king. When Mammon is worshipped rather than God.

I would rather it not come to this end. I would rather have a home to worship. But until the Church regains its sanity, I will not be there. Until we serve unapologetically, unceasingly, and unwaveringly without fear, I will worship in my own way with those who believe as I do, that God's Syrian and Palestinian children are as important as His American and Israeli children.

I did not come to this position lightly, nor will I abandon it lightly. I love the Church, but I also love the children of God, and when there comes a conflict between the two, I will serve the latter.

I am still a part of the Church, still a part of the Body of Christ, just an outcast one that folks aren't going to recognize.

And I can dig it.

Why I'm Glad We Don't Teach Our Kids About Santa

This Christmas morning, I'm thankful. My wife spend her birthday last week in the hospital. She wound up being hospitalized for two additional days, and the very last of our emergency funds were exhausted between that and the lost income for the hospital stay.

Still we are blessed. We live in a nation of abundance, and have so much to be grateful for. We had already purchased Christmas gifts for the family, so we didn't have to worry about there being no Christmas because of the latest developments.

Still, a look across my friends' pages reminds me of what a starkly different life we lead than they do. Not a better one, not a worse one, but a different one. And one for which I am immensely grateful.

Growing up, I was pretty much aware of the nonexistence of Santa Claus by my kindergarten year. As we sat together in class, and told each other what gifts we had, I noticed that socks, secondhand books and toys with most of the parts missing didn't compete with the Evel Knievel stunt bikes, and later, Atari, then Nintendo systems that my friends received. It was clear that Santa had a different sack of toys for those of us who lived in government housing.

I resolved to save my children that embarrassment, because I was pretty sure we would never be wealthy. I am thankful that I've never planned for wealth, because, while we enjoy a life of abundance, it is not one that most people in the US would envy. But we have been blessed in so many ways that never show up on a balance sheet.

We spent about $200 for Christmas. That's it. No, not per person, for all 9 of our family members. Well, that's not quite true; we put in another $65 in stocking stuffers from Dollar Tree. It is the only time of year that we buy candy, and you can get dollar store candy pretty cheap, so we do.

So many pictures and videos, though, of expensive presents and gifts. I don't begrudge those families that; again, they live a different lifestyle than we do, and that's OK. What I don't like about it, though, is that when I go to the Bible and teach my children to be servants of God, to give sacrificially, and then have to explain to them why Santa gave them that $10 magic set despite their abundantly giving hearts, but gave one of their friends an IPad.

I'm not encouraging anyone to give differently; we all have different resources, and different things to give. And certainly we should celebrate our family as we see fit. But if we teach them that these gifts come from "Santa", we are teaching the wrong message; that one's worth rests in their wealth. And that somehow, those kids in the poor families don't measure up, and no matter how sincerely they plead, Santa will not have room on his sled for their gifts.

And if we teach them that Santa is deaf to the pleas of the poor kids, how, then, will they view God?

A Messy Divorce

In this advent season (which I don't really celebrate as such, but understand the desire of the Christian community as a whole to do so), it is wholly fitting that we should see the Syrian refugee crisis emerge. Never has a call been more clear to serve God and testify to His love than when we see the throngs of people attempting to escape oppression and look for hope beyond their borders.

Never has the need for a true evangelist been more obvious.

But a lot has changed within the church. Instead of evoking an image of Mother Theresa embracing the hurting, the needy, feeding the hungry, and clothing the poor, we have Christian leaders promoting the image of a Commando Christ, with the worship of guns rather than God, attacking the people who need Him the most.

That is not the God I understand. And that is not the God I will serve. Yes, I have watched patiently as we have engaged in wars, trusting that our leaders had intelligence that I didn't, and refusing to wage a full scale war on foreign policy right here at home. I believe an opposing voice was needed, but unless I felt the call was clear, was not willing to BE that opposing voice. In the wake of this current crisis, that has changed.

Jesus never promised the way would be easy. Quite the opposite. We revere people like Corrie Ten Boom, whose family suffered greatly in their display of Christian faith in the face of Nazi terror. We champion disciples like Bonhoeffer, who led the Confessing Church in the very midst of that tempest. We extol the Quakers and their involvement in the Underground Railroad. Yet we insist in the face of Islamic extremism that the answer lies in carbines, not in Christ.

How differently would history have been written if Jim Elliott and his crew had pulled out the weapons (which they had) and swept the beaches clear of the attacking Waodani when they died for the Gospel in which they believed.

Understand, I am certainly prone to frustrated outbursts. But understand this is not one of those. In the 27 years since I have been a Christian, I have studied closely the lives of the martyrs, those whose faith weathered in the midst of persecution. And I know from those readings that the path the church leaders take is not always the correct one.

And so, rather than create division within the church, I will respect the leaders within those churches and take my leave. I will not allow the discussion to turn to the genocide, when we were called to REACH the people who hate us, when we are called to LOVE our enemies, even to the point of forfeiting our lives if necessary.

I cannot express, though, how difficult this is. I love the people in these churches, I just cannot agree with them on this extremely fundamental point of doctrine. The mainstream Christian response towards the refugees is wrong. I would bet my very salvation upon it, if it were mine to give. The Jesus who could have called 10,000 angels is certainly capable of defending my family even in the midst of the tempest.

To the Evangelical Church: Where You Are Going, I Cannot Go

I started this blog with the intent of expressing my frustration of being a misfit within the Christian community. This week, it crossed a line.

This is not meant as a judgment on anyone but myself. This is about my personal walk, and if your beliefs are different, I respect that.

But if you are attempting to change my mind, I insist that you use Scripture, and not your personal opinion, to prove me wrong. Anything less is inadequate.

My breaking point is over the Syrian refugees. I have seen so much hate, so much anger towards these people, and blame directed towards the refugees for the actions of ISIS.

At first I shared the concern about the safety of aiding the refugees. But then, on closer examination of Scripture (that will come in just a moment), I considered that my only proper response was towards the refugees. My belief was bolstered when an immigration lawyer discussed the refugee process at length. It is far lengthier and more extensive than most people believe (you can find the details here).

But more to the point, failing to aid the refugees contradicts Scripture, as far as my understanding takes me.

I'll start with Ezekial 16:49: "For this was the sin of your sister Sodom: pride and excess of food, while the poor and needy suffered outside her door". Remember, Sodom was destroyed completely for this sin.

In Matthew 22, Jesus is asked which is the greatest commandment. He replies that there are two: Love the Lord Your God with all your heart, soul and mind, and love your neighbor as yourself. In Luke 10:29, Jesus is asked "who is my neighbor".

He replies with the story of the Good Samaritan, a man who was detested by the Jews, yet who became a comfort to a hurt and lost traveler when the righteous and the religious leaders had passed him by.. That man, Jesus implies, was the one who acted as a neighbor.

And in Matthew 25:31-46, Jesus speaks of the separating of the sheep and the goats. He states "whatever you have done to the least of these, this you have done unto Me." He further states that what you have NOT done to the least of these, this you have done NOT unto him.

And so at times like this we are called not to give in to our fear, but to transcend it. To be a light in the darkness, to be the salt of the earth. Not to cower and revoke the very promise on which our country was founded.

And so I fully take leave of the evangelical church. If the sojourner is not welcome there, neither am I. If the undocumented immigrant cannot find fellowship there, I must find fellowship elsewhere as well. If the church will not be a hospital for sinners, then I must take my leave and find one that will.

This is not a statement I take lightly; it is only after much painful self examination that I have determined it is the only option. I know where I am headed going forward, but will keep that under wraps. But if your church will not be a sanctuary to those in the greatest need, it is not a sanctuary for me or my family.

God bless each and every one of you and have a very merry Christmas!

Agape

I have a confession to make: I'm not doing it right.

Sure, I try. Sure, I do everything I can to ensure that I try to catch every opportunity to minister that comes my way. But on the road from here to there, I've discovered something.

First of all, understand this is about me and my journey. It's not about your journey, and not meant to be a judgment or a condemnation in any sense. If it helps you on your journey, take it, use it. But this is about my journey and my own observations.

I noticed a group of "dirty kids" in the parking lot today. I ambled over to help them because I know that a lot of folks won't. And because I genuinely have come to love the ones I've met, and figure that maybe that dollar I give the ones I come across will be paid forward just enough to scratch the palm of the fellow I met six months ago on the road to Santa Fe. Or the young couple busking on the corner of a dusty street.

And when I'm walking away, I can't help but think of all of the opportunities I've missed. The people who inflicted genuine hurt, genuine pain that I refused to simply pile up at the cross. The fellow who cheated me on the car deal a ways back. The family whose inaction towards their own family member's actions brought about a very dark period I wasn't sure I would quickly escape. Those people.

The people just as deserving, just as in need, just as missing of a vital piece of their lives.

I remember some years back when encountering a child with Down Syndrome. This kid was, as most I've met with Down Syndrome, incredibly loving, but had a serious drool problem. And I have a serious aversion to such things. As he reached his arms around me and I felt the slimey drool on my arms, and on my clothes, I realized that I could not in any way outwardly express this aversion for fear of hurting the feelings of the young man. I returned the embrace, the inner cringe slowly starting to release, as I realized it was for just these  occasions that soap and water were invented.

And when he walked away, I found myself in not so big a rush for soap and water. The kid had taught me a lot.

Agape love, true love, is sometimes dirty, sometimes nasty, sometimes the epitome of what we fear. But it is always right and it is never focused on self.

May I learn to be an agent, not of compassion, but of genuine, heartfelt, agape love. May I get it right.

Should the Poor be Embarrassed for their Poverty?

We had a discussion today in church that turned to poverty and the approaches to it. Someone stated that the poor deserve to be embarrassed for their poverty.

It was all I could do to bite my tongue. But in the context of the situation, it was the only response appropriate at the time. This is not a conversation on which I will sit silent for long, though, and so I am addressing it here.

First of all, we must think of what poverty is, and what it is not. Poverty is caused by a variety of problems. Sometimes it is genuine laziness, but more often things like mental illness and an overwhelming sense of hopelessness lead people to situations where they are in poverty. Neither is a situation where we should feel it appropriate to "embarrass" the person who is caught in poverty.

First, humiliating someone is an ultimate act of condescension. We treat them (and, indeed, many people see them) as being less worthy, or of lower character, than ourselves. There is nothing Christlike in this response, and there is nothing compassionate about it.

We may as well tattoo them or otherwise mark them so that we can spit on them. Suggesting that we should humiliate them shows an ugly side of humanity that we need to be rid of.

Then there is the very real likelihood that if we accompany assistance with humiliation, people who are genuinely needy and deserving of that assistance will refuse it because they do not want to be shamed. But the people who are genuinely mooching won't care. This means we're doing the exact opposite of what common sense dictates: we're ensuring that the people who need the help the most are the least likely to receive it.

So how should we approach it? Well, first, I believe charity should be privately administered, ideally. The church abandoned its role a long time ago, and I don't see high profile religious leaders chomping at the bit to reclaim that role (Pope Francis being an exception). If we can treat every case of poverty individually, we can help identify the problem, and, ideally help create a solution. This means, instead of embarrassing the poor, we are empowering them.

Maybe it's a mental or physical health issue that needs to be treated. Maybe it's addiction. Maybe it's job training, or resources that need to be provided. Maybe (as in the disabled) it's equipment to accommodate their needs. Maybe it is simply a listening ear. A heartfelt approach to poverty will be very hands on. And it will be very ugly from time to time, which is probably why so few are willing to undertake it.

Second, we need to see ourselves as equal to every poor individual. Not greater than, not less than, but equal. As Christians, we worship a Savior who discarded his Godly form to take his place among us. Do we really feel we are deserving of a higher standing?

The solutions to poverty are complex, and we will never find them in our lifetime. But we should never stop trying, and we should never develop our policy around the idea that the poor deserve to be embarrassed or humiliated.

The Conservative Hypocrisy on Life

I have seven kids.

And they all have the same father, and the same mother.

If I were a reality TV star, or if I were a wealthy real estate developer to the wealthy, that would make me an icon. They'd be displaying me as an example of American family values, and talking about the sanctity of life.

But the same people that worship at the shrine of Duggar have some very harsh words for families working on less than a median income. So before I continue I will answer a few questions for you: yes, I know what causes that, no we're not part of the Quiverfull movement, and I don't have a personal opinion on the Duggars.

I would be lying, though, if I said that our church homes didn't influence our choices. We were told how precious life is, and how children are a blessing. We were not told those same churches consider them a middle class blessing, and that poor families were to be shamed.

I love every one of my kids, and while there are things I would do differently, I couldn't imagine a present reality without every one in my life. They all bring unique personalities and perspectives to the table, and while I haven't been blessed with a lot of money, I've certainly been blessed with a lot of love. My children are the reason I even endure a workaday existence.

Yes, it would be nice if I made more money. But, see, I actually have a degree. One I actually was hired to use in the town where I live. The problem is, IT jobs are in very short supply here, and I stuck around after I had left my old job. And thus, the workaday existence.

But where I get extremely frustrated is when I see the same people that feel compelled to openly condemn my family and I claiming to value "life". They celebrate it as a hypothetical, but they're not so friendly with it when it's sitting right in front of them.

Oh, sure, folks have helped us at times...sometimes overwhelmingly so...but always with the disapproving "don't you know where that comes from" stare, and a belittling and condescending attitude.

This has often made me feel that the commitment to life is often conditional. It is cherished when it is convenient.

And it is that inconsistency that makes it harder and harder for me to defend the conservative church.

Exhausted and Empty

DISCLAIMER (As these, sadly, have become necessary these days): Please, before reading, understand what this article is and is not. It is NOT asking for pity, or condemning anyone or any entity. It IS my personal thoughts, my personal journal, in the hopes that someone else can see themselves in them and gain strength through a sense of understanding they are not alone.

Today, I have nothing. I feel spent, I feel drained, and I have no idea how to communicate that. We live in a world where hyperbole is so often the norm that when someone's truly run to the end of the road, there's no way to express that without someone feeling they are saying things that they honestly weren't saying.

I am tired of being the much maligned "liberal" in an area where that is a swear word. I am tired of personal attacks for holding an opinion that doesn't match others. I am tired of unending criticism with absolutely no recognition for the validity of my thoughts and ideas. And I've found it crosses the spectrum; if I challenge any of the ideas of any of my friends, regardless of ideology, it seems that it's open season directed at me.

To some the answer is simple: just shut up. And if it were that easy for me, I would. But I shut up for a lot of years, and I've seen things happen that never should have taken place. I've seen workers mocked and criticized publicly for asking for a fair wage, then mocked and criticized publicly for receiving benefits to fill in the gaps, and finally mocked and criticized publicly for getting tired of the system, taking the ball and going home. We tell them to pull themselves up by the bootstraps, when these fellows don't have any boots.

I can't shut up when I see these things. I can't shut up when I see families agonizing as the roof over their head drains down on them with no long term answer to the problem. Or when health issues are too long neglected because the social stigma of being on Medicaid is so strong that you don't dare to walk into the small community hospital where HIPAA is nonexistent. God forbid you're on the poorer side of things in America; if you are, in many folks' eyes, you are simply a parasite.

I am tired of hoping when hope is futile; tired of investing in a future that never will come. Tired of the monthly reminder of a future I naively invested in believing this was that critical last ingredient to put me over the top, only to see less qualified candidates selected to do the job I worked for because they either don't like my politics, or they don't like the pay scale that should accompany those qualifications.

I'm tired of spending my life on a treadmill with no clear path to escape.

And if that offends you, then maybe we need to go different directions. Because God knows I've been criticized enough already!

Crossing Yet Another Bridge

I'm done with faith healing financing.

For the 27 years I have been a Christian, I have believed what I was taught: that if I gave first, that I would have more. That God would bless my hand, and I would be financially prosperous.

I believed a lie. A lie that I believe was concocted specifically to enrich those who were bestowed the elite status of "minister". While I know a good deal of ministers who work for rather pedestrian wages, I know only a handful who are genuinely aware of the struggles affecting the working class.

I have worked this entire time waiting to turn the corner. While my journey has had a few pessimistic bouts, it has generally had an optimistic bent, one that has taken a decidedly negative turn in the last ten years or so.

I built what I have from the lies I was told from the pulpit. I believed that I should trust God with the size of my family, and now the burden of seven kids (6, soon to be 5, at home) has become too much. And guess what? Those same pulpit prognosticators claim that if I turn to the government for assistance, I suffer from some sort of character defect.

I have never turned my back on God. And, God willing, I never intend to. But I've spent a lot of years spinning my wheels, hoping, trying to build for a future that never arrived. For the past four years, I have tried to launch a ministry with decreasing enthusiasm, as I have yet to muster a single person who actually supports it, even as they've kissed up to me and told me what a good idea it was.

The reality of it is, I'm finished. I have been spending money I don't have in hopes that somehow my energy would cause a return on my investment. For the last three months, I have been managing a radio station, and it has been 2 1/2 of those months since I drew a full paycheck, even at minimum wage salary, although I am drawing full time hours.

The station needs more to fix than I can possibly raise, and my attempt at crowdfunding has netted a grand total of $25.00, which will purchase 1/100th of ONE of the two power supplies we need, let alone the other equipment. I've genuinely tried, and I've failed, for whatever reason.

I have no energy left, I can't honestly say I have much joy left. I thought I could do this, but like so many other things, thinking I could do it was not enough to sustain it.

And, more tellingly, I've failed to create a single, true friend with whom I can discuss these things. I'm consigned to putting them out on an Internet blog because, frankly, nobody cares, and the blog at least lets me feel like I can get those feelings out.

I'm not bitter. I'm not angry. I figure, like everything else, this all has come about for a reason. And I am richer for the experience.

But I'm also exhausted. And done.

What the Evangelical Church Often Fails to Get

In the aftermath of last week's SCOTUS ruling, I see a lot of fear from my fellow Christians. Fear that their ideals, their values, will be alienated.

And I get it. I really do. And there's a part of me that sympathizes with them more than my liberal friends would like to know.

But in the midst of all of the hubbub, after the dust had settled, something occurred to me.

That alienation they are feeling today? I've had to live with that same alienation for 26 years, as I've tried to find my place within the evangelical church. Not because of the lifestyle I've lived, nope...I've been married for 20 years to the same woman, have never betrayed that covenant, I've raised my kids to the best of my ability, and I have always tried to be an agent of compassion and grace.

No, the alienation comes about from so many because I'm not condemning enough. Because I don't judge people on welfare without knowing them, because I won't agree with the idea of kicking undocumented workers who've committed no crime out of the country...but mostly because I refuse to condemn my LGBT neighbors.

And if you're looking for me to change in those positions, it's not going to happen.

I believe, and I remain firm in the belief that conviction is the job of the Holy Spirit. It is not mine. And I really do not want to be subject to the kind of judgment I believe I'm due. As such, I refuse to subject others to that judgment.

The one, the single objection that I have heard repeatedly from others within the church is that their refusal to marry homosexuals might cost them their tax exempt status.

To that concern, I have to ask the question: who do you serve, God or Mammon? Scripture is clear that you cannot serve both.

For 3 years, out of my own pocket, I have self funded a very small, one person ministry. It's not near what I would like it to be, but I chose at the outset to refuse nonprofit status. I chose it because it is important that my motives in this particular ministry never become financial.

I say that not to brag, I am saying it simply because, in the absence of tax exempt status, you find a way. And while it will be hard, it does not mean the end of any ministry.

I beg my brothers and sisters in Christ to remember that at the core of this rather contentious issue are people who are simply trying as best they can to live out their faiths. And that refusing to condemn another person for their failings is not a sin.

Thoughts on the SCOTUS Marriage Decision

I have hesitated in writing these thoughts. I don't want to, as they will almost certainly cost me friends.

But I feel I must.

With the Supreme Court ruling on same sex marriage coming down today, it puts me in  the middle of a decision that has, in the minds of some, left this country deeply divided. I pray for healing, and want to make my position as clear as possible.

From my earliest years, I have been an outcast. I have never fit in in any social group. Ever. It has cost me, it has cost my family dearly. To the point where I have actually wondered if taking my own life would help my family experience a normalcy that they never can with me.

In September, 1988, I made a life changing decision for Jesus. For my atheist friends, please respect that and leave it there. It made a fundamental change in my life.

What it didn't do was solve the social problem. In church after church, town after town, I have always been a sort of pariah. I know the prayer of Jabez well (and it's not the prayer you think it is), because I, too, have prayed that God would cause me not to cause pain on those I love.

In the midst of it, though, I have found that the people who have always been there for me, without fail, have been the people I have found outside the church. The drunks, the druggies, the LGBT community, Wiccans, atheists, agnostics, and Unitarians alike. And yes, some Christians...just not the ones that tend to be front and center within the church.

To the church, I have, more often than not, been an inconvenience. In my diverse group of outcasts, I have found one thing I never did within the church house walls: a family. And that family is quite literally the only reason I've survived this long.

In the church, I have found judgment. I have found believers willing to embrace Genesis 19, but not Ezekial 16:49; a group, by and large, of people who have called me a communist and worse, for citing James 5:1-6 as justification for a living wage. A group who, despite my being married 20 years to the same woman, despite my willingness to help in a variety of capacities, has never quite considered me "good enough". Among the outcasts, I just am.

So it begs the question: Why, then, would I reject these people who have stood with me, when they ask me to stand with them? It's not a matter of "us vs. them"; there's room for all of us. And if you want to encircle us and throw stones, first give us the chance to read off YOUR failings, your shortcomings. Although, truthfully, we won't. We'll probably just offer you cake (an idea stolen unabashedly from my friend Angie!)

This decision does not strip away your right to worship. This decision does not affect your right to preach the Gospel without apology and without conviction. While it may affect your right to remain tax free, it seems to me Jesus did have something to say about paying taxes being our duty.

This decision was the right one, and it doesn't in one way diminish the sovereignty of God. If God can be diminished by 9 folks in robes, then He really wasn't sovereign to begin with.

I love the church, and I love my friends outside the church. Because that is the simplest and most important commandment that is asked of me.

If that makes you feel I am not Christian, so be it. You are not the judge to whom I will answer. If that makes you feel that you can no longer be friends, I wish you nothing but the best on your journey, and I will be waiting if you ever desire to change that. But I will not leave the side of those whom I love.

And if that costs me your friendship, then I realize simply it was never mine.

Compassion is a Trait of the Penitent, Not the Perfect

Note: this article was inspired by a challenge issued to write a story around the opening words in this article, which was culled from a Facebook post I've made. It's probably not what the individual was looking for, and I'll still try in that direction, but it's what first came to mind:I am actually more self aware than you realize. I'm deeply flawed and imperfect. I get it. And in examining those weaknesses, those flaws, I've come to understand even more about the nature of compassion.

See, I live in a "grace only" world, and, while I champion the doctrine, I don't quite feel it. Grace is a wonderful thing, it's a marvelous thing, but it is not the end of the story. I know and I trust that God has given me a clean slate, that the ledger when I stand before Him will be free of blemish, free of mark.

But that does not erase the marks from the ledgers of the people I've wronged through my life. They will walk through life bearing the marks of my past transgressions, and those marks are not so easily erased.

How woefully tragic, how heartbreaking, if the mistakes I have made are the very marks that keep them from the cross.

I have often stood in the middle of a group of people, in deep pain, in deep heartache, wondering why nobody around me could see it. It bugged me for an awful lot of years.

And then it hit me: I see that pain in others. Someone who has not seen that pain is less likely to see it in others. Someone who has never lived homeless or very close to it will not recognize the defeated shuffle of someone who has tried to hitchhike for hours, only to ultimately resign themselves to the 30 mile hike to the next town. Someone who has never known hunger will not understand when confronted with the look of hunger from another. It is much, much easier to see the need in others when we've had that need ourselves.

So what truly sparks compassion is an aching in our own hearts and souls. A need to express ourselves in reaching out to heal others. Compassion, then, is a trait of the penitent, not the perfect.

I cannot go backwards along the path that I have taken to get to this point. I can only go forwards. And it is quite possible that some of the people whom I have wronged in the past will never come before me again. And so the only response I can muster is to minister in the people I meet to the wrongs inflicted on them by others and hope that somewhere along the path is another likeminded Samaritan ministering to those whom I have wronged.

And this is where things get muddy, because many of my "grace only" friends would call that teaching salvation by works. But I would contend nothing is further from the truth. For I am in no way under the illusion that those works factor in any way into my own salvation; I am laboring on in the hopes they may factor in the salvation of another.

And that, really, is all that any of us can do.

What People Who Don't Come From a Dysfunctional Family Don't Understand

As the past weekend ground to a close, I received news that an aunt of mine had passed away. Yesterday, I was given funeral service times, and although I am unable to attend, it brought painfully back to mind the fact that I live a different existence; one that not everyone understands.

See, like most of my family, I didn't know this aunt at all. I have met her in the past, but I was a child and only remember being pressed into throngs of people who loomed much larger than my hobbit sized body. When I stretch for a visual image, I bring up a memory bank of several, but wouldn't really be able to eliminate more than one or two of those faces from being possibly hers.

It seems almost selfish to say that I look at large families at friendly gatherings, and I'm a little jealous. The companionship they enjoy has not been a significant part of my existence, and it tweaks a little part of me.

Now, in the interest of full disclosure, and not wanting to elicit a pity party, I must honestly confess that some part of the fault of that was mine. My in laws had some of those gatherings, and seeking greener pastures, I chose to leave the area my wife considers home and move on. For the brief time I actually saw it, I didn't genuinely appreciate it.

But as I've grown older I think of things I wish I'd known. Cousins that I wish I was able to join with in sharing some of the joys and heartaches of parenting, aunts and uncles I wish I could mine for their wisdom and life experiences. But the road I've walked didn't lead in that direction, and so we spend holidays trying to make the holidays better for others who don't have one. That certainly brings with it its own share of happiness, but it also reminds me that there is a whole realm of "normal" that I will never truly understand.

And as my family gathers to my aunt's funeral and prepares her for her final burial, I find myself without the grief that I should feel. If, by some chance I were able to go, I would be in the most horrifying situation imaginable for me: in the midst of a roomful of strangers, all with families, that I should know but don't.

I am eternally grateful for the family that I do have; it's far more than I ever expected or deserved. But I also, at times, find myself wishing that I understood just what it means to be "normal".

Reflections of an Outcast.

Please forgive the seeming randomness and spontaneity of this. I started blogging to feel less alone, and in some ways, it helps. Just a chance to share thoughts with the world is a better answer than the hollow void that predated the Internet.

For virtually all of my adult life, I have pleaded with the world in every way I know how, and searched for a place to truly fit. For the companionship, the closeness that people around me take for granted, but which has always eluded me. I've been the outsider, hanging just close enough to hear the words, the giggles, the memories, but just far enough that it is a foreign world, one that never will genuinely be mine.

I am interjecting again because in this crazy world, people tend to interpret. I am not in any way, shape or form suggesting any harm to myself or others, I am merely sharing these feelings in the hope they may offer some comfort to someone else who sees themselves in them. Please don't suggest that I "seek help", as that is a vagary that doesn't truly exist; if you aren't offering the rope, then you've no business suggesting I call out to someone else to throw me a line!

I am not suggesting the problem lies with those around me; the problem is well and truly mine. But in weighing the options available to me, I find myself trapped in a very tight little corner. My wife and children inherit my status, as I've never been able to form the kind of friendships that have given them that normalcy, and thus they suffer. I have, over the years, contemplated leaving as I abandoned the idea of suicide long ago, not for the loss it would bring me, but for the hurt and pain that my family would inherit. I may deserve the constant pain of loneliness; my family does not.

My cynicism towards the church is because I long ago thought that answer was in the church, and I reached for it. I thirsted for it. I went to church with the faithfulness of a dedicated, devoted disciple. But it was not there. I longed for someone to "bear my burdens", and tried to bear the burdens of others to show them what was needed. But there was no one to lift the load. I tried to invite people over, to share with the community, to just belong in giving, but again, isolation, loneliness.

I even contemplated the possibility that maybe I did have some kind of mental instability, but no instability, just loneliness. I went through a lot of anger, a lot of bitterness, but that left a long time ago. There's no anger, no bitterness, just aloneness.

It would be wrong to say I've rejected God; nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, the ONLY comfort I have found in all of this is God. If not for the comfort of God, I honestly, truly would not be here to give this monologue that will echo back to me off of the empty walls.

The only comfort, the only light in this darkness, though, that I have ever experienced was in ministering to those who are in an equally dark place. But I also discovered years ago that despite the plea of declining numbers in ministry, professional ministry is limited to those who have the kinds of connections that I have never been able to form. And lay ministers are not even respected as ministers; unless your tax status is tied to a minister, you are not a minister.

I could go on about how this contradicts Scripture, but at this point even I am tired of beating dead horses.

In closing this article, I would like to say that unless you have read EVERY word, please be silent. Unless you are willing to actually recognize and assist with filling the void in a Christian way, please move on. I've had enough of the harsh and bitter critics and those who answer with well meaning platitudes; if you don't have a true answer and one I haven't tried a thousand times before, this message is probably not for you, and that is completely OK. I've searched the Bible for answers, I've prayed, and I established a relationship with Christ a very long time ago. And that relationship is one of the few things of value that I have left in this world, beyond my family.

I am grateful for those who have found a place where they belong. In forty four years of trying, I still haven't found mine. And I am seriously hoping for an end to wandering in the desert sometime soon.

I love each and every person that I have in my life, even if we've never connected, but I think it's time I figure out how to embrace the loneliness and get comfortable in the darkness. It's the only constant.

Confessions of a Pest

One of the hardest, most compelling aspects of my personality is, frankly: I'm a pest.

Thing is, I know I'm a pest. It bugs me, and it is one of the major reasons I work to avoid social settings. But it's also, in my opinion, one of the most indicting aspects of our passive-aggressive society.

See, we expect for people to arrive to us whole. I'm not pointing fingers here; I am probably the worst at it. We don't expect broken people, we don't expect people who tend to follow rabbit trail after rabbit trail to get to a point they actually have, and we really don't tend to like people who tend to be clingy because they have a preciously small group of friends and tend in social settings to gravitate very closely to the ones they trust.

I try to be self aware, and occasionally I catch myself, but it's usually about the time someone's eyes glaze over and they respond with dismissive grunts in lieu of meaningful conversation, but by then, unfortunately, it's too late. There aren't a lot of opportunities for do overs.

But don't get me wrong; I'm not meaning this post to be some sort of rant or pity party. And I certainly don't see it as something deserving of pity; it is immensely helpful to me. See, I may be a pest, but I'm not the only one. And yes, like everyone else, I get frustrated by other pests.

But because I am one, I try to meet others with a dose of understanding. I don't have a high batting average in that regard, honestly, but I AM trying.

And while I'm trying to veer away from the more cynical side I expressed when I began this blog, I do have to say that one of the things that has made relationships within the body of Christ difficult is that I came to Christ with some VERY starry eyed expectations, only to find them more lacking than not. It has taken me awhile, though, to come to the grips with the fact that if I want people to accept my brokenness, I need to do a better job accepting theirs.

I truly think this is a massive failing, not only of the church, but of society in general. Because, to tell you the truth, I haven't found nonChristians any more accepting than Christians in that regard. I hear people talk about their mentors; I've never really had the luxury of having one. In fact, I really haven't had the luxury of having genuinely sane parents, and I don't really know the ones I do have all that well. So the places where people generally adopt these social mores have really been lacking for me more often than not.

But the one thing I ask of those who know I am a pest is honesty. And patience. I may be a pest, but I'm also probably the most loyal friend you will ever have because of it.

I don't know what the solution is; for me the temptation is towards isolation, but I try to avoid it because I've been there, and that doesn't help. And it certainly doesn't make things easier for my family. But I do know that if I can't figure out the solution for myself, maybe in being open I can help someone else find their own solution.