On Being Afraid of the Wrong Things.

There are a lot of things I fear. Like windows without blinds (seriously) and heights.

And there are a lot of things I do not fear. Fear Ladder

Like Muslims.

I’m also not afraid of Buddhists or scientists or flying spaghetti monsters.

I’m not afraid of questions or doubt or skepticism.

I’m not scared of any government or capitalist or communist. I’m not even afraid of Trump.

I’m not afraid of refugees or illegal immigrants or legal ones.

I do not fear gay people or trans people or people we can’t categorize in neat and tidy ways.

Along the same lines, I’m not afraid of finding someone in the “wrong” bathroom. I’m just not.

I’m not afraid of political correctness or laws that make room for other people’s belief systems.

I’m not afraid of the super rich or the desperately poor, people on welfare or people in penthouses.

In my greatest moments I’m not even scared of those who wish me harm or those who tell me I’m wrong.

I do my best not to be afraid of people who don’t look like me, act like me, speak like me, or believe like me.

I am, however, afraid of the way I and others like me misrepresent Jesus. I’m afraid people may reject Jesus because they see me and decide if this is what Jesus is about, they want no part of it.

I’m afraid the Kingdom of Me is a whole lot more appealing than the Kingdom of God. I fear that I seek first my reputation and status and rights. I’m scared to think that I would chose safety and security or comfort and complacency over faithfulness.

I’m afraid our commitment to political opinions is stronger than our willingness to “love your neighbor as yourselves.” I’m afraid that our quest for power and position and privilege leaves us overlooking the very people for whom Jesus would be most concerned.

I’m afraid I don’t have enough friends who are prostitutes or tax collectors. I’m fearful I exclude outsiders and those whose lives look messy. I’m afraid I too easily look down on or insult those who look, act, and believe differently.

I’m afraid all our boycotts and clever memes and FWD: FWD: FWD: emails (and blog posts) will do nothing to bring about the world God desires. I’m fearful that we’ve traded Good News for bad news, an eternal perspective for a temporary one.

I’m afraid that I desire to be right more than I desire to be loving.

I’m afraid that when we respond in fear to people, politics, religions, and whatever things are different than us, we are not responding in the way of Christ. I’m afraid that fearing “the other” will leave me only loving myself.

Most of all I’m scared I will raise my kids to be afraid of the people they are called to love. I’m afraid I will so want to save my children’s lives that they will lose the only life that matters in the process.

That terrifies me far more than terrorism does.

As a general rule I avoid ladders and roofs and other things from which the greedy hands of gravity wish to remove me. My discomfort with heights is stronger than my desire to have clean gutters. My fear wins out.

Since fear often determines my behavior I want be sure to fear the right things.

I want to avoid division and exclusion. I want to build bridges, not walls. I want to learn from people who see things differently. I want to hear the stories of those I don’t understand. I want to break bread with people who have dreams and fears of their own; people who have value to my God. 

I long to set aside things I want in order to serve and love the people everyone else seems to fear. I don’t want any part of pushing people away because they vote or live or believe differently than I do. I want less of “us and them” and just a whole lot of “us.”

When we do that we’ll all be better for it. When we do that we’ll look more like Jesus, who fears none and loves all. And I believe when we look more like Jesus everything changes. And when everything changes, there will be nothing left to fear.

On Swimming with Alligators.


I once knew a young man who desperately wanted to go swimming. He found a little spot that seemed ideal. What he didn’t realize was that alligators infested the water. I tried to warn him that swimming in that particular pond was a bad idea.

He told me to stop being so judgmental.

This story never actually happened but illustrates a problem we have in our society: No one wants to be told anything that goes against what they have already set their mind on.

We have made up our minds. We have followed our hearts. We don’t care what you say. So stop judging me.

Now, do we have a judging problem in the world and in the church? Absolutely. Maybe we can address that in a future post. We must recognize that there is a difference between being judgmental and being concerned for a person’s welfare.

One is rooted in pride and/or self-righteousness. One is rooted in love.

If I told the young man who was swimming that he was an idiot for thinking he could swim in that pond, that would be judgmental. If I told him he was unwelcome at my church because we don’t like alligator swimmers, that would be judgmental. If I thought I was better than him because I don’t swim in ponds like that, that’d be judgmental.

Warning him that the water is full of legitimate danger is not judgmental.

We have somehow come to believe that whatever we want to do is a good idea because, well, we thought of it. We are seldom, if ever, wrong and we really don’t like being second guessed. “Follow your heart,” we hear. “Do whatever feels right.”

Except those sayings are terrible advice. They are not helpful, nor are they healthy. Thinking like this will just get us eaten by alligators.

Whether we care to admit it or not, sometimes we do things that are not in the best interest of ourselves or others. Sometimes we are shortsighted. Sometimes our priorities get out of alignment. Sometimes we are just ill-informed. Sometimes our heart leads us astray.

We have all been there. We have all done things that come back to bite us or cause us pain or wound others. None of us are immune. It has happened before and it will happen again.

We need people to help us when these things approach. We need people who can speak the truth into our lives. We need not be defensive. We need not feel judged.

Yes, warnings and concerns need to be spoken lovingly. And sure, we won’t always agree on which things are dangerous. But we need voices that we trust to speak into our lives when we can’t see clearly. Or when we don’t even realize we aren’t seeing clearly.

I have seen and experienced and caused destruction because I was unable to notice or too ignorant to care that the water I was swimming in was full of predators. I have seen marriages destroyed, futures derailed, fortunes lost, because what a heart wanted in one moment was the very thing that would devour it in the next.

Tim Keller says, “We would never imagine that getting our heart’s deepest desires might be the worst thing that can ever happen to us.”

We can do better. We can rely on each other. We can listen, even when we don’t agree. We can pause and take into account what the people who love us think. We can seek outside counsel. We can search for truth and knowledge. We can be okay with people calling out to us in warning.

We need each other to make it through this thing called life. We need each other’s stories and experiences and lessons learned. We need to hear, really hear, what others are saying to us. “I’ve tried to swim in that very pond and let me tell you, that is not the place you want to be swimming in.”

I won’t let my kids swim where there are actual alligators. It has nothing to do with controlling their behavior and everything to do with keeping them safe. Boundaries will help keep them from being eaten alive. And if the first few years of parenting have taught me anything, it is that they won’t always appreciate those boundaries.

What I hope they understand long after they are old enough to decide which ponds to swim in on their own, is that my intentions were for their good. I hope they will always come to me knowing that my advice or rebuke or encouragement comes from a place of love and not judgement.

I hope I am mature enough and self-aware enough to listen for those voices in my life. To not reject concern or write it off as judgement just because it goes against what I want in that moment. I hope the people around me love me enough to speak up when I go dipping my toes in gator infested water. I hope I can hear the love in their voices when they call out.

Let’s allow others to help us. Let’s reject the idea that we always know what is best for ourselves. Let’s give people permission to hold us accountable. Let’s stop learning lessons the hard way. Let’s listen when people warn us that we are swimming in dangerous waters. For when they do it’s not judgement, it’s love.

The Politics of Palm Sunday

The masses were in a near frenzy on what would become known as Palm Sunday.

After centuries of oppression, abuse, displacement, corruption, and disgrace, they were finally hopeful. After being forced to pay taxes to pagan Caesar and shuffling past Roman guards on the way to the Temple, they were angry. After watching friends and neighbors turn their backs on the nation and their faith in pursuit of a buck or some political position, they were fed up.

On that Sunday the stories of a coming savior swept through the crowd. Could this finally be the promised one? Could he overthrow the bad guys? Could he restore our nation?

The people lined the streets as Jesus came in. They waved palm leaves, a symbol of military victory. They laid their cloaks on the ground and cheered. Longing for liberation, they threw him a conqueror’s parade in anticipation of what was to come. The people stood and shouted “Hosanna!” which means “Save us now!”

The crowds were ready, but they were ready for all the wrong things. They were ready for war and political gain. Ready for revenge. Ready to expel their enemies. They were ready for power. Wealth. Vindication.

But they weren’t ready for Jesus. Six short days later they would move from “Hosanna! Save us now!” to “Crucify him!” Jesus wasn’t the savior they were looking for after all.

Sometimes I wonder if we have failed to learn the lesson here. We seem to want the same things the crowd wanted. We still want a savior that looks more like Caesar than Jesus. We want strength and might. We want power and prosperity. We want the bad guys to pay. We have a thirst for political and cultural significance.

And, like them, I’m not sure we are ready for Jesus. We aren’t ready for his command to love our enemies. We aren’t ready to welcome the stranger. We aren’t ready to turn the other cheek, go the extra mile, or give to those who accuse us.

Too often we prefer stallions to donkeys, vengeance to mercy, power to servanthood. We applaud brashness and ego, while ignoring meekness and humility. We think it soft not to return evil for evil. And loving our neighbor as ourselves isn’t really the American dream so we focus on what is in it for us.

We, like those crowded on the street that day, are looking for the wrong kind of king and the wrong kind of kingdom.

Jesus isn’t interested in making Judea great again. His platform is not based popular opinion or national security. He is interested in a world that looks a whole lot different than one we see before us now.

A world where lions and lambs lay down together. Where swords are beaten into plow blades. He desires a world that isn’t divided by geography or nationality or culture. A world full of justice and peace. A world without selfishness.

It is a different kind of Kingdom led by a different kind of King. A King who lays down his life for his enemies. A King who carries our shame and guilt, our destruction and our death. A King who doesn’t do it for votes or donations or favors, but out of love and grace and selflessness.

This is a King who doodles in the sand rather than draw lines in it. He rejects “us and them” thinking. This is a King who is attracted to the lowlifes, the tarnished, the untouchable. He didn’t have the best of anything because he gave up his privilege and comfort. This is a King who lays down his rights, not demands them.

I’m not sure we are ready for a King like that. Because this King asks us, repeatedly, to follow his example. To have a King like that means letting go of all the things we naturally find ourselves fighting for. It means swearing allegiance to something broader than national boundaries and political parties. It means saying “no” to ourselves and being willing to forsake our own privilege and comfort and rights.

And it’s a hard sell. It doesn’t drive the masses into a tizzy. No one is outside hawking t-shirts and ball caps. There isn’t 24/7 news coverage. This kind of campaign seldom gets a parade or endorsements from movers and shakers. And yet it is exactly the kind of campaign we need.

May we remember that the crowds missed it that day. May we remember that their desire to have things set right looked a whole lot different than what God had in mind. May we not get caught up in the wrong things: anger, bitterness, division, violence, and a quest for power.

And may we not miss the man on the donkey who came to save the world from the very things we are chasing after.

Hosanna. Save us now, indeed.