Thoughts and Musings

Leadership is...

Recently I've been absorbing various books on leadership - religious and secular.  Of course, these books are a dime a dozen out there and the vast majority of them say the same sort of thing.  But every now and then I come upon one that sticks out from the rest.  Seth Rogen's Tribes is one of those books, recommended to me by my good friend Ed.  Not only is it written in a very different style (short, quick vignettes; no chapters), but Rogen's philosophy is not heavily nuanced and systematic.  It's more straightforward.  And it resonates with much of what I'm experiencing to be the kind of pastoral leadership that churches need in our day and age, especially with all the good stuff NEXT Church is doing.

After reading the book (146 very short pages), I made a list of "Leadership is/Leaders are...." quotes. I'm holding on to this for present and future reference. Lots of good stuff to ponder here.

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Leaders use every technique possible to communicate their passion, connect people and create change.

Leaders believe. Leaders have faith.

Leadership is not management.

Leadership is about creating change that you and others can believe in.

Leaders use passion and ideas to lead people, as opposed to using threats and bureaucracy to manage people.

Leaders empower the tribe to communicate.

Leaders take risks and welcome the criticism that may come because it means they did something worth criticizing.

Leaders are heretics because they change the status quo.

Leaders don't want attention, but they use it to unite other and reinforce a sense of purpose.

Leaders figure out how to step into the vacuums where nothing is happening and create motion.

Leaders are curious because they can't wait to find out what the group is going to do next.

Leaders are effective when they tighten the group by facilitating communication among its members.

Leaders are curious because they can't wait to find out what the group is going to do next.

Leaders who set out to give are more productive that leaders who seek to get.

Leaders understand what they can and cannot compromise on.

Leaders understand that faith leads to hope, and hope overcomes fear.

Leaders go first.

Leaders pubish a manifesto and make it easy for followers to connect with them and with one another.

Leaders aren't afraid to be wrong.

Leaders do what they believe in, paint a picture of the future, and then go there.

Leaders turn donors into patrons and participants.

Leaders really listen.

Leaders stick with a dream for the long haul.

Leaders give people stories they can tell themselves and tell others.  These stories are about the future and about change.

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So, what do you think? What are some others that you would add to the list?

Just another youth group recording in the studio.

If you're looking for something crazy and insane to do this summer, how about this:

First, write a theme song for the summer youth conference you're leading music for.

Then, go into the studio to record that song, inviting some good musical friends/former bandmates to join in the fun.  Totally overestimate your own ability on instruments you really don't know how to play (read: mandolin and accordion). Learn the hard way that "faking live" and "faking in the studio" are two very different things.

Next, come up with an idea that, at first, sounds simple enough: since the song is written to be sung in a large group setting, why not ask your entire church youth group to travel down to Winston-Salem one weekday evening and record the choruses in the studio?  And while you're at it, coax your wife and boys to tag along.

After that, schedule a run-through the night before that doesn't even last an hour. Meet in the youth house, sit on couches, play the demo on your ipod. Do crazy stuff like asking them to split into guy parts and girl parts on the middle eight.

And then, to top it all off, ask your DCE to pile them in the church van and a member's minivan and drive them all to the studio.  Which, in this case, is the bottom floor of a two-story garage behind your buddy's house.  He's fixed it up extremely nice as a band room, but never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine 20+ middle and high schoolers cramming in there around a condensor mic. Much less a 15-passenger church van parked out in front of his house.  Hand out three headsets and keep one for yourself, and ask these non-professionals to sing to a track the vast majority of them will never hear.  Wave your arms wildly in the air to bring them in and out and keep them in time.

Oh, and sweat profusely, since the A/C unit has to be turned off during the recording, lest the sensitive mic pic it up and transform it into the sound of a gushing wind.

Ask these kids to be totally silent until the moment they start singing, and then totally silent when they're done.  Ask them to cut their "s's" off at the same time so it doesn't sound like a snake pit.  Ask the young middle school boys to do their best impression of a grown man's deep voice, and ask two of the girls to sing the women's part an octave higher than the others - but not too loudly.

Did I mention the sweating profusely thing?

And then, when it's all said and done, tell them what an incredible job they did and how proud you are of them, because that's exactly what they did, and that's exactly how you feel.

If you can swing that, my friends, then it's already a pretty awesome summer.

 

"All are welcome. Seriously. We really mean it."

I have this weird fascination with church marquees - those interchangeable signs strategically placed in front of church buildings.  In one sense I'm attracted to them, the same way that I can't look away from the car wreck on the other side of the interstate as I drive by.  Like a moth to the flame, I'm helpless to their lure.

On the other hand, I find myself doing a lot of face-palming, either figuratively or literally.  And not only because some of them - and you know the ones I'm talking about - express a theology and biblical understanding that has little or nothing to do with the God I know.  It's also, in my opinion, the worst kind of advertising. 

Because that's what these marquees are, functionally if not intentionally - advertising.  A form of outreach and evangelism.  I mean, they're right there outside the church's main entrance, in some cases larger than the sign with the church's name on it.  Every so often the message changes, thus catching our attention.  Everything about them practically screams, "Look at me! This is who we are!"  And like it or not, they tell a story about what kind of church lies on the other side.

And I don't get it, honestly, what possesses some churches to tell the stories they do.  Maybe they're not intended for public consumption and are meant more for the people inside - in which case perhaps that's where the signs should be.  That's they only way I can make sense of it.  I mean, who is going to drive past a church with a marquee that essentially tells them they're going to hell and think, Hey, sounds like the place for me! 

Like the saying goes: "First impressions are lasting impressions.  And frankly, I'm rarely impressed.

My church doesn't have a marquee - a blessing, as I see it.  Every now and then, though, I daydream about what it might say if we did.  What kind of "advertising," what kind of story would it share?  To that end, I've created a few of my own, void of cheesy wordplays and ghastly theology.  You can do the same, by the way, HERE if you want.  Knock yourselves out.  Feel free to add your own marquee slogan in the comments below!

(Note: the following are my own messages and don't necessarily reflect the church I gratefully serve. Don't want anyone to think one person is trying to speak for everyone - the issue with church marquees to begin with).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...And it ended with clean feet

Sometimes, ministry can be pretty monotonous.  Not boring, mind you, but indistinguisable from the day before, or the day after.  They kind of blend together.

And then there are days like today:

• I hunkered down at our local coffee house with four wonderful folks for my bi-monthly Thursday morning Bible study, where we compared the four gospel accounts of the Resurrection. I was reminded by one particularly insightful participant of the importance of women in the resurrection story, and that the men only came after the women told them about it.  I thought this was awesome.
• I put the finishing touches on my Easter sermon and Maundy Thursday meditation. This was an occasion when I appreciated my neurotic tendency, developed in college, to have a paper done a day or two before it was actually due.
• I talked with a family in crisis who once again is thrust into unchartered waters; and the god-awful tug-of-war between wanting to do anything to ease the pain of a loved one and realizing that them experiencing that pain may be exactly what's needed.
• I had a little bit of a pity party. I won't go into the details, but suffice to say that ministry can be a lonely business sometimes, and a pastor's toughest times are when he or she feels like they're out there all by themselves (the comfort, incidentally, is knowing that there are others who totally understand this, including a certain carpenter from Nazareth).
• I visited someone who was taken to our local hospice home just this morning. It is a beautiful and frightening transition; emotions all over the map.  The family asked themselves if there was anything else they could have done, and I knew they had done more than enough.
• I conversed with a friend who is struggling with what church means to them, and how to deal with change.  The conversation ended with them feeling better, as did I (actually, come to think of it, I had two of those conversations today. How about that.)
• I walked on holy ground with someone facing the harsh reality of cancer and the precious gift of every second.  I was reminded of how much I love this person and how much I hate cancer.
• I served communion to the 20+ people who came to our Maundy Thursday service. I admired the way this group tore off huge chunks of bread to dip into the cup, not afraid to take too much, because there always seems to be enough. The body and blood of Christ for you, I said to Emily.  And to you too! she instinctively replied.  That made me smile.
• I washed seven pairs of feet, young and old, using an old stole I wore in the service to dry their feet.  I noticed something that, for obvious reasons, I've never noticed before: how people's feet are different and unique, just as they are.
• When I was done washing the feet of others, Brian came up to me: Is it okay if I wash yours?  Absolutely it was.  And so he did:

There are certainly monotonous days in ministry, where the emotional spectrum remains pretty constant.  Today, my friends, was not one of those days. And you know what?  I'm so incredibly thankful for that.  And for my clean feet.

Reflecting on NEXT in the Pre-Op room

Okay, so granted, it wasn't the best planning on my part.  Nevertheless, less than 24 hours after the closing of the 2013 NEXT Church Conference in Charlotte, there I was: lying on a hospital bed in the pre-op, all gowned up and ready to go. It was a torn meniscus that had brought me there; and in standard surgery fashion there was a whole lot of "hurry up and wait."  Three hours of it, in fact. So I had plenty of time to think amidst the beeping and humming of machinery and the impending dose of drugs that would send me off to la-la land.

(and as a quick aside, I think every pastor should have surgery at some point in ministry, preferably for an actual ailment that requires it. I'll never look at hospital visits and pre-surgery prayers with parishioners the same again, having been in the bed rather than standing beside it.)

Anyway, so I had a lot of time to think in that pre-op room.  And I won't lie to you: I thought about NEXT.

I thought about this relatively new movement in the Presbyterian Church (USA), described on its Facebook page as "sparking imaginations, connecting congregations, and offering a distinctively Presbyterian witness to Jesus Christ." I thought about the way co-organizer Shannon Kershner further explained that it is not an affinity group pushing any doctrine or issue currently being contended with ad nauseum in our denomination. The one thing that binds those in NEXT together is relationship.  Relationship with each other and relationship with Jesus. The fact that NEXT makes this their focus and stubbornly refuses to be parlayed by any special interest group or agenda is precisely why I and many others are on board with it.

I thought about all the people there, around 650 of them.  Honestly, it was like a high school class reunion for not one year but twenty or thirty.  Pastors and laypeople, friends and new faces. Retired preachers and folks not yet ordained.  Southerners and Northerners, Midwesterners and West Coasters.  And a new category made possible in our social media age: people I've known for a year or more, conversed and engaged with, but have never actually met in person until now. A shout-out to Facebook and Twitter for creating this new way of knowing people, where the first face-to-face is not the beginning of a great friendship but the continuation of it.

I thought about something Steve Eason said in his sermon on Monday evening worship - something that struck me as tweet-worthy:

I think this speaks to a major reason why NEXT Church has taken off the way it has.  We all recognize the cultural shift the church has endured over the past 50 years. Gone are the days where no one dared hold a soccer game on Sunday mornings; where pastors were bestowed with de facto mayor-like authority in their communities.  Study after study has shown the sharp decline in mainline denominations that's reflected in greater pew vacancies and shrinking budgets. For some, the only appropriate response is an alarmist mindset rooted strongly in fear. NEXT, however, chooses to view these changes in a positive light as God's intentional process of creating something wonderful and new.

Around this time, some lady stuck me with an IV, so I had to think about needles for a minute. When she was done, though, I went back to thinking about NEXT.

And I thought about all the wonderful speakers. And you know the really cool thing?  They weren't the "big names" you typically see at these type of events.  That's not how NEXT rolls.  What they're more into are the unsung heroes who are quietly doing some amazing "next-ish" things in their contexts. So we heard from the Caucasian man and African-American woman who have teamed up to revitalize a defunct and crumbling church facility in Philadelphia; the seminary president who used thirty seconds of a Janet Jackson video (FYI, it wasn't "Nasty Boys") to share the story of a growing student body that at one point numbered seven; the Washington DC-based pastor who unpacked worship liturgy as improv; the pastor in Columbia, SC who equated God's spirit to live music as opposed to 16-bit MIDI. Every voice mattered, official speaking role or not; and it had nothing to do with the size of one's congregation or how many degrees are hanging on the wall.

I thought about what is NEXT for the church - something that is tempting to immediately jump to, like the kid who stares at the wrapped present under the Christmas tree wondering what's inside.  I thought about the fact that this journey we're on in the NEXT Church is not a formula or five-step plan that can be implemented in actions steps to acheieve "maximum results."

NEXT is more like jazz, really.  The Spirit moving in and through us, gently reminding us that we're not directing the band but are the called and equipped players offering our unique voice and gifts to the ensemble.  And the sound that is produced is the sound of a church that is not looking to be "successful" as much as it's striving to be faithful. 

That's all that I was thinking.  And then they wheeled me into the OR and hit me with the good stuff.  I don't remember much after that, but I do remember the last thought on my mind was how there is no better and more exciting time than now for the church to be thinking about what's next.

Darkness cannot drive out darkness...

I have a lot of favorite MLK quotes.  I think this one's my favorite:

Here are some others:

I have decided to love. If you are seeking the highest good, I think you can find it through love. And the beautiful thing is that we are moving against wrong when we do it, because John was right, God is love. He who hates does not know God, but he who has love has the key that unlocks the door to the meaning of ultimate reality. 

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.

The church must be reminded that it is not the master or the servant of the state, but rather the conscience of the state.

I submit to you that if a man hasn't discovered something he will die for, he isn't fit to live.

The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.

Nonviolence is the answer to the crucial political and moral questions of our time; the need for mankind to overcome oppression and violence without resorting to oppression and violence. Mankind must evolve for all human conflict a method which rejects revenge, aggression, and retaliation. The foundation of such a method is love.

Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.

Let no man pull you low enough to hate him.

Hatred paralyzes life; love releases it. Hatred confuses life; love harmonizes it. Hatred darkens life; love illuminates it.

 

Happy MLK Day, everyone.

 

Why, yes, the world really DOES need another Advent devotional

In the church we like saying that Advent - the four weeks leading up to Christmas - is not a destination as much as a journey.  And like any trip, we need to make preparations for it.  So, one of the hard-fast ways of doing this down through the years has been the traditional "Advent devotional."

But does the world really need another Advent Devotional?

I admit to thinking that when John McCrosky, Director of Christian Education at Covenant Presbyterian Church in Augusta, GA, contacted me a few months ago about writing a few installments for an Advent devotional he was putting together.  But John's a good friend from our days together at the now-defunct Presbyterian School of Christian Education (although it still lives on in the social media world), and I couldn't bring myself to say "no."

I'm glad I didn't.  It was a fun exercise, and it sure didn't hurt that John managed to assemble a writing team of some other good friends and pretty amazing people: David LaMotte, Bryon Wade, Lynn Turnage, Michelle Thomas-Bush, Mindy Douglas, Paul Osborne, Sophie Maness, Ron Motley, Vanessa Hawkins, Mark Lampley, and John.  

The result is a pretty awesome little devotional that you'll certainly want to make use of over the next few weeks.  Here's how you can:

READ THEM ON THE WEBSITE HERE

SUBSCRIBE TO A DAILY EMAIL HERE

SUBSCRIBE TO THE RSS FEED HERE

DOWNLOAD A PDF OF THE DEVOTIONAL BOOKLET HERE

If you do either of the first two, feel free to click the little Facebook "Like" button and share on Twitter/Google+.  Thanks for getting the word out.

Enjoy the preparation!

It happened at the hospital bedside

Recently I've been giving some thought to the following: who pastors the pastor?  And not just me, incidentally.  I've got a pastor friend, for instance, who's going through some "baptism by fire" in their life right now.  How do we care for those who are called by God to care for us?

I experienced a little bit of it this morning.  And the great part is that it was totally unexpected.

I began my day making the half-hour drive to Winston-Salem to see a long-time church member nearing death.  The family had called me the day before.  So surreal; how six weeks before this 95-year old woman had been driving her car around town.  Now, they weren't sure she'd see her 95th Thanksgiving. So she was at the hospital, waiting to die.

I got there around 8:30, but somewhat surprisingly the family wasn't there yet.  I called their house - they're on their way, the guy on the other end said.  Should be there any time.  So I sat with this woman, held her hand, being her pastor because that's what I do.

I'm used to this, by the way.  Being the pastor.  It's part of my identity now; journeying with folks and families on their sacred ground as they make the transition from this life to the next.  And honestly, I'm in awe of the people lying in that bed.  What strength!  She had told them when she was still lucid and responsive, Don't do anything for me.  I want to go when it's time.  Which explained the purple "DNR" bracelet wrapped around the wrist of the hand I was holding.  What incredible strength and faith that takes.  I hope I have it when my time comes.

Little did I know that the pastor who was pastoring was about to be pastored to.

It began with Willard.  I hadn't met him before, until he walked in the door of this room and began cleaning the floors.  Because that's what Willard does, in this room and in every other room on this hall, and presumably every room on other halls too.  Willard wore a grey smock with the hospital name emblazoned across his breast.  So sorry if I'm bothering you, he said. I assured him he was not.  He moved around the room, cleaning the floors with a grace and purpose that suggested his work was more than punching a time card.

We engaged in small conversation amidst the constant drone of the oxygen machine hooked up to her through all those tubes.   You family? he asked me.  No, I'm her pastor, I said. An open invitation to either shut the conversation off totally, or steer it in another direction.  But Willard didn't fall for either one.  He just kept smiling, as he had the entire time; kept talking about what a wonderful day it was, about how every day was a gift.  This man cleaning floors finished up his work and said to me as he left, You let your light shine!  It felt like a benediction.  

The family still hadn't arrived.  I waited, continuing to hold her hand.  Still being her pastor.  I sensed a shadow move across the door's opening, expecting a nurse or someone coming in to take a test.  But it wasn't any of these.  Instead, it was Tom.  I know his name was Tom because it was stitched in the volunteer shirt he was wearing.  And Tom had a guitar.  He walked up to the bedside with the ease and grace of a man who knew he was standing on holy ground; Moses in the presence of the Burning Bush.

He didn't need to tell me what he was there for - I had already heard him from the rooms down the hall.  This is what Tom apparently did; volunteering his time on the acute pallative care unit of the hospital, sharing a song with those facing death and the loved ones standing by their side.  I didn't have my minister's badge on, so for all he knew I was this lady's son, just one more person in need of a song.

What music does she like? he asked me.  I honestly had no clue.  Gosh, I wish the family were there.  But she'd been a good Presbyterian all her life so I mentioned a hymn.  How about "Amazing Grace," he said.  Perfect.  And with that he launched into the familiar tune, playing it in the key of D, which seemed strange but comforting, as most songs in D are.  He sang it with a rich baritone and simple strumming pattern that caused the lady's eyes to open, even if for a short time.  It struck something deep inside her, I could tell.  And if I'm honest, it struck something deep inside me, too.  For "Amazing Grace" had been my grandmother's favorite song when she was alive.  

He played his song for her, of course.  That's why he was there.  What he didn't know was that he played it for me, too.  Pastoring to the pastor.  And later I would realize how much I needed Williard and Tom that day; to remind me in their unique way that I'm no less immune to the ups and downs of life; that I also need my spirit lifted even as I was striving to do the same for others.  

The family eventually arrived, and I happily switched into pastor mode.  I cared for them, consoled them, talked about what would come next, what we would do when the time came.  It's a conversation I'm comfortable having when the need arises.  Because it's who I am.  Because I'm a pastor.

But if I'm honest, I was glad to have that half hour alone; to be in the presence of two people who were doing what came naturally to them, as natural as breathing.

In all seriousness, though, I really do want Tom's gig when I retire.

Five reasons why American Christians are not persecuted Christians

It's something that rears its ugly head most every election cycle, or when some hot-button issue surfaces in our culture, like the recent battle over Amendment One vote in my beloved home state or the long-standing removal of prayer in public schools: the notion, raised by some, that Christians in America are persecuted for their beliefs.  

It's a strong word: persecuted.  And maybe that's what has me scratching my head this morning.  Because while some may feel American culture is inheritently hostile to religion, the fact is that all people of faith enjoy certain rights and protections in our country - and none moreso than Christians. Secularization has certainly taken hold in our larger culture compared to a generation ago, but by and large we find that Christianity is spoken openly in our communities, in our politics, in the marketplace.  We make open reference to God in our country's pledge; we see God's name adorned on our currency.  We may disagree and wrestle with the specifics of it, but faith is woven into the very fabric of our civilization.

More than that, though, the notion that American Christians are a persecuted lot represents a pretty significant misunderstanding of the actual history of persecution in the church.  The short answer is this: we've got it pretty good, folks.  The longer answer: here are at least five reasons why American Christians are not persecuted Christians: 

1.  No one is putting us to death on crosses. And thank God for that.  Because back in the day, it wasn't just Jesus who suffered the excruciating agony of asphyxiation from the weight of your own body.  This method of torture by the Roman empire was used on "enemies of the state," and its very public nature (crucifixions typically took place along heavily-traveled roads and other populous areas) was designed as a way to quell the masses. Emperor Nero in particular, paranoid by the growth of Christianity in first century Palestine, ordered the crucifixion of thousands of Christians during his reign.

2.  No one is kicking us out of the marketplace.  Which is exactly what happened in the first century, per some of the New Testament letters.  It appears that in various instances, Christians were denied the privilege of buying and selling goods in the secular culture of the day.  Either that, or Christians refused to participate because the Roman coins they had to use contained images of gods and idols (thus violating the Torah). In either case, it was pretty hard for Jesus-followers. Imagine today not being able to buy that mocha frap at Starbucks.

3. We don't live in North Korea. Not to pick on a single country, but according to Open Doors, a non-denominational group that tracks Christian persecution around the world, North Korea ranks at the top of their list of fifty countries who have a history of Christian persecution.  You can see the top twelve here if you want, but a heads-up: one country you will not see on the list is the good ol' US of A.

4. We're not sitting in prison right now.  Christians all around the world - but not in America - are routinely locked behind bars for things they have said for things ranging from "conducting propoganda" to "apostacy."  Check out some examples of imprisoned Christians here.

5. Our name is not Bartholomew.  Apologies if it actually is. But this original disciple of Jesus had it pretty bad when it came to being persecuted for his beliefs.  Depending on the account you side with, he was either filleted alive or beaten to a pulp with rods. Maybe both. And then he was crucified. Upside down. Ouch.

Now - does this mean that bad things don't happen to Christians in this country?  Of course not. Churches are occasionally burned, folks are mocked and made fun of from time to time, and Sunday mornings are no longer the sacrosant space it was a generation ago.  Religion is personal and powerful, and sometimes people let their beliefs - and misunderstanding or ignorance of the beliefs of others - lead them to do some pretty awful things.  This, by the way, goes both ways; and a whole lot of nasty stuff has been carried out in Jesus' name as well. 

That being said, we'd be wise to remember that just because the larger culture may not always align perfectly with our worldview does not mean we are persecuted.  The truth of the matter is that Christians have it pretty good in America.  And not because we necessarily should, but because we live in a country that embraces the practice of all kinds of faiths, or even no faith at all. I'm thinking we should be grateful for that and return the favor.  Along with that, praying for our brothers and sisters around the world who truly are persecuted for their religious beliefs would be a good thing.  And a nice way of putting our own faith into practice, to boot.

Responding faithfully and authentically to Aurora

(Note: this blog was originally posted at my church website, www.fpcma.com. I don't usually do crossover posts, but I felt it was merited in this situation.)

I was getting ready for a weekend excursion with the family early Friday morning when I heard the news about the movie theater shooting in Aurora, CO.  Throughout the day, the horror revealed itself to us in bits and pieces as we traveled. I remember my initial feeling being one of deep sadness – a feeling that still persists three days later.

Being away from the computer all weekend, I’m just now getting a chance to share some initial thoughts –  thoughts that I’m sure will evolve in the days to come.

First, it’s inevitable that people in my position get asked the hard question: why did God allow this to happen?  I very much appreciate one pastor in Aurora who responded in his Sunday sermon today: I don’t know.  This is not always the popular answer, as people’s desire for an explanation tends to increase the more inexplainable something is.  So much of life can be categorized, understood, processed.  Then an Aurora happens; a Hurricane Katrina comes along.  And there are simply no answers for things like this, as much as we wish there were.

So, how to respond? Perhaps our first aim is to refrain from manufacturing answers when there aren’t any.  To respond to Aurora or other tragedies with cliches like “It was God’s will” or “God has a plan” is like injecting a weak anestesia into a deeper wound – it may take the sting away for a short time, but more than likely it’ll make the pain all the worse.  Saying “I don’t know” when there really aren’t answers is perhaps the most authentically faithful response one can give.  Contrary to popular opinion, there is in fact room in the Christian faith for doubt, discomfort, anger, unsettledness (re: the Psalms).

Second, we can offer hope.  And not a false hope which foolishly suggests everything will be okay, but hope that holds fast to a God who is not distant in trying times.  When 9-11 happened and the inevitable question came – where was God – a faithful and accurate response in that context was that God was in the World Trade Towers, God was in the airplanes and the Pentagon.  Likewise, on July 20, God was sitting in the front row of a movie theater in Aurora, CO.  If the cross tells us anything, it is that God is not watching human tragedy from a distance, but in the very midst of it, right along with those who suffer the most.

And lastly, in the context of this particular tragedy and future ones, we can make it our personal mission to make our focus the victims and not the perpetrator.  Certainly there are larger issues which need to be discussed (mental health, gun laws, a culture that glorifies violence, etc), but this is not an occasion to grant one individual the celebrity and attention they so desire.  Our focus needs to be elsewhere.  One TV clip I did catch over the weekend was CNN’s Anderson Cooper interviewing the brother of one of the victims, Jessica Ghawi.  Even though he was obviously in shock, he made the network rounds to talk about his sister. He said he wanted the stories of the victims – their lives, their families, their hopes and dreams – to rise above all else.  And not just his sister Jessica, but Alexander B., Jonathan, Jesse, Gordon,  John, Micayla, Matthew, Veronica, Alex, Alexander T. and Rebecca as well (a list and brief bios of those victims, by the way, can be found HERE).

There are no explanations for senseless acts of violence like what happened last Friday.  But there are certainly any number of faithful responses from those who believe in a God who resides at the very heart of human tragedy.  In what ways are you choosing to faithfully respond?